Where did my neighbours go?’s podcast and comic can be accessed here.
Photo Credit: Existing Historic Social Housing (Fallas, 2025)
INTRODUCTION
When thinking of carousel rides at theme parks, many might recall the gentle, rhythmic motion, spinning steadily and continually round and round. The air is tinged with the sweet scent of popcorn and cotton candy from nearby stalls, mingling with the faint traces of oil and wood from the ride itself. Warm bulbs glowing softly overhead, while playful tunes—waltzes and lullabies—play from hidden speakers. Children spinning dizzily, their laughter rising above the music, as eager parents stand by with cameras in hand, ready to capture the moment. It all evokes a nostalgia from another era, a whimsical, timeless charm.
In Regent Park, the mirroring idea of community nostalgia is endangered, amid the quiet churn of change. Regent Park, located in Toronto’s downtown east area, is a historically marginalized and highly diverse neighbourhood currently undergoing one of the most ambitious redevelopment plans in the country. Spearheaded by Toronto Community Housing and The Daniels Corporation, the revitalization seeks to replace aging social housing with a mixed-income model, bringing in market-rate condos and retail while promising to preserve space for original residents. Yet, as cranes moved in, and new towers rose, long-time residents faced more than just changes in the skyline. The transformation raised questions about who gets to stay, who benefits, and what economic justice means in a rapidly gentrifying neighbourhood.
In the face of these challenges, many Regent Park residents have taken matters into their own hands. They’ve organized, advocated, and built initiatives that center their voices and needs— demanding not just inclusion but ownership and opportunity. Enter Humaira Rahman, a born-and-bred Regent Parker who, growing up, experienced multiple displacements in the neighbourhood, witnessing friends and family constantly moving in and out of her life. She, alongside her mentor and close friend Halima Farah, co-founded the Carousel Cafe in the atrium of Daniels Spectrum. The cafe doesn’t just serve food; it operates on a rotating vendor system that allows local food entrepreneurs to run their own business and invites customers to be a part of their culture. It is economic justice in motion, to create space for possibility, circulating opportunity within the community, and ensuring Regent Park’s transformation includes—not erases—the people who built it.
Our project brings this story to life through this long-piece journalism, alongside two creative mediums: a podcast, and a comic. Through our projects, we seek to center the voices of Regent Park residents and uncover how grassroots efforts like the Carousel Cafe are reshaping what economic justice can look like in a changing city.
OUR INVESTIGATION
In the beginning stages of our investigation, we found ourselves having several discussions around a deceptively innocent question— “Hey Regent Park, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Such a question easily invites imagery of an adult asking a young child, perhaps seeking to understand the child’s aspirations. For us, this question posed in the context of Regent Park begs a more critical awareness of the community’s socio-economic realities characterized by economic instability and systemic inequalities. This question is layered in deeper implications to whether residents can access the resources needed to achieve their goals, and consider who truly benefits from the changes brought on by gentrification. Given the myriad of perspectives and framings this research topic invites, we decided to keep our research process open-ended to allow for an authentic exploration of our findings.
It took a long time to realize our project’s vision, but had guidance from Farhana Ahmed—a fellow group member and long-time Regent Park resident. We are mindful of our positionality as university-educated researchers from outside of the neighbourhood, which makes Farhana’s insights as both a team member and a Regent Park resident essential in grounding our work in authentic local perspectives. Her lived experience and foresight ensured our framework was informed by local knowledge and that our methods were respectful and responsive.
We frequently met at local cafes and community spaces like the Daniels Spectrum throughout the entire process. These rendez-vous ushered in a whirlwind of chaotic, lively conversations, spanning every topic under the sun, where we developed meaningful relationships not just with each other, but with the local community. Each meeting delved us deeper, uncovering more focused questions we could ask about how redevelopment, displacement, and accountability have shaped Regent Park into what it is today. Some of our preliminary questions were:
What stops Regent Parkers from dreaming?
What kinds of promises of economic justice were made to residents? Have those promises been kept?
How do local residents come together to protect the spaces that are important to their identity?
What examples are there of stakeholders, such as The Daniels Corporation and TCH, being held accountable by residents?
It brought us closer to our central research question that anchors our project:
What are Regent Park residents doing to ensure economic justice is delivered to those in their community?
We set out on multiple exploratory walks through the neighbourhood, using each outing as a chance to observe the spaces and gradually assemble a more complete picture of Regent Park. For most of our group, these walks were our first meaningful encounters with various parts of the neighbourhood. We documented points of interest such as aging social housing, newly constructed mid-rise developments, local food networks, commercial activity, and community initiatives. All of this culminated in our introduction to emerging grassroots hubs like the Carousel Café & Bistro, the focal point of our project. After talking to the co-founders, Humaira and Halima, we instantly felt moved and inspired by their story. We collectively recognized this project also serves as a platform for residents to be heard and understood, while spotlighting how local community-driven initiatives illustrate real-time economic justice in Regent Park.
This leads us to our present focus on how Regent Park residents are not passive recipients of change; in fact, residents are active agents in shaping their community’s future. Through grassroots initiatives, local entrepreneurship, and sustained advocacy, they are challenging dominant redevelopment narratives and reclaiming space—economically, culturally, and politically. Places like Carousel Café & Bistro aren’t just businesses—they’re gathering spots, storytelling hubs, and living proof of what it looks like when a community identifies gaps and leans into its strength to generate economic opportunities. Local residents are creating jobs for the community, mentoring youth, advocating for accountability, and protecting the parts of Regent Park that make it feel like home. Through Humaira’s story in particular, we heard dreams that did not disappear entirely—only adapted and reconceptualized as the revitalization progressed. Economic justice here isn’t just about income or policy; it’s about power, pride, and the right to imagine a future that doesn’t leave anyone behind. And maybe, in asking Regent Park what it wants to be when it grows up, we’ve come a little closer to understanding the kind of future its people are already fighting for.
Before Humaira, There was Walid
Gentrification is rarely quiet—it reshapes the built environment, shifts demographics and redraws the social map of a neighbourhood. From community-driven initiatives to city-led projects, efforts have sought to balance growth and affordability. By broadening our understanding through personal stories, historical context, and academic insights, we can connect Regent Park’s experiences to global conversations on economic justice, recognizing how local action influenced broader issues on equity in urban spaces worldwide.
An easter egg on Google Maps to find Armand’s Food Truck (and what appears to be Walid on shift) is best done in September 2007, with 15 Belshaw behind (Photo Credit: Google Maps, 2007)
The examples of ethnic grocery stores in and around Regent Park have quietly contributed to economic justice and sustaining community cohesion (Komakech & Jackson, 2016). One frequently mentioned example in our discussions is Arman’s Farmers Market, a modest business whose foundation is trust, kindness, and genuine community relationships. At the heart of this long-standing community icon is its founder, Walid, who affectionately named the business after his son. Walid’s story is one of resourcefulness and seeking to combat food insecurity in the neighbourhood. In his farmer’s market, he sourced surplus produce from major grocery chains, turning what would otherwise have gone to waste into affordable produce accessible to local families. His shop was situated in a truck, where he could easily transport goods around the area. Walid’s reputation was that of an honest and hard-working local Regent Parker. His upstanding character is evidenced by a just approach to his customers; for example, allowing some customers to delay their payment if they didn’t have enough money. Through quiet dedication and consistent generosity, Walid transformed a humble market into a cherished community institution.
Similarly, Rabba Fine Foods tells a story of immigrant entrepreneurship and community care. We take a closer look at this business later on in this paper. Walid, and Rick Rabba (the founder of Rabba Fine Foods), prove Komakech and Jackson’s (2016) thesis on how Small Ethnic Grocery stores (SERGs) are vital infrastructures in urban neighbourhoods—not only supporting food access and cultural specificity but also fostering economic justice through community-oriented practices. They embody a powerful model for how urban policy can support minority-owned businesses to prevent displacement, promote equity, and preserve the social fabric of rapidly changing communities.
HUMAIRA’S STORY
In East Toronto, born and raised, t’was Regent Park where Humaira Rahman spent most of her days. At just 22 years old, Humaira has done it all—all for the neighbourhood she proudly calls home. Many moons ago, her first home was at 15 Belshaw Street. After experiencing multiple instances of involuntary displacement and significant disruption in her childhood, she now owns the Carousel Cafe and Bistro in Daniels Spectrum. Coincidentally, her cafe sits on the very site where her childhood home once stood. We stumbled upon her remarkable story—what she calls "a full circle"—during our investigation into local entrepreneurship and the role of residents in delivering economic justice within the neighbourhood. Our teammate Farhana had known Humaira for years, but it wasn’t until we sat down to interview her and her business partner, Halima Farah, that we fully understood Humaira’s deep connection to the community and her inspiring journey to empower her neighbours.
Humaira’s story began with her three brothers and parents at 15 Belshaw Street. Her parents, originally from Bangladesh, had moved to Toronto before Humaira’s birth. Then, in July 2002, Humaira was born, and soon after, her family welcomed her younger brother. As their family grew, they moved from the thirteenth floor to a larger unit on the third floor of the same building. This move, it turns out, would be the turning point for the Rahman family. Not long after settling into their new unit, 15 Belshaw Street was announced as part of The Daniels Corporation’s first phase of revitalization. In 2005, The Daniels Corporation partnered with Toronto Community Housing to redevelop 53 of the 69 acres of Regent Park, which at the time was home to around 7,500 low-income residents. The corporation promised that the revitalization would “blend Regent Park seamlessly with surrounding neighbourhoods,” and reconnect it to Toronto’s broader grid of streets and avenues (The Daniels Corporation, 2005). The plan also included the creation of new commercial spaces and community facilities, positioning the development as a beacon of hope for the area’s future. But, as many residents would soon learn, this promise was short-lived.
On paper, the revitalization seemed like a perfect promise, but for Humaira’s family, it meant the displacement of their family of six. Her life would never be the same. According to the 2005 tenant agreement between the housing authority and evicted residents, tenants were promised that, upon completion of the revitalization, they would be able to choose their permanent units—based on the order in which they left their old ones, with newer homes being allocated on a “first come, first served” basis (Johnson et al., 2017). Yet, Humaira revealed the shortcomings of this promise. To qualify for Daniels Corporation’s revitalized dwellings, residents were required to be relocated twice within the neighbourhood, effectively removing those who had stayed in the same unit from the waitlist for new housing options. Additionally, if residents chose to relocate to a community housing option outside Regent Park, they were barred from returning once the revitalization was complete. Yet, Humaira expressed gratitude, saying, “Alhamdulillah” (Praise be to God), as she noted that her family was one of the lucky ones. Since Humaira’s family moved twice to different floors within 15 Belshaw Street and rejected offers to relocate outside the neighbourhood, they ensured their eligibility to stay. Therefore, Alhamdulillah, indeed.
A map depicting different phases of Regent Park’s revitalization (Photo Credit: Toronto Community Housing, 2005)
Although her family stayed in Regent Park and later moved to 229 Sumach Street on the neighbourhood's north side, life was far from easy. According to our teammate Farhana, as a Southsider of Regent Park, making the move to the North was a significant challenge for any resident. Divided by Dundas Street East, the neighbourhood’s two sides had a long-standing rivalry, marked by stereotypes, assumptions, and even associations with underground activities. Humaira and her siblings, three elementary school students, were suddenly thrust into navigating entirely different social and physical environments. To make matters even more complicated, the Rahman children faced their biggest challenge yet: what Humaira calls "Double Displacement." This term describes how four of the Rahman siblings were split up and enrolled in three different schools, as Nelson Mandela Park Public School—where all three siblings were originally supposed to attend—was undergoing renovations at the time of their move. At such a young age, Humaira and her oldest brother had to step into parental roles, helping care for their younger siblings while their parents worked tirelessly to support the family.
Where did her neighbours go?
In response to the million-dollar question—Where did her neighbours go?—Humaira’s answer was simple: “I honestly don’t know.” She explained that from a young age, she had been in “Go mode,” with little time to reflect on her past or the neighbours she once knew. Sadly, Humaira’s fragmented memory of her neighbours and the painful disconnection from her experiences of relocation are not unique. In a 2009 research study on urban renewal and involuntary displacement, Mindy Fullilove explains that displacement—particularly involuntary relocation from one’s home—can leave people feeling rootless and vulnerable. For Humaira, the forced displacement not only disrupted her family’s sense of belonging but also dismantled the social networks crucial to public housing and ethnic communities. Her family lost the tight-knit connections they had built at 15 Belshaw Street, and she herself lost her childhood friends. To top it off, Humaira had to step into a guardian role to take care of her younger brothers. Through further research, we may have found an explanation for where Humaira’s neighbours went. Upon completion of Phase 1 of the Regent Park redevelopment, TCH (Toronto Community Housing) reported that only 40 percent of the original residents were able to secure housing within Regent Park. The remaining 56 percent were relocated to other public housing across the city (Johnson et al., 2017).
Teenage years at Daniels Spectrum and YEA
The obstacles Humaira faced, however, do not define her story. Despite the tough hurdles in her journey, she fondly recalls the strength of the Regent Park community. As a child, she loved playing with her neighbours at Big Foot Park, going ice skating near her first home, and later rushing home from hangouts to beat Maghrib (sunset) and make it in time for prayer. She described these moments as the community’s most vibrant “link ups,” where kids burned off energy from playing, while their mothers and aunties sat nearby chatting. “There was always something happening outside,” Humaira recalled. In the summer, the scent of barbecue meat and popcorn would fill the air in Regent Park as adults hosted cookouts and festivals for the neighbourhood. These memories remain close to her heart, and they would later shape her deep commitment to community involvement.
Outside of Daniels Spectrum (Photo Credit: Eric Fallas, 2025)
In 2012, Humaira’s first home, 15 Belshaw Street, was transformed into Daniels Spectrum, a vibrant community cultural hub funded by the Daniels Corporation and the John and Myrna Daniels Charitable Foundation (Daniels Spectrum, 2025). While many events unfolded within the Spectrum's walls, for Humaira, it became a place filled with countless late-night conversations with friends and study sessions during her high school years. Before Daniels Spectrum, however, there were many other instances of community oriented businesses in Toronto that we can look to for similar models of civil service.
Let’s go back to Rabba Fine Foods. Rabba is a small ethnic grocery store, founded in 1966 by Palestinian immigrant family of Rick Rabba (Sponagle, 2021). Formerly a single convenience store located just east of the U of T downtown campus, the business has continuously evolved to reflect the cultural diversity of communities, and their needs. Whether it be offering different products like halal meats, Middle Eastern spices, or Jamaican bread, Rabba has long been a steady, reliable presence in the area. In 2020, while the world grappled with a global pandemic, Rabba kept its stores open 24/7, offering economic relief, food security and social connection especially in trying times.
The second floor of Daniels Sepctrum, where Humaira spent her days in high school (Photo Credit: Eric Fallas, 2025)
Similarly, Humaira—now a high school graduate—realized she too could make a difference. She joined the Youth Enrichment Academy (YEA) at Daniels Spectrum, an initiative designed to address gaps in programming for youth in grades 6-8 in Regent Park (Yearegentpark, 2023). Starting as a Youth Mentor, she quickly rose to a contracted position as a Youth Outreach Worker. Local youth in Regent Park face continuous challenges due to the neighbourhood's historical disinvestment, which exposes them to threats like “safety issues, local environmental hazards, harassment and stigmatization, and growing up in a culture of immediacy” (Laughlin, 2008, p.25). Additionally, the revitalization efforts took away fundamental communal support relied on by many local families, such as childminding and informal educational provisions previously offered by other parents (August, 2014). In response to these challenges, Humaira and her colleagues at YEA worked tirelessly to bridge these gaps by hosting a series of classes, tutorials, activities, and after-school programs, all aimed at improving educational access and uplifting the neighbourhood’s youth.
Humaira on the second left wearing a blue jacket, leading her group to the Canadian Opera Company (Photo Credit: Growing Neighbourhoods Foundation, 2023)
It was also during Humaira’s time at YEA, she met someone who would change her life forever—her mentor, partner in crime, and future business partner, Halima.
Halima
During our interview with Humaira, she jokingly referred to Halima as an “official Rahman,” as if she were part of the family. Their energy was electric, filled with laughter, telepathic agreements, and an uncanny ability to predict each other's next moves. This was especially evident when our photographer teammate, Eric, asked for photos. They effortlessly knew how to strike the perfect pose and even anticipated each other's best sides, and it was difficult to find any shots where they weren’t smiling.
Halima entered Humaira’s life in 2020 as her mentor at the Youth Enrichment Academy (YEA). Over time, their friendship blossomed, and the two quickly became inseparable outside of work. Beyond inspiring youth at the academy, their conversations sparked endless ideas on how they could make a greater impact on their community. Humaira fondly recalled her childhood memories of the community’s strength, but also noted that the revitalization of Regent Park had simultaneously led to division within the neighbourhood. She described how the area, once full of activity, had become quieter, as displacement dismantled the communal support that had once been integral—like childminding, socialization, and a shared understanding of mutual care.
Halima and Humaira sharing a laugh in our interview (Photo Credit: Eric Fallas, 2025)
The revitalization also introduced a mixed-income model, which incorporated individuals with higher incomes into the area. This shift has created tension between long-time residents and newcomers, leading to conflicts over cultural differences. This tension is explored in the documentary Farewell Regent, where one long-time Regent Park resident expresses his frustration with the new condo owners, recounting how they rejected his invitation to community barbecues, saying, “The condo owners do their own thing, with hors d'oeuvres and wine.” (Browne, 2019, 47:05) Another interviewee comments, “Before, neighbours knew neighbours. Now, in the condos, there’s no sense of community.” (Browne, 2019, 46:44) These sentiments reflect the broader impact of the revitalization on the neighbourhood’s sense of unity and belonging.
Carousel Cafe & Bistro
With Halima’s years of experience in youth empowerment in Regent Park, she resonated deeply with Humaira’s vision of bringing the community together. In 2024, with the support of Arthubs and Daniels Corporation, they took on a new challenge: opening a café—what they fondly call a "community living room." Located in the lobby of Daniels Spectrum, the pair named it the Carousel Café and Bistro. The café not only serves as a gathering place for residents but also welcomes local food entrepreneurs, offering them a rotating space to sell their goods. Like a carousel, the vendors change regularly, but the aim remains constant: to celebrate and unite the diverse community through food.
A signage of Carousel Cafe Bistro (Photo Credit: Eric Fallas, 2025)
Since its opening, the café has embodied Humaira’s cherished childhood memories, becoming a hub of activity. Open almost daily from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m, you can feel the presence of long-gone neighbours in every intimate conversation at the cafe, every big laugh you hear at the counter, the sound of the TV playing cartoon shows and sports games. These moments invoke a sense of nostalgia and recreate on a minute scale the childhood memories Humaira once shared with her neighbours—from the whispers of aunties gossiping to the sound of her childhood friends jumping in the bouncy castle and the smell of barbecue meat at summer cookouts. These memories have culminated into Humaria’s vision of a “community living room” at Carousel Cafe for her new neighbours. Her vision includes a space where there is always something going on, whether it be open mic or game nights, and provides childcare services for the area’s children, such as a shared television children can watch cartoons on.
The cafe enjoys a constant ebb and flow of customers. Looking ahead, Humaira and Halima plan to expand the café's impact by offering summer employment opportunities for local high school students. These positions will equip them with valuable skills in roles such as a barista and cashiers, providing a stepping stone for their professional growth. Some of these services are like those formerly provided by Landsdowne Cone, a former ice cream shop located in what is now Cafe Zuzu, and the now closed basement mosques of Regent Park (Ruggerio, 2014; Parnell 2020). In the basement mosques, parents could leave their children at the mosque knowing that a trusted adult was always present. The mosques also had printers where students could print their homework, as well as a treadmill for exercise. The space brought a sense of belonging, building networks of support and solidarity to address issues of social justice and access to spaces, especially in marginalizing environments (Jamil, 2015). It appears then that many of the cafe’s services and hopes are inspired by the experiences at these basement mosques.
Prayer in progress at Regent Park Khadem Committee Centre, basement of 260 Sumach Street in Regent Park (Photo Credit: 30 Masjids)
PRODUCTS
Comic
When we began this project, we had lingering ideas of making illustrations for a children’s book, always coming back to the question—Where Did My Neighbours Go? Choosing a comic format was a deliberate choice as its digestible and visual depth make it an intriguing medium for communication of complex socio-economic issues, especially to children and those unfamiliar with the technical language of urban policy, while still appealing to older audiences. It offers a space where emotion, place, and memory can be invoked.
Visually, the comic combines hand-drawn characters with photo-collage backgrounds. Illustrations were created in Procreate and Fresco, while real photos of Regent Park were taken or collected to be edited in Photoshop as it layers fictional elements with realistic backdrops. The final layout was assembled in Illustrator, creating a layered visual style that draws the story back to reality.
Through the eyes of Humaira, this comic narrates a journey of growing up in Regent Park, facing displacement, and witnessing her community change. Amid loss and resilience, the story celebrates Carousel Café—an uplifting example of shared entrepreneurship and economic justice. The comic breathes life and emotion to Humaira’s story and the upbringing of Carousel Cafe, bringing a narrative that explores gentrification in Regent Park on an individual level, inviting others to reflect on their experiences. It becomes a tool for connection, healing, and hope, realizing the strength of community bonds in the face of adversity, and how Regent Park residents can protect that bond.
Podcast
Intended to mimic the narrative essence of our comic book through the medium of audio, we co-produced a podcast primarily using recordings of our interviews with Humaira and Halima. This acts as a supplementing material to our comic book, reinforcing featured themes in the comic book with facts we collected in academic literature and in the interviews. The format is an alternating series of narration and interview audio, cut down on time to get the most concise representation of the messages we gained from the interviews onto an mp3.
Some editing liberty we took was the use of intro and outro audio from Fresh Prince of Bel Air, as the light parallel between the theme of displacement based on security concerns in that TV show mimicked the themes here in Regent Park, as well as a line one of us wrote for the podcast script greatly resembling the opening lyrics to make that connection.
In close parallel to the Humaira’s story we share here, the podcast follows the story of her upbringing, her time at her residences, working at the YEA, up to the present. Underscoring these issues, is a discussion about the harms of empty promises of local entrepreneurship in Du East and The Wyatt condos, hinting at the idea of corporate interests opposing those of the residents. The continuity of issues even in the time since the COVID-19 pandemic reminds the audience that the push for action remains, with the closure of the YEA program and a cliffhanger ending showing the audio of the news being revealed to our group mid-interview that the cafe got robbed.
Existing Historic Social Housing 2 (Photo Credit: Eric Fallas, 2025)
CONCLUSION
You’ve now reached the end of Humaira’s inspiring story, at least for now. Despite the painful experience of displacement, she continues to dedicate herself to her community, honouring her childhood neighbours—displaced or not—in meaningful ways. As a community leader, she’s making strides in creating space for those around her. Whether through her work with YEA, addressing economic disparities, and launching specialized initiatives for local youth, or tackling the divide created by urban revitalization, Humaira’s efforts speak volumes. As we wrap up her journey, we wish to leave you with one question: Where will her neighbours go?
Humaira’s successes with YEA and Carousel Café are not a perfect, "happily ever after" tale of residents delivering economic justice within the neighbourhood. Far from it. The obstacles that continue to arise as she remains devoted to Regent Park’s community make it clear that the fight is far from over. Just because residents are taking on the role of delivering economic justice doesn’t mean it’s a one-size-fits-all solution. Challenges are ongoing. As of the time of writing, YEA has struggled to survive due to funding issues. Humaira reflects on how, as a child, she experienced the painful impacts of involuntary displacement. Through her work with YEA, she sees today’s youth facing a similar struggle with the unpredictability of funding from large organizations. Programs that young people have come to rely on can disappear in an instant, leaving them uncertain about their future. Carousel Café, too, faced its biggest challenge during the week of our interview with Humaira when the café was robbed. The thief, someone familiar with Daniels Spectrum, managed to slip under the radar early in the morning, pretending to be a regular passerby. This incident underscores a harsh reality: the obstacles in delivering economic justice to your neighbours are compounded when individuals from within the same community actively work against you.
As we shift away from the positives of Humaira’s community work, it becomes clear that the future holds new sets of challenges for economic justice. So the question is: How do we take the lessons of the past—Humaira’s childhood, the good and the bad—and her community ventures, both past and present, to help future generations avoid facing the same marginalization and social separation? The hope is that future efforts will guide a new generation of Humaira down a path of resilience, one that can withstand the forces at play in urban revitalization.
Therefore, we leave you with a reflective thought: How can you help future Humaira’s in Regent Park fight the injustices they face today, and empower them to become community leaders just as Humaira has, continuing the work she began?
References
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