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Opinion: A sad visit back to a gentrifying Pointe-St-Charles

I and my fellow gentrifiers of years past contributed to the current state of affairs, and now I join those whose memories no longer have a physical place to call home.

Luxury electric cars charge at public station in Pointe-St-Charles on Tuesday January 10, 2023. "The newest gentrifiers have not only late-model cars, but luxury vehicles," Jessica J. Mills writes.
Luxury electric cars charge at public station in Pointe-St-Charles on Tuesday January 10, 2023. "The newest gentrifiers have not only late-model cars, but luxury vehicles," Jessica J. Mills writes. Photo by Pierre Obendrauf /Montreal Gazette

In 2006, I bought a century-old rowhouse in Pointe-St-Charles. It was a disaster, but I loved it. Formerly industrial, the area was blighted when all the factories closed, no longer beholden to the canal that brought them there in the first place. Eventually, The Point began attracting people like me, young professionals, artists and students with limited capital and a will to renovate.

A new wave of gentrification began in earnest. Construction material was hidden among household garbage; a container would have been too big, too expensive, and far too telling of the secret work happening behind the heritage facades. We toiled away as the shift accelerated. Properties sold, new people moved in, people with some financial capital. The towering pile of garbage perched on the curb now dusted the mirrors of the newer-model sedans that had begun to replace our beaters.

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Fascinated by what I saw happening around me, I wrote my master’s thesis on the neighbourhood. I was struck by the number of people who were connected to the area. These “Pointers” swapped memories on websites and social media lamenting the good old days, the times before me and my fellow gentrifiers.

I never intended to leave, but then I received a dream job offer; I cut my roots just when they had begun to find purchase. I became the last of my entire family line to leave Quebec when I moved to Ottawa in 2012.

Recently, I drove into Montreal for the first time in a very long while. In many ways so unrecognizable, it still echoes of home. At least it did, until I drove along the Lachine Canal and turned into The Point. The shift in the landscape might be less obvious than in its adjacent neighbourhoods, but is equally perceptible. A special kind of sadness, the kind that comes when a part of your past is irrevocably erased, washed over me. The newest gentrifiers have not only late-model cars, but luxury vehicles. Condo buildings squeeze into former vacant lots. The active train tracks that still cross the neighbourhood seem not to have deterred the fancy bakeries or the new microbrewery. Property taxes continue to rise astronomically, rendering them unaffordable for more and more people who had long called the area home, and who had purchased when real estate there was much less costly. People who have lived in the area for generations are being forced to move. I can no longer afford to purchase my old house.

The creative destruction unleashed with the withdrawal of industry has cumulated in fancy condos and croissants. This neighbourhood used to be a refuge for people with precarious but consistent means. Where do they go now? Redevelopment and high-density housing are necessary in today’s urban landscape, but with them, we need to think more about preventing the displacement of people.

The Point I lived in is gone. Its next identity will be crafted by the children whose laughter peals out from municipal parks rather than junk-filled back alleys, whose parents were looking for an urban lifestyle with suburban comfort, proximity to the city and some beautiful green spaces.

Wouldn’t it be nice if this lifestyle could continue to be shared with original residents?

It is not lost on me that I have come full circle, joining those remembering this place using the written word and being wary of the newcomers. There is no doubt that I and my fellow gentrifiers contributed to the current state of affairs. I caused loss and now I am just the newest in a long line of people whose memories no longer have a physical place to call home, but perhaps, with the right will, I could be among the last.

Jessica J. Mills lives in Ottawa. She lived in Pointe-St-Charles from 2007 to 2012.

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