Prolog
What a strange predicament? Having made the decision to help out a relative, I had found myself, about to be evicted from the three bedroom apartment, my cousin had talk me into moving into, with him. I had erred in my judgement, tried to help my cousin. Though I had never missed a rental payment, it seem the rent had not been paid in several months. What my cousin had done with the money I had some small idea. I was about to be "Homeless" for the second time in my life. Without the neccessary fund to procure a apartment in time, before the eviction. Again, I would experience the horror, of not having a home. Being homeless is no picnic, there are great dangers in such undertakings. I really could barely comprehend its magnatude. It would be a task that would open my eyes. I had read the neccessary manuel, had gotten some survival training, when I was younger, I was ready, I thought, for the worst. Homeless again, like over 60,000 people, in the Greater Toronto Area (G.T.A.).
Primary of my tasks was to find a place to rest my head, at night. A place out of the chill of winter's windy gusts, away from the freezing rain, shelter from the snow and ice, away from the parasites of society. Winter, however would soon give way to Spring, and I might be able to manage to exist until Summer. I'm a proud man, a weakness, and I don't ask for help easily. Solitary, though, I am, I could always stop by the church, a few blocks away, beg breakfast, lunch and/or dinner. As long as I made it to their doors in time.
Having enough confidence, I sallied forth. No man or woman need be homeless, and I would survive this winter. I would prove something to myself, I would emerge victorious, in the cold and lonely battle against winter homelessness, it's unforgiving elements, and its native parasites. There would be the theives, and their need to take from everyone. There would be the addicts and their need for their substance. their would be the corrupt members of society, and their way of treating the homeless. There is, really, one form of parasite walking on two legs. Those who feed off the tears and fears of others, "politicians." Break the word down, you will see the truth of it. Poli-tics (many parasites).
There is truth to my depiction, of these heralded, and noble persons. There is no contest greater to them, fought to gain office. To serve the public, the rich public. The poor public is never served. We are all members of society, those who have, and those who have not, both. I believe so! I had not broken the law. I would not even, so much as, fracture a by-law. There is, however, two laws that trouble me, they drive me, ever forward. I would invite anyone to look them up, and its penalties. They are "Genocide", and "Criminal Negligence." If, your conclusion is the same as mine, inform your local MP.
* LET THE STORY BEGIN *
I have live in peace, out here in the wilderness, Toronto, the inner city jungle. Filled with tall mountains of glass and steel, concrete and stripped barked trees, the countless miles plastic and copper snakelike leaves slung between them, vines of electricity and communication. All this amoung the lions tigers, and jungle beasts of big business. There, in the middle, the chaff toil mercilessly to make ends meet. I one of its number, has caused no harm, made no rebellion. Made no public out-cry, against the injustice I saw everyday. I made no request for help, not even for myself, but, for those in need. Help for the elderly of that caste, left homeless. Our experienced. Our parents. Our history. The elderly homeless, need our help. I had befriended and been befriended, by a seventy year
old gentleman. Having found himself, sans job, and homeless, after long servitude to the city's economy, as a taxi driver. He had numerous stories, some humourous, some dramatic, to tell. I had an ear, that would listen to all he would give words to. I could listen the those tales over and over, and he would oblige my asking, to repeat them for others.
The day is Dec. 1st 1999, this marks the beginning of the "Christmas Season," a time of good
will towards men, and peace on earth. I had awoken, as usual at 8:30am, done my morning ablutions, and was on my way to break my fast, at a local Anglican church. Alone having sent my elderly friend home to spend the holiday season with his family. I ventured forth from my hovel on a cold winter's morning. The church, opened early for the homeless, was one which provides meals for the poor and unfortunate, a sandwich and a hot cup of tea, or coffee, to start the day off on a good, warm note. I have no foresight, had not foreseen my troubles that day. Would not have dreamed that the day's events would take such a turn. I pride myself for always being on time or early for any appointment. Something I am known for all my life. I had missed, but, four days total, going to the Reference Library, where I have been doing research, and building a website. Hoping beyond doubt, that soon the people of Toronto would awake from their slumber, such as
they have enjoyed as sheep, under the horrible shephardship of their multi-levelled government. Though, they all complain, they lack the intestinal fortitude to act. I am not one of those. I will act. If and when neccessary. Taught to me by a scholar, my father.
On my way from my morning meal, I happened upon an young woman, having been homeless for at least a year herself, sitting on the corner with her dog. She sat the corner, panhandling, her cup was quite full. Dirty blonde hair, unkept, hung shoulder length, framed deep blue eyes. Wearing several coats, and a red vest against the cold. Well worn boot, ahd seen many miles, wandering the streets and alleys of the city. She was attractive, to saw the least. Questions immediately came to mind. "Where did you sleep last night? Are you ok? Have you eaten? Do you have some place warm for the coming winter night? I had seen her, and her canine companion several times before. I could answer those questions myself, without need for her response. She had watched me pass by, the day before, wondered where it was, I always went. She had been watching me for some time, I gleaned from our short discourse. It was early in the morning, and she wanted to have a beer. There are alot of beer drinker, on the city streets, the replacement for the winos of the past. Would I join her? she'd inquired. A moment of decision, I realized my day would be postponed. I seized the opportunity to learn more of the woman situation, said yes. The beer was purchased, with some of the changed of her cup, and she told me of the
large drop of money she had had just received moments before I had arrived. Our conversation was cordial,
two new friends getting acquainted with each other. We walked as we spoke. We rounded the cornder, where the hedge hid my homeless abode. She was un-aware of where we were, until she noticed the cast iron flowerpots I had placed before my makeshift tent. Using them as stove, and fireplace, where I slept the cold nights away, in peace for three months.
The tent was constructed from a large blue tarp, stretched over two bed frames, side by side, to make a rectangle. Three fence poles held the tarp high in the middle, the balance draped around the bed frames to creat walls. A second smaller pale yellow tarp hung across the front, that blocked the winds entry and acted as the front door. I was quite comfortable
there. That tent was the difference between life and death in the streets, for me. I had given great thought to that very fact. I had come to one conclusion, if my life was not to be forfeited in these
harsh climbs, I would not going out, without a fight. I had fashioned the tent through sheer ingenuity, and para-military training. I'd spent some weeks in the bush, survival training. Within the tent, I'd found an abandoned box spring and mattress, on which lay the bright yellow sleepingbag, I'd been given by "Street Help." The Christmas lights strung from the building, now empty, and soon to be demolished, provided electricity for the small reading lamp I'd found in the garbage. It was spacious inside, with enough room for three persons to sleep comfortably. Outside, on the graveled ground, I'd placed stumps, for seating, around the iron flowerpots, where the heat from the fire, if set, would keep one warm. Everything comfy-cosy.
She cracked open one of the beer cans, and asked me several times to build a fire. It was cold, and the wind, making it colder. I was hesitant, having never had a fire going throughout the day. I was usually at the library, and had no need for the warmth. Relenting, I conceded, and proceeded to build her a fire. The two iron pots, flipped one atop the other, in a few minutes the fire kindled, a broad smile paraded across her face, she hadn't been in front of a fire since she had gone camping when she was young. Her hand stretched toward the heat, she dry washed her hands, the fire crackled and hissed. I too enjoyed a good fire, but explained to her, it
was only a tool for "survival," not something to be played with. I had had many fire before this, at that
site, and had planned many more, all out of neccessity, of course. I relayed to her a story fo how I came to be at this place. Not long ago, when I was freezing one evening, deciding to build a fire for warmth, I had stood and warmed my hands, the fire was neither too hot or too large, just enough to do what was neccessary, warmth. I was in a good spirit. She sat sipping her beer, listened intently.
I saw the flash of red lights comming up the street, possibly an ambulance. I waited for it to pass, without apprehension. I had done nithing wrong, I was within the boundaries of the law. The law said the fire had to be contained, and it was. No laws had been broken. I had no worries that those red flashes were the police, enforcers of the law, those who rule
over other men. It never crossed my mind, that they had come insearch of my humble little tent, and my small fire, but the truth, they had. Someone from the expensive condominium highrise, across the street from my tent had noticed my fire, and had made report. The firetruck zoomed up the street and down, around and around, looking for my fire, yet, had not ascertained my location. When the realization came to me, that, in fact they had come to invest me. As they pull close to my locale, I beckoned one of the firemen. Shortly after the police had arrived. I stood, Made inquiry, "What's going on?" Not really knowing they
were searching for my fire. They had walked all around the block, and had not found a fire. I had choosen my
location well. The fireman spoke aloud to one of the policemen, "Your fire is over here." My
apprehension grew, from nervousness to fear. I have known peace officers who are humanitarians, having the moral turpitude to choose. That which is right, and that which is not morally wrong, with a particular situation. I also know, there are officers, once given a badge and the firearm to inforce it, use these tool to impose their wills on the civilian populace. I had no way of knowing what type of officer was approaching. I waited, shaking, not only from the cold but from the fear, and the fluttering butterflies, that was rising in my stomach.
The burly, slightly greying officer, came up casually, strolled straight to the fire box, looked in,
reached out his hands to warm himself, as he surveyed the area. The three chevrons on his sleeve agve rank, Sargeant. I had kept neat and clean of debris
and garbage. The sargeant's eyes finally sought mine.
"You've been here long?" I replied two and a half months. "Well, it looks like you've been taking care of the place for these people."
How is the fire?" shouted his partner from the other side of the hedge.
"It's keeping me warm!" came his reply. His gase returned to me. "Well, keep the fire low. Someone across the way there, in that apartment, must have seen the fire and called. Your within your rights
as long as you control the fire, which you are inside this, What is it? Iron?" A puzzled look crossed
his face.
"Cast iron, from the Washington Iron works. I found them here, under the hedge, and put them to use."
I tapped the side, the hollw ring of iron pinged in the air. "I only use the fire to stay warm from time to time, or to cook something to eat." He smiled.
"You take care of yourself, Okay?" he called to me as he left. "There is no reason for us to be here!" speaking to his partner, and the firemen alike. They all left. I relaxed. The young lady had sat quietly smoking a cigarette, while her dog napped at her side. She had concealed the beer in her dufflebag, which she carried where-ever she went. The dog had not moved while I'd conversed with the sargeant.
Some time passed, I finished my tale. The sound sirens rang out, loud and clear. We both stood and
mused, they are coming for us, again. We looked at each other and laughed. That joke was about to be played on us. The engine stopped across the street from us, three of Toronto's finest working force crossed directly to our location, approached. As the three drew nearer, the look of disappointment clouded their faces. They looked upon our site, "Sorry to bother you!" they turned and left. As they reached the
other side of the street, a police cruiser pulled to a halt, directly in front of me. I waited again, in apprehension, what manner of officer would this be. Their posture was agressive, but once they saw what our site was like the aggression faded. Our names were taken and checked for warrants. There were none of course, and the two officers left, with a small warning, to be careful. Twice now I have been approached by the law, and twice, I have been found to have done nothing wrong. My new friend and I, now growing hungry, and wanted something to eat, waited till the fire, doused with water, had burned out, according to the laws, and left in search of food. An hour later, have gone through the trial of finding a place to eat that would allow her dog's presence, and frustration twisting her emotions to anger, I suggested "The Manulife Center," where I have seen countless dogs wondering with their masters or mistresses, in and out of stores. We purchased something to eat and returned to my tent to dine. We were not there more than fifteen minutes, when an agressive banging came on the side of
the tent. Her dog started, barked, protecting its mistress, from who?
"Who is it?" I call out. Unaware of my circumstances. The police, came the reply.
"Hold the dog back or we will shot it! Come out of there! NOW!"
I came out, hoping to see the two officers that had been there earlier. I was in for the surprise of
my life. Standing on either side of me were to neandertholic ebony officers. Both with hands to their
weapons, their nature was easily read on their faces. These were the type of officers ordinary folk, should fear the most. Officers who lose all senses, once they're handed their weapon. I tried to control my voice and my nerves.
"How can I help your officer?"
"You can leave this area, right now!"
"Why? What have I done wrong?" I inquired knowing I was within my rights, as a Canadian Citizen. Squatting is one of Canada's oldest laws, and has never been repeeled. "We are allowed to be here."
"Show me your letter." the taller of the two demanded. These two, having seen me, were looking for a fight. They were deliberately trying to provoke me with every word. I was not born foolish, and the intelligence train must have passed these two by. I was not to be duped. I was going to comply, even though these two behemoths were clearly in the wrong. They, however, had the badge and the gun, they were going to inforce their puny wills on us, to pay back for what their race had gone through. they were going to make me pay for being the same color as they. For
being homeless, at that. Once, long ago they may have been good men, now they were weapons without brains. Looking to oppress and destroy, anything in their way. Twice the police had been to my site, and twice they left without this type of aggression, The hate, and fear, standing in front of me and to my left side, hands on guns, ready to fire. I remained
calm, as best I could, the butterflies sought to escape my stomach, I fought back the thought of being sick. Our names were taken again and checked, found innocent again. These two had hoped, they could then
manhandle me. Their eyes shone wildly, animals looking for prey, to release the tension they had been holding for their entire lives. We were given $65.00 trespassing tickets. Which were their bogus attempt to make us look guilty of a crime, never commited. These two wish they weren't born "BLACK," the oldest, and worst form of reverse prejudice known to civilized man. Plainly these two were not civil, didn't belong behind a badge. Upon there return from checking, more of their frustration bubbled to the surface, the smaller of the two looked into my eyes.
"Get out. NOW!" He growled viciously.
Could I have the time needed to dismantle my home?" I requested
"No! Leave now!" he stared boldly into my eyes, prodding, provoking, wanting me to make a fatal
error, hand never leaving his pistol. "A garbage truck will clear this away!" The taller one looked around, saw the podium I use to collect charitable donation. I had been collecting money and giving it to the poor and less fortunate. That he kicked over, whirrled around at me, hopingv that would cause me to attack. I was motionless, asked why he needed to kick things around, knowing he had read the sign which said,'We're not panhandlers, We're a non-profit charity.' This boldly displayed on the side. He was not being CHARITABLE.
"To you this may be garbage, to me it is the difference between life and death. May I have the
time to dismantle it?" As I asked the second time, I looked over to the taller one. I will not dignify these two with the nomenclature, peace officer. They may have tried so long and hard to earn the badge, but, right now they were THUGS! I will not debase those other officers by placing these two among their ranks, I will not disrespect those officers who have been humane and moral. These tow are not worthy of their badges, or the position they held in society. These two were criminals with weapons, hired thugs, hoodlums, gansters. As I stood there in reverie, awaiting a reply, a thought slammed into my head, a sledgehammer collided with solid rock, knowledge. The spark brought a bright light, I smiled inwardly. These two had just broken one of the same laws they had swarn to uphold. They were crminals more so, than I.
They attitude proved insight was correct, was absolute, was wellfounded. The next event astounded me even more. The smaller of the two grabbed the mic, attached to the eppillet at his right shoulder.
"Could I have a garbage truck here, on site?" The "lie" resounded in my ears. Here was this, supposedly, upstanding, law enforcement person, lying to get the better of me. The inner smile grew to a loud laugh, at these two goons. The message for the female voice on the other end was loud and clear. "Are you
remaining on site til it arrives?" He acknowledged, in the affirmative. The other, finally reaching his
decision, slow minds always take time; long time, to make simple decisions, gave me two minutes to
dismantle my hovel.
Smiling, I began dismantling the tarp from its moorings, the two watched for another minute,
turned to leave.
"The two of you, have studied law, look something up for me,'criminal negligence'. Find out what it
means and its penalties. You both have broken that law this day." That last, said under my breath, not
wishing to provoke the two buffoons. They got into their cruiser and promptly left; not waiting for the
"garbagetruck to cart away my garbage," the second lie; the first being, the greatest perversion of the
law, visited on a civilization, creating up the crime as they went along, having no jurisdiction, and no
precident; giving us tresspassing tickets; over priced as they were, they had wanted to oppress, to
debase, to destroy, and finally to harm, innocent people, for no greater reason than, they wanted to.
They had been give power over others, they were not trained in how to excersize said power. These
were two murderers looking to commit a crime, they are more dangerous to civilization than any other
murderer; they will not be held accountable for what they do; they prey on the just and the weak, they
prey on us because they were give a modicom of authority, we have created our own "Frankenstiens",
each dressed in blue, walking side by side with those who strive with honor to do the job at hand, within
the boundaries the law they have swarn to up hold.
If "one bad apple should spoil the whole bunch," they my friends, beware; these bad apples have
been given the right to take your life from you; with no one to tell your side of the story, they will lie as
any human; which they are, to preserve themselves. I have good friends among the law enforcement
community, I would hate to think that, such as these two, should marr the respect I hald for those who,
"SERVE AND PROTECT." "To serve the people and to protect the people," the reasons one become an
officer, these two cared not for that, they were slave masters, looking for new slaves to add to their
flocks.
The law that they had broken, is one forgotten by many officers but few, remember. As "Officers,"
it is their DUTY, to insure that my life and well being are foremost in their minds; not with these two.
The two criminals in disguise, had taken me from a situation where my life was unthreatened by
any force of nature, or any force of man; they saw fit to move me from such safety, to a position in
which my life is now jeapordized, by not only the elements of the killer winter, but out into the cold
world where I would be out their sight, as I am robbed or killed. These two showed a wanton and
reckless disregard for my life, and the life of my friend. There are others who commit this crime. Visit it
on the same people who they wish to serve; it is their duty to serve and protect us; they must be held
accountable for this crime; this crime should not go unpunished, before a person takes office, in service
of its people, he should understand the laws which bind him as they bind all. Keep a weary eye open for
this crime, it is killing Canada, slowly, but surely. If I were to commit this crime, I would not see the
light of day, but these two have, they couldn't care what had become of us, or how we faired, they
could not see the law for the weapon at their side, or the hate in their hearts. I hope never, that these
two are brought to the same justice they showed me that day, but I hope they live lives of misery, as
long as they carry a weapon. They didn't even care that the first officer that had attended my site was
one of their own sargeants; so great was their disdain for the law, the city, the province, the country,
and their own superiors. Let us not condemn these men, but bring them to be trained in the techniques
of human relations; every man has human rights, and morals; they should be taught what it is meant to
be
"HUMAN and HUMANE.""Criminal Negligence"
|
