As the ever present rumors of relocation and demolition of our homes becomes frighteningly real, I have walked this estate, knocked on doors and attended various community meetings. I have encountered confusion, misinformation, some anger, a lot of fear, but mostly despair.
Someone whose opinions I have always respected once suggested that we are all three steps from homelessness. A bad decision, bad luck, increasing family breakdown and loss of employment can leave us all vulnerable, despite the delusion that ‘it could never happen to me’.
I live on the Ascot Vale estate. Until nine years ago I had never stepped foot on a public housing estate. Then it happened. In early 2008 I fell down all three steps. After two years of being prey to slum lords, couch surfing and occasionally sleeping rough, my then teen-aged son and I found our home. I now feel well qualified to address the prejudice of ignorance and the joy of inclusion.
I’ll admit to being rather nervous. As broad minded and accepting as I like to believe I am there was middle class snobbery bubbling just under the surface as fear. We were both victims of a common misconception - public housing estates were not salubrious. I guessed that most of the inhabitants were petty criminals, not so petty criminals, alcoholics and drug addicts. I am happy to be so wrong.
We were welcomed warmly and, I am ashamed to say that unlike me, without judgement. Our immediate neighbours minded their own business but were helpful when required, and always had a pleasant greeting when passing. Over the first couple of months one begins to recognize faces from all over the estate as we crossed paths going about our daily business. Ascot Vale estate has the feel of a village, with only the supermarket chain at the Showgrounds and the strip shopping on Union Road. So familiar faces far exceed the confines of the estate boundaries. Warm cheerios pass between people from the entire suburb, and local shopkeepers are esteemed to first name basis. This cosy familiarity was well set by the end of our first year.
As my son had had such a tough time juggling homelessness and his final two years of high school. I was not surprised that he took A couple of gap years from studying. He worked as a labourer and acquired several skill tickets and certifications. By our second year on the estate we really felt like our flat was our home. No one could evict us, sell up or move us on. We felt safe. The traumas of the previous few years were abating. We had a safe home in which to heal. He enrolled in university and he excelled - in large part because he had a stable home and a sense of community here. He also had a mother who no longer fretted over our future.
Over the years there have been the inevitable births, deaths, marriages and graduations. Being surrounded by a community that shares the joys and sorrows is more than just comforting. It’s an inclusiveness that only comes from living amongst the same folk for years. On an estate there is a certainty that these good people will still be here tomorrow. This can only occur in a situation where the tenants are permanently in residence.
The very nature of public housing is the option of permanency. The nature of a public housing estate adds close neighbourly bonds. Conversely, the very nature of private tenancy is transience. Tenants in private flats are almost exclusively in situ through expedience. They rent where they do to easily access educational facilities, work, family and a myriad of other reasons. Many rent flats with a view to saving for a future purchase elsewhere. Private renters do not move in to a flat and happily view their entire future there. The nature of a private housing estate is not therefore conducive to forming close community bonds. Transient private tenants generally have no long term vision of, or care for the future of a community like the Ascot Vale estate. This is by no means a slight on private tenants. I was one for most of my adult life.
This little essay is my little story but it is big to me. Everyone here has their own little story but it is big to them. All these little stories together make one huge story. Our story.
In conclusion, I’ve written this on behalf of all the people who speak to me and the very many who have difficulty speaking for themselves. We need help. We want to reverse the decision to sell off public land. These are our homes.
(I use the word ‘homes’ advisedly in the full knowledge that our homes are built on the unceded and stolen lands of the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin nation. I humbly pay respect to the elders past, present and future.)