Words Matter: A Reflection on Supportive Housing, Fear, and Our Shared Humanity

A Moment That Calls for Reflection

Recently, public attention has been drawn to comments made by Vancouver City Councillor Lenny Zhou in a WeChat video, where supportive housing was described using language that has caused concern and hurt among many in our wider community. The reactions have been strong, emotional, and, at times, deeply divided. For some, the comments affirmed fears they already carried. For others, they reinforced painful experiences of stigma and exclusion. Yet beyond the immediate reactions, this moment invites us not simply to take sides, but to pause and reflect more deeply. Because this is not only about one person, one video, or one political controversy. It is about how we see one another, how we speak about those who are vulnerable, and ultimately, what kind of community we are becoming together.

Fear Is Real—but It Is Not the Whole Truth

To begin this reflection honestly, we must acknowledge that fear itself is real. Many residents, including many in the Chinese-speaking community, carry genuine concerns about supportive housing. These concerns often arise from uncertainty, from stories shared through media and social networks, and from a natural desire to protect families and neighbourhoods. Fear, in itself, is not something to be condemned. It is a human response to what we do not fully understand. Yet fear, when it remains unexamined, can gradually shape how we see others. It can create distance. It can turn human beings into categories. It can quietly lead us to believe that some people belong and others do not.

But the people who live in supportive housing are not abstract issues or social problems. They are persons, each with their own history, struggles, and dignity. Many are seniors who have fallen into isolation. Some are immigrants whose credentials were never recognized. Some live with trauma, mental illness, or addiction. Others lost housing because of economic hardship, illness, or family breakdown. Their lives cannot be reduced to labels. When we pause long enough to see their humanity, fear no longer tells the whole story.

Supportive Housing Is Not About Encouraging Harm—It Is About Restoring Stability

It is important, therefore, to understand what supportive housing is truly meant to do. Supportive housing does not exist to encourage harm, but to restore stability where stability has been lost. Without housing, everything becomes more fragile. Physical health deteriorates. Mental health declines. People become more vulnerable to danger, exploitation, and despair. Communities, in turn, experience greater visible suffering and strain on emergency systems.

Supportive housing offers something profoundly simple yet deeply transformative: a place to live, and the support needed to begin rebuilding life. It provides structure, connection, and the possibility of healing. It is not a perfect solution, because no human system is perfect. Yet it reflects an important truth—that stability is often the first step toward recovery. When people are given support rather than abandonment, many begin to find their way forward again.

The Responsibility of Words

This is why words matter so deeply, especially when spoken by those in positions of leadership. Words shape perception, and perception shapes how we respond to one another. When vulnerable people are described primarily in terms of threat or danger, it becomes easier for society to distance itself from their humanity. Over time, such language can reinforce stigma, deepen division, and make compassionate solutions more difficult to pursue.

Yet this responsibility does not belong only to public officials. It belongs to all of us. The way we speak, the assumptions we carry, and the stories we repeat all contribute to the kind of community we create together. We must ask ourselves honestly: are our words opening space for understanding, or are they reinforcing fear? Are they helping us see one another more clearly, or pushing us further apart? These questions are not easy, but they are necessary.

What I Have Learned from Walking Alongside People

For me, these questions are not theoretical. Through our ministry at St. Alban’s and the work of the 360 Community here in Richmond, I have had the privilege of walking alongside many individuals facing housing insecurity, addiction, and mental health challenges. I have shared meals with them. I have listened to their stories. I have seen not only their struggles, but also their courage, their humour, and their longing for peace.

What I have learned is simple but profound: no one chooses suffering in the way we sometimes imagine. Behind every struggle is often a story of loss, trauma, displacement, or isolation. And behind every story is a human being who longs, as we all do, for dignity, belonging, and hope. When we encounter people face to face, fear begins to lose its power. Distance makes it easy to misunderstand. Relationship makes it possible to see.

What Kind of Community Do We Want to Be?

This brings us to a deeper question that this moment places before all of us. What kind of community do we want to be? Do we want to be a community guided primarily by fear, or by care? Do we want to respond to suffering by turning away, or by walking alongside those who struggle?

A healthy society is not defined by how it treats those who are strong and secure. It is defined by how it treats those who are vulnerable. This does not mean ignoring complexity or dismissing legitimate concerns. Rather, it means addressing those concerns with wisdom, honesty, and compassion, without losing sight of the humanity of those involved. We can seek safety and compassion at the same time. These are not opposing values, but complementary ones.

A Spiritual Reflection

From a spiritual perspective, this reflection reaches even deeper. As a Christian, I am reminded that every person bears the image of God. This truth does not depend on a person’s success, stability, or social standing. It remains present even in weakness, even in struggle. Again and again, the ministry of Christ moved toward those whom society had pushed aside—the poor, the sick, the excluded, and the forgotten. He did not see them as problems to be removed, but as persons to be loved.

In doing so, he revealed something essential not only about God, but about the kind of community we are called to become. A community rooted in compassion does not deny suffering. It meets suffering with presence.

Moving Forward Together

We live in a time marked by uncertainty. Housing insecurity is real. Economic pressures are real. Social trust is fragile. In such a time, it becomes even more important to choose carefully how we see one another and how we speak about one another.

We can allow fear to shape our response. Or we can allow compassion to guide it.

We can use words that divide. Or we can use words that restore dignity.

The path we choose will shape not only public policy, but the moral character of our community itself. May we have the wisdom to see one another clearly, the courage to act with compassion, and the humility to remember that the strength of a community is found not in exclusion, but in the care we offer to one another.