A spider is weaving a web in the corner of the doorway of the J.F. Norwood House.
An occupant of the building sits below the web, blowing smoke out of her lips, fierce gaze focusing on the spider lacing lethargically. Toughness exudes off of her like a bad breath.
The woman is a rehabilitating criminal who lives in the J.F. Norwood House attached to the Bronson Centre.
The transitional centre is home to six women who are serving their sentences under the terms and conditions of day parole, full parole or statutory release imposed by the National Parole Board.
The women who work and live in the J.F. Norwood House often sit outside of the Bronson Centre, to smoke or get fresh air.
Two of the women who work in the building that was established by the Elizabeth Fry Society seven years ago, say the lack of funding for support programs of troubled youth is the why reason buildings like the J.F. Norwood house exist.
They say Centretown is an example of a community that perpetuates the cycle of youth crime. “The problem of youth crime begins at the community level. This is where they first get stuck,” says Charrie Monette, a woman who works in the building.
An insect has become entangled in the web and the spider is moving towards it.
Monette says many of the youth who turn to crime have experienced lack of support in their families and turn elsewhere.
“In Centretown, there isn’t a place for these kids to go. There is only one youth shelter downtown and it’s just for females. They have no way to get by so they turn to other things,” Monette says.
Sarah Quintal, another woman who works in the building, agrees.
“The shelters that are in Centretown are located in areas which make it even more accessible for youth to become involved in negative activities,” she says.
Quintal explains that she worked for an organization that attempts to reunite troubled teens with adults who care about them, in an effort to get them off the streets. She says the organization was located right beside a crack house.
“The kids would come for help, and we’d lose half of them because they’d stop next door and that would be that. We wouldn’t see them again,” she says.
Monette says the problem leads to young people committing crimes, partly a reason why Prime Minister Stephen Harper's proposals are far too severe to some people. Such a proposal includes more life sentences for teens 14 or over who commit serious crimes.
The resident interrupts abruptly.
“Man, that is no solution. You’re just putting kids in what’s supposed to be an adult system. I’ve been there. Every day I was around older criminals who taught me how to be a better criminal. The stuff I learned in there was crazy,” she says, hardening her gaze and blowing smoke towards the traffic.
The woman still undergoing rehabilitation says the teenagers who are serving sentences are often scared when they get out because they don’t know how to live normally again, and rely on the skills they learned from more experienced criminals in prison.
The former inmate says she knew a woman in prison named Ashley, who was 19 and nearing the end of her sentence. She heard Ashley often speaking about how much she missed her mother, and couldn’t wait to see her family again. Ashley committed suicide three months prior to completing her sentence.
“I think she was just so scared because that’s what happens when you put a kid in a system for years. They don’t know how to deal with anything when they get out,” she says.
“I’m still so angry, about her. The guards were supposed to be watching her and they didn’t. She was one of us, and they let us all down when they let her die,” the woman says, her voice quickening, her eyes hardening.
The woman says she is happy to be living in Centretown, where she gets services offered to her that never existed in prison.
“Here, each lady has her own support worker, an opportunity to go out, accessibility to medication and clinics,” she says as she lights another cigarette.
The spider drops from its web.
The young woman leaps from her chair, squeals and swats at the tiny insect, while squeaking, “Gross! Ew!”
She giggles sheepishly, curling her tiny hands around her mouth.
“Shit, I hate those things,” she says as she puts out her cigarette with her flip flop sandal, and the door locks behind her.