Introduction

I have almost sat down when I notice the bench is not clean. Two empty tins and one glass bottle of beer have made the bench their home along with several waterlogged cigarette butts. I consider the space for a moment, as I carefully plant myself on the other side of the bench, so that I can eat my lunch and stare out onto the Illecillewaet River. Before starting my job as a BC Housing Outreach Worker, I would have perhaps blamed the left-over litter on local teenagers or disrespectful tourists. Instead, I acknowledge the fact that it is entirely possible the very bench I am sitting on was someone's bed the previous night. (Journal entry, Jameson, July 2009).

      Nestled between the Selkirk and Monashee mountain ranges, Revelstoke is a community in the British Columbia Interior with a population of 7,230 (City of Revelstoke, 2008), and the last place some would expect to uncover the plight of homelessness. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that in many rural centres the homeless go largely unnoticed, occupying spaces “not intended for habitation” (National Alliance to End Homelessness, 2007, ¶1). It is the lack of visible spaces used by the homeless in rural centres that result in the “false impression that rural homelessness is limited or non-existent” (Meert & Bourgeois, 2005, p.109). In Revelstoke, at least, there is recognition on some level that this lack of visibility is what impedes the small city from providing or seeking aid for its homeless residents. Rick, who is employed by the City of Revelstoke, says that:

"It's hard to make a big investment [on homelessness] because there's [sic] two people sleeping under a tree. Maybe there's 30 or 40 people that you never see, but because you don't see them, then people don't think the problem is that large."

     The invisibility factor has also made it difficult for those working in the social services sector to facilitate conversations surrounding the issue of rural homelessness with other community members. As Karen, a social services provider in Revelstoke notes:

"It is quite obvious at some community forums that some citizens do not realize the extent of homelessness in our community. For us who work in the social services sector, we know homelessness exists as many of our clients have no permanent address."

There appears to be an almost inherent desire to use urban homelessness as a marker, both when speaking to–and researching--rural homelessness. John, a now-former City of Revelstoke employee, admits he often thinks of homelessness

"[i]n terms of [the] Lower Mainland, where you see people who are sleeping in doorways and in the parks and things like that. And I don't think we have a lot of that because 1) our weather is not conducive; and 2) there may not be as many opportunities for either generating extra money or getting hold of surplus foods."

     However, John's (and others') thought process may be partly due to the fact that many community-centric studies on homelessness are geared towards accessing federal funding (Cloke & Milbourne) and the majority of this research “has an urban orientation, usually in relation to specific groups and to understanding the linkages and interactions amongst housing, services and homelessness” (Cloke & Milbourne, p. 77).

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