In Toronto, more than 20 years ago, I lived in a shantytown that was then North America’s largest. Then as now, people with no other place to go are villainized – but increasingly, encampments are treated like the new normal
Two blocks from where I live, in downtown Toronto, is Saint Stephen-in-the-Fields – an old red-brick church, surrounded by thick, gnarled maple trees. Across the street is the fire hall, and halfway down the block used to be a daycare where my son, a decade ago, once spent his days.
Back then, we’d often pass by Saint Stephen’s, and one morning, a heavy, life-size bronze statue appeared – set down in the earth between the corner of the Anglican church and the sidewalk. It was the figure of a cloaked man, sitting on the ground, his hand held out as if asking for change. And if you looked closer, his palm was cut open. Though originally titled Whatsoever You Do by his sculptor, Timothy P. Schmalz, the bronze beggar became known as Panhandler Jesus.
