He was a Canadian soccer star. Now he’s homeless and starving himself in a Toronto park on a lonely crusade for justice
He was a Canadian soccer star. Now he’s homeless and starving himself in a Toronto park on a lonely crusade for justice - One of Canada’s most decorated soccer players sleeps under a tall leafy tree in a west-end Toronto park. It’s one of the places Paul James — an Olympian and member of the country’s only men’s World Cup team — calls home.
No sleeping bag sheaths James; his was ruined days earlier, soaked by lawn sprinklers. Just a waterproof plastic strip lies beneath the 54-year-old’s thin frame. His head rests on a gym bag that holds his few possessions, which he fiercely guards. The Welsh-born midfielder who battled the game’s top players — France’s Michel Platini and England’s Glenn Hoddle among them — once had his running shoes stolen from his side as he slept. He went barefoot until he found replacements.
From under the tree’s shade, James rises, stiffly. His feet hurt; right shoulder and abdomen, too. He’s eating scarce amounts — his ninth hunger strike in 18 months — and it’s taking a toll. He nibbles between 200 and 1,000 calories a day, he says, give or take, since April to protest what he describes as Canada’s systemic discrimination against those, like him, with what he calls a substance disability.
In James’s case, he’s condemning his “forced resignation” as York University’s head soccer coach in 2009 during an extended period of depression and crack cocaine use.
That protest has now turned extreme. As of Sept. 1, James began starving himself. To death, if need be, he says, to help others stigmatized for their substance use by restricting himself water, broth and bits of bread.
“I have such conviction that what happened to me is wrong and unjust that without correction, how I lived my life — which was to be an honest, fair, caring human being — and my commitment to the football industry, will add up to nothing,” he says.
To end his starvation, James wants two demands met: Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and other political leaders must “immediately” answer whether substance disability is protected under Section 15 of the Charter of Rights; and York University must grant him one hour to address the school’s board of governors.
Under Section 15, individuals have “the right to the equal protection and equal benefit of the law without discrimination and, in particular, without discrimination based on race, national or ethnic origin, colour, religion, sex, age or mental or physical disability.” James argues substance disability belongs in this group.
“It’s the only tactical weapon I have left,” James says of risking his life. He estimates he’s shed at least 35 pounds, down from 175, and says he’s visited hospitals five times since April after collapsing in pain.
James claims York pushed him out because of his drug use. He tried, unsuccessfully, to take the university to the Ontario Human Rights Tribunal over discrimination allegations, even appealing to the Supreme Court of Canada as a self-represented applicant in his fight to be heard.
York, in a written response to the Star, stated, in part: “We maintain that York did not discriminate against him” and that the school has previously asked that James not launch a hunger strike or jeopardize his health.
James is unmoved. He lists what he lost after he left York: home, car, life savings, reputation, friends, the woman he loved and his coaching career.
“I get no phone calls from soccer people,” says the man who coached Canada’s U20 boys to a world championship berth in 2001 and built winning seasons with York’s teams.
“When I apply for positions, I can’t get them.”
Not that anyone could reach him quickly. James has no phone. His old laptop is damaged. He communicates mainly through internet cafés and libraries with some free computers. In a pinch to contact a friend, he’ll drop two quarters in a payphone — if he can find one.
Tony Waiters, head coach of Canada’s 1986 World Cup team, says it’s difficult to watch his former player experience “human nature at its worst.”
“Everyone seems to be turning a blind eye and hoping he’ll just go away,” says the 81-year-old Waiters, who keeps in touch from his home in British Columbia. “Canadian soccer hasn’t done anything and the government is conveniently ignoring him.”
But how many know that a homeless, destitute Canada Soccer Hall of Fame inductee — as a player, coach and media member — is starving himself for a social justice cause in a busy public park?
James’s core supporters, like Waiters, obviously do. Canada Soccer has reached out “on several occasions but without success,” a spokesperson said. James runs a website, “Confronting the Stigma of Drug Addiction,” with blogs and videos targeting a wider audience. But for the most part, it’s been a muted crusade.
Mike Young is an Emmy-winning animation producer based in Los Angeles who contacted James in 2016 when he heard of the story. The 72-year-old Welsh native has come to consider James a friend, connecting often over Skype. Young says if a player of James’s pedigree was taking this action in an English or American park, “the press would have been all over it.” (To be fair, Canadian media reported on some of James’s court battles and previous hunger protests.)
James is familiar with the potential danger of hunger strikes, including Maze Prison’s deadly history: IRA prisoners in the Belfast-area facility mounted hunger strikes over 12 months, and in 1981, 10 died. He notes prisoners had access to medical assistance; he wants none. He says it takes enormous energy and resolve to forgo food, more so when one lives alone on the streets.
James became homeless at the end of 2016, out of money and unemployed. Over the years, he’d taken odd jobs; dog walker, house cleaner. He shovelled snow, raked leaves, delivered flyers and briefly worked in addiction counselling. James and his partner of six years, Ashley Kelly, separated; the stresses were too much, he says, but the split broke his heart.
“She treated me as a normal person,” he says of Kelly, whom he met when she was an athletic therapist for his York teams. “And always with dignity and respect.”
For eight months last year, James bunked with a soccer friend’s buddy who had a spare couch in his apartment. He was thankful but that first night on the cramped couch, James recalls looking at the ceiling and thinking: “How the hell did I ever get here?”
John and Olive James left Wales in 1980, seeking opportunity for themselves and their two children, Julie and Paul. Anxious and insecure as a child, Paul excelled in sports, particularly running and soccer.
James was 17 when his family settled in Oakville. His soccer skills had been learned on Cardiff streets and pitches. Powerful, agile, hard-working, the teenager with the mop of dark, bouncing curls soon caught the attention of Canada’s national team.
“What he had was incredible energy and stamina,” recalls Waiters, who coached the Canadian side 32 years ago at the 1986 World Cup in Mexico and started James against France, Hungary and the Soviet Union. “He was the fittest player on the team.”
James would become part of the country’s most successful generation of male players. He competed in the 1984 Olympics, and in 1985 was on the team that beat Honduras to qualify for the country’s first, and only, men’s World Cup. As a player, he represented Canada 47 times.
“It was an amazing era” to play under Waiters for Canada, says James, who once, in an exhibition game against an English club, collided with an opponent and was knocked unconscious for six minutes.
James also played professionally for the Toronto Blizzard of the defunct North American Soccer League. His father was as passionate about the game as his son.
“When I lived at home and played for the Blizzard, I always knew when I came home if I’d played well or not,” he says.
“It didn’t matter if it was 1 in the morning. I once scored against the New York Cosmos — the house lights would be on and I’d walk through the front door and (he’d) be like, ‘Hey!’ But if the lights were off, it was like, ‘Ah, s---.’ ”
James moved into coaching after his national team playing days in the late ’80s. Those days ended after James was involved in a bribery scandal during a tournament in Singapore in 1986, after the World Cup. Four Canadian players accepted cash from gamblers to influence game results. Before a semifinal against North Korea, they asked James to join them. He agreed and was given $10,000. James played the game but returned the cash to his teammates before the team left Singapore. Word of the scheme later leaked, criminal proceedings began. James testified for the Crown but charges against the other four were dropped.
After coaching at two U.S. universities, James was hired to coach Canada’s U20 boys team in 1998. He then earned his “master” coaching credentials as an MBA graduate of the University of Liverpool’s “Football Industries” program in 2003.
That October, York hired James as its “master soccer coach.” He improved the program and produced championship men’s and women’s teams. He was named the Canadian university women’s coach of the year in 2007, the year the York women went 18-2 and won silver at the national championship.
During those successful York seasons, James was using a drug he first tried in 1998 — crack cocaine.
Not every day. Sometimes it was weeks or months between use. However, shortly after his memorable 2007 season, James says his mental health deteriorated.
In early 2008, he says, he confided to a few colleagues that his depression (diagnosed in 2000), anxieties and increasing drug use were affecting his life. He requested a three-month leave of absence later in the year and quietly attended a rehab in Quebec. He believes word started leaking about his drug use that year.
York claims James’s leave request “was that he had a ‘need for some time off’ to deal with personal matters (and) did not provide any further information regarding the reason for his request,” according to York’s 2013 Human Rights Tribunal submissions in response to his accusations. His request was made to Jennifer Myers, director of sport and recreation, and Sheila Forshaw, executive director of the School of Kinesiology and Health Science; the leave was granted with “100% pay,” according to York’s response.
James returned in early 2009. Human Resources and Employee Relations sent him a letter Feb. 11, regarding his work absence and asked to have “your treating practitioner complete the enclosed Practitioner’s Report on Abilities and Limitations.”
James submitted the form, which indicated he suffered from “acute stress reaction.” He returned to work but soon lost his regular gig as a GolTV soccer analyst. In September, with his stresses mounting, James says he offered to resign from York at year end; in October, he was asked to formalize it, and he did.
“I was in such pain, I was willing to give up a career I loved because I was so self-stigmatized,” James explains.
He adds he didn’t tell his superiors of his poor mental health and substance dependency out of fear and shame but claims they ought to have recognized he was in crisis.
In November 2009, James quietly attended a second rehab in England, returning to York in December with new hope. He asked for a meeting with Myers and Forshaw; he says he intended to disclose he’d been at rehab and wanted to continue working at the school. James says he didn’t get a chance to speak his mind at the meeting.
(After he resigned, James and Ashley Kelly began dating. It quickly became serious, though Kelly is about 20 years his junior. Kelly declined to be interviewed.)
James says it took him nearly three years to “break through my self-stigma” and confront the consequences of that final meeting at York.
In 2012, James initiated a human rights complaint against his former employer. But his allegations of employment discrimination have never been fully tested in court because he missed a deadline.
The deadline to make a complaint to the Ontario Human Rights Tribunal is one year from the last alleged instance of discrimination. James filed more than two years after his resignation. He argued in submissions that this was because his mental health and substance disabilities worsened after he resigned. The tribunal dismissed his application for delay in 2013 and the next year, refused to reconsider.
James, as a self-represented applicant, sought judicial review of tribunal decisions in Ontario Superior Court, but the panel ruled the tribunal’s refusal to reconsider was fair and reasonable. James, again representing himself, tried to take his fight to the Supreme Court in 2016. It dismissed his appeal application but did not examine the particulars of his case. (James is asking the court to reconsider, alleging it erred when it summarized his case.)
According to York’s tribunal submissions, “at no time during his employment did (James) advise York management or human resources that he was addicted to (crack) cocaine, that he had depression, or that he required accommodations in his work.”
Spokesperson Barbara Joy provided a written statement in response to an interview request regarding James’s protest and previous discrimination allegations.
“York University has directly expressed our concern for Mr. James and we have previously urged him not to engage in a hunger strike or cause harm to his health,” Joy wrote.
“I can confirm that York has carefully reviewed Mr. James’s complaint to the Human Rights Tribunal, our response to it and the tribunal’s decision dismissing the complaint (April 2013). We maintain that York did not discriminate against him.”
Joy also stated that “York University accommodates employees with disabilities, including those that may be associated with addiction.
“York employees have always been encouraged to take advantage of the many supports, services, programs and benefits available to them.”
James laughs when told of York’s response.
Paul James’s Twitter account describes him like this:
“CDN Olympian, World Cup player, 3x HOF member, ex #YorkU coach; homeless — an outcast because of stigma of mental health/substance-use disorder.”
Don’t call him an addict. James says he was never a “drug addict” and deems the term insulting.
Don’t ask him if he’s “clean” or “still using.” Those are loaded questions, he says, and besides, “it’s none of your business.”
His website, “Confronting the Stigma of Drug Addiction,” details his life story and casts the university as a villain. It spans a range of moods — from calmly voiced videos to raging, rambling open letters to York staff, media and politicians whom James feels don’t understand his protest or simply want him to resume eating. Even former premier Bob Rae gets a roasting.
Mike Young, the co-CEO of Splash Entertainment who hopes to turn James’s story into a movie, says his friend’s roiling emotions should be understood in context. And with compassion.
“A part of that is the passion takes over and he loses sight,” says Young of the angry tone to some of James’s writing. In June, Young’s company prepared a two-minute video for the website to sum up reasons for his protest.
James has a team of supporters. Some bought his e-book, Cracked Open, a candid memoir. Others send money and encourage his fight.
James says Rae has met him in recent months to explore his situation. When contacted by the Star for an interview, Rae said their talks were confidential.
Then there are Kevin Tierney and Peyvand Mossavat. James’s dearest friends.
They are soccer coaches. Tierney, 53, is a founder of King United’s competitive program and a long-time volunteer. Mossavat, 48, is a former Canadian Soccer League all-star, a five-time Ontario University Athletics coach of the year, and women’s head coach at the University of Ontario Institute of Technology.
The men hire James periodically to conduct training sessions with their athletes. This requires effort: James takes the subway to Downsview, where Tierney picks him up and drives him to King City. Mossavat, who lives in Vaughan, takes him to and from the Oshawa GO station, driving him downtown when he can.
Mossavat has a long history with James, going back to 1992 when James — then a player/coach for the London Lasers in the CSL — traded for the young defender.
“For us younger players, knowing Paul played on the World Cup team, then to have him as a coach and play alongside of him was an honour,” says Mossavat.
“He won every battle (for the ball) and he was fitter than everyone else” on the Lasers.
James and Mossavat stayed friends and a few years later, both became university coaches. When James resigned, Mossavat left Ryerson to take the York women’s job for a year. During that year, Mossavat recalls James met him and the York men’s coach to tell them he’d been using crack cocaine.
Mossavat says he was “speechless” but it made “zero difference” to his affection for James. He has supported him ever since, attending court dates, paying him to coach, and being a friend. This summer, for instance, Mossavat asked James to house-sit when his family went on vacation.
“The more I learned about drug dependency and mental health and stigma, it just confirmed for me that at the end of the day, Paul for me is Paul,” Mossavat says.
“He’s a soccer player, my coach, my mentor, the guy that’s teaching me every day about life, life balance, coaching. So for me, it didn’t matter.”
Tierney, an Ontario land surveyor and IT team leader, contacted James in January 2017 after his daughter, who plays for Mossavat, told him of this “amazing coach” who had run a skills session. Tierney got in touch through James’s website, hired him to coach and says the King club players, coaches and parents rave about his skill and professionalism.
“He took 20 years to learn his craft,” Tierney says, noting that a coach from another club once stopped his team’s practice and “had all the boys line up” to shake James’s hand.
“When he comes out and does a session as a coach he’s treated as a normal person,” Tierney says. “I think that’s important to him.”
Not everyone is accepting, Tierney says. He’s had pushback from some club executives who have not seen James coaching but who googled his name (reading previous stories on his battle with York) and declared him “a crackhead.”
“People say ‘Why doesn’t he just get on with it?’ ” says Tierney of those wondering why James doesn’t abandon his protests. “But I don’t see how he’s supposed to because I’ve seen it first-hand, the stigmatizing attitude.”
Tierney also provides practical supports: he replaced the soaked sleeping bag with a new one; he’ll launder James’s clothes when he’s coaching; he transfers money to James’s bank card so he can use transit or buy a coffee. He fears for his friend wandering Toronto’s streets at night, alone.
“I worry about just how difficult it is to live when you have no home base. It’s more dangerous than people realize.”
Last Sunday, a man was fatally shot in Coronation Park, near the CNE grounds, in the early evening. It was just a few metres from the tall, leafy tree James sleeps under when he’s at that waterfront park. (He wasn’t there to witness the shooting.)
James says he’s lived outside more this summer than at any other time over the last two years. He says it’s been more difficult to couch-surf and earn money to rent a room; this year, he’d rent at places like Filmores Hotel during torrential rains or when he was feeling ill from hunger striking.
James has a loop of parks he frequents, sometimes walking to all of them in one night — from Coronation to Fort York by the Gardiner Expressway, to Trinity Bellwoods, to a place at Bathurst and Dundas Sts. — hunting for a peaceful, dry patch to stretch out. Rain, even carpets of lush dewy grasses add to the misery of chronically damp shoes, socks, belongings.
“It’s hard to find a place where you can lie down and sleep,” he says. “You’re constantly tired and it’s magnified by the fact you’re not eating.”
Sleep is safest, he says, in the pre-dawn and daylight hours. Raccoons, skunks, mosquitoes, aggressive people and thieves often share his spaces. He still marvels that, somehow, a backpack was stolen from his shoulders and he didn’t notice until he woke.
He says days can be difficult as he is socially isolated.
James visits city libraries to read and use the internet. He does his tiny loads of laundry. When he was eating more, he’d buy a slice of cheese pizza or a coffee with cream (that’s 50 calories, he says, grinning.) He walks for miles. Rides transit, from end to end, to kill time on rainy days. Always, he lugs his gym bag, in which his sleeping bag is stuffed.
He takes delight in moments like finding a free coffee coupon under a Tim Hortons rim.
“Those little wins, they’re like magic,” he says. “It’s the smaller things now.”
That includes long, hot showers — but even those carry risk. Daily, James showers at a city community centre. In the last week of August, someone stole his favourite soccer jacket, left on a bench while he washed.
In the jacket pocket: his bank card and cash from a training session.
Paul James actually consumed more calories — about 1,500 — in the days leading up to Sept. 1. It was his way of preparing for the task of starving himself, to build strength to better face the pain.
Over the past week, he’s been decreasing his calorie count to the current mode of drinking only water, soup broth and allowing bits of bread. Maybe 100 calories total, maybe less.
As he weakens, James predicts, he would need better shelter and wants to be closer to Kevin Tierney and Peyvand Mossavat, who will check on him. Maybe in a tent, maybe a room, depending on how his cash from the soccer training sessions holds out.
James’s family will not be at his side, at his request. He says he loves his family but says their relationship is strained because they don’t understand his cause.
James’s friends have begged him to stop this type of protest.
Tierney says he constantly asks James to abandon the action.
“It’s not that Paul wants to die, Paul wants to live,” he says. ”What other leverage does he have? That’s the same with any hunger strikers; that’s the last chip that person has to play.”
Tony Waiters says he and former World Cup player Bob Lenarduzzi tried to convince James to move to B.C. and work with a local club but James wanted to “stick it out” with his protest in Toronto.
“It seems that Paul’s looking for something that either people can’t give him or (they’re) not prepared to give him,” Waiters says.
As for Young, the producer, “I try bribery, I try nationalism, Wales, the flag, everything, but I totally respect what he’s trying to do.”
James acknowledges some people say he’s mentally ill, which he rejects. He also says his protest “is not about condoning drug use.”
“I will say to anyone, ‘Don’t even go there. Don’t think of using heroin, don’t think of using crack cocaine,’ ” James says.
“But if you do and you’re in the category of being more susceptible because of a constellation of factors that have happened in your life, then what our rehabs, our educators, our politicians need to understand is (expecting) abstinence (from everyone) is unrealistic.”
He believes some people who can’t abstain can instead live with dependencies “in a managed way where you minimize and mitigate the harm it does to your life.”
James fervently hopes his extreme protest will help to “decriminalize” the way society judges substance users and protect careers if they open up and ask for help.
“If someone with the background and credentials I have can be treated the way I’ve been treated,” he says, “what chance do others have in having their human rights respected or even achieving social justice?”
Mary Ormsby is a reporter and feature writer based in Toronto. Follow her on Twitter: @maryormsby
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