Fremantle’s tent city: What it’s like to spend the night with the residents who call Pioneer Park home

Tiannah Kelly is eight months pregnant. She and her boyfriend Jordan Smith are starting a family. They want the best for their baby. They’re planning for the future. They’re also living at Fremantle’s infamous “tent city”, an encampment of more than 75 tents and 100 residents. Ms Kelly is one of three pregnant residents. I met the young couple on Thursday, when I spent a night at the camp. We — myself and Daniel Wilkins, a photographer for The West Australian — arrived about 6pm, just as a dinner of sausages and salad was being dished up. Commuters rushed past the park, eyes down, though a few glanced furtively at the campers milling about. Taylor Swift’s You Need to Calm Down was booming out of a speaker. It turned out to be an apt song choice. Half an hour after our arrival, and before the sun had set, an outsider was “evicted” from the camp. He had been kicking off on the outskirts, hassling residents, swearing and yelling. Resident “security” Stanley Inman told him to leave — troublemakers aren’t welcome. Drunk outsiders harass camp residents “every night”, Mr Inman told me. “It’s already started,” he said, gesturing at a lone man staggering across the road, shouting incoherently. While other residents crash out, Mr Inman stalks a circuit around the park’s perimeter, telling agitators to get lost. “They’re welcome — but only if they settle down,” he said, turning on his heel to restart his circuit. He doesn’t rest until three or four in the morning, he told us. He has family in the park whom he has promised to protect. Many of the residents depend upon this ad-hoc security service. As the sun sets — replaced by the looming orange glow of the street lamps — the camp’s most vulnerable find safety in numbers. Soon-to-be-father Mr Smith doesn’t sugar-coat the reality of life in Pioneer Park, but it’s better than the alternative — setting up alone in a dark alley. “There are a lot of people with mental health issues, with medical issues, problems,” he said. It was 9.45pm by now, and we were standing under a Moreton Bay fig tree. It seemed much darker there. “But I feel safe, it’s a good community. We try keep things to a minimum here, fights do break out, but we tell them ... talk civilly, work your issue out,” Mr Smith said. “She (Tiannah) wouldn’t feel safe in the Perth CBD.” The young couple are hoping to be priority wait-listed for accommodation, and are waiting on Ms Kelly’s birth certificate to complete the application. With their baby’s due date fast approaching, there isn’t much time to waste. As we’re talking, tempers flare elsewhere — 25m away, two men have started yelling at each other. “Here we go,” Mr Smith said. I tense up — they seem furious, are they squaring up? But as soon as it’s started, it’s over. Elders step in before the two guys even got close to each other. The two men back down, chastened. Elsewhere, the music continues. “When we do have disturbances, these guys here, they are straight on it,” camp elder Vanessa Culbong said. “Within eight to 15 minutes it’s settled. If we wait for the police, we’re waiting up to an hour.” About 6pm, a few police officers cycled through the park, but we didn’t see them again. Two community safety vans sit on Market Street, filming and intermittently revving their engines. Most of the volunteers have disappeared by 11pm. It’s quiet — far quieter than I’d expected. Sitting on a park bench across from the park around midnight, we bumped into Mr Inman again. He wearily slumped down on to the seat, telling us he’d already “evicted” nine people from the camp. He was just starting to relax when his ears pricked up — a young man was striding up and down Market Street, screaming into his phone. Mr Inman stared down the road at him. “As long as he’s on this side of the road (not on the camp-side), I leave him be,” he sighed. “It’s going to be a long night.” Luckily, it was relatively quiet. By 1am, all but a dozen of the residents had crashed. Though the usual hum of Freo — buses, pubs up the street, was punctuated by the occasional yell or expletive. The next major disturbance was the flock of seagulls that descended on the camp before breakfast. While they wait for emergency accommodation, tent city’s residents have precious few options. At least at the camp, they have a semblance of security and community. Retired nurse Juliette even helps provide some medical care to the camp’s residents. “Those women (the three pregnant women) are the priority,” she said. For rough sleepers, the shadowy spots the rest of us avoid can be a temporary refuge from the brutal reality of homelessness. But make no mistake — tent city is no safe haven. After all, as one woman — who didn’t wish to be named — told me, “a tent has no lock”. Until a permanent solution is offered, the future of Ms Smith and Mr Kelly’s family remains uncertain.

Fremantle’s tent city: What it’s like to spend the night with the residents who call Pioneer Park home

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