The Craigslist post appeared in my feed not as a viable housing option but as a mocking indictment of what has become of the rental market in Vancouver.
The furnished 675-square-foot, one-bedroom “garden suite” in an older Kitsilano home boasted bright windows on three sides, a large walk-in closet and quick transit to downtown and UBC. All nice features if you could overlook the fact that it lacked a major appliance — no stove or oven, only a hotplate here — and came with several onerous conditions. The ad specified the space is “best suited” to a single tenant (“possibly a graduate student or working professional”) who leads a “quiet lifestyle” (“for example: you are preferably not a TV listener”) and night owls or shift workers need not apply (“I operate on a day schedule, hence this suite would work best for someone with a daytime schedule as well”). And pets? In this city? Dream on.
For this, the lucky tenant will have the pleasure of paying $1,490 a month, $1,555 if you plan to split the rent with a partner or friend, thus triggering a $65 surcharge.
Although the post netted its share of derision and even raised questions about whether a self-contained suite without a stove is considered legal, the sad truth is the place will be rented long before the month is out. Such is reality in a city with vacancy hovering near one per cent. It highlights the power imbalance that plays out between renters and landlords, and the glaring absence of a robust and active organization to advocate on behalf of the more than 50 per cent of Vancouver residents who rent.
Compared to other cities squeezed by high property values, Seattle and San Francisco come to mind, it’s mystifying to me that Vancouver hasn’t managed to get a tenants’ union off the ground. Technically, there is a Vancouver Renters Union. I know, I signed up to an email list outside of Kingsgate Mall during the last civic election, and spokespeople for the group have occasionally been quoted in media reports. But it has failed to materialize in any meaningful way. An email to the union’s Gmail account went unanswered, its website appears to be dormant, and a Facebook page with fewer than 600 likes is merely a repository for news stories about our overheated housing market. (A former spokesperson for the union I reached on social media told me they are in the midst of “restructuring” and that he could no longer speak for the group.)
This is in no way meant to criticize those behind the union. It’s not easy to organize renters, apparently. We are a transitory bunch, difficult to pin down and often busy tending to the pressures of a life lived in an environment where the cost of stable housing dwarfs the median income. Rather, this is a call to action for anyone unaware of the option. With housing prices that force many who would otherwise buy to remain renting, with market rates that are increasing in step with that demand, and with unforeseen forces such as Airbnb diminishing supply, it’s time renters came together to advocate for ourselves.
I often hear from landlords and building managers that renters don’t need more protection, B.C.’s Residential Tenancy Act is stacked on our side.
That is true — on paper the Act is weighted in our favour. But as anyone who’s ever competed with dozens of other people ready to throw literal wads of cash at every landlord who shows a half-way decent suite knows, there is virtually no room for negotiation, much less getting into the nitty gritty of the law. Putting aside for a moment that most renters don’t know their rights, and those who do face barriers accessing the time-consuming and complex dispute resolution process set out by the Residential Tenancy Branch, people are so desperate for decent housing in Vancouver they will, and do, put up with all manner of questionable conduct.
Whether it’s agreeing to restrictions on daily activities that fall well outside the realm of respecting the right to “quiet enjoyment,” paying obscene prices for suites that lack basic appliances, or putting up with nefarious, harassing, or abusive behaviour from unscrupulous property managers or landlords (a former building manager who rifled through my laundry and threatened my then-boyfriend comes to mind), renters need a unified political presence.
In other cities, tenants unions run drop-in centres to educate renters on their rights and responsibilities, offer support on dispute resolution, spearhead community organizing initiatives, endorse political candidates and lobby for things like rent control. They even help communities navigate new territory like Airbnb. Here, beyond the understaffed Tenants Resource Advisory Centre and a handful of drop-in legal clinics, renters are left largely on our own.
But it doesn’t have to be that way. We are a growing class in Vancouver that seems destined to stay that way for as long as housing prices continue to rise. We have the numbers. Now we need the clout.
You can reach the Vancouver Renters Union at [email protected].
