Toronto, are you violent and racist?
Julián
Gutiérrez Castaño
September, 2012
Toronto,
are you violent and racist? I’m not asking you if you are more violent and
racist than Detroit, Los Angeles, Chicago, or other cities that you consider
more violent and racist. I’m asking you about yourself, I’m asking you to look
at your insides, see yourself for what you are and answer me with all honesty.
Little Gangster and his epic battle against Poor
Ryan Reynolds
About a
week ago I was having beers with a friend at a popular patio/pub in Parkdale,
my neighborhood. The night was unraveling quietly and pleasantly, until one guy
started yelling to another guy. Yelling guy looked a bit gangster, though quite
little, small and skinny, with his pants sliding under his pale flat butt. Still
he looked tough, like if beating up people wasn’t a strange business for him.
Yelled guy, on the other hand, looked like a yuppie, a shabbier version of Ryan
Reynolds. I mean, he was still a looker, but he wasn’t as tall, as muscular, and
as sexy as Ryan Reynolds. For the purpose of clarity, since I don’t know the
names of these two men, I’m going to refer to them as Little Gangster and Poor
Ryan Reynolds.
So, Little
Gangster started insulting Poor Ryan Reynolds out of the blue, who did a pretty
good job ignoring him at the beginning. Eventually, the accumulation of “I fuck
your bitch” and the public shame and pressure -almost everybody that was having
a drink in that patio was getting involved somehow in this conflict, made Poor
Ryan Reynolds stand up and confront Little Gangster. I can only recall one
person saying something that didn’t aim to increase the already escalating conflict:
one man yelled to Little Gangster from the back of the patio: “why are you so
angry, stop being so angry!” I wanted to add “chill out, its summer!” But that
wasn’t said, and it isn’t what happened:
1) Little
Gangster didn’t listen and keep fucking Poor Ryan Reynolds bitch.
2) Poor
Ryan Reynolds stood up and walked towards Little Gangster.
3)
Little Gangster jumped the patio fence and challenged Poor Ryan Reynolds to
fight outside.
4) Poor
Ryan Reynolds sat down again.
5) Little
Gangster kept fucking Poor Ryan Reynolds Bitch, until he lost it and jumped the
fence.
6)
Little Gangster ran as fast as he could.
7) Poor
Ryan Reynolds chased him and pushed him to the ground.
8) Poor
Ryan Reynolds came back and everybody congratulated him, his girlfriend gave
him a big kiss, a champion kiss. Everybody clapped until Poor Ryan Reynolds and
“Figuratively Many Many Times Fucked Bitch” sat at their tables and resumed
their drinks. Little Gangster came back minutes later pretending that he had a
weapon, but everybody made fun of him and booed at him. He didn’t have any
weapon; he left as a dog that is used to being shooed away.
There
was something in this whole scene that bothered me, at the beginning I too found
Little Gangster annoying, but towards the end I was feeling some sort of
sympathy for him, or at least I wasn’t feeling any sympathy for Poor Ryan
Reynolds. I was thinking that if you start insulting someone and challenge that
person to fight, then run away when the other person is willing to do it, and
finally, come back pretending that you have a weapon when you have nothing and you
know that there are going to be around 50 people insulting you, there must be
something wrong with your head, more than just being an asshole. I wasn’t happy
about the attitude of most people at that patio. 50 people cheering for a
fight, they wanted to see blood. Should Toronto legalize bull fighting, cock
fighting and give those savages an arena to see the spoiled blood that they
want to see so desperately? Perhaps it’s me. I come from Colombia, a very
violent country. I’ve seen many people bleeding over mindless quarrels or more
serious business. I don’t get thrilled about fights anymore. The truth is that I
feel scared about fights, scared to death if it’s my own fight. I didn’t
sympathize either with “Figuratively Many Many Times Fucked Bitch”, rewarding violence
and sexism, (talking in height pitch) “oh, my man, you’ve saved my honor, how
strong you’re, almost, almost like Ryan Reynolds”.
Today I
saw Little Gangster on the streets. He was talking to himself in a very loud
voice, almost like yelling to the skies, was he picking a fight with the sun?
It was a hot day, I would have understood that. I guess that he could scare
some people. He was saying something about birds and some big shit that’s about
to happen. It seems that Little Gangster ain’t Gangster at all; he’s more like
Little Cuckoo. What should you do as a woman when you’re figuratively fucked by
a stranger because you’re an extension of your partner’s property? What should you
do as a man when a mentally disable person starts insulting you, “fucking your
bitch”; beat the shit out of him? Call the Police to see how they shoot him? Because
that’s the way they have been dealing with mentally ill people in Toronto
streets. Anyway, I found it deeply sad that instead of getting help for his
mental issues, Little Gangster is getting fifty something people cheering to
see him get pounded.
Four Policemen, a green SUV and a baseball bat
A few
days ago I was going for dinner at a friend’s house. I took my bicycle –yes,
I’m one of those pinkos that Rob Fatherfucker Ford wants so desperately to
vanish from Toronto. About 10 blocks away from my house I had to bang at the
door of a green SUV that was very close to hitting me on the road. The driver,
Old White Guy, answered fucking my mother and speeding even more. I was pissed
off, so pissed off, but I kept my way. I was in a bicycle, a human powered one,
not even one of those electrical ones that can break the sound at 40 kms per
hour. The Green SUV was always in front me, there was a lot of traffic and we
just happened to be on the same road. Four traffic lights later, Old White Guy
stopped, opened his door and went out of his car. I didn’t pay any attention to
him, I passed next to his car and spit on it –my fault, I was enraged as I said.
The window was open and my saliva landed in his front passenger seat. I have to
say in my defense that it was hygienic transparent saliva, without consistency
and color, not the heavy green phlegmatic kind that can inflame your anger when
landing in your white shirt producing a dry sound. Old White Guy was even
angrier than when I banged his door; he fucked my mother again and speeded
behind me. There were four policemen in bicycles; he called their attention
pointing at me.
The
Police pulled me over the sidewalk, at the same time two motorcycles came towards
us saying “I can’t believe it, that guy (Old White Guy) is crazy, he had a
baseball bat and was planning to hit this cyclist”. So, it seems that before I
spat on his car, he was already intent on hitting me with a baseball bat. I was
asked for my ID. When I told them that I didn’t have my passport with me, but
that I have my Colombian ID, one of the policeman told me “ah, get ready, tonight
you’re going to be sent back home”, meaning that he was going to deport me that
day. I said that there were 4 policemen, let’s put names on them: there was the
white policeman who was cheering at the prospect of my deportation without
having any idea what was going on, he’s going to be Fucking Racist Asshole. There
was another white policeman who was kind and joked a couple of times; he’s
going to be Funny. There was another white guy who behaved professional; he’s
going to be Professional White. And there was another black guy who was very
professional too; he’s going to be Professional Black.
After threatening
me with deportation, Fucking Racist Asshole went with Old White Guy. Black
Professional was already dealing with him. Funny and White Professional stayed
with me. They questioned me, I gave them all my information and apologized, “I’m
sorry; I was enraged and didn’t know that spitting in someone’s car was such a
big deal.” Funny came with the baseball bat and asked “do you play baseball?”
“No”, I said; “because you were about to become a baseball!” He said while
swinging the baseball bat and smiling. I cringed, thanks god I always wear a
helmet when I’m cycling. They searched me; I didn’t have any weapon with me. Funny
liked my tattoos; White Professional was indifferent to them.
Black
Professional summoned Funny and White Professional. Fucking Racist Asshole was
making pals with Old White Guy. Black Professional didn’t want to let Old White
Guy go, he said “this is serious stuff, he was about to hit him (me) with a
baseball bat. He’s dangerous, we can’t let him go”. It seems that Fucking
Racist Asshole wasn’t going to do anything, Funny and White Professional, who I
guess that wasn’t so professional after all, didn’t want to make a big deal out
of the situation, or perhaps they were doing their job very well, “Toronto
Police: to serve and protect ( protect white privilege: check; protect white
entitlement: check).” I was too nervous to say anything; I was still hanging on
that deportation order that Fucking Racist Asshole was going to give me for
spitting at a car while its driver was planning to smash my head into little
bits with a baseball bat.
I could
see why Black Professional was upset about letting Old White Guy go. I presume we
shared some common ground. What would have happened if instead of being an Old
White Guy, the driver had been a Young Black Guy, would they have let him go? I
bet that would not have been the case. Toronto Police is infamous for its
racial profiling practices, particularly against young black people. What if I
was the one chasing Old White Guy with a baseball bat? Young Brown Guy, I would
probably be writing this from jail and Fucking Racist Asshole would be happily
working on my deportation order. I would have had a consolation though; I’d
have delighted myself imagining Fucking Racist Asshole reaction when learning,
after a week working his brain out to write a deportation order, that it isn’t
his job to write deportation orders.
The
Policemen sent Old White Guy his way, he joked about missing his baseball bat
with Fucking Racist Asshole, “common, it’s a nice little bat!”, while gesturing
with his hands to get it back –did I mention white entitlement, no? The Police
was taking it away, I hope that he doesn’t have an extra one that he’s planning
to use next time a cyclist protest because he’s about to run over them in his
SUV. I was asked to leave taking a different route, they didn’t want me to
chase Old White Guy after this incident. Yes, right, I’m planning to charge
down the street and crash into his green SUV. Dynamite is my second name; it
would be a beautiful explosion because I’m an action Hollywood movie, better
than that, a third world kamikaze in a mountain bike.
-----
As I am writing this piece I’m being forced to
use my headphones, I had been using them permanently during the last three days.
This weekend Toronto is having its infamous Canadian International Air Show. I live
close to Exhibition over Lake Ontario and the sound is just unbearable. It
features some of the airplanes that the Canadian Air Forces uses. Hundreds, if
not thousands of people came by the lake to celebrate those airplanes, along the
naïve ones that were only coming to the beach to relax on a sunny day. It’s
easy to find out who are the war refugees, I saw some people throwing
themselves to the ground every time the CF-18 Hornet and the F-16C Falcon
Fighter flew over their heads. Oh, why go for holidays to an invaded country
when you can have the thrilling experience of feeling like your city is about
to be bombarded from the air for free, or for a small price if you wanna chat
with the pilots at the VIP section. I wonder how many of those jets have flown
over the houses of people in Afghanistan, I wonder how many people have been
crushed to their deaths by the same jets that flaunt their aerial tricks in the
clear Toronto sky while the eclectic bodies below go about their secure daily
lives.
Toronto,
are you violent and racist?