I settled into the back row of the news conference, watching as David Long, CEO of the Greater Vancouver Food Bank, revealed what he called a “transformative step” for the organization. After three decades of temporary setups, the food bank has finally secured a permanent home — a $26 million, 50,000-square-foot facility in Burnaby.
“This isn’t just a building,” Long told the gathered crowd, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s seen firsthand how food insecurity can devastate families. “This is stability for an organization that serves over 16,000 people every month.”
The timing couldn’t be more critical. Food bank usage across Canada has surged to unprecedented levels, with Statistics Canada reporting a 32 percent increase in demand since 2019. I’ve covered social policy long enough to recognize when numbers stop being statistics and start representing real human struggles.
Behind Long stood volunteers who’ve worked in cramped, makeshift spaces for years. Many nodded as he described how the new facility would streamline operations and enhance dignified service delivery. The food bank had been operating out of a leased warehouse in Burnaby, but that arrangement was always temporary — a band-aid solution for an organization providing essential services.
“We’ve moved seven times in 30 years,” Long explained after the conference, as we walked through what will become the distribution area. “Each move costs money, disrupts services, and creates uncertainty for the people who depend on us.”
The new facility, located near Production Way-University SkyTrain station, isn’t just larger — it’s strategically positioned. Transportation access matters when you’re serving communities across Burnaby, New Westminster, Vancouver, and the North Shore.
BC Housing contributed $14 million toward the purchase — a substantial investment that Housing Minister Ravi Kahlon defended as necessary infrastructure. “Food security is housing security,” Kahlon told me when I asked about the funding decision. “When families spend less on groceries, they’re more likely to maintain stable housing.”
What struck me was how the announcement reflected broader shifts in how we view food banks. Once considered temporary emergency measures in the 1980s, they’ve become permanent fixtures in our social safety net — a reality that both resolves immediate needs and raises uncomfortable questions about why they’re needed at all.
The Greater Vancouver Food Bank’s client demographics tell a complicated story. According to their 2022 annual report, 20% of clients are employed but still can’t make ends meet. Another 30% are seniors on fixed incomes. These aren’t people who’ve “fallen through the cracks” — they’re entire communities being squeezed by housing costs that have outpaced wages for decades.
During a tour of the current facility, I watched volunteers pack hampers in a space clearly not designed for the volume they handle. Pallets of donations were stacked precariously, with narrow pathways between them. Staff explained how the new facility would include proper cold storage, expanded sorting areas, and community spaces for nutrition education.
“We’re seeing people who never imagined needing a food bank,” said Cynthia Boulter, the organization’s Chief Operating Officer. “Teachers, healthcare workers, young families — inflation and housing costs have created a perfect storm.”
The federal government’s Canadian Community Services Program contributed an additional $5 million toward the purchase. The remaining funds came from the food bank’s reserves and community donations — including a $2 million gift from a local family foundation that requested anonymity.
During the Q&A session, I asked Long about criticism that permanent food banks enable governments to avoid addressing root causes of poverty. His response was measured but pointed.
“We don’t want to exist,” he said, garnering a few surprised looks. “But while we work toward solutions to poverty, people still need to eat tonight. We can do both — provide immediate relief while advocating for systemic change.”
Later, I spoke with Emily Watson, a single mother who has used the food bank services intermittently for three years. “People don’t understand that most of us using the food bank are working,” she told me outside the current facility. “My rent takes 70% of my income. The math simply doesn’t work without help.”
Watson expressed hope that the new building might reduce the sometimes lengthy waits and cramped conditions that can make accessing services feel demeaning. “Nobody wants to need this service,” she said. “A little dignity goes a long way.”
The Greater Vancouver Food Bank distributes approximately $15 million worth of food annually, serving communities that have some of BC’s highest costs of living. Their client-choice model allows people to select foods that meet their dietary needs and cultural preferences — a far cry from the pre-packed boxes of previous decades.
Municipal leaders from Vancouver, Burnaby, and New Westminster attended the announcement, underscoring the regional nature of food insecurity. Burnaby Mayor Mike Hurley spoke about the city’s decision to facilitate the property acquisition through expedited permitting.
“Food security is a regional challenge that doesn’t stop at municipal boundaries,” Hurley said. “We’re proud to host this facility that serves the entire region.”
As the event concluded, I watched Long speaking quietly with a group of regular volunteers. Their expressions conveyed both relief and resolve — the work continues, but now with certainty about where that work will happen.
In my two decades covering social policy, I’ve observed how organizations like the Greater Vancouver Food Bank navigate a difficult balance: providing immediate relief while avoiding becoming so institutionalized that we accept hunger as inevitable in one of the world’s wealthiest countries.
The permanent facility represents both progress and paradox — a necessary infrastructure improvement that no one wishes was needed at all. It’s a Canadian contradiction that we’ve built world-class food banks rather than eliminating the need for them.
As I left the press conference, a food bank client named Robert was arriving for his biweekly pickup. When I mentioned the new building announcement, he shrugged slightly. “Good for them,” he said. “But better if none of us needed to come here at all.”
His perspective was the most honest summary of the day — a reminder that behind every food bank statistic and facility announcement are real people who’d prefer economic conditions that made such services unnecessary.
The Greater Vancouver Food Bank expects to complete the move to its new permanent home by early 2025.
