Straddling the Lines that Divide Us

I want to share with all of you as accurately as possible my experience at the demonstration against war and imperialism that made its way through the streets of downtown Toronto on this cloudy, windy, rainy final Saturday of October 2007. I'm scratching my head trying to conjure a suitable introduction to my story and getting nowhere, so I'll just get on with it.

My day began by being introduced to three self-professed Marxist groups, none of whom seemed to want anything to do with the others; a fantastic start to ending war. The representative of the first, a contingent of followers of one Leon Trotsky, with whom I conversed - a sweet, seemingly middle-aged lady, passionate about the cause and the effort she puts forth in hopes of a better world - to be honest, much of the content of our discussion escapes me on account of a combination of poor attention span and wonky short-term memory (being a pot head last year wasn't all that great of an idea after all, though it did assist me in churning out ideas for writing, but I digress). I remember her handing me a leaflet, then telling me to be on alert for an impromptu protest in the wake of the Third Circuit Court of Appeals' decision on the fate of Mumia Abu Jamal. I remember using the words, "They hate him!" and nodding in agreement, for you and I can understand why the orchestrators of such a social order as the one in which we live would harbour such vitriolic affect towards this man, whose plight represents the ugly underbelly of this social order in its naked form. Upon her utterance of these aforementioned three words, I attempted to connect Mr. Abu Jamal to one Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., whose message of love, peace, compassion and unity was silenced by the action of one James Earl Ray, particularly how the State had (and continues to have) a vested interest in quashing these threats to their established social order. My counterpart was hesitant to acknowledge my assertion that the State had a hand in Dr. King's demise, and I don't blame her for it: on the surface, it's tough to argue against the notion of a lone, crazed, racist gunman taking down a prominent African leader; however, if our arguments portray a racist State power structure, one could easily draw the conclusion that said authority, through the trigger finger of Mr. James Earl Ray, perpetrated such an attack. Again, I digress. My acquaintance and I exchanged pleasantries and went our separate ways.

With the representative of the second, another collection of followers of Trotsky, the conversation was a bit more heated. First, I asked this bespectacled young gentleman if his group had any affiliation with the group with whom I had previously conversed, to which he replied with a brief description of the rift resulting from philosophical differences and (surprise!) an internal power struggle. We left it at that, and proceeded to discuss the issues revolving around today's gathering. As we were discussing possibilities to bring forth social upheaval, we hit a snag, and it pertained to the folks you see below:



His argument was thus: law enforcement and military personnel ought not to be considered "workers", as they represent (by carrying out) State oppression of the masses, and that any movement geared to yield social upheaval must exclude said persons. While I agreed with his sentiments on what the uniform and badge symbolize, when we strip them away, these are people, much like you and me, who have mortgages, who pay bills, who have families to feed, who struggle to survive. An older woman interrupted us for a moment to mention that these people are children, and most of them are parents of children, people who work each day to provide for themselves and these children of theirs. Sure, their actions are, by and large, more reprehensible than, say, our pushing paper within a multinational or state bureaucracy, but we cannot lose sight that these are human beings, just like us, working to keep their heads above the proverbial water line. Their hiding behind the badge highlights the point of this whole exercise: society pits us against one another - Man against Woman, White against Black against Brown, Judeo-Chrisitan against Muslim, Constable against Commoner, "straight" against "gay", neighbour against neighbour, and so on ad nauseam - while the few reap the immense monetary gains that ensue. My counterpart, natrually, wholeheartedly agreed with this, though it wasn't enough to persuade him into viewing these persons as "workers". We did agree, more or less, on the following: as this movement gains momentum, we need to reach out to these people and lay our cards on the table, though it is up to them to step back, see exactly what they're doing and whom they represent, then toss aside their tools of oppression for the sake of humanity. And with that, we exchanged pleasantries and parted ways.

I then had an encounter with another lady from the first contingent of Trotskyites who mentioned she noticed me having a chat with the gentleman from the rival faction, then proceeded to relay to me the story of how its leader was expelled from her clan for his sociopathic behaviour (I should highlight to the reader that, through my studies in Abnormal Psychology, I discovered that "psychopath" is, once again, the preferred nomenclature) - I believe he tried to force an abortion upon a female member who was carrying his child, though the remainder of the details escape me. At this point, I did not know what to say: was she trying to tell me to be wary of the group as a whole and all of its members on account of the psychopathology of its leader? Perhaps she ought to bring it to their attention? Perhaps she has already tried?

The encounter with the third group of Marxists was much more brief. I mentioned to the young lady that this was, in fact, the third group of Marxists who approached me, to which she responded with a chuckle and a mention of her particular faction favouring unity among all of us. We were not able to chat for very long - after all, she had papers to sell. No matter. 'Twas a pleasure meeting her.





I could not document my experience without bringing your attention to this gentleman (the one holding the shield) and his belief in the need to attack Islam for the sake of the Jews and Christians, for their suppression of civil liberties, and because they "attacked first" on 11 September 2001. Needless to say, on this day, he was a lonely fellow. 'Twas a pity, though, that I did not engage in discussion with him, for he is not alone in the unfortunate sentiments he harbours, ones we have not done an adequate job destroying. What would he say upon hearing me - or anyone, for that matter - tell him he is being had by the very powers to which he lends his unwavering support? that every Qassam rocket fired is to the benefit of the advancement of a State of Israel blanketing everything between the Nile and Euphrates? that these four commercial airliners, having been flown into the World Trade Center and Pentagon, have given the executive branch of the United States government carte blanche to wage war on any nation it desires? that he is just as much a slave as the rest of us? that, despite his being a Judeo-Christian, his government doesn't give a shit about him or the people he holds dear?

Though I did not manage to ignite a discussion between the two of us, I settled for affixing an appendage to his "Islam Attacked First" banner, which read, "Is this true?" Furthermore, for all you parents in Readerland, and I say this from my experiences as a combatant in a fierce sibling rivalry, when you pull two quarreling youngsters aside and one of them tries to employ the "S/He started it!" defense, do you let her/him settle the score by cracking one on the jaw of her/his counterpart, or do you end the confrontation once and for all? Heaven knows how many times my mother uttered the line, "I don't care who started it; end it!"

All this, and the procession itself has yet to begin!



Onward with the demonstration! Up University Avenue we march, then east on Gerrard Street, then south on Yonge Street past the streams of Saturday shoppers, then east on Queen Street, congregating in Moss Park, residing in the neighbourhood home to the highest density of homeless persons in this great nation of ours, which happens to also be home to an Armoury. I could feel the energy of this mass of participants in the crisp autumn air through its chants of "End the occupation! Troops out now!" and "From Iraq to Palestine, occupation is a crime!". There was even a contingent of persons from the Philippines present, which was pleasing to see, as America's conquering of said nation a century ago seems absent from the minds of many.

It must have been while we were turning onto Gerrard Street when I heard the voice of a gentleman ask if I could carry his placard, as he had to leave the rally prematurely to attend to other important matters. I turned my head to my right towards this voice, and, lo and behold, I'm staring at the Right Honourale Peter Tabuns, representative of the New Democratic Party and Member of Provincial Parliament. "It's good to see you, Mr. Tabuns!" I exclaimed while shaking his hand. I also mentioned I used to live in his riding, at the corner of Pape Avenue and Dundas Street, to be exact; this seemed to please him. Then he made his escape. 'Twas a pity he could not stay. Such is the life of the politician: always on the run.



My discussion with the bespectacled gentleman from the second Trotskyite contingent stayed with me through the duration of the march. I was fortunate to have walked alongside the barrier of constables on bicycles, for it allowed me to see into their eyes. If only I could tell them how, despite their uniforms and badges and weapons and power, we're all in this together, and how they're just as much slaves as us, toiling day after day, year after miserable year, for the benefit of the elite. Perhaps I have much work to do on myself yet, as I vowed to cease being afraid. Again, I digress. As I peered into the eyes of each constable I passed, I could sense the fear their masks tried to conceal. The motorcycle officers appeared especially menacing, clad in black leather from neck to toe, hiding behind mirrored sunglasses, but they were afraid all the same, this I can assure you. Like a guard dog, they attack because they are afraid. Like I said earlier, we're pitted against each other, fearful of our own neighbours, using any means necessary to quell any and all threats to our perceived security: for the elite, it's fear of losing dominion over ever natural resource, of losing dominion over the people it is meant to serve. And so, it sends its guard dogs after us.



At last, we gathered at Moss Park for the conclusion of the rally. The speaker pictured above (I can't remember his name; if you know it, feel free to tell me) spoke on behalf of the homeless in Canada. He pointed to a park bench, located in the vicinity of the baseball diamond behind us, and shared with us, as he did in September 2005 during the last rally I attended, the story of a man, Paul Richard Croutch, who was beaten to death by three young reservists from the nearby Armoury for the crime of sleeping on this very bench, three young men who are scheduled to stand trial for murder in February 2008. One line in his speech stood out among the rest: one life came to an end that fateful evening, and three others were destroyed.

Pay attention now to the gentleman holding the placard reading "NO TO IMPERIALIST WAR / DOWN WITH ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF IRAN", for I am about to mention him.



The gentleman pictured above (again, I cannot remember his name, either) was invited to speak about his experience in Afghanistan and his journey to Canada, when he was interrupted by chants by the chap whose attention I drew you earlier, denouncing the Islamic theocracy in Iran, and whose head was nearly taken off for his efforts. I want to add my thoughts on this in an attempt to make sense of it all:

I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment that we cannot protest imperialism without demanding the dissolution of theocratic rule in Iran, or any other nation, for that matter. This does not mean we ought to line up behind our fearless leaders as they order us to sharpen our bayonets, load our rifles and plunge ourselves into battle, first, because war brings us nothing but more war, and, second, because supporting purveyors of theocracy in our backyard defeats the purpose of toppling theocracy abroad.

That being said, this gentleman could have chosen a more appropriate time to sound off than during this humble man's speech. Perhaps my personal bias would prevent me from feeling bad had someone interrupted Dick Cheney in a similar situation, and you have every right to pick on me for it. Unfortunately, this particular speaker does not have television networks and newspapers at his beckoned call, meaning this was one of very few opportunities he has to share his tale with us and did not deserve to be interrupted as he was today.

I failed to photograph the young lady who followed this gentleman in the speaking order, nor did I remember her name (I'm awfully bad with names, aren't I?), but I do recall her passion and conviction on the podium, and stood in awe of it, thus I would not be pleased with myself for failing to acknowledge her.





The two gentlemen pictured above (I cannot remember their names, either; what a horrible person I am) spoke about the situation in Haïti, specifically, the role being played by Canadian soldiers and law enforcement, something neither our major media outlets nor our Haïitan-born Governor-General, the Right Honourable Michaëlle Jean, have bothered to do, perhaps because neither of them are able to put as pleasant a spin on this mission as, say, our ongoing effort to "spread democracy" and "restore stability" to Afghanistan. Here, we flat-out aided in the usurping of President Jean Bertrand Aristide in 2004, elected by the impoverished masses, in the name of consumables produced with bargain-basement labour costs. To this day, Mr. Aristide remains in exile. Chalk another one up for "democracy".



This gentleman kindly asked us to boycott the Chapters/Indigo bookstore megachain, as the two heads of this dragon, Heather Reisman and Gerry Schwartz, donate an annual sum of three million dollars to the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) - I don't believe I need to get into particulars of what they do. He continued to highlight how two-faced the elite tends to be, as it embarks on landmark charitable work, such as supplying heaps of books to school boards at cost, while funneling millions of dollars each year in support of perpetual war.



Lastly, this gentleman spoke on the ongoing struggle for freedom in Burma from military rule, highlighting the hypocrisy of all the lip-service being paid in support of Aung San Suu Kyi by Western leaders who need not be named. He went on to say that, while the Canadian government named Aung San Suu Kyi an "honourary citizen", some of its businesses continued to benefit from the military regime who deposed her.

And thus concluded the rally against war, bringing me (finally) to the conclusion of my account of it. It is now shortly after one o'clock Sunday morning. I have no idea when I started writing this piece; my neck and shoulders are sore from it, but who am I to complain? I have a solid roof over my head, electricity to power my computer, and no one is shooting at me.

Okay. Enough of my being a smart-ass; by now, I imagine you've had enough.

I want to end with a thought on why we do this:







The first photograph is of Moss Park, the latter two of Regent Park, two of the less glamourous neighbourhoods of Toronto, if you believe what your television tells you. You will notice the children at play in the first two (methinks I scared the children in the second shot, though I sincerely hope not; if I did, I apologize), with the large mural in the third demanding a halt to violence. These highlight the reasons why we work towards ending war and exploitation, towards a better, safer world, one in which we do not have it in for one another, one in which we do not live in fear of one another. This is a world towards which we all need to work, and we achieve it through understanding, through compassion, through love. If this is not something we all want, I'm afraid there's no hope for us.

Signing off at 1:17 on 28 October 2007.

Mahalo.

p.s. My sincere apologies to those of you whose names I forgot, as well as those whose sentiments I may have distorted while trying to recall them.