Friends,
I was thinking back recently to when Campbell’s Soup closed in Listowel. When was that, around 2008? I remember at that time feeling as though a ripple of shock and anger flowed through the communities, with generations of family members fearful of what would lie ahead, now that this employer of hundreds of people was closing its doors.
For the past several weeks I have been following media coverage of the situation in Wingham, perhaps not unlike the Campbell’s closure years back and the subsequent impact on communities, with concern of the possibility of Wescast cutting many jobs. I wondered, with It Takes A Village requiring no identification or money in our support to community members, what this situation would look like for our team and our already tight resources. But more importantly, I felt profound concern for how the employees of Wescast would find their footing, with unexpected unemployment in a post-pandemic recession, and perhaps never having to reach out for support before.
And today, as a fragile human stood in the doorway of my office, looking shellshocked and lost, I was painfully aware that the impact is upon us.
I was finishing up a phone call when a volunteer knocked on my door. “Andrea? There’s someone here and I think you should talk to them.” I could see concern on the volunteer’s face.
These conversations come when volunteers can really sense someone is struggling, and need more than our storefront or food pantry. Often these situations give us the opportunity to help community members seek out other important support and resources in the area.
“Sure thing!” I replied. “Can they come on back to chat?” In short time, this person appeared in my office doorway – late 40s maybe? Someone’s parent? The person you’d let go ahead of you in line at the grocery store, and then laugh with because you both left your reusable bags in the trunk. But there was something in their eyes, an eerily painful vulnerability that I felt deep in my soul and that the volunteer later shared feeling as well.
“Here it is,” I thought to myself, after they shared that were laid off from a manufacturing plant in Wingham. “This is the human side of these corporate decisions.” The experience of people who have never had to receive community support before, in the water and searching for the shore.
The person expressed that there were rumours, but they were assured their job would be spared from the impending layoffs. This position was actually a second “later in life” career change, they shared. It was a decent-paying job with benefits and fairly close to home, which helped with gas expenses and child care. Once the shock of the layoffs began to set in, they shared that a close friend told them about this place in Listowel, ‘It Takes A Village,’ where they could get some food and clothes for the kids, with no money or ID needed.
“Honestly, I don’t know how it works here. Do I need to sign up or something?” We had a long chat and I explained how ITAV works. I wanted to ensure they comfortably understood what we do, but I also hoped that they would be able to explain it to others, especially those experiencing the fear and uncertainty this person articulated.
I explained that we are about the community caring for the community. That no ID or money is required.
Food can be accessed weekly from the food pantry or daily from the stand out front. We discussed that the items are donated by the community and given back out to the community, in a dignified and equitable model that sees every person who comes in given 20 points to shop with and every item having a point value.
“Folks can come every day, if needed. And it’s important to us that folks are people-supported and cared for. No questions asked.” They expressed gratitude, and what seemed like disbelief, at the concept of not needing any money. “So I don’t have to pay for this clothing?” they asked, motioning to the three shirts they held in their hand. “Nope,” I replied. “And if someday you feel to put a few coins in our donation box, when things are a little less stressful, that will help us pay our rent. But most importantly, we are just happy you came today.”
As we were chatting, and the time slipped past the 2 p.m. closing time, a volunteer went and packed up some food for this person. They continued on to express how this unexpected, life-altering situation was impacting them. “I feel so scared,” they said. “I can hardly sleep and I’ve been having these headaches that make me feel so sick.” We talked about that too, the ways in which job loss affects our physical and mental health, removes our daily social interactions and can leave us void of the sense of routine and purpose that’s been so important in life up until that point, let alone the financial impact. I asked about mental health support and they didn’t want to make any calls that day, but would circle back if they eventually did.
This person asked many times how they could give back. “I don’t want to just take things. What about if I volunteer here?” Dignity. More than ever, when people are navigating these stressful situations, it matters so much. The fact is, and especially in times like these, we want people to volunteer. Not only do we need hands, perhaps more importantly, we recognize that having a place to go, a meaningful way to contribute and people to be present with is necessary in helping everyone make it through these tough times. We discussed just popping in to volunteer for now, with no set schedule, so that giving of their time felt supportive and successful, rather than one more burden in this current crisis of job loss. “Just stop in, if you are in town. There’s always something to do here and we would love to have you. What about if we start there?”
When this patron left, and the last volunteer on that day’s shift came to say goodbye and I thanked them for staying later, we spoke about the feelings in the core of our bodies, for seeing the duress this person was experiencing. “I could feel it, inside of me,” the volunteer said. “They seemed so… lost.” I nodded. “I felt it too,” I expressed, and a knowing pause lingered between us.
The impact of this company cutting hundreds of jobs, the ripples of this devastating corporate decision, is happening. It’s here. And it’s painful to see. Our community has been here too, several years back. What we learned then, about resilience and how people can make it through together, financially and with physical and mental wellness, needs to be remembered. Our leadership, compassion and support is so important to our neighbours down the highway, as they now need a beacon in this storm.
Take good care of each other, friends.
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Andrea Charest serves as the director of It Takes A Village in Listowel.
