The latest in our Housing Tell series, NRHN’s 2025 summer intern tells the story of how they went from a local tenant organizer to an advocate for greater rental information access and transparency.
Jay Sallos (they/them) is from Fredericton, off the Wolastoq watershed in the east coast. They are a BCL/JD candidate at McGill University with a special interest in human rights, carceral abolition, and housing rights.
From Tenant to Organizer: Door knocking in Montréal
In a cozy Montréal borough called Outremont, on the corner of a central avenue, a notable three-story red brick apartment building pops out amidst the neighbourhood’s iconic rows of duplexes and triplexes. To passers-by and would-be tenants there is no other indication that this modest, 6-unit red brick building is at the centre of an 18-building financialized housing empire, containing the office of the corporate principal and a legacy of abusive tenancy practices.
My name is Jay, a second-year law student interning at the National Right to Housing Network (NRHN). Since moving into that red brick building on that central avenue, I’ve been organizing tenants in Montréal.
My first clash with the Outremont landlord came at a tenancy tribunal, where I defended myself and my roommates against a forced eviction during a routine lease transfer. That hearing was only the start: the landlord kept filing new cases (presumably to dodge rent controls) and I spent weeks gathering email print-outs and audio recordings just to stay housed. Meanwhile, any time we reported needed repairs, the landlord vanished.
Québec’s free, public archive of tribunal records became my lifeline. I tracked down fellow tenants in the building, knocked on doors with trays of cookies, and built a messenger group. Over time, we shared decision numbers, supported each other at hearings, and formed a tight-knit tenant circle. During one of our first meetings, two women realized they’d each endured similar sexual harassment from the landlord—and, for the first time, felt seen and supported.
Armed with our collective records, we forced the landlord to carry out repairs, reverse unlawful rent hikes, and confront us not as individuals, but as a united front. Then we used the same public archive to connect with tenants in the other 17 buildings he owned, equipping them to organize the same way. By leveraging accessible tribunal decisions, we turned isolated renters into a powerful community—and sent a clear message that we wouldn’t be silenced.
From Organizer to Advocate: A law internship with the NRHN
In that modest Outremont building on that central avenue, I came face to face with the hidden machinery of power in housing disputes: information asymmetry. During my internship at the NRHN, I looked forward to honing my legal research skills and deepening my understanding of federal housing policy. Instead, my background as a tenant organizer drew me towards a startling discovery: the very public archives of tribunal and court decisions that had been my lifeline in Quebec simply don’t exist in many other provinces and territories.
It was during this time at NRHN where I immersed myself in provincial tribunal databases and hunted for any reference to international human rights instruments. I wanted to see how adjudicators across Canada drew on these international frameworks when resolving housing disputes. For example, some tribunals might reference frameworks like General Comment No. 4, which defines the right to adequate housing and sets a standard for individuals in precarious housing situations.
In Québec, I could search a variety of ways and download decisions instantly. B.C. and N.W.T. also had public archives but limited to single keyword searches without modifiers. However, when I tried to replicate that search in Ontario’s system, I hit a paywall, and in Nova Scotia there was nothing to search at all. The private, subscription-based portal in Ontario was priced far beyond the reach of grassroots tenant groups; in Nova Scotia, I had to file formal access-to-information requests and wait months for, potentially, a few pages of decisions.
It wasn’t just frustrating—it was a revelation. I realized that the access I’d taken for granted as a Québec tenant organizer was an outlier. In many other provinces, tenants and researchers face steep barriers. That moment changed my perspective: the battle for housing justice isn’t only fought at tribunal hearings or in policy roundtables, but also in the quiet work of making decisions visible to those they affect.
Full Circle: Returning to Outremont with new eyes
When I first set foot in that six-unit red brick building, I was simply trying to keep my home. Forced eviction hearings, predatory rent hikes, withheld repairs—all fueled by a landlord who relied on tenants’ ignorance of past rulings. Armed only with print-outs from Québec’s free online archive, audio recordings of our phone calls with the landlord, and sheer determination, I began to connect the dots. I knocked on doors with trays of cookies in hand and asked neighbours for their tribunal decision numbers. In those decisions, we saw our shared struggles: two women discovered they’d both faced sexual harassment from the landlord, a young couple found precedent to challenge a rent increase, an elderly tenant unearthed an order forcing the landlord to fix a broken heater.
We organized ourselves into a tenant circle, pooling our knowledge of hearing dates, past rulings, and legal arguments. We forced the landlord to complete repairs, rescind unlawful rent hikes, and confront the fact that we weren’t isolated individuals but a united front. Then, armed with that same public archive, we reached out to tenants in the other 17 buildings owned by the same landlord. Our model—data-driven, solidarity-based organizing—spread across the city. Seeing the power of rights-holders united in my own building has made me confident that such a model could be adopted in other buildings, other cities, and other provinces. And maybe organizations like NRHN have a role to play in paving that way.
Conclusion: Moving towards access to justice for all
Back in Outremont, I still walk past that red brick building on that central avenue, remembering how public records turned a handful of isolated renters into a force that challenged a financialized housing empire. Now, I work to ensure that every tenant, regardless of their postal code, can access the same archives, see their own stories reflected in legal decisions, and organize with confidence. Only then will we bring information asymmetry to heel—and move closer to accessible housing justice for all.