The other morning, on Vancouver’s “Wake Up With Co-op,” a guest host was speaking with a man from London about their impending nightmare. The IOC are already in there, he said, scoping out the turf, putting their stamp on the bits they want to procure in the next round of corporate fascism disguised as athletics. They’ve even scooped up a public playing field, an area where children kick a ball around and call it “football.” No more ball playing for you dirty kids, unless you grow up to be an “Athlete.”
The Co-op radio host asked the British man “Why did the IOC go directly to the East end of London to begin its plan and design for 2012? Why aren’t they considering hosting the games in the West Side?”
A damned good question, mate. Why indeed. And why is it that the east end of so many cities are where the working class live? What is it about west ends that attract the affluent?
I think of Cuba (not a perfect society, but which boasts zero homelessness, zero hungry children), where cities are not stratified economically. People live in their family’s homes, as is common in many nations not North American. You can own a building in Cuba, but you cannot own the land it stands upon. Because of the 49 year economic embargo imposed by the defenders of manifest destiny, the Cubans do have a housing crisis. They have the will to house people, but not the materials. And, because Cuba is striving for equality on all levels, including economic, choosing to be a doctor or a lawyer will not propel anyone to live in a mansion. The Cubans did away with the mansions 50 years ago. (Fidel himself, I’m told, lives in an apartment in Havana.) Because of all these things, Havana is not a city that’s stratified by economics. But here in the west (again, the obsession with imagining all wealth travels west) the land thieves … er, I mean Realtors, implement a planned gentrification. And in East London, right now, preparations for one more (dare I say one last) blast at empire are, no doubt, meeting with their own kind of resistance.
Because we will grow and expand, we resisters, I’m confident of that. The basic desire for survival is a particularly strong instinct. The world is watching, and we east enders will learn, and organize, and share our wisdom with our brothers and sisters around the world.
The Games are about to commence here in Vancouver. If you’re going, I’ve heard it’s recommended you get to the venue four hours in advance. FOUR HOURS! They’ll thoroughly search you, and won’t allow you to bring any of your own food or beverages, but they will happily sell you way overpriced coca-cola and crappy fast food – so you can eat just like the athletes. And chuck your bits of dead planet into the landfill bin on your way out.
By next month, six billion dollars later, I doubt Vancouverites will ever allow this charade to descend upon their fair city again.
It’s preposterous to suggest that Vancouver in any way needs international attention. Are you kidding me? I left whiter than white Victoria this morning at nine thirty, and by the time I arrived at my friend’s house in Vancouver I’d heard at least three or four different languages. The first bus driver, from the ferry, had a thick Latino accent and was very extremely friendly and helpful, I might add, with the myriad of questions being hurled at her. How do I get to Whiterock, I need to meet a friend at 41st and Granville, what’s the best way to get to Vancouver. This woman knows the city and its buses like someone born here, and she patiently shared her knowledge. I relaxed ….. suddenly I felt like I was in Central America or Cuba, where people actually understand the importance of community, rather than heading into the warzone of the IOC. I listened to darkskinned people speaking French as the new Canada Line descended into its tunnel of darkness (it’s fast, but it’s not like seeing the city from Richmond to Broadway St.), and had a chat with a thickly accented Asian man on the way to the University (while some other loud mouthed Caucasian man of my generation told an elderly woman passenger that he was going to meet his buddy to go get drunk and smoke some hash). Even the dude in full military gear, at the coffee shop where I dropped off a couple of Street Newzes, was of ethnic origin. Vancouver is already an international city. We don’t need no stinking 6 billion dollar games to alert the world to the logging industry’s recently developed real estate market.
I believe this is stolen native land. And I hope my blood cousins, down and out in East London, can awaken the spirits of their pagan ancestors whose land was stolen out from under them. Because it’s about to happen again.
Click here to read an article from The Times titled “Unlawful anti-terror powers planned for use during 2012 Olympics.”
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