Toronto, are you violent and racist?

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.

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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?