Founded in England in 1856 by William and Catherine Booth, the Salvation Army is a wonderful force for good. It has spread to almost every continent on the globe and is deeply committed to providing practical support for society's most vulnerable.
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The amy has an estimated 1.65 million members spread across more than 15,000 congregations. It oversees a wide range of services and facilities including homeless hostels, residential addiction dependency programs, children's homes, aged care homes, refuges and food pantries.
It often partners with, or is contracted by, governments to manage such facilities.
That is the case in Canberra where, almost a decade ago, the Salvation Army was allocated $28.3 million to provide social housing and homelessness services over eight years by the ACT government. The contract expires on June 30.
One of the facilities directly affected is a Salvation Army owned and operated apartment complex in Narrabundah. It is home to a significant number of vulnerable people.
The tenants have been told the complex is to be re-purposed as youth crisis accommodation and that they will have to move out by early July.
It is unfortunate, given the Salvation Army was presumably given the contract on the basis of its demonstrated expertise in working with the vulnerable and its high ideals, the transition has been handled quite poorly.
While the Salvation Army has said none of the existing residents would be left to fend for themselves with alternative accommodation to be found for all that does not seem to be the case.
It would appear, as is often the case for large organisations with fingers in many different pies, the army's bureaucracy has not been able to put into practice the creed its members uphold and preach.
Last month The Canberra Times reported on the plight of a number of residents who, despite what they had been told, were still to be be allocated caseworkers to facilitate their relocation.
Salvos Housing chief executive Chris Karagiannas said suitable alternative accommodation had only been found for about half of the residents at that time.
Those we spoke to, who said they had only learned they were going to be evicted by letter and were still waiting to be contacted by a caseworker, were visibly distressed and traumatised by the lack of communication and the uncertainty.
One man, an agoraphobic who spoke of how important having a place to call home had been in turning his life around, said his recovery was now in jeopardy.
Another, a 76-year-old Vietnam veteran who had worked for the Salvation Army running charity shops for decades, spoke of his fear that if he was forced to go into a nursing home it would be the end of him.
"If you move me into a home within three months I will have passed away," he said.
The latest development has been the erection of steel perimeter fencing which residents say is disturbing and intimidating. Access into and out of the apartments is now quite restricted. Michael, the resident with agoraphobia, said it left him with a sense of impending doom.
"It's abominable," he said. "I'm quite overwhelmed by all this at the moment and it has made me quite unwell as a result. We are not sure where to turn".
Vulnerable people, particularly those closer to the end of their life's journey than the beginning, deserve the utmost courtesy and respect.
That does not appear to have been forthcoming on this occasion.
This needs to be rectified. Now. Speaking to the residents today would be a good start.
