I am writing about the recent Canton City Council camping ban that is a threat to more than unhoused folks. We create narratives through language. We build worlds through it. The new ordinance banning camping on “city-owned” land furthers a world of haves and have-nots — excluding unhoused residents from communal belonging.
This echoes early American ideologies where only property-owning white men could vote, reinforcing a hierarchy that still shapes our systems. We didn’t dismantle monarchy — we replaced it with a ruling class, and it governs Canton.
When speaking to a council member about my dissent, a council person asked, “Would you let them set up camp in your yard?” This is a flawed, loaded question. Legally, most municipalities prohibit it.
Logistically, my home is far from vital resources, and I alone cannot provide the support and services people need — services that require specialized training, infrastructure, and general proximity. Just as the camping ban is not a solution, neither is camping in my yard.
Beyond the logistical and legal issues is the narrative shift. Reframing “public land” as “city-owned” distances it from the people. It implies land access is a privilege of ownership — not a shared right. What comes next? Only property owners can access public space? Only business owners? Are we going to see “whites only” signs one day?
My new response to this gotcha question is: The land the city now criminalizes is their yard too. Just as the land the city claims to “own” is stolen — from native nations such as the Shawnee. We are all on stolen land.
To claim only certain people are allowed to exist on it is a narrative — and policy — built on erasure just as we did in the Ohio removal of indigenous peoples between 1840-1845. We are all on stolen land.
LaRinda Johnson, Perry Township
This article originally appeared on The Repository: Canton’s camping ban threatens more than unhoused people | Letter
Reporting by Canton Repository / The Repository
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