By Scott Foster
Tucked away in a corner on the fourth floor of 255 Albert St. is a room like no other in the city.
If the walls at the Ontario Rental Housing Tribunal could talk, they would speak about the many tenants who come facing eviction from their homes.
“We’re talking about very serious ramifications here,” says John Goodchild, one of two full-time adjudicators who oversee hearings between landlords and tenants at the tribunal. He’s perched on a swivel chair at one end of the room and speaks to the tenant and landlord seated before him. The seats in the gallery remain empty except for a security guard at the back.
“If I am to decide whether to approve the eviction of this man, I must have all the evidence.”
The tenant — a slight man in his mid 30s — faces a long list of accusations. Although he represents himself, his friend has come along for moral support. The landlord alleges the tenant’s backyard and basement are packed with fire hazards such as paint cans and bags full of garbage. He also accuses the tenant of missing the rent for months at a time. Goodchild pores over photocopied pictures of the house and listens to the man’s pleas.
On the surface, the tribunal seems to run much like a regular courtroom. Although the setting is less formal than provincial courts, the hearing is serious business for all involved. There is evidence, examinations and cross-examinations conducted by lawyers or self-represented parties on either side.
“For all intents and purposes, this is a trial. And we treat it as such,” says David Wright, the other full-time adjudicator.
Wright and Goodchild hold their proceedings in a room at the end of a narrow corridor, around the corner from the front office. It is the heart of all tribunal operations. These quasi-judges oversee flurries of heated squabbles between tenants and landlords. Disputes range from tenant complaints over unfair rent increases to accusations of property damage. Landlord complaints could range from mounting rent arrears to tenants’ reckless behaviour and safety problems.
“Look! If you both speak at the same time, we will get nowhere and this will start to resemble an episode of Jerry Springer,” Wright says to the tenant and landlord seated before him during another hearing. He leans on his oak desk and sternly peers over the frames of his glasses.
“God has given me only one set of ears, and I cannot hear both of you at once.”
The landlady adamantly claims the tenant has a rent backlog of three months. But the tenant insists over and over that she has sent the cheques.
“I just need to have my say once and for all,” the frustrated tenant says, glaring across the room at her landlady.
It is clear this dispute is not new — their tired eyes and spent faces show it all. Minutes before, they had filed into the room escorted by two of the tribunal’s mediators.
A last-ditch attempt to settle the squabble before the hearing took place was fruitless. Now the beleaguered mediators sit at the back of the room and watch things unfold.
While Wright says he sees a lot of action, the front office is a different story. The office’s waiting area has 10 empty chairs lined up like theatre seats before three public servants at a counter.
You could hear a pin drop on the carpeted floor if it weren’t for the sound of one worker stamping a thick pile of application forms. A lone lawyer walks briskly by the desks, a navy-blue trench coat hangs over his lean frame and a loosened necktie hangs around his neck.
Although it’s Tuesday — supposedly one of the tribunal’s busiest days — a bleary-eyed civil servant claims the place gets more hectic as the week wears on.
The room’s sparse feel may reveal a lot. Surveys have shown the application process — overseen by this office — leaves many people confused. The Centre for Equality Rights in Accommodation, a housing advocacy group, found almost one-third of people facing eviction had never received copies of the eviction papers, which notify tenants of a hearing date. Out of the people who did, one-third did not realize they had to respond to the notice within five calendar days. Failing to do so means the landlord wins by default. Tribunal figures show 53 per cent of its cases have resulted in landlords winning by default, which means tenants didn’t show up at the tribunal or write back within five days.
Despite critics of the tribunal calling this process an “eviction machine,” Wright insists all decisions are made with great care. But whether all potential cases actually receive a hearing is another matter. As the numbers show, more people need to understand the process before justice can be served.