We had intended to stop, on our way into town, at Mitchell’s Farm to pick up some fresh vegetables for the revolution, but the placed was packed with pumpkin pickers and we didn’t have a lot of time since I needed to eventually leave Sidney with enough time to cycle back into town before sundown. We tried a couple of other local farms but they were both closed. Nevermind, I suggested we could find out what they need and I’ll get it another day. I was brought up with the understanding that sharing is a good thing, and it’s polite to bring something when dropping in for a visit.
Since it was Sunday we got free parking in the city parkade on Fisgard St., and rode the elevator three flights down to Centennial Square. I don’t know what mom and dad were imagining the revolution would look like, but I knew they were curious and willing to see it for themselves. We’ve had plenty of conversations about the state of the world, the corruption in the banking system, the ways anything-for-profit corporations are taking over governments. Just that very day, at lunch, they had mentioned how unfair it is that rich people don’t pay taxes, that the oil industry continues to be subsidized by our tax dollars, and that Gordon Campbell’s latest mission in England is paying him a huge salary (over $200,000 a year I think they said) plus he gets the lifetime pension that we taxpayers will give him.
My parents are concerned about how their world is changing (these are people who grew up in a world before plastic, with a choice between two radio stations, BBC1 or BBC2) but they’re elderly (85 & 86) and don’t feel they can get personally involved beyond continuing to live gently and thoughtfully (buying local organic food, for example). Their parents fought in the war to end all wars (WWI). They joined the second war as teenagers, immigrated to Canada afterwards when they couldn’t find housing in England and sought a better life for their children. We children of the 60s witnessed them work hard, build a middle class existence, and retire with pensions.
I sensed their trepidation as we entered the square. For a while, Dad chose to sit on a bench in the sun near the city’s bathroom security attendants. Mom agreed to a tour, and adjusted her bag so the strap went across her chest rather than just on her shoulder. I showed her the library and lounging area, the bulletin board which included my long time friend Steve Filipovic’s election material, the meditation corner, and we learned that the kitchen is getting regular donations to feed the approximately 60-100 people who show up twice daily for meals. I noticed more representatives from the street community than there were at the beginning of the week. Mom noticed there were people smoking medical marijuana, also the camp’s wish list and she sent me home, later, with an extra dish rack she was going to drop off at the thrift shop, and some cash to use at my discretion.
We talked with David Johnston who had just spoken at the General Assembly about the fundamental importance of and right to sleep and the difficulty acquiring it in such a busy downtown space. It’s no surprise that David has some ideas, and is having some conversations with others of the assembly, about alternate locations for the revolutionary camp. Considering the city’s diabolical plan to construct, for the first time I can remember in my 21 years living here, a skating rink where tents now exist, plus the annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony for the sequoia, discussing the future of the revolution – beyond Centennial or Spirit Square - is a good idea.
Appropriating Public Space for Private Purposes
David asked my mom what it’s like in England and Wales, whether there are still forests like there are here. She said Sherwood Forest, not too far from Stonehenge, still stands. I laughed when David said he wonders if there’s a city like Victoria in every commonwealth country. I tried to imagine what was going through their heads (Dad had joined us by this time) when a young man started drawing, in felt marker, on the couch he was laying on. This is not something I would ever have gotten away with for even a moment. As it turns out, the open-shirted, skirt wearing guy and his cool tubular art was the topic of much friendly conversation on the way home. I told them I was going to invite him over to brighten up their couch at bit.
My parents have a computer, but it’s mostly used for email and to skype with my brother in Vietnam. I’ve tried to set them up with alternate media sites, but I don’t think they’re much into surfing the ‘net. They don’t drive too far anymore, or socialize as much as they used to. Age brings with it a realization that time appears to move more quickly even while life’s daily activities move more slowly, and not as much gets accomplished. People have patterns, they read the daily newspaper and watch the television news because that’s what they’ve always done. My parents watch and read more critically than most, but they’ve never really been revolutionaries – though they were likely led to believe they were while they were “fighting fascism” during the war years. I hope that today they learned that the revolution can’t really be generalized (though there are common concerns) because it is comprised of many unique individuals. I hope they remember the vibrant, caring, colourful characters they saw today when, a month or so from now, the city moves in to remove those dirty hippies so the kiddies can have a nice skating rink near the lighted Christmas tree.
All the issues should be resolved by then, right?
For more information about David Arthur Johnston, read his blog or read his book (also available at Munro's).
For more on the appropriation of public space for private use, watch this news clip with Mayor Dean Fortin who resides at the top of the local patriarchal hierarchy, divvying up a vast portion of the stolen native land we all inhabit. With an mid-November election, Mayor Dean’s Public Relations team ought to be working overtime.
