The Downtown Mission: building and bridging communities

We are born into families and communities. But for some, these connections are lost – relics of time, space and circumstance. At the Downtown Mission, 664 Victoria Ave. in Windsor, Ontario’s urban core, staff, volunteers and members converge to reclaim lost communities and to build new connections. Mind the Gap is an exploration of this urban site and its ever-evolving community. The Downtown Mission is a found space of laughter, acceptance, solace and friendship.

I conducted an urban site analysis of the mission for one of my courses at school. We were asked to be creative with our submissions, so I converted the information I’d gathered, as well as some photos and other research, into an eight-page newsletter. I made all of these photos. There are more online at www.mkkeown.com, depicting and illustrating the re-created community of Windsor’s Downtown Mission. This is an entirely black & white portfolio, which is meant to evoke the humanness of each captured moment, without the distraction of colour.

In this photo, Menka, a long-time mission member, participates in the monthly birthday bingo game, which takes place over an entire afternoon. There is birthday cake, camaraderie and great concentration, as well as a series of prizes. The day I photographed the game, there were about 15 participants.

Life is in the eyes…

I have recently added a new series of photographs, simply entitled Faces. It is a growing series of images depicting the beautiful faces I have witnessed (and the even more stunning folks with whom I have interacted), from throughout the world. Usually, it’s all about the eyes for me. As I rummage through my photos and compile more series (prayer, food and wildlife are planned for the The Grind), I plan to add more faces. Take a peek and leave a comment. Thank you…

The gorillas of Rwanda

In January 2011 I celebrated my birthday by going for a wee stroll … high into the Virunga volcanoes of northern Rwanda. After climbing uphill for 2.5 hours through steep rainforests (we ascended about halfway to the top of our volcano), I was battered by stinging nettle, I was covered in mud and animal poo, and I was grasping for air (yes, grasping – breathing required a whole body reaction). But as soon as I saw the first silverback of the Ugenda group, all of my discomforts dissolved.

Witnessing mountain gorillas was a truly majestic and spiritual experience. I didn’t feel like an invader to their space; however, I did become very aware of my movements and of the physical space I occupied. I have posted the best of my photos on my website (www.mkkeown.com). Please have a look here.

Glorious trees

I love, love, love trees. Bliss is slipping my feet into my boots and heading into the woods, with just a camera, some water and a granola bar. I can spend hours meandering and listening to the sounds of silence – you know, the buzz and hum of the forest before a storm, after a storm, at mid-day in July, at mid-day in January … Forests are so dynamic, so vibrant, so fluid. They tell stories of our past and foreshadow our future. If we listen quietly enough, forests and trees will share their wisdom with us. It is our responsibility to listen…

I have photographed trees from around the world. The series is fluid and bound to grow, but please take a peek at the first few photos here.

Driftwood detail in Fielding Park on Kelly Lake. Sudbury, Ontario.

New poetry

I’ve added a few new poems recently. Read my latest, Beneath the ash, here. It’s about the perseverance and strength required to overcome suffering and hardship; the struggle to remain hopeful and to rise from defeat, depression and loneliness.

In January, I posted an (admittedly) melancholic poem about the withering of creativity and of personal expression. Titled I was born a snowflake, you can find it here. As always, feedback is appreciated; thus if you feel so inclined, please leave a (or several) comment(s).

My Top Ten

Rwanda is full of impactful (and provocative) things and adventures. But some have moved me more than others. I have had nearly as many ups and downs as there are hills in this tiny nation, but I try to remain positive and I choose to see beauty. The following are 10 of my most soulful and memorable experiences. It was tough to choose just 10 (plus one honourable mention), but in the spirit of David Letterman, here you go…

10. African tea at Shokola

I am quite fond of bearing witness to Kigali’s epic thunderstorms from the tented seating area – low couches, plush cushions, Moroccan lanterns and Arabian Nights – at Shokola restaurant. A marriage of Arabic and North African, this romantic spot in Kiyovu is perfect for whiling away afternoons and evenings with a good book, a laptop or a chatty companion.

The butter chicken soup with coriander is delicious, but the star attraction at Shokola has got to be the African tea. A combination of ginger, milk, sugar and tea that is simply sublime…

9. Riding motos

Even after 13 months, riding on the back of a moto (a motorcycle taxi) has not lost its luster … I am especially fond of late-night rides with my iPod. There is something a little bit bad-ass about wearing a questionably safe helmet and navigating through traffic like we are in a scene from Mission Impossible. (Who says there are only two lanes on Kigali’s major thoroughfares?)

8. The (more than) 1,000 hills

There is a saying amongst Rwandans that God travels throughout the world during the day, but sleeps in Rwanda at night. I believe it. The landscapes are stunning, thanks to the Great Rift Valley. The hills seem endless – like layers of a majestic artichoke – and the gardens impossible to maneuver. Crops defy gravity, but make for very strong and limber farmers. Looking westward at sunset will reaffirm your will to live.

7. The children

I recall walking into a local neighbourhood one day. The children stopped playing to watch me. One brave little girl ran up to me and threw her arms around my legs. When the others realized I was friendly, they all lined up for hugs … This has happened to me several times in Rwanda. The children here are infectiously loveable. Whenever I need to smile, I just take a walk. The children will find me…

6. The view at night from the verandah

I have spent many cool Kigali nights on the verandah, curled up on the wicker sofa in a thick blanket, chatting with friends and watching the lights of Kiyovu, the sparsely trafficked road leading into town and the blindingly bright moon. Oh, the beauty of the full moon from the verandah in Kimihurura … I also watched a few sunrises before catching a few hours of sleep…

5. The arboretum

Walking along footpaths at dusk … Watching the sunset on a bed of pine needles at the edge of a rural valley (with a tasty bottle of red wine) … Listening to girls sing in the distance as they collect firewood … Stumbling upon students studying for their final exams …

The arboretum at the National University of Rwanda is a meandering forest of conifers, eucalyptus and other trees. It reminds me a lot of the forests of northern Ontario; every time I have been to the arboretum, I think of the pine stands near Wasaga beach, where I spent summers as a child. As in Canada, this forest is a place of solace and rejuvenation.

4. The call to prayer

I love hearing the Muslim call to prayer – at any hour of the day. But mostly, when I hear it, I remember how the Muslim community rallied in 1994. Community leaders were vocal in their condemnation and many of the faithful abstained from participating in any way. There were also several very courageous individuals who sheltered the hunted and provided safe refuge in their own homes, risking themselves and their families – all in the name of Allah…

3. The staff at the project house in Kigali

Rwanda Initiative employs in Kigali three guards, a cook (one of my African mamas) and a cleaner, who happens to be the cook’s niece. Two of the guards are brothers. I really love these people, but greater than my love for them is my admiration. One of the guards, Alexi, has used his wages to put himself through secondary school. He is now studying law at university and plans on becoming a human rights lawyer. Another guard has six children and his salaries (he also works the graveyard shift somewhere else) go straight towards their education. The cook lost many family members during the 1994 genocide, “too many to count”, she says. But her kind heart still burns through her eyes.

These people make me smile. They make me kinder and more patient. They have become an integral part of my experience in Rwanda. They are my teachers. My lessons have been of grace, dignity and perseverance.

2. Gorilla-trekking in Volcanoes National Park

Trekking past farmers’ fields and up through bamboo forests in search of mountain gorillas is a spiritual experience. It felt very strange to be watching something so familiar – a mother caring for and suckling her newborn; an adolescent being mischievous – but after climbing for 2.5 hours uphill, I was ecstatic to finally see gorillas in the wild. Like a mother who immediately forgets the pain of childbirth, my legs and lungs no longer ached once I glimpsed the first of two silverbacks in our group.

The landscape is equally impressive. Volcanoes National Park (known as Virunga Park on the Congolese side of the border), comprised of five dormant volcanoes, is home to approximately 14 gorilla groups, including ours, which was less than 2 km from Dian Fossey’s grave.

1. The art of forgiveness

I do not know that I could forgive someone who had killed members of my family. In many instances in Rwanda, entire families were decimated during the 1994 genocide (while much of the international community shamefully turned away or argued over the definition of ‘genocide’). I have at least two friends, both male, who are the only surviving members of their immediate families. At 30 years old, they have had no fatherly role models; no nurturing mothers to help them work through the teenage years; and no siblings with whom to fight and play.

Can forgiveness be quantified? Who really knows, but many genocide survivors have told me they are able to forgive because of their faith. Churches are ubiquitous in Rwanda – there are at least a dozen in my neighbourhood alone. The Pentecosts and Catholics seem to be popular these days, and at the church at the bottom of my hill, if I listen carefully in the evening, I can sometimes hear (from the verandah, of course) the choir rehearsing. I find beauty in this and in seeing how religion has facilitated forgiveness in Rwanda. There was much darkness in 1994 (and in the years preceding the war), but today Rwandans smile easily – those robust, toothy grins that leave a person with laugh lines.

Mme. Jacqueline

I found Mme. Jacqueline when I placed an ad on Kigali Life. An American woman replied to my query and recommended a woman she was working with on an upstart income-generation project.

Mme. Jacqueline, a seamstress and clothes-maker, gets an honourary mention for her gentle nature and unending patience. She has designed many items for me – skirts, dresses and shirts made from Zanzibari khangas and Rwandan kitenge (this khanga became an airy summer dress); all were made by hand in a crowded and dark workshop at the back of an appliance store.

Ntarama genocide memorial

I visited Ntarama on Aug. 11. It is one of the many genocide memorials scattered throughout the Rwandan countryside. I have visited several, including the infamously emotional Murambi, but for some reason I was more stunned, more touched, more disturbed by Ntarama.

The site, formerly a church, is in the eastern province. In the years leading up to the 1994 genocide, Tutsis were evicted from their homes in more fertile areas of Rwanda and relocated to the east. This is the part of the country where the hills and rich volcanic soils give way to the scrubby lands of the African savannah. It reminded me very much of the Serengeti in Tanzania.

On April 6, 1994, after President Habyarimana’s plane was shot down, the locals knew what was coming – decades of displacement, socio-economic exclusion, wide-scale murder and hate propaganda (including the repugnant Hutu Manifesto) had foreshadowed something terrible. But no one anticipated just how terrible it would be. Tutsis fled to churches and schools, seeking refuge in places they had been told would be safe. Unfortunately, some priests – including the one who preached at Ntarama Catholic church – conspired with the genocidaires to orchestrate and facilitate the mass murder of their countryfolk, their parishioners … their flock, as it were…

Approximately 5,000 people were killed at Ntarama. I am told there were few survivors. It is incredibly stark, dark and evocative. There is clothing hanging from the rafters, caked with dirt and blood. There are rows and piles of skulls and skeletal remains. There are coffins stacked on the pews and what was once the altar. At Ntarama, there are children’s schoolbooks, filled with the delicate and deliberate work of a child just learning cursive script. There are burned and decaying Bibles. There are mattresses, cooking pots, shoes and wash basins. These are the relics of hope.

When people flee danger, when they are being hunted, they will normally take only the clothes on their backs, for there is simply no time to gather more. But when people go towards something, they carry with them the practical items they will need. The people who sought refuge at Ntarama were moving towards a place they believed would keep their children safe. They had hope. At Ntarama, there are also weapons on display – the machetes used to decapitate and dismember; the spiked clubs used to smash children’s skulls; the blood-stained sticks used to beat to death old men who just could not out-run the militias. This is a place where hope died.

Behind the church stand the war-torn remains of two buildings. Even though the UN had us believe otherwise, make no mistake – this was full-scale war. In one building, formerly the compound’s kitchen, people were burned alive. The relics of that hell are still strewn about on the floor. In the other building, the Sunday school, there is a wall. This wall has a blackened patch, thickened with some kind of once-viscous residue, where it appears there was once a fire. There was no fire. This is the spot where young children and babies were smashed, where their skulls were cracked open and their grey matter allowed to seep into the brick, into the mortar, into the cement floor. This is the spot where their gardens were trampled before being given the chance to bloom.

Outside the buildings, along a short path, there is a meditation nook and a commemorative wall etched with the names of victims. The wall is incomplete; as more bodies are found and more remains identified, the wall will fill. Our guide stopped on one name and traced her finger along its letters. A loved one perhaps? How many of those names could have been doctors and engineers and teachers and nurses? How many future presidents and farmers and scientists will be immortalized on that wall?

I visited Ntarama on Aug. 11. It left an impression.

Rosary beads, reading glasses and an identity card are among the items memorialized inside the church.

The  windows were bombed with grenades, as the militias attempted to gain access to those inside the church.
Clothing retrieved from the victims spills from the decimated windows.

The militia also used grenades to attack the Sunday school.

A day of tactical diversity

It was the day we had been waiting for all week – the day the people came together to make some noise (and to break some glass, incidentally). It was the day the massive G20 security detail had planned for, they day they dreaded would come to fruition – some reports indicate officers worked more than 17 hours on Saturday – and the day that, for some Torontonians, would justify a monstrous price tag of one billion dollars to host the G20 summit.
People assembled en masse June 26 at Queen’s Park, Ontario’s provincial legislature, for a day of demonstrations. There were an estimated 10,000 people on the legislature lawn and the march, which was deemed family-friendly by organizers, started out peacefully.
I walked with about 200 United Steelworkers from all over the world, who stood in solidarity with their brothers and sisters in Sudbury, Ontario (my home town) who are nearly one year into an acrimonious strike with Vale, the Brazilian mining giant. We arrived at Queen’s Park, from where the big march was set to begin, to an atmosphere that was quite friendly and hopeful. We were a community of communities. Women led the march, standing in solidarity with their global sisters, to campaign for universal access to abortion. There were representatives from national and international labour movements; groups calling for an end to the occupations of Iraq, Palestine, Afghanistan, Kashmir and Tibet; an Ethiopian group calling for an end to Meles Zenawi’s rule; and dozens of civil society organizations.
At about 3 p.m. – two hours into the march – things started to get tense. I noticed black-clad individuals, their faces obscured by bandanas and balaclavas, assembling into increasingly large groups. I knew who they were and what they intended to do. The black block, which is really a tactical ideology rather than an organized group, is known to be destructive, militant, confrontational and fearless in the face of riot police.
But why do they do it?
“I’m participating in the anti-G20 protests because I think they’re important historical events in which large masses of people mobilize to confront those in power – the ruling class – and out of which arises greater social consciousness,” explains a protester named John (not his real name), from western Canada. “This is especially important now as we enter a period of even greater socio-economic and ecological crises.”
But what about the issues of social justice? In speaking with several people this week while marching, I have become skeptical that they all understand why they are demonstrating – besides making some noise, disrupting traffic and telling off the security detail.
“I’m not really protesting any primary issue,” John says. “The fundamental problems of this system are capitalism and colonialism. I would like to have seen a greater anti-capitalist and anti-colonial analysis and practice in this mobilization, but as it seems largely dominated by NGOs, it is instead focused on single-issue campaigns.”
Ok, so it is not really about one specific issue or cause, but the systemic way in which socio-economic disparity is created and perpetuated, and the way it permeates societies in subtle and overt ways.
But why get destructive to convey the message?
“Black block tactics are useful in countering the state’s promotion of itself as all-powerful and omnipotent, and in salvaging large protests from purely empty rituals and rhetoric,” John says. “Militant resistance, which has been a part of every successful radical movement, does not magically appear but must be itself promoted, organized and carried out, in order for greater resistance to emerge.”
Not all anarchists engage in Black Block tactics. On Saturday, before heading to Queen’s Park with the steelworkers, I spoke with Alex, a spokesperson for Common Cause, an Ontario-wide anarchist organization.
“We’re here to demonstrate our opposition to the G20 policies,” he told me. “We think these policies are destructive to the environment and to workers’ rights. They’ve engineered a global financial crisis. They got us to bail them out and by doing so, they bankrupted us. And now they’re coming back for more through austerity programs.
“At Common Cause, we decided only to march in the two major marches. We decided against splitting off and joining the more confrontational march. We’re here to get our ideas out and to demonstrate our opposition.”
For Common Cause, raising awareness of urgent issues is more important than raising fists, fighting riot police (who seemed hyper-vigilant and increasingly tense as the week wore on) or shattering glass. Alex told me his group is invested in doing front-line, grassroots activities in their own communities, but that it respects the diversity of tactics others may employ.
I think John makes a good point and his statements are thought-provoking. I appreciate the anti-capitalist and anti-colonial sentiment he expresses, but I remain ambivalent to the Black Block hijacking what was a peaceful and festive demonstration. They were all over local and national media last night, which portrayed Toronto as a ‘city under siege’ (according to the Canadian Press) and overrun by ‘thugs’ (said the Prime Minister’s Office). In fact, it was only a very small area in downtown Toronto that was shut down and by 6 p.m., people were jogging and walking their dogs along the march route. I also saw many folks strolling along Yonge Street, curious to know what had happened earlier in the afternoon.
The images – of windows shattered by projectile and police cars engulfed in flames – are certainly striking, but they do not tell the real story – of injustice, disparity, inter-generational poverty and dependence, disenfranchisement and, perhaps worst, hopelessness.
I enjoy many civil liberties. I live in a place where I can speak up, question and dissent. Clean water and food are plentiful. These struggles did not come freely or without sacrifice. Despite the shock value of Black Block tactics, there are underlying causes and circumstances that lead activists to believe they have no other recourse.
“There has never been a radical movement that has achieved any substantial social change without using a diversity of tactics, including militant, violent resistance,” John points out. “The pacifist myths about Gandhi and (Martin Luther) King are just that – myths. Both the Indian independence struggle and the Black civil rights movement in the USA had militant resistance and used a diversity of tactics, including armed struggle, rioting, arson, etc. It is only the pacifists and the state who promote these struggles as purely non-violent.”

This blog originally ran on the New Internationalist website on June 27, 2010. For more photos from the Toronto G20 protests, please visit www.mkkeown.com.

In the name of climate justice at G20

An amateur video surfaced recently on The Huffington Post, showing what appears to be oily rain running into street sewers in Louisiana. The video is shocking and, if it really is an oily downpour, it will, for many people, give new meaning to the term climate crisis.
With this spirit of urgency in mind, protesters gathered at Alexandra Park on June 23 to take a winding, three-hour Toxic Tour through downtown Toronto.
Activists have mobilized heartily for a week of anti-G20 action, and at Wednesday’s rally, scores of protesters showed up to lend their voice to the fight for environmental justice, and to stand in solidarity with indigenous peoples in North America and those living in the majority world.
“I’m hoping to raise awareness (about fossil fuels, the tar sands and the current crisis in the Gulf of Mexico),” Mike Muscat, a Toronto musician and bitumen folk, told me. “I think the general public tends to have a negative view on protesters – people voicing their strong opinions on strong matters. People are dying in Alberta and in the communities surrounding the tar sands, from cancer and toxic water and things like that. … People that are really affected have no voice. It’s all about money. If you have money, you can lobby the government. It doesn’t seem like the term indigenous land means anything to (the G20 leaders).”
The rally was a festive gathering, replete with several bitumen folk – bodies covered in an eco-friendly mixture resembling oil droplets (actually an edible, though unpalatable, mixture of cocoa, vegetable oil and corn starch); a human-powered dump truck; floats (all made from recycled materials) depicting the effects of oil spills on water-reliant animals and the Alberta tar sands gigaproject; an imposing economic dragon, reminiscent of a blackened, oil-soaked river; and, of course, a band to keep marchers motivated in the sweltering noon-hour heat. The Raging Grannies, a quartet of silver-haired dames, also enchanted the crowd with a collection of witty protest songs.
“With these mobilizations, we’re hoping to bring people together to show leaders that ‘we are many, you are few’ (a chant heard often this week),” explained Maryam Adrangi, a representative of the G20 Toronto Community Mobilization Network and one of the event’s organizers. “They’re not people who are connected to their communities; they’re quite separate. They’re sitting on big piles of money and not using it to benefit the countries they ‘represent.’ I think that’s the issue. The issues that are being brought up during the G8 and G20 aren’t new. They’re struggles people live through every single day. The leaders don’t live through that every day and they’re not getting together to talk about that. They’re not talking about the struggles. I don’t think the summits are legitimate forums to be discussing global issues. The G8 and G20 have made many promises in the past, but they haven’t kept those promises. They really can’t be trusted.”
During Wednesday’s Toxic Tour, which all but halted traffic along the University of Toronto and University Avenue corridors, marchers visited three hot spots – where members of the crowd shared their stories and experiences, and made vocal declarations of disapproval of some of the nefarious deals taking place behind closed doors. First stop was the Royal Bank – targeted for financing the Alberta tar sands project. Next up was the University of Toronto, which in April 2010 accepted a 35 million USD donation from Barrick mining company. Lastly, we ended the afternoon at the Toronto Superior Court House, just across University Avenue from the American consulate, where inside officials were debating whether or not to allow the use of the LRAD (long-range acoustic device) sound cannon.

Strong police presence

I’ve attended three protests so far. Each has been bigger than the last, and the police presence (and hostility) at each has grown – exponentially, it seems.
At an afternoon demonstration on June 21, anti-poverty activists gathered to decry the money spent on the G20 summit – in the absence of adequate social housing and economic policies that create ever-growing disparities between the rich and the poor. The crowd that gathered at Allan Gardens was surprisingly small and it seemed the police far outnumbered protesters.
Testament, a hip hop artist based in southern Ontario, told media on Monday he believes police have been using intimidation techniques to keep protesters away.
“They’ve been announcing all these new weapons they have,” he told reporters. “They make it seem like there’s going to be a war and they’re preparing the public for a war. It doesn’t have to be that way. They’re doing that to justify the billion dollars they’re spending – a billion dollars worth of repression and violence against Torontonians who may want to stand up and say, ‘hey, I don’t like this meeting taking place in my city.’”
He may be onto something. One woman who hurried by the Toxic Tour on Wednesday referred to the increased police presence as a cancer on the city. In March 2008, Michelle Couture, who lives in North York, attended a rally in Montreal to protest against police brutality. Ironically, things did not end well for her that day.
“Things started out peaceful at first,” she recalls. “I remember we were walking and people were chanting. My friend and I were walking on the sidewalk and an officer in riot gear walked right into me and pushed me to the ground – that was my first time ever experiencing something like that. We eventually reached an intersection and we were standing on the corner for awhile, with the cops on the other side of the street all lined up in a row. Finally, my friend said to me ‘get ready to run’ and next thing I know, the cops were counting to three and they started running after us. I ran as fast as I could, but they caught up with me. I remember seeing the sidewalk curb as I was falling and thinking that I would hit my face right on it, but I fell to my side instead. Next thing, three cops in riot gear with steel-toed boots were kicking at me and yelling at me. I was freaking out and crying and yelling at them that I couldn’t move because they were kicking me. I think my friend or someone else picked me up from the ground. I blacked out for about three seconds.”
It was the first – and last – time Couture participated in direct action. Although she would like to lend her voice to the democratizing platform demonstrations provide, she is afraid something similar may happen in the lead-up to the summit.
“If only there wasn’t this fear of getting shot at with rubber bullets, hit by security, having your ear drums shatter because of the sound cannon or having tear gas in your face, more people would probably go,” Couture says.

Humanity inside the perimeter

Despite the stern police presence, and the tension around the perimeter areas, there has been an abundance of humanity on the frontlines of the protests so far. On June 21, a group showed up with platters of food for participants – crispy greens, freshly-cut ripe tomatoes and decadent homemade sandwiches. Bottled water was distributed to those who waited out the nearly three-hour affair.
On Wednesday, I ran into a member of a group providing support services for activists.
“We are providing peer support – with general counselors and psychologists – to individuals who experience sexual assault or other forms of trauma during the G20 summit,” the woman, who asked to remain anonymous, explained. “Men can get counseling for sexual assault or trauma, as well. All are welcome (the centre is queer-friendly) and we work from an anti-oppressive framework.”
To reach counselors, individuals can call 1-416-556-6256. Callers will be directed to the centre, or counselors will meet with them at an off-site location. Individuals who have been assaulted may also contact the Toronto Rape Crisis Centre at 1-416-597-8808.
Onward we marched on Wednesday, with the climate cliff growing ever-closer, in an era of negotiations gone into ‘overdrive’ (according to the Pembina Institute), inside an impenetrable security perimeter police had created with their bodies and bicycles. As we moved south on University Avenue, organizers sang out, “Whose side are you on, people?” to bystanders and passers-by. It must be a rhetorical question, right? I mean, what’s the alternative?

 

This originally ran as a New Internationalist blog on June 24, 2010.