[00:00]
Karl: In recent years, there has periodically been conversations regarding the presence of unhoused people in public spaces around Quebec. Whether in the media or in political discourse, the presence of unhoused people disrupts.
Alia: Rather than addressing the conditions that produce homelessness, these dominant discourses often dehumanize, portraying the suffering of people experiencing homelessness as personal failings often related to addiction or mental illness.
Karl: It's unsurprising that in this context, the proposed solutions focus on control and repression. Since 2005, numerous reports have highlighted social profiling in Montreal, revealing that each year, 40% of the submitted offense reports target homeless individuals. And the latest report from 2021 indicates an escalation in social profiling.
Alia: Today, we talk with…
Annie: I’m Annie and I’m a community outreach worker. My main mandate is supporting unhoused people.
Alia: In our conversation Annie tells us about the challenges she confronts in the face of public hostility, explains why the police are a barrier to her work and shares a vision of community safety that is anchored in common sense and respect for all.
[01:25]
Alia: You’re listening to Brûler/Bâtir, a podcast about reimagining collective safety!
Karl: Brûler (burn down)… because the police perpetuate violence and are a failed approach to safety.
Alia: Bâtir (build up)… because we can invest in, and amplify, systems of care, justice, and safety without policing.
Karl: Every month, we talk to people working to build real safety in Montreal/Tiohtià:ke, and hear about how the police get in the way.
Alia: I’m Alia
Karl: I’m Karl.
Alia : And we’re gonna be your hosts.
[01:50]
Karl: I've been aware of your influence on social media for some time, and then we finally met in person at the Defund Festival. I understand you're quite busy with numerous projects and podcasts, so I appreciate you taking the time to share your experiences with us today.
Annie: First, I want to clarify that I'm speaking as an individual, Annie Archambault, and not on behalf of my organization. My views on defunding the police are entirely my own.
***
Annie: The scope of my job is quite broad. It involves reaching out to marginalized communities—whether they're racialized, living in poverty, or sex workers—by delivering resources among other necessities. This mandate is wide-ranging, serving anyone in need, including undocumented individuals. My primary role involves outreach, meaning I go to them, joining them in their community if they invite me.
Karl: You're known for showing up with your big bag, essentially carrying your office on your back.
Annie: Yes, that's my office!
Karl: People often ask, "What is street work?" You make it simple to understand—it's about being in the midst of the people.
Annie: Exactly. I'm there to provide whatever tool the person needs, within my mandate, of course. We're very much on the front lines, often the only ones present in their lives, which makes the connection we build incredibly strong.
Karl: It's worth mentioning you've become quite the influencer on TikTok.
Annie: I didn't plan for any of this.
Karl: No, but what brought you to this point? How did it unfold?
Annie: My journey started with experiencing domestic violence, which spiraled into substance abuse and eventually led me to live a life of hidden homeless for about five years. I was fortunate to find one of the few supportive housing programs in Montreal for young women. While living there, I reflected on my experiences—surviving domestic violence, dealing with addiction, and homelessness—and reflected on what I could do with all that I had been through. Coming from a wealthy family, I was in disbelief over my experiences and how unhoused individuals are treated by both the government and society at large. The lack of accessible programs and the general disregard for people like me was appalling. That's when I realized I had to use my experience for something meaningful. I met someone involved in peer support and alternative intervention who saw potential in me as an intervention worker, despite my lack of formal education. They emphasized the value of my experience over traditional qualifications and offered training. After about three years in that role, I transitioned to becoming an outreach worker. My venture into TikTok was entirely accidental.
Karl: And how has that been going?
Annie: It all started when I was heading to work. A few months prior, I had downloaded TikTok, not really to post anything, just like everyone else, mostly watching bread recipes. Then, one day, while on my way to work, I saw two girls offering a sandwich to a unhoused person who didn’t have any teeth. The sandwich was from Première Moisson, with the bread crust about 2 cm thick—completely unsuitable for someone without teeth. The man politely declined the sandwich, but the girls took offense, calling him ungrateful and insisting he should eat it if he was really hungry. At that moment, something in me just clicked. I took out my iPhone, opened TikTok, and made a one-minute video explaining that people living on the streets have preferences too. They could be allergic, vegan, or simply not have the teeth for hard bread. They have the right to say no. And if someone is offering to help and a refusal upsets them, then the gesture was more for their own satisfaction than to genuinely help the other person. Surprisingly, the video went viral, garnering 50,000 views in just two hours. I was overwhelmed and thought about deleting it, but the positive engagement and curious questions in the comments changed my mind. People were asking what they could give instead or admitting they hadn't considered allergies or drug interactions with certain foods. Of course, there were hateful and violent comments, which unfortunately seem to accompany every video. But it sparked a meaningful discussion. That's how it all began.
Karl: Why the title "On the Edge of the Line"?
Annie: I chose "On the Edge of the Line" because I personally navigate life with BPD, which is borderline personality disorder, so there's a play on words with "borderline." But the topics I delve into also sit precariously on the edge of what's considered acceptable to discuss, to do, or not to do. It's a fine line between judging others and being judged myself for pointing out when something doesn't make sense. I enjoyed exploring that dynamic. This concept also inspired me to create my second TikTok page, "The Other Side of the Line."
Karl: How does this second page differentiate itself?
Annie: It's completely different; I make tomato sandwiches there! It's not about serious topics. After facing a lot of hatred and being seen not as a person but as an ideologue to the left, someone who can't take a joke, I couldn't handle being threatened daily. So, I decided to create a second page as a space where, yes, we can share a laugh, and yes, we can make recipes together. Once a week, I make a recipe with my grandmother on this page. It showcases the Annie outside of activism. Surprisingly, it reduced the hate comments by at least 70%. It really worked!
Alia: You mean, like with your first video, you were trying to humanize these people, showing they have desires and preferences just like anyone else—some might not like mustard or choose to be vegan. And somehow, you became this figure who was only about giving advice on these matters, not seen as a fully rounded person.
Annie: People started to dehumanize me because I only talked about these serious topics. Sometimes I'm criticized for doing normal things, like going on a trip. There was this one time I had a meal from Saint-Hubert, and I faced a week of hatred for it—even though it was a treat from my sister. It's like once you're labeled, there's no room for comfort or normalcy anymore. Also, there's this perception that because I've been homeless, I don't deserve to experience more comfort than someone who has never been in that situation. If I have anything more or better, people are quick to judge, saying, "Annie, she's a good person, good for getting off the streets, BUT she shouldn't have more than me."
Karl: It often seems that when we walk around Montreal, a lot of people have harsh reactions to the homeless. I feel like there's a disconnect, a failure to act, because they forget that the person in front of them is just a normal human being.
Annie: But it’s easier that way.
Karl: People often react very harshly, as if they expect to have a guide, like "10 Easy Steps to Interacting with a Homeless Person." Everything is contextual and depends on the individual, like you in that moment.
Annie: Yea, you can't take a mold and apply it to all homeless individuals. There's a lot of hatred nowadays. There's a disturbing trend among young people who buy McDonald's and crush it in front of sleeping individuals. One person got stabbed this week, and two others outside Montreal were beaten. There's a rising wave of hate and violence against homeless individuals right now, fueled by the economic and housing crises. People don't understand and perceive them as the enemy. They see them as disturbed or even criminals. Just yesterday, someone commented on one of my TikToks saying, "But my children could see these people."
Alia: What does that mean?
Annie: It's like being afraid that your child might see someone without a home. Seriously?
Alia: Yes, you know there's a not a guide but asking yourself do I feel unsafe? or uncomfortable? And often you just feel uncomfortable. And that’s actually about you and not about the other person.
Annie: But it's normal to feel uncomfortable.
Alia: Yeah, there's nothing dangerous about feeling uncomfortable!
Annie: And you can learn more and feel less uncomfortable later. But if you continue to turn discomfort into hatred, saying untrue things online, that's the problem.
Alia: It’s like there’s this moment we engage with all the time, when we see people who are in situations that are different than ours, where we feel uncomfortable or inconvenienced by that reality, and it could be a moment of opportunity: "Wow look at the world I’m participating in, look at the systems I benefit from that actually require other people to be marginalized" – but instead we often react by being like "Oh my gosh I’m so upset or inconvenienced by this, how do I never see it again". Maybe the abolitionist question is how do we transform those feelings into new possibilities, and not into new violences.
***
Karl: I'm still interested to know how it affects your work to operate in a context of intolerance?
Annie: Yeah, I definitely need social cohabitation for my work to go well, to do my job properly, which is challenging. But I have connections with small places in the neighbourhood where I work, and cohabitation works well there. But the"Not in my backyard" mentality is... just in the past two months, I think I've had to relocate the same person three times due to dismantlements. Intolerance is on the rise in Montreal. Dismantlements, I think this summer they counted the number recorded by the city (meaning it doesn't include others), and it was 240 in August. That's more than one per day!
Alia: Maybe just to say that "Not in my backyard" is an expression used in English as well, and it means that we don't want any of these organizations or any signs of similar systemic challenges in our own proximity.
Annie: Another way they do it—what I call police intimidation dismantlements—is by visiting people multiple times a day, every day, starting a bit slyly like "What's your name... I won't put you in the system... you know, I brought you McDonald's..." which either leads to later arrests, or the individuals leave when the police come. It's like at an apartment, if the police come to your place five times a day, you'll say, "Well, I'm leaving." It's the same thing. But the police say dismantlements don't exist anymore because they don't burn or destroy tents. But they do it in a different way. And they don't call it dismantlements; they're trying to wash their hands of it. But there are still tents being destroyed by them.
Karl: And the city hired a liaison officer who was responsible for dismantling encampments.
Annie: For double our salary...
Karl: There is a growing number of dismantlements. So, it consumes your time and energy to have to move these people, even though you're aware that you'll have to do the same thing again soon.
Annie: Well, we agree; it's not me who dismantles them though! I'm not the one saying, "you have to leave."
Karl: No, no. But you accompany them.
Annie: Yes, that's it. I can help you gather some things, but I mean, it's never me who's going to say, "you have to leave." Unfortunately, I sometimes get the impression that the city or the police, or whoever, uses the community in a way that makes it seem like "Oh, we're not dismantling them because they know about it in advance and so they will help them move." I count that as a dismantling done by the city.
Alia: It seems quite obvious that there's a lot of money invested in getting people to leave encampments, destroying encampments—lots of money and resources. And we know that when people leave, they have to go somewhere else, so it's like a completely illogical solution. That doesn't make sense. Unless the objective is to be like out of sight, which it is, but even that doesn't work. And so I guess it seems like you kind of do work that’s constantly in tension with that. Do we know how we could use that money to do something other than just constantly brutalize and scare people and make them move constantly?
Annie: It's pushing people on the outside of the outside.
Annie: Just dismantling the Notre-Dame encampment cost more than half a million dollars for one day to pay the police.
Karl: It's scandalous! It's all the consequences too that we can't calculate, but like the medicines that were sent to the trash, all the medical and legal procedures to find the objects of the people who are requested. The costs are incalculable, it’s astronomical what we could reinvest.
Annie: How many public housing units could we renovate with that? There are plenty of OMH homes that are empty because they don't have money to renovate them, 25% of the homes. I think that with half a million dollars, you could have fixed some of them! It is important to understand that it is also a way for people to express themselves, for them to say "I exist, I am here. I just want accommodation." Not free accommodation. They want affordable housing, housing at 25%, housing with support. And instead of offering that, we pay police officers, mounted police officers, helicopters, brigades, to tell them, “Get out of here.” They'll just go next door! You just spent rent! For how many apartments?
Karl: That's it, and during that time we create nothing. We just throw money out the window.
Annie: Yeah It’s dismantlements for gentrification. It doesn't seem good for a city that's trying to attract tourism. Nightlife, condo prices – if there is a camp next to your house, your house loses value. Your condo is losing value. It's a question of money. It's a question of beauty. It's a question of gentrification. That's it.
Karl: I want to come back to earlier when you mentioned that there is a bit of an instrumentalization of the police in your work, which – well there are plenty of studies that show how the police benefits from relationships that the community builds, relationships that the community sector took time and energy and emotions to build. What do you feel about your role in this?
Annie: I try to be neutral. In the sense that when I work, I am there for the person. It doesn't matter what my beliefs are on the outside, it doesn't matter what I think on the outside. I put that aside. The second the police arrive, I retreat a little to the side. I talk more when I see that I have more rapport. I'll say listen, we'll see each other another day, and I'll leave if there’s no need for me. What I find a bit, you see, insulting, is that while I am on intervention, the police are coming. They know that I am a street worker. They know I'm working. Why are you coming? Sometimes it gives me the opportunity to say to the police, "listen to this, what you just did is intimidation, or it's harassment." But afterwards, whether they listen is another subject. Are they ready to hear that their uniform, whether they want it or not, represents a form of oppression, and that their Blue Lives Matter flag is disturbing and insulting? Then, you know, every time, I try. It's always like, "No, no no, you're the one seeing it the wrong way." As always, I'm in the wrong. I was just speaking with a police officer from a neighborhood, which wasn't even my work neighborhood. Then he said to me, “You know Annie, me and you, we have to work like this.” Then he makes a hand in hand gesture. I'm like, "No, unfortunately, you can't help." I put my Defund The Police, my ACAB behind me, then I said "You, are a police officer, even with all good will in the world to help, who asked these people if they want to be helped by the police?" Because we created all these programs, but I never heard anyone say, “we asked and that’s what they wanted.”
Alia: Yeah who wants to be helped by people who have guns and can ticket you?
Karl: But why do the police want to do this? For what?
Annie: To sleep well at night I think, saying “I helped”. Because otherwise their job, I guess, as a police officers, would be nothing but crap.
[19:55]
Narrative Interlude on Community Policing
Orlando: To understand why the police pretend to do "prevention" work, one must understand the history of "community policing."
In short, community policing is a trend in North American policing, where the police claim to work in prevention by inserting police officers into communities, schools, hospitals, etc. — ostensibly in an attempt to rebuild trust with the community.
Where does this idea come from? It starts in the 1970s. As social movements denounce the oppressive role of the police, and as researchers and the police themselves begin to recognize that crime cannot be reduced through repression, the police say: No problem! We can take care of all of it! We can neutralize activism, solve social problems, and continue our repressive role.
With the birth of community policing, the role of the police was expanded. The police became a response to an expanding list of social problems. This trend has always been presented as a progressive reform. Its effects, however, are extremely harmful. Upon closer inspection, community policing appears as a "velvet glove" to hide the "iron fist" of police repression.
In many North American cities, the principles of community policing have been instrumentalized to implement brutal police practices against homeless people. In Montreal, in the 2000s, the SPVM manipulated public consultations to justify a crackdown on unhoused individuals. Harassment, brutality, and criminalization were then presented as the "will of the public."
What we often see, then, is that "community policing" results in an extension of police repression.
It's important to understand that, even if this isn’t always a conspiracy or the product of bad intentions, it is inevitable. Police work is distinguished from all other jobs by one thing: its function is to address problems by using state violence. Since community policing expands the scope of police action, it simply broadens the number of situations to which we decide to respond with violence.
That's why the Defund Coalition, and the abolitionist movement, say that the police should not, and cannot, do prevention work.
[22:08]
Alia: Thinking about cops as violence workers is a kind of rejection of a community policing model which tries to reframe policing as something that can address all these social problems. And originally I think policing did use to be much more reactive.
Annie: There is no prevention in the police.
Karl: I would like to know if there is a tension between the police organization, which wants to seek funding, and the police officers themselves, who in the police hierarchy are devalued for doing care work. It's really seen as something feminine and devalues versus gender investigations. I think they are in tension, but the organization wants to move forward with “care” work. But everyone's like, why do you want to do that?
Annie: But you can't move forward against the people you want to help! Hence the mixed squads...
Karl: Yes! But do you want us to talk about it?
Annie: Yes!
Karl: Did you hear about the report that came out on mixed squads?
Annie: Ah, that was a good report.
[23:00]
Narrative Interlude on Mixed Squads
Orlando: Mixed squads are an extension of community policing. They are teams usually composed of a police officer and a social worker who intervene as a duo. According to the city and the police, their role is to address the needs of vulnerable populations, while also improving their relationship with the police.
In practice, however, this isn't the case. Recently, the Réseau d’aide aux personnes seules et itinérantes de Montréal (RAPSIM), which represents around a hundred community organizations, published a report strongly denouncing mixed squads.
According to the community workers, mixed squads harm homeless people by increasing the police presence, amplifying their sense of being watched and controlled, and even increasing their vulnerability to criminalization.
In addition, mixed squads perturb the work of community workers, create crisis situations, and distance people from services.
Mixed squads also create tensions within the community sector, between the organizations that accept collaboration with the police in exchange of funding, and those that refuse.
Above all, mixed squads appropriate resources that should be used to fund community initiatives.
In conclusion, the recommendations of the report are clear: mixed squads should be immediately dissolved, and their funding should be redirected towards community-led programs, many of which already exist.
[24:24]
Annie: And the report, in the end, said, "defund the police." That's really it. Abolish the programs, take the money, and put it into the community. Which, for me, equals defund the police.
Karl: I'm glad that report came out because even in progressive and left-leaning circles, people were like, "Oh, but these squads are good!" and, "Yeah, it's progressive, and it helps people." So, I'm really glad there's finally a counter-discourse highlighting the many consequences.
Annie: And, for me, it was important to talk about mixed squads because, to me, it's ridiculous! It's the most ridiculous thing! The police weren’t created for this. It doesn't remove social profiling. In fact, it gives them targets. And what I've noticed is that there are drug users, maybe on a day when their mental health is not great for various reasons, they might say things to the police that they wouldn't have said otherwise if they were in a better mental state. I've had someone say, "Without realizing it... they kept talking to me, I didn't notice, they made me feel confident, I gave them an encampment, and the next day, it was dismantled." Or "they brought me McDonald's, but two days later, they asked who sells in the neighbourhood?" It's crazy. People feel helped by the police, and then suddenly BANG – there's going to be a knife thrust somewhere, at some point. Not necessarily right away, maybe in three months, but it's rare that I haven't seen the knife come down.
Alia: When we think of the history of initiatives like this in policing, it’s always the case that you’re given something, and then you’re asked in return to offer information. It’s always a conditional offer and it’s a way of converting some people onto your side so you can mobilize your power against other people.
Annie: You have to see it to understand, you have to live it. I think there are people who don't understand that if you don't experience it, it's tough. It's tough to realize that someone who has never faced the reality of dealing with the police or being criminalized by the police, or being socially or racially profiled, understands that the police are not there to help. Ultimately, for example, if ECCR learns of a crime, they are obliged to act. And I call that survival crimes. So, for me, it cancels out; it nullifies the crime. If there's a survival crime, for me, there is no crime. A theft in a grocery store is technically a crime. But for me, it's not a crime.
Alia: And maybe just to emphasize, mixed squads are a very clear way of increasing the police budget and giving the police more resources. And like you were saying, they're often framed as this positive move on the left, but from at least a financial point, it's just very clear they are counter to any sort of defunding initiative.
Annie: And I think the more we work with them, involuntarily, the more they request a budget because they're like, "Yeah, it works, we have a roundtable with the community, so they want us there, so we're asking for a bigger budget." And there's this whole cycle, I find.
Karl: Do you feel your work can become more carceral and control-oriented?
Annie: Well, I will resign if that's what happens to my job. I don't think so. No, but I don't think so because fortunately, we are now in an era in the community sector where we see the consequences related to these squads. I often say on the internet, we're at a point of no return because the governments didn't act quickly enough on many things. So, I think now the community is angry and tired of not speaking up. I have more hope that the community will decide not to work with the brigades anymore.
Karl: But don't you think there's polarization emerging in the community sector? The organizations with the biggest budgets, once again, it's the community filling the role of the State.
Annie: Yes, there are community organizations that like the police. The big ones, they respond to what the government wants. That's why they have millions compared to the community organizations where I work – where we count our pennies. The more you give the government what they want, the more you work with the police, the more you work with the CIUSSS, the more money you get. And the more you control people.
Alia: We really need money in these small situated organizations with people like you who really know these spaces, who are able to think about how to help people in complex ways, not always replicable across time and space. All these big government funds where all the money comes from can only imagine models where there's a lot of transparency, and also where control and geographically, nationally, provincially expanded, and those two things seem to be always at odds.
Karl: What are the limits in harm reduction? or in the fight for police defunding ? or concerning the fight against homelessness? What do you think? Are there deadlocks that exist, things that, even in the activist circles, we need to keep thinking about?
Annie: We, the workers, are really tired. We don't have the energy for these fights. I feel like citizens are the ones expected to fight. I don't know if it makes sense with the question. In the sense that often I'm invited to many protests, but you'll almost never see me. After my workday, having already defended all this, I don't feel like going to a protest. Many workers are like, "Oh, I'm too tired, I can't!" We are, we are too tired for the fight on that side. And I think that's a bit of a deadlock. I think organizations should... I don't understand why we're not burning bridges, saying it's this or housing. For real, I think that's a sentiment many people in the community share in saying, "Hey, let's go break something and camp in front of City Hall for a week now," and we're tired anyway. It's like the deadlock I see in the fight.
Karl: Like there’s a disconnect between activist circles and practical circles?
Annie: Yes, exactly.
Karl: Who share very similar interests.
Annie: Yeah. But rightly so, rightly so.
Karl: And do you find that abolitionist spaces fighting to defund the police manage to be in solidarity with more practical front line groups? Is there a lack of spaces for dialogue? Or do, let's say, the struggles for abolition, police, prisons, resonate with you?
Annie: We don't talk about it that much at work because I don't think we can. I don't know. Publicly, it would never be said.
Alia: That’s the hope of the coalition to really build those connections not just theoretically but like with our actual relationships and on the ground and in protests.
Annie: I think here that many organizations receive a lot of funding for health ans safety comes from the police. So it's like spitting in the hand of the person who feeds you. So, I feel that fear of being cut off from funding, of being like "But if we speak out publicly, we’ll shoot ourselves in the foot, and we won't be open next year." But if more organizations say it loud and clear and join in, then public health can't cut everyone’s budget. They won't be like "Because you're against mixed squad programs, we cut $200,000 from you." You know, it seems like those who dare to take the first step are needed.
Alia: Yeah, so maybe that brings us to our last question, which we're going to ask all our guests and it riffs off the title of the podcast. What would you like to build up in the place of the police?
Annie: Mhmm! Lots of things. I want more programs, more different programs that respond to different realities. Whether it's, for example, people on the autism spectrum who clearly can't go to the Maison du Père with 300 people, OK. I want small shelters, small programs, small housing, affordable housing at 25%, with on-site intervention, with a nurse, doctor – I want everything, everywhere. In the sense that we don't need an 800-story program. In every neighbourhood; there should be a small shelter, accommodations that respond to many different realities, a day center, a consumption site. You know there are so few in each neighbourhood; it's all centralized in the same place, which makes this idea of "Not in my backyard" so strong in other neighbourhoods. But if we start opening many small places everywhere, there will be fewer "Not in my backyard" reactions because it will be mandatory and accepted. That's what I would do with police money. And maybe, I don't know, I would eat better, a slightly better salary… without going to the food bank after work, you know, things like that? It's cheap labor; we're taken for cheap labor. But imagine there was a cop who made $170,000 a year. I make $31,000.
Karl: Yes, there are many police officers who make around $100,000.
Alia: And it would make a significant difference if the salaries were higher to motivate people towards investing in a distributed economy of care that's complex but isn't foregrounded in ya know… violence. Maybe you can just finish this sentence, what does community safety mean to you?
Annie: I think that public safety means social cohabitation. For example, we talk a lot in the media about the Saint-Henri affair, the supervised injection site; everyone is saying not close to my children – but that's why it exists there! I think people don't understand the goal of our projects, that we all agree, that it's security for everyone. It’s also for children that we open this type of site, in addition to the toxicity of drugs and all that, but that is another subject. Public safety must be for everyone. There is everything, in any social class, but we always target the poor, as we said earlier, that it is they who are like the disgusting people of society because of their social status. For me, public safety means programs for everyone.
Karl: Well, I would like to conclude by saying bravo for all the work you do, for the mobilization you do. The community sector doesn’t always have access to public discourse and like you represent an important voice. Bravo in any case for bringing these issues into the mainstream.
Annie: Thank you very much.
Karl: Thank you Annie.
[35:45]
[36:32]
Karl: Brûler Bâtir is produced by … Alia, Karl, Abby, Zo, and Orlando.
Karl: Big thanks to Annie for being our first guests. You can follow her on Instagram : @les2bordsdelaligne
Alia: The report we discussed on mixed squads is linked in the show notes where you can also find a full transcript of the episode in English and French. Our outro song is by Kimmortel off their new album Shoebox. We do this work in Tiohtià:ke on the unceded lands of the Kanien'kehá:ka. And special thanks to Orlando for reading and writing the narrative interludes you heard on community policing and mixed squads.
Karl: Share and subscribe! Thanks for listening and we’ll see you next time.
