should i be locked up because i can't afford an apartment?

Let's take this conversation a little further.

If British Columbia decides to get tougher on homelessness, addiction and public disorder, what exactly are we proposing to do with all the people who are struggling to survive?

Build more prisons? More hospitals? More institutions to contain people who don't fit into the picture of the society we want to present?

Let's imagine 5,000 homeless people are suddenly taken off the streets.

Problem solved?

Where do they go when they're released? Have they found a home? Has their addiction been treated? Has their mental health improved? Do they have an income, food and somewhere safe to sleep?

Or have we simply hidden the problem from public view?

Now let me ask you something.

Should I be locked up because I cannot afford an apartment?

I have not committed a crime by being poor. I have not committed a crime because my income is insufficient to pay Vancouver's rents. I have not committed a crime because I need help.

Yet people experiencing homelessness are often discussed as though they are a problem to be removed rather than human beings whose circumstances deserve consideration.

Not everyone experiencing homelessness has an addiction. Not everyone has a mental health condition. Not everyone is dangerous. And people living on the streets are also vulnerable to assault, theft, exploitation and death.

Yes, communities have legitimate concerns about violence and public safety. People who commit crimes must be held accountable. Nobody should have to feel unsafe in their own neighbourhood.

But we need to ask what happens when services are reduced, treatment is inaccessible, housing remains unaffordable and people are left with fewer options.

Where do those people go?

What happens when someone who needs help cannot get it? What happens when someone loses their housing and has nowhere to turn? What happens when the only response comes after a crisis, an overdose, an assault or a criminal charge?

Are we going to keep building institutions to deal with the consequences while failing to address the circumstances that bring people there?

And who pays for all of it?

Prisons require buildings, employees, security, food and medical care. Hospitals require beds, doctors, nurses and treatment. All of these services cost money.

What would it cost to prevent some of these crises through housing, accessible treatment, mental health care and ongoing support?

We should be asking those questions before making decisions that affect thousands of lives.

Because here's the uncomfortable part.

Homelessness isn't always something that happens to someone else. It can happen when work disappears, rent becomes impossible to manage, a relationship breaks down, illness intervenes or the people you thought you could count on can no longer help.

You can be a contributing member of society and still find yourself without a secure place to live.

So I ask again: should I be locked up because I cannot afford an apartment?

And if your answer is no, then what are we prepared to do about a society in which people can work, struggle, grow older and still be unable to afford a safe place to call home?

We cannot keep talking about removing people from the streets without talking about where they will go.

We cannot talk about public safety without considering what happens when people are abandoned without support.

And we cannot call a problem solved simply because we can no longer see it.

A prison cell is not a home. An institution is not a substitute for a functioning social safety net.

Being poor is not a crime. Being homeless is not a crime. And being unable to afford an apartment should never, by itself, be a reason to lose your freedom.

Think about it.

What kind of society are we building — and what happens when the person who cannot afford a home is you?