By Renee Geniole, Executive Director – Reach Out Chatham-Kent (R.O.C.K.)

I have the pleasure of serving as the Executive Director of Reach Out Chatham-Kent (R.O.C.K.), a community-based organization that supports people experiencing homelessness through outreach, harm reduction, drop-in, and navigation support.

While we are not an emergency shelter, we know many shelters across Canada will recognize the experience I am about to describe. The public backlash, shifting community sentiment, online hostility, and emotional toll on staff are not unique to any one type of homeless service. In many ways, what we’ve navigated at R.O.C.K. over the past six months mirrors what emergency shelters and homelessness service providers are facing daily, and we believe there may be lessons here worth sharing.

Six months ago, we were something of the “golden child” in our community. Then, almost overnight, we found ourselves absorbing the full force of angry online backlash.

A supported relocation of a growing encampment into a higher-income residential area, combined with escalating rhetoric about “enabling substance use” through harm reduction supplies, brought out the loudest expressions of NIMBYism and a wave of social-media “experts.” We took a significant hit.

Not long after, tragedy struck our newest municipal cabin project when someone died. To this day, we cannot say with certainty that substance use was the cause. But for those determined to confirm their own beliefs, nuance didn’t matter. Evidence didn’t matter. Peer-reviewed research demonstrating again and again that harm reduction and supportive housing save lives didn’t matter. In the public narrative, we (and our municipal partners) became the villains.

So, the question became: What did we do next? Did we actually change hearts and minds… or just learn how to survive the noise?

The answer: It’s complicated.

We’re often reminded that the loudest online voices usually represent a small fraction of the population, and we believe that’s true. We choose to believe there is a silent majority who support the work and want positive change. Like many communities across Canada, Chatham-Kent is grappling with a worsening housing crisis alongside a toxic drug supply and rising substance use among people who use drugs.

Together with our community partners, we try to apply what has worked elsewhere and keep moving forward. But let’s be honest: the toll is real.

It’s hard when frontline staff become hesitant to share where they work. It’s hard when we worry about the people we serve being harassed or retraumatized by online anger that spills into real life. Burnout, frustration, and exhaustion aren’t abstract concepts. They’re daily realities.

So, what actually helped?

We brought in allies.

Specifically, we hired a media consultant who did two critical things. First, she genuinely supported the work and trusted our intent. Second, she gave us explicit permission to keep doing the work without feeling obligated to respond to every attack.

She reminded us that we don’t owe online trolls our time or energy. We don’t owe explanations to people who refuse to engage with evidence. And most importantly, she was blunt: we are not going to change hearts and minds on the internet.

People who want to tear us down will do so regardless.

So, she asked us a simple but powerful question: Where do we want to put our energy?

The answer was obvious: the people we serve.

Giving ourselves permission to delete, block, unfollow, and disengage from bad-faith actors was incredibly freeing. Education is for those who want to learn. Training is for those who want to grow. Our responsibility is to the people who need us most, and refocusing there allowed us (finally) to let go.

Is that overly simple? Probably. A bit shallow? Maybe.

But it shifted how we think and how we decide where to invest our time. Do we argue online with someone who is deliberately baiting us, or do we work with peers to develop anti-stigma training? Do we trade emails with someone calling for our defunding, or do we pursue grants that strengthen staff capacity and support frontline wellbeing?

Pausing to ask these questions before reacting has changed how we protect our mental health, how we support staff, and how we sustain the work.

If adopting a “let them” mentality is what allows you to keep going, I say start there.

When you need them most, allies often emerge quietly. Supportive colleagues, community partners, friends, and family are there, even if they’re not the loudest voices in the room. Look for them.

Know this: you are doing meaningful, life-saving work. You may never fully see the impact of what your organization provides, and it’s not your responsibility to measure it through public approval. But the impact is real.

And for what it’s worth: you are not alone.