A bitter victory

Photo by Victor Magdic

Downtown Toronto is a ghost town. I haven't been there myself, but I've seen the photos. I've been keeping up with the news of the wall, the surveillance cameras, the sonic cannons, the legions of cops, the private army of thugs, the school shutdowns, the work and transit closures, the prom and wedding cancellations, even the moronic fashion advice.

And it hurts. I have to say it. Mock Toronto all you like, but it's my city, and I love it with all the irrational enthusiasm of a flag-waving Yank. I live here and I work here; it's my haven and my playground and I find its vastness, its variety, even its cold-shouldered anonymity, a comfort and a joy. It's my home, and at the risk of sounding hyperbolic, these soulless bastards have turned it into a warzone for their little photo-op.

But in the midst of this ugliness, I've come to the realization that we—the activists, the protesters, the unwashed masses—have actually won the war without firing a shot. What's the purpose of summit-hopping, after all? Seattle was a fluke—they'll shoot us all before they let us shut down another big meeting. A more realistic goal is discrediting what takes place at these closed-door meetings, and Stephen Harper and his buddies have done that for us.

How about economic disruption? John Zerzan could raise an army of stinking anarcho-primitivists and it wouldn't rain as much havoc down on Canada's infrastructure as shutting down Toronto's entertainment and financial districts during prime tourist season. We don't need to shut down the streets—they went and did that. We don't need to toss bricks through windows—they've already made a bloody mess of the downtown.

Nor do we need to shame them. They have transformed a bustling, prosperous city into a microcosm of the world they wish to create. Governed by martial law, cordoned off, leaders isolated from the people they claim to represent. This is what democracy looks like, indeed. They used to accuse activists of hiding our faces behind black kerchiefs and balaclavas—now they're the ones hiding behind walls.

So while I mourn as the rich and powerful prepare to shit all over my city, it's heartening to know that they've gone and proved my point for me.

P.S. I totally missed the earthquake. I guess I was at school. Nothing ever happens in Scarberia.