Six weeks after Sydney Creighton moved into her new 350-square-foot studio apartment in Toronto’s Kensington Market, she still couldn’t believe it was hers.
“Every night I would look at my cat and go, ‘Oh, my God, I hope the real tenant doesn’t come home and kick us out,’” Creighton says with a laugh.
Grandma Syd, as people affectionately call her, is a fixture of the Market. With her cropped silver hair, tattoos, and penchant for leopard print, Creighton is not your typical grandma. She’s charismatic and cool, blending in with the young, edgy crowd that frequents this area. You get the sense that she’d win in a fight, even at the age of 75.
When the Kensington Market Community Land Trust purchased the “Mona Lisa building” in 2021, Creighton’s friend put her name forward for one of the 12 residential units.
Creighton has now lived in her apartment for just over two years, alongside her pet python, DiMaggio. She pays just over $1,000 a month in rent, though her unit used to go for two and a half times that price. For years, the previous owner of the building had been attempting to “renovict” tenants, some of whom had lived there for decades.
After several people fought to stay, the building was put up for sale. The community sprung into action, says Chiyi Tam, the former executive director of the Kensington Market Community Land Trust. Through grants and several loans from the City of Toronto, the land trust bought the building for just over $6 million, its first purchase since incorporation in 2017.
Many of the original tenants were able to stay in their homes, and others, like Creighton, had the opportunity to live in a community-owned, affordable apartment for the first time.
“It’s like a dream come true for me,” she says.
Canada’s protracted housing crisis — with widespread gentrification, rising rents, and a seemingly endless cycle of evictions — has left many people, at best, feeling anxious about the future of their neighbourhoods. At worst, it has forced people onto the streets, into their cars, or overwhelmed shelter systems.
Canada is losing affordable rental units faster than new ones are being built. To close the gap, 332,000 rental units need to be created over the next three years, an unlikely feat considering just 70,000 rental units were completed last year and labour shortages have slowed construction.
Despite the $4 billion the federal government has committed to boost the housing supply and much talk about building new homes fast, many communities have not felt any respite. House prices and rents continue to climb in many small and mid-sized towns as well as in Canada’s biggest cities. In Vancouver, the average rent of a one-bedroom has surpassed $3,000 a month.
With markets refusing to cool, people are taking matters into their own hands and forming community land trusts, a housing model that upends the current system of land ownership and who benefits from it.
Here’s how it works. A community land trust — or CLT — is a non-profit organization, often started by concerned residents and grassroots organizers in a specific area. Similar to co-op housing, community land trusts use a shared equity model. But, unlike co-ops, where each household has a share of the building, land trusts acquire and develop land on behalf of a whole community.
Residents who live or work in the area can be members, and maintain control through democratic processes like voting and committees. Community land trusts can own anything important to the community. Often that’s affordable housing, but it could also be commercial businesses or green space.
Once a community land trust owns a parcel of land, it remains in community hands forever, says Joshua Barndt, the executive director of the Parkdale Neighbourhood Land Trust.
“That’s going to transform the relationship of our communities to land,” Barndt says. “If we can trust that we’re not going to get kicked out, we’re not going to get renovicted, we’re not going to be economically displaced, then we can actually be secure members of our communities.”
Canada’s first community land trusts were established in the 1990s in response to dwindling government funding for social housing. These sector-based land trusts consolidated existing co-op housing in major cities, such as Vancouver, Toronto, and Montreal. They’re still operated today by large housing associations, such as the Co-operative Housing Federation of B.C. or the Co-operative Housing Federation of Toronto.
Canada is now in the midst of what Barndt calls “a community land trust renaissance.” From Vancouver to Whitehorse, Muskoka to Halifax, there are now more than 40 land trusts in Canadian cities and towns, and most started up just within the last decade. In contrast to its predecessors, this new generation has come about through grassroots community organizing that focuses on the needs of their neighbourhoods or towns.
“They’re not just interested in affordable housing,” says Susannah Bunce, an associate professor at the University of Toronto who studies community land trusts. “They’re also equally interested in community-based development and mobilization around larger structural pressures like gentrification.”
Barndt gets calls from people every week asking how they can set up a community land trust where they live. In response to this insatiable demand, a national network was created in 2017 to share best practices and support the growth of land trusts across Canada.
“What I’ve seen in the last few years is interest from all types of communities — urban, rural, and suburban,” says Nat Pace, the coordinator of the Canadian Network of Community Land Trusts.
The Parkdale Neighbourhood Land Trust formed in 2014. At that time, very few people in Toronto knew what a community land trust was, Barndt says. He grew up in Parkdale, a bustling working-class neighbourhood in Toronto’s west end that has long been a landing spot for new immigrants. Tibetan monks with their orange and burgundy robes walk alongside African, South Asian, and Caribbean newcomers. Restaurants selling momos, patties, and rotis line Queen Street West, the neighbourhood’s main artery.
Parkdale is unique for its high proportion of renters: nearly 90 per cent of residents rent and, in recent years, many mom-and-pop landlords have been replaced by real estate investment firms looking to turn a profit as the neighbourhood gained popularity among a younger, hip crowd. Rents increased. Low-income households were forced to leave their apartments, replaced by tenants with more purchasing power.
The land trust started buying small apartment buildings in the neighbourhood as they came up for sale. The goal was simple: preserve as many affordable units as possible and keep people in their homes. Its first purchases were two multi-unit lowrises on Maynard Street.
“They sold the buildings to us and now those rents are permanently affordable,” Barndt says. “In the future, if a unit becomes vacant, then we can make sure that someone who is low-income and in need of housing can access that unit.”
When community land trusts become the new landlord, rents are typically lowered to below market value or geared to the income of an individual tenant. But, like any landlord, land trusts incur costs: mortgages, staff, hydro, water, and maintenance. Often there are repairs or renovations needed to bring units up to code. Barndt says the trust considers all of these costs prior to purchasing a property and makes sure it has enough upfront capital to cover them, so it rarely has to increase rents.
So where does that money come from? It’s complicated and often varies from sale to sale. But generally, community land trusts raise money through donations from residents or foundations that support their vision. They access government grants and loans, as well as social impact investments from private companies and banks.
“We don’t have to wait for the private sector to solve this. We can do it ourselves.”
Through these fundraising efforts, the Parkdale Neighbourhood Land Trust — and its charitable arm, The Neighbourhood Land Trust — have built an impressive housing portfolio worth approximately $85 million. It now owns 85 properties and oversees 205 rental units in Toronto’s west end. The Parkdale Neighbourhood Land Trust’s success has re-energized the land trust movement in Canada.
“It’s very empowering when we can say, ‘We can actually do something about this. We don’t have to wait for the private sector to solve this. We can do it ourselves,’” Bardnt says.
Coming up with the money to purchase properties is the movement’s biggest hurdle. This summer, as word of a possible major redevelopment plan rippled through the neighbourhood, the Kensington Market Land Trust tried to buy two Victorians on Kensington Ave. to prevent it from going forward. The pair of houses, which each contain multiple rental units and a vintage store, were listed at $4 million. The group launched a public fundraising campaign but ultimately wasn’t able to raise enough funds.
“It requires many, many failures for each one of our successes to come through,” says Tam. “We just have to keep on pushing.”
While several government programs exist to fund new affordable housing developments, not many cater to the acquisition of existing housing. The City of Toronto recently launched one such program, but on a national level, none currently exists. The Canadian Mortgage and Housing Corporation (CMHC) has provided several land trusts with funding to get off the ground, but whether a long-term program will materialize is an open question. The CMHC declined an interview for this story.
Governments at all levels are showing interest in the community land trust model, Bunce says, but in order for these organizations to be successful, there needs to be more support for the nonprofit housing sector. Most of the new community land trusts are run by volunteers, or, at most, one or two paid staff members.
“We’ve seen situations (in the U.S. and U.K.) where community land trusts have failed because they’ve got money from the federal government for the management of their housing portfolio, but have no money to run their organization as a nonprofit,” she says.
As Canada’s land trust movement grows and evolves, Bunce worries that governments could offload the responsibility of providing affordable housing to these small non-profits.
“It’s a way for governments to say that they’re actually doing something about the housing crisis, but also not doing the work themselves,” she says.
Community land trusts are often associated with cities, where housing challenges are felt more acutely. But the COVID-19 pandemic fuelled the expansion of land trusts to small towns, Pace says, as housing shortages became exacerbated by people fleeing the city in search of nature and space.
Two and a half hours north of Toronto is one of the most popular cottage destinations in the country, known as “The Hamptons of the North”. In Muskoka, Ontario, with its network of picturesque lakes and white pine trees, the average home costs around $800,000 and prices are going up.
Residents formed a community land trust in 2021 to develop affordable housing for people who work essential jobs in the area — nurses, grocers, and postal workers — but who have been priced out of the housing market.
In rural areas, where home ownership is preferred over renting, community land trusts function slightly differently. The Muskoka Community Land Trust plans to build new, affordable homes on land donated by the municipality. It will take out loans to cover the cost of construction, then will sell those houses to low-income families, while retaining ownership of the land the house sits on. When a family decides to put a house back on the market, it will split the equity from the sale with the community land trust.
“Keeping the land under the land trust over time allows us the opportunity to control resale values,” says Suzanne Martineau, chairperson of the Muskoka Community Land Trust and a real estate agent by trade. “These units are not going to go back out into the (private) real estate market because if that happens, we wouldn’t be able to maintain affordability in perpetuity.”
Curtis Whiley hopes to develop a similar model in Upper Hammonds Plains, a small African Nova Scotian community northwest of Halifax. Over the past five years, developers have rushed to the area because of its unique “general use” zoning, where apartment buildings or industrial businesses could be built without development agreements or any community input.
“We want there to be development in Upper Hammonds Plains, but we need it to happen on our terms.”
Ads for the new row houses and modern townhouse complexes feature smiling white couples hiking in the woods. “The homes are perfect for nature lovers who want to unwind,” reads one.
Whiley says, often, all of the new units were sold pre-construction before any community members became aware of them.
“It’s literally been the wild, wild west of development,” Whiley says. “We want there to be development in Upper Hammonds Plains, but we need it to happen on our terms.”
Upper Hammonds Plains is part of Halifax Regional Municipality, which is scrambling to build more housing. It has the second lowest vacancy rate in the country at one per cent. An average two-bedroom now is rented for about $1,500 a month, up by nine per cent. That’s the highest single-year increase in the municipality’s history, according to the CMHC.
“We just don’t have rental units. We don’t have housing units. As soon as a house goes on the market, it is sold,” says Pam Lovelace, the city councillor for District 13, which includes Upper Hammonds Plains. “So the municipality is working hand-in-hand with the province to develop more housing units quickly.”
Whiley often drives along Pockwock Road, the main throughway in the community, to see where new developments are happening. Until recently, it was the only way he and others who call this place home were able to find out what was being built.
“There was no signage as to who was building. You just saw these trucks showing up. They’re building,” says longtime resident Sabrina Allison. She and many other Black community members say they feel blindsided by the sudden interest in their part of town.
“When I was growing up, people were afraid to come into this community. It had a bad name. Nobody wanted to live up here,” says Allison, adding that it has always been a safe haven for her and her family.
Several other residents echoed that sentiment. Gina Jones-Wilson is a sixth-generation African Nova Scotian. Like many families living in Upper Hammonds Plains, her ancestors are descendants of Black refugees who escaped slavery and fought on the side of the British during the War of 1812. In exchange for their service, they were promised land in a British colony. Former soldiers and their families were settled on the hilly outskirts of Halifax.
“I don’t think they expected our ancestors to actually live, but we didn’t only survive, we strived,” says Jones-Wilson, who runs the Upper Hammonds Plains Development Association. “We’re still here over 200 years later.”
The history of Upper Hammonds Plains is one steeped in systemic anti-Black racism. Residents have had to fight for basic infrastructure and services, and in many cases, been forced to come up with their own solutions. When the lumber mills kept burning down and no fire department would respond to the area, the community created its own in 1966. It became Canada’s first all-Black volunteer fire department.
In the mid-1970s, the province expropriated 9,600 acres of the Pockwock Lake watershed in Upper Hammonds Plains, which once served as a source of food and recreational activities for the community.
Clean drinking water was piped to Haligonians further south, bypassing Upper Hammonds Plains where residents relied on orange-tinted well water. The community filed a human rights complaint and pressured the municipality to connect homes, eventually leading to a lengthy legal battle that the community won.
Twenty-five years after the water treatment plant was built in their backyard, the residents of Upper Hammonds Plains finally gained access to clean drinking water.
“The fight has been ever since we’ve been here. We fought and we still continue to fight,” Jones-Wilson says.
Recently, real estate agents and developers have approached residents, offering to buy their land. Some Black families have sold and left, Whiley and Jones-Wilson say. On the community’s behest, Halifax Regional Municipality conducted a study that found, as of November 2022, only 38 per cent of the land in Upper Hammonds Plains is owned by African Nova Scotians.
“We’re not gated. We just want to protect what our ancestors built.”
“That’s when community members said, ‘This is enough, we’re losing our community,” Jones-Wilson says. “We’re not gated. We just want to protect what our ancestors built.”
That’s what led Whiley to create the Upper Hammonds Plains Community Land Trust last year. The first thing it did, alongside other community groups, was amend the zoning. No longer can developers build without consulting residents, but already permitted projects can still go ahead; of those, 746 new units could be added, increasing the population by a third.
Adding that many new people to a historically under-resourced area has local councillor Lovelace concerned. Large-scale housing developments have gone ahead “without any infrastructure whatsoever,” Lovelace says. There are no public transit, parks, sidewalks, childcare, or health clinics.
Lovelace’s main concern is that there’s only one road in and one road out. When a massive wildfire ripped through the area earlier this year and forced the community to evacuate, Pockwock Road was the only escape route.
“Obviously the community recognizes that we’re in a housing crisis. But the bigger issue for them, especially after this wildfire, is the reality of what it means to put that many people on a dead-end road,” Lovelace says. HRM has now launched a long-term community planning study for Upper Hammonds Plains.
Community land trusts are new to Nova Scotia. Lovelace is excited by their vision and hopes the provincial government will feel the same. Whiley has his sights set on five parcels of Crown land, including one that fronts onto Little Pockwock Lake. He’s submitted an application to the province tracing the properties’ ownership back to descendants of Black refugees. He’s hoping the province will transfer the land to the community land trust at almost no cost.
If it’s successful, he’ll launch community meetings to see what people want the land to be used for — perhaps affordable housing, or maybe a public park with a beach where kids can play in the lake.
“That would be an act of reparation, right?” Whiley says. He hopes community ownership of land will preserve and protect the legacy of Upper Hammonds Plains as well as rectify past injustices. Several other Black communities are closely watching his progress.
“I see it as really the only mechanism for us in terms of community transformation and taking control,” he says.
Beyond the goal of creating affordable housing — land trusts have given people a voice and a shared vision for the future of their neighbourhoods.
“It has brought us all together,” Whiley says. “The trust is just really a name, an organization on paper — it’s us.”
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