My depiction of G20...

G20 Report

As a small child, we are taught the concept of Good vs. Bad, Cops vs. Robbers. My parents, like all other parents, embedded the idea of calling 9-1-1 if there was ever an emergency. For many, it is the first phone number we learn, memorize, and know to call. I’m not too sure I have that mentality after this weekend.

While it has been a few days since the protest took place, I am still haunted by the sights and sounds of the G20. A stray of mixed emotions of the events that unfolded, with no relief other then telling my side of the story. For over a week I’ve been bombarded with the same simple question over and over by those who did not have the opportunity to head down to Toronto. “Why did you go?”

My answer? Is not one of complex thought. My answer is simple in every aspect imaginable. It is...why the hell not?

I am an educated, democratic, informed Canadian. Who knew, in the media sense, it could be translated as “Black Bloc”, “Anarchist”, and “Militant Protester” (courtesy of the Globe & Mail). As any Canadian should have, I chose to participate in the G20 protest. I chose to voice my opinion. I chose to voice my opinion in regards to the billions of taxpayer money, which could have been put to better use. I chose to take a stance, to be heard, and to not adhere to the status quo.

The depiction of Saturday, June 26, 2010 is not as the media has described it. The constant replaying of burning police vehicles and broken windows is not how I will remember the protest. I remember the rain, and the thousands of citizens who appeared in solidarity. Marchers with agendas bigger then themselves. Marching together, as a unit, but for different agendas. It drew thousands from all races, genders and ages. Signs all raised in unison. “There is no Planet B”, “No One is Illegal”, “Invest in Girls to End Global Poverty”, “Haiti Solidarity”. The sounds of whistles, constant drumming, and chanting takes over the silence in my head. In disbelief, I feel overwhelmed by the whole situation. I am amongst strangers, but I feel as though they are my family. A sense of pride in the realization of what it is like to be a Canadian. Of how in a democratic society, our government will hear what we have to say. A scene like no other I've ever experienced. A scene that would be deleted, untouched, and not discussed by the media. A scene that would be tainted by a handful of masked hooligans, provocateurs and baton yielding Robocop’s in full riot gear.

Blending among those who were unaware to what was about to take place, I was warned about these masked tyrants. “Stick together” says a friend of mine. We have only met, but those words would be constantly repeated by the group of eight. Forming a unity by the joint commitment to dispute the unjust spending of Canadian tax money. In lieu of this economic crisis, how could our government justify this type of spending? Why couldn’t this money go towards helping contain the oil spill? Or end poverty here in our own country? Many questions run rapid in my mind.

Regardless, with everyone’s account of what transpired on Saturday, June 26th, I will spare you the same regurgitated story. The world knows that 100 masked balaclavas bearing, shameful individuals took Toronto by storm, destroying the city, giving our media great footage, and essentially initiating the atrocities that would transpire the next day. I refuse to give any more credit to those who had the wrong idea of what the G20 protest was to about. I’ve often read how there was no message to begin with. The message was clear, the message was concise, it was just lost in translation by all the biased, one sided interpretation of why people gathered in the first place. One word: Solidarity. That was the message. It was about being a Canadian. About fighting for our rights. About telling a story. About bringing light to global issues. It was about our freedom to express. And in the end, it was about learning the truth of how our country is being run. I cringe at the thought, but many world leaders were voted into power, and terrorized their country.

My only thoughts on what transpired on Saturday are this. Why did the police strategically leave six police cruisers and a minivan randomly in the streets of Toronto with the windows down on a rainy day? Why didn't the vehicles explode? Where were the fire trucks? Why was the ratio of police to protesters, 4 to 1, and yet there were still unable to contain a small in stature group of thugs. How is it that 1 billion dollars was spent in security, yet 100 protesters were able to run amuck in the city? Why didn’t the police make arrests while individuals were burning the cars and smashing windows? Why didn’t the media cover more than just the havoc that was created by the masked bandits? When will these questions be answered? More questions would arise as Sunday would be one that I would not forget.

Sunday, June 27, 2010, the day I will never forget. Set out to voice our opinions on the 100 individuals detained without reason, a group of 6 of us set out for the detention center. There we would listen to the stories of individuals waiting on friends who were woken in their sleep and taken in the night. A girl, I shall name her beige cap, discusses how she is part of the media, and is hoping for her friend to be released. I can only imagine the type of treatment they are getting within this Guantanamo bay style facility. It is a small group, and my heart goes out to them, as later that day I would get wind of how they are either detained, bombarded with rubber bullets, man handled, and brought into the facility. The facility they once starred at, in hopes of seeing the release of fellow protesters. By this time, we have made our way towards a Media Conference that is in the Parkdale area (Queen Street W & Noble Street).

Guilty through association. Throughout the day, police officers would be the new hooligans in Toronto. Boxing off everyone who happened to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time. The aggressive response by police is one that should have never taken place. Wanting to have documentation of the breach of civil liberties, we photographed & filmed a standoff with police and a few individuals. Not knowing, that we would be considered one of them in the end. Within minutes we were cornered, and the standoff began. Without any warning might I add. The last time I checked, wearing black was not an issue in Canada, for this weekend, it would be a different story. My mind races.

Why didn’t I wear my yellow “Jesus is my Homeboy” shirt today? Why did I wear my red scarf that I bought in Abu Dhabi? When did we become intimidating to the point that we needed 10 police officers to surround 20 of us, and 20 riot cops? Why do the police officers have their badges/names duct taped? Why did they block us off from other citizens by bringing in a greyhound bus? Why aren’t they telling us what is going on? Why am I even being held? When did it become legal to detain people without telling the reason? Are we in Canada or Nazi Germany? Are the police lost, we’re clearly not anywhere near the fence they spoke of. Why is this one cop smirking? Why is he mocking us now? Why is it that I have seen him on television wearing a M. Rossi name tag, and now it’s A. Taint? I bet the media is more concerned with the World Cup, then they are with my safety. Is this really happening? Oh man, we’re not in Kansas anymore...

For 2 hours, like caged rats, we stood in silence. Silent in speech, not in thoughts. Few vocalized their opinions, but for many, they just waited anxiously. Waited knowing that regardless of what was said, the cops were on a mission, and they would be arrested for sneezing at this point. I can admit now that I was scared. I had just attended the press release down the street in which the police brutalities were being discussed. I knew I had rights, but I knew they were quickly taken away without warning. No water? No food? Cheese sandwiches? I’ll die, I thought to myself. Left to fend for themselves. Left as though they were guilty of setting the cars on fire or destroying the city. Left while the individuals who caused this chain of events, most likely sit in the comforts of their homes and watched the turmoil unravel. Watching as many, who began the weekend with the thought of bringing light unto issues, were getting brutalized by police who are far more interested in confronting innocent bystanders. Not knowing that they would be the ones captivated on TV. Captivated on television as they were brought in, or released from “Torontanamo Bay”.

I write this story now in the comforts of my own home. I write this with a sense of anger, compassion for those who had it worse off, and for those who will not come forward. I am home, but my mind still replays the events of last weekend. How do I look at police now? To serve and protect? Who did they protect as innocent Canadian citizens were treated like terrorists? Do these police officers not have families? Did they want their children to get the same treatment if roles were reversed? I hear women, and young adults were abused, mentally and physically. I hear that they were manhandled, attacked, and beaten. And I can’t help but wonder how Bill Blair can just dismiss all these accusations? How can Stephen Harper justify how many innocent Canadians were treated? Is Dalton McGuinty blind? Who will be held accountable for this atrocity? How can there be no inquiry when so many have come forward with their stories? Does anybody hear me?

While my story is lax in comparison to those who were detained for hours, or held captive in a war like prison camp, I am still compelled to tell my story. I am told that it is not a competition, as I stand side by side by a guy named Kevin at the Police Station rally on June 30th. He’s got staples in his head, but is still high in spirit. That is a true Canadian in my eyes. That is what democracy looks like in Canada. This was Canada’s largest mass arrest. And somehow this society has become blind sided, immune, disconnected from brutalities that happen all over the world. Even as these injustices happen in the comforts of our backyard, our finger is on the “change channel” mode.

Wake up people. Have a voice. Don’t change the channel. Don’t just sit back and watch. Question everything you read or watch on television. Read the stories of many who were part of the demonstration. Remember: Peaceful demonstrations don’t sell newspapers.

This has been a civilian oversight, and we should all speak out against this injustice, Sunday, July, 4th at 2:30. And every protest that you can show up to.

“You must be the change you wish to see in the world” – Ghandi

Melissa Cudrig