What if human connection is part of the answer to homelessness?
I recently interviewed Peter Corbyn, Executive Director of the New Brunswick Non-Profit Housing Association. It was an excellent conversation, made especially memorable by the humility he brought to it. He did not pretend to have simple answers to a problem that has resisted simple solutions for a long time.
At one point, I said something that almost left him speechless.
I suggested that for people experiencing homelessness—or living with poverty, mental illness, or other conditions associated with not having enough money—it may be more important to connect with other people than to be housed.
That is about as broad a brush as I have ever used.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized they needed more thought. Clearly, someone sleeping outside in a New Brunswick winter requires shelter. A person living in an unsafe or unstable situation needs a safe place to live. Housing is a human right; it is not optional, and human connection alone cannot keep someone warm in the cold.
Still, there was a truth in the observation.
Perhaps connection is not more important than housing. Maybe the real point is that housing alone may not be enough.
A set of keys can open a door, but it cannot, on its own, build trust, friendship, confidence, or a feeling of belonging. It cannot guarantee that someone will notice if they do not show up. Nor can it replace the experience of being recognized by name rather than by a case number.
We sometimes talk about homelessness as if it’s mainly a lack of buildings. While the shortage of affordable housing is definitely a big part of the problem, homelessness can also mean losing relationships—with family, work, community, institutions, and sometimes with one’s own sense of purpose.
When those relationships are damaged or lost, placing someone in an apartment might fix one immediate problem but leave many others unresolved.
This does not lessen the importance of housing. It encourages us to think about what allows a person to stay housed, regain stability, and start imagining a different future.
Canadian Housing First programs have recognized this connection. Housing First does not just mean providing a place to stay. Its principles also include personal choice, recovery, individual support, and integration into the community. Housing provides a stable foundation. Relationships can help someone start to build from there.
That distinction catches my interest.
We know what it feels like to enter a room where no one knows us. We also know the difference when even one familiar face is there. Most of us have experienced moments when being welcomed, remembered, or included changed how we saw ourselves and the situation around us.
Why would this be any less important for someone whose life has become unstable?
In fact, it could be more significant.
People experiencing homelessness or poverty are often surrounded by systems but still feel deeply alone. They may meet intake workers, health professionals, police officers, shelter staff, government agencies, and charitable groups. Many of these people are caring and dedicated to their work. However, a professional contact does not always become a human relationship.
Systems offer services. Communities foster belonging.
This is where a peer-to-peer initiative may have something to offer.
A peer isn’t necessarily a therapist or case manager. Instead, a peer might simply be someone who understands, listens without rushing to fix things, and stays present long enough for trust to build. People with lived experience may be especially suited to provide this kind of support because they understand things that can’t always be learned from a manual.
The relationship must have clear boundaries and adequate support. Good intentions are not enough. Peer participants need training, supervision, and compensation for their experience. No one should be expected to handle another person’s difficulties alone.
Yet the core idea is very simple: bring two people together and see what happens.
Does the person become more willing to attend appointments? Do they find it easier to navigate services? Are they more likely to stay housed? Do they start participating in community activities? Does their sense of isolation change? Might someone who initially receives support eventually become a source of support for another person?
These questions could be explored through a small community pilot.
Governments understandably want proof before investing public funds in a new approach. That means communities might need to take the initial step—not because the government bears no responsibility, but because local experience can show what is possible.
A community doesn’t need to end homelessness before it can start reducing isolation. Nor does it need a big organization to connect people, establish regular gathering spots, or include those with lived experience in shaping initiatives.
The evidence would come from careful observation. Some of it could be measured: housing stability, service use, appointments kept, and participation in community life. Some would come from personal stories. Numbers might show that something changed. People’s stories may help us understand why.
There is also a bigger question here.
What do we mean when we say someone has been successfully housed?”
Are we asking whether the person has an address, or do we also want them to feel safer, more connected, and more capable of participating in their community?
Maybe we’ve been thinking of housing as the end goal when it’s really the beginning.
I remain cautious about my original statement. I would not want it to be interpreted as suggesting that conversation can replace a safe home. It cannot.
However, I am increasingly convinced that the reverse is also true. A safe home cannot always replace human connection.
People need somewhere to live. They also need a sense of belonging.
What could happen if our communities started treating both as essential?
Jay Remer was raised in the United States and emigrated to Canada roughly 30 years ago. Since then, I have been involved in the writers’ community and the hospitality industry. I live in Saint Andrews, NB, and look forward to the day when healthy, civil debates bear more compassionate outcomes. Please feel free to send your questions: jayremer@chco.tv
