A new film about the Depaul Trust's wet hostels, where alcoholics are allowed to continue drinking, challenges our perceptions of the homeless, writes SHARON NÍ CHONCHÚIR
A DISHEVELLED man in an oversized raincoat and tattered hat weaves a shopping trolley through the streets of Dublin. He leads us along his regular route through the city, rummaging for scrap metal in every skip he finds along the way.
This is Peter Kelly, a man with a deeply entrenched alcohol problem who spent more than 20 years sleeping rough on these same city streets. Since 2002, he has been housed by Dublin's Depaul Trust, a sometimes controversial organisation that has helped him to rebuild his life.
Both Kelly and the Depaul Trust are the subjects of a new documentary feature film, Sláinte, which is to be premiered at the Sugar Club on Thursday. It's a film that sets out to challenge our perception of homeless people and the different approaches that can be used to support them.
"What do you see when you encounter a homeless person drinking on the streets?" asks Federica Lotta, who co-directed the film with Edurne Bargueno Vida. "A homeless drunk and nothing more. We hope to show that there is always something beyond what you can see - a story to be told. My experience with the Depaul Trust taught me to read those stories."
The trust was established in London in 1989 in response to the growing number of homeless in the city. It was controversial from the outset because of its "wet hostels" - hostels in which residents such as Peter are allowed to continue drinking.
Alcoholics are often excluded from homeless shelters and this, according to Sam Priestly, director of services with the Depaul Trust makes them "a marginalised group within what is already a marginalised group".
"Why should they be denied help?" she continues. "We came up with the concept of a place where people with acute drink problems would be accepted, where they could receive support and start rebuilding their lives."
This concept is known as "low threshold", a reference to the fact that the Depaul Trust is willing to work with people who have serious behavioural issues, people who may have been denied access to other services.
The trust's other guiding principle is harm reduction. These are techniques used to help residents who are unwilling or unable to stop drinking, to minimise the alcohol-related harm they do to themselves and to others.
Herein lies the source of contention. "Some people think we should be more assertive in encouraging residents to give up alcohol," says Priestly. "But we have found that when support is offered along with acceptance of the fact that people relapse, people are more likely to stay within the programme."
The Depaul Trust have been in Ireland since 2002 and have since opened five hostels in Dublin and three in Belfast, currently supporting a community of 288 people.
"The perception when we arrived was that it wasn't possible for people with alcohol or drug addictions to live communally," says Priestly. "We've proved this isn't the case. People don't want to live on the streets. If they find acceptance in a place that lets them drink, they will settle."
They will also receive a wide range of support services. Hostel staff are on hand 24 hours a day. Each resident is assigned a key worker with whom they meet weekly to discuss progress and problems. A case-management worker helps them to link up with other agencies such as housing authorities, health boards and the like. A nurse deals with health issues (an important consideration in a group that has a life expectancy of 42 years).
And then there's the drinking. "We work out a plan tailored to their needs," says Priestly. "It's all about small steps, even something as simple as only drinking beer instead of spirits."
THE DEPAUL TRUST relies on volunteers to supplement its staff numbers and this was how Italian Federica Lotta became involved in 2006. She spent six months in the Aungier Street hostel, and while she was there, she became particularly close to Peter.
"I was there at the right moment, when he was just beginning to open up to people," she remembers. "He would tell me all about his adventures with his trolley on the streets of Dublin."
It was when she came across some old pictures of Peter living on the streets - some of which were published in this newspaper - that she realised just how interesting a character he was. "I got a shock," she says. "It wasn't the Peter I knew, who was a funny gentleman and full of life. So I started to fill in the gaps. I realised his story was about the gradual changes that had come about thanks to the care he received from the Depaul Trust."
Federica realised she had material for a film. She got together with Edurne Bargueno Vida, a Spanish film-maker then studying at DIT, and started filming in February 2007.
The result is an observational documentary that allows Peter and the other residents of Aungier Street to speak for themselves. Peter, originally from Mullingar, tells us how he was homeless for what he thinks was 20 years (his sense of time lost its structure during his years on the streets). During those years, his problems with alcohol worsened and he became estranged from his family.
But it's not entirely downhearted. We also learn about his "scrap metal business", which consists of sifting through the city's skips for reusable metal and makes him €60-€80 a week. We also hear about how the hostel staff helped him to get back in touch with his sister and to apply for a post office book - a huge source of pride and proof positive that he is a fully-fledged member of the community.
Since the documentary was made, the Depaul Trust has opened a new long-term residential unit on James Street and, after living on Aungier Street for six years, Peter moved here in September.
"It's much better," says Peter, as he relaxes on the sofa in the common room. "I have my own room. In Aungier Street, I had to share with two others."
The Depaul Trust has made a difference to Peter's life. After more than 20 years on the street, he now has the keys to his own home, a place where he can come and go as he pleases. They have helped him get back in touch with his family and he is looking forward to a visit from his sister early in the New Year.
He has also gained in confidence, especially from having been involved in making the documentary. "I've even got new ideas for making another film," he jokes. "When I see Federica, I'll have to tell her all about them."
However, the trust can't solve all of the problems in Peter's life. The recession has led to there being less scrap metal in the skips around Dublin. "People just aren't building any more," he complains. "This recession is hitting everyone."
WE ALSO MEET other residents in the documentary. There's Mary, who recently moved back in with her daughters after years on the streets; Aidan, who was an engineer in the Army; and Barry, who has since died.
We see them drinking in the hostel. We witness the conflicts that arise as a result of these vulnerable and troubled people drinking to excess. And we observe the staff as they try to address the underlying problems.
Ultimately, we are given an insight into the lives of people who were once discarded by society and who are now being given the hope for a better life.
As Lotta says, "when nothing else is possible, this might be the only way that's left."
• Sláintewill be premiered at the Sugar Club, Lower Leeson Street, Dublin, at 6pm on Thursday. www.depaultrust.ie