Cold night in vehicle opens eyes to poverty

United Way initiative a stark reminder that for some with no options, home can be their vehicle

I slept in my car last Friday night.

It was very much on purpose and planned, unlike some of the more misdirected antics of my youth that resulted in the same thing for very different reasons. The United Way in Peel Region in Ontario held its third annual Longest Night campaign last month; participants sleep for a night in their cars in the dead of winter to raise awareness and money for those who do so out of necessity or circumstance.

It’s a brilliant fundraising campaign, the brainchild of Ania Kordiuk, the chief development officer of United Way in Peel Region. You pledge to sleep in your car overnight. You can do it in your driveway, or you can do what I did and meet up with others. I took my 16-year-old nephew, uncertain what the night would actually entail but certain I could brave the elements and be none the worse for wear. I was totally prepared for the physical aspects of the night. But I was woefully ignorant of the emotional ones.

Like most of you, I look at my car as a conveyance. It gets me from here to there. When I write about cars, it’s as transportation and all its inherent topics: buying them, insuring them, loaning them, maintaining them, wrecking them, fixing them, new drivers, old drivers, short commutes and long road trips. We have well over a century of vehicles being a fundamental mainstay of our culture.

“Poverty can be hidden, especially in areas we see as wealthy,” Kordiuk says. “But the fact remains, for some people, living and sleeping in their cars is a very real thing.”

More than 200,000 people in the area live in poverty, and the threat of homelessness is always close. My nephew stretched out a sleeping bag in the back of my car. But in Peel in 2015, 450 teens just like him were turned away from shelters because of a lack of space.

The idea was straightforward enough. I just stuffed sleeping bags, pillows and blankets into the hatchback of my Elantra, much like a road trip with kids. I gassed it up. I hauled out long johns, dressed in layers, dug out hats and mitts, charged up my phone, charged up a spare charger, and assembled water and snacks. I read up on how to make some warmth with tea lights and a coffee can, as well as tips for surviving a blizzard if stranded. I wouldn’t be stranded, but knowing how not to kill yourself with carbon monoxide is useful information.

But this was not like a road trip, nor was it like being stranded in a blizzard. One of those things is an adventure, the other a challenge. There was a sobering reality check that kicked in as I was prepping the car for the night. While we were in a private parking lot with other cars, I realized there are very few places you can park your car overnight safely and legally. We had access to a washroom, and were within walking distance of convenience stores and fast-food joints.

I’d spent a lot of time figuring out how to stay warm, but far less considering just how vulnerable someone in their car is. I glanced over at my nephew, busily texting away, and wondered how broken I would feel as a parent if this was the best option I had not just for myself, but for my children.

We woke early, because there is no rolling over and going back to sleep when you are cold and exposed. There was ice inside the windows because, instead of starting the heater for a few minutes during the night, we’d both just burrowed deeper into our sleeping bags.

Writing a cheque is a good thing to do. However, experiencing even a tiny part of the issue, as those participating on that night did, helps remove judgment.