Mark Hasiuk

Vancouver street epitomizes housing market dysfunction, community decline

(Vancouver Courier, February 6)

Lovely green West 38th Avenue.

Between Dunbar and Collingwood streets, a short stretch of asphalt (perfect for street hockey) runs through narrow sidewalks and lawns shaded by pine and birch. It’s suburbia in the city, west of Kerrisdale’s shops and restaurants, amid blocks of what speculators call “detached housing stock.”

Others call it home.

“Growing up in the ’80s and ’90s our neighbourhood was vibrant and alive with kids playing on front lawns, moms and dads walking their kids to school,” remembers Mikael Bingham, a pretty 29-year-old with an easy smile. “My siblings and I forged friendships with kids that have endured for decades. We were lucky to have lived that way.”

Mikael grew up on West 38th in the yellow two-storey with the signature red door. Her parents moved in 31 years ago after her grandparents bought the place. “We think the house is about 80 years old,” says Mikael, one of five Bingham children.

A lot has changed on West 38th and across Vancouver. Once a city with many working-class neighbourhoods, Vancouver’s gone cosmopolitan, attaining “most livable city” status on the international scene. Mass immigration has altered city culture and our inflated housing market, buoyed by speculation and investment from China and elsewhere, continues to stir.

In British Columbia, there are no restrictions on foreign ownership of real estate. Anyone from anywhere can buy on your street and mothball the house for future sale, decreasing supply and upping prices. Of course, there are benefits. Folks, including retirees, may sell their homes for huge profit. But who takes their place? What happens when the Jones move away? In some neighbourhoods, the answers grate.

While strolling West 38th with Mikael and younger sister Rachael, the effects of real estate investment loom large. Next door to the Bingham house sits a grey three-storey. Originally a bungalow, it was bought before the Olympics, transformed and then mothballed. According to Prudential United Realty, the 3,529-square-foot, five bathroom, five-bedroom pad is yours for $2,089,000.

Two doors east of the Binghams, sits a black and grey chalet-style house with sloping peaks. It rose from the ruins of a demolished bungalow, and according to Mikael, has been empty for years. Across the street, a boxy two-storey sits empty, although the yard remains trim and green thanks to regular visits from a landscaper. Conversely, in the adjacent lot, grass grows brown outside a beige stucco bungalow, its address spraypainted in yellow across the front door. Empty, of course, awaiting its owner’s next move.

“We’ve watched the neighbourhood turn into something of a ghost town,” nods Mikael. “And we've seen perfectly functional and beautiful houses torn down to be replaced with developer's specials that sit empty for months, sometimes years.”

Yes, the neighbourhood’s changing. Gone are the Lyles, the Jinxes, the Hodgsons, the families and kids who walked to nearby Kerrisdale elementary and Point Grey secondary.

Rachael, a blond and blue-eyed 27-year-old, recently moved back into the family home. “We don’t know our neighbours anymore,” she says. “Halloween is the most depressing. My mom still carves seven pumpkins and stills buys a lot of candy but no kids come around. This street is sad.”

Sometime soon, the Bingham house and its red door, home to Christmas dinners and sleepovers, will be bulldozed. The Bingham parents, both still working, rent from the grandparents who must sell to support their golden years. Everyone wants the grandparents to receive market value—at least $1.7 million. According to the realtor, who measured the Bingham house last Friday, it will be demolished shortly after sale. That’s the trend on West 38th Avenue.

Upstairs, Mikael’s old bedroom sits empty. Underneath the slanted ceiling, she looks up toward the skylight. “Our house was sort of a neighbourhood hub where our friends would hang out. We all recognize that we were really blessed to have stayed in the same place growing up, but that makes it harder, I guess.”

A consultant currently working with a law firm, Mikael lives with her husband in a rented apartment on the East Side. They’ll likely stay in Vancouver, it’s a great place to live. But the old neighbourhood is dead.

 

Vision Vancouver continues campaign finance reform charade

(Vancouver Courier, February 1, 2012)

It’s predictable. Like Groundhog Day or Adams River sockeye.

After every civic election, city council says the same thing. There’s too much money in Vancouver politics and we, your elected officials, want campaign finance reform. But Victoria, or more specifically, provincially mandated city charters, regulate civic elections in British Columbia and unless provincial officials change the rules for all municipalities (which they won’t), we’re stuck.

In March 2010, 17 months after Vision Vancouver shattered fundraising records to win the mayor’s chair and majorities on city council, school board and park board, council unanimously “endorsed” reform “recommendations,” which were forwarded to the province before all three parties—Vision, COPE and the NPA—resumed their fundraising fests.

And yesterday in council chambers, less than three months after Vision’s repeat election victory Nov. 19, Vision Coun. Andrea Reimer continued the charade. Her motion, which passed unanimously, will mail another letter to Victoria, asking (again) for local control of campaign finance rules. Reimer, like others before her, talks about banning union and corporation donations, and setting contribution and spending limits. But like others before her, she’s just talking.

Vision is the money party. It relies on big bags of cash from rich Americans (i.e. Drummond Pike, founder of the Tides Foundation), condo developers (i.e. Terry Hui, CEO of Concord Pacific) and green politicos (i.e. Bob Penner, CEO of Strategic Communications). In 2008, Vision spent at least $1.9 million, the most ever by one party for a Vancouver election. We don’t yet know last election’s price tag because Vision, like the NPA and COPE, hasn’t disclosed 2011 campaign finance records. But it will surely soar into the millions. 

Mayor Gregor Robertson is made of money, and more importantly, money made Mayor Gregor Robertson. He was raised in wealth (son of a corporate lawyer, stepson of a rich San Francisco businessman) and handpicked by Joel Solomon, the progeny of wealthy mall developers from Tennessee, who introduced Robertson to an international web of millionaires and foundations. Folks like Rubbermaid heiress Carol Newell, who’ve helped finance Vision’s election war chest and secure a stranglehold on Vancouver politics. In a press release last week, Robertson praised Reimer’s reform proposals, claiming they would “increase the fairness and transparency” of Vancouver elections.

Really? What does that mean? By noting a dearth of “fairness and transparency,” does Robertson indict his two election victories? What exactly wasn’t fair? His American sponsorship? The thousands donated by big developers who receive permits from city hall? Are you stepping down, Mr. Mayor? Was it all a scam?

Back to Reimer. Before the ’08 election, she trashed her Green Party membership card and joined the cash-flush Vision machine. Apparently, she had no problem with corporate and union donations back then. And if Reimer believes big money corrupts politics—literally through quid pro quo, or figuratively  through citizen skepticism—why didn’t she table yesterday’s motion before last November’s election campaign, when Vision dollars plastered her smiling face around the city in campaign signs and newspaper ads?

For the sake of argument, when taken at face value, Reimer’s proposals sound like admissions. When she says council requires campaign finance reform, she’s really saying council can’t be trusted. And her solution, banning things, would limit the freedom of Vancouverites to affect our democracy. Terry Hui likes dropping cash on Vision Vancouver, and he should retain that right. It’s his money. He earned it. And if he wants to spend it on politics, power to him. We don’t need campaign finance reform, we need councillors with spine who shun undue influence and defend their votes on principle.

But again, it’s a charade. We’ve heard it before and we’ll hear it again. Barring an overhaul of provincial regulations, Vancouver elections will remain expensive thanks to Vision, COPE and the NPA. 

In reality, Reimer could abandon fruitless motions towards Victoria and focus on party reform, pushing Vision and Team Robertson away from the money that built a political dynasty with no end in sight. But that’s likely a little too real.

 

Chinese ownership helps drive Vancouver's dysfunctional housing market

(Vancouver Courier, January 18, 2012)

Globalization. An idea etched in acronyms (EU, NAFTA, WTO) and reliant on transparent borders and common markets.

In Vancouver, globalization blooms on streets of overpriced bungalows and million-dollar split entries. It began in the 1980s, when waves of Hong Kong residents including members of the business elite, wary of communist China’s pending takeover, poured across the Pacific, gobbling up property with converted HKDs.

And they’re still coming and buying, from all over the world. In British Columbia, there are no restrictions on foreign ownership of real estate. Anyone from anywhere can buy on your street and a) live in the house b) rent the house or c) mothball the house for future sale. Option “c” decreases supply, increases demand and ups prices.

According to the Real Estate Board of Greater Vancouver, last year the average price of a detached home in Metro Vancouver rose 11.2 per cent to $887,000. On the West Side, the average home price rose 20.7 per cent to $1.99 million. And according to a recent Re/Max report, the sale of Vancouver homes worth more than $2 million rose by 118 per cent in the first four months of 2011.

How much of it is tied to foreign buyers from China?

Nobody knows for sure. Because foreigners often use local addresses (their lawyer’s office, for example) when registering with the provincial land title office, the scope of the problem remains unknown. But whatever the scope, buyers mostly from China have upset the balance. Of course, capitalism requires competition, and free market principles should drive our housing market. But we no longer control that market. And despite growing evidence of market dysfunction, Premier Christy Clark, who could stiffen provincial regulation, and Mayor Gregor Robertson, who could increase taxes on foreign property owners, cede our land to foreign buyers.

Not so in Australia.

In recent years, Australian cities have experienced Vancouver-style real estate booms, with housing prices soaring from Sydney to Melbourne. Like here, buyers from China help drive Australia’s speculative real estate market. Faced with mounting public pressure, in 2010 the Kevin Rudd government introduced strict regulation aimed at foreign ownership. Under the new rules, the Foreign Investment Review Board (FIRB) screens foreigners (including temporary residents and students) to determine their land purchase eligibility. Foreigners can’t buy existing properties and must build on vacant land within two years of purchase or face government-ordered sale. Scofflaws face capital gains confiscation. Finally, before foreign homeowners leave Australia, they must sell. No more overseas landlords Down Under.

According to FIRB documents, the new policy will “reduce the possibility of excess demand building up in the existing housing market” and “maintain greater stability of house prices and the affordability of housing for the benefit of Australian residents.”

Wow, what a concept. In Australia, they’re looking out for Australians.

Of course, among Vancouver’s real estate set, which includes brokers, land developers and their friends at city hall, such regulation would be tantamount to heresy. During last November’s civic election campaign, while Robertson and his rivals dodged the issue, independent council candidate Sandy Garossino talked about the “extreme situation” in Vancouver neighbourhoods dogged by foreign ownership, prompting outrage from Cam Good, president of The Key, a Vancouver-based real estate firm that caters to Asian buyers. “I find it small-minded and frustrating,” said Good, during an interview with the Province. “The challenges I have are with people who just whine and complain.”

Nobody likes whiners. But what’s good for Good and his clients in Beijing may not be good for you and your neighbourhood. Local ownership spawns healthy communities. If you own, you care. And through property taxes, invest in parks, schools and other amenities. Conversely, for foreign owners, property taxes represent investment fees while circumventing Vancouver’s tax code, which taxes residencies (4.2 per cent) and businesses (18 per cent) at separate rates. Isn’t speculative foreign investment a form of business?

Like the European Union, Vancouver is crumbling, not along ethnic lines, but among the owns and owns-not. Globalization, in the form of foreign investment, may help chase an entire generation of native-born residents from the city and deny other immigrants a chance at home ownership. Remedies are scarce. But returning property to people who live, work and raise families here seems like a good start.

 

Crack pipe giveaway drapes Vancouver's Downtown Eastside

(Vancouver Courier, January 9, 2012)

In the Downtown Eastside, crack cocaine is king. As the neighbourhood's most popular drug, it's used solely or with other drugs such as heroin or methadone. It's a symptom and cause of widespread misery.

All along Hasting Street, a gauntlet of crack dealers flog their wares. "Rock." "Base." "Best rock right here." According to locals, quality varies depending on the dealer and the price. A typical crack "rock" sells for $10. "But most of it's shit," said Allan Diplock, a short, fidgety 42-year-old with thick bifocals whom I met last Friday morning. Standing on a rain-soaked East Hastings street corner, Diplock represents the target demographic for the provincial government's latest harm reduction experiment in the Downtown Eastside.

Beginning last month, for at least the next eight months, Vancouver Coastal Health, through proxy locations around the neighbourhood, will give away crack pipe kits to anyone no matter their age or state of addiction. According to theory, fresh pipes limit the spread of disease such as hepatitis C. Give an addict a new pipe, they say, and you'll decrease infection rates. The project will cost $60,000 and include 60,000 pipes. Despite sections 462.1 and 462.2 of the Criminal Code, which prohibit the promotion of "instruments or literature for illicit drug use," it's the grandest crack pipe giveaway in Canadian history.

Last Friday, I visited three crack pipe distributors in the Downtown Eastside. First stop: the Lookout Downtown Hazelton Residence, a squat brick building on Alexander Street where Sarah, a smiley young redhead, stood behind the front counter.

"Can I have a crack pipe, please?"

"Sure," said Sarah, reaching into a plastic bin full of crack pipe kits. Each kit, packed in a Ziploc bag, includes a four-inch cylindrical glass pipe, 10 metal pipe screens, two plastic mouthpieces, eight alcohol swabs, two skinny wooden push sticks and a how-to manual boasting the VCH slogan "Promoting wellness. Ensuring care" alongside a 1-866 detox hotline. Although I never asked for extras, Sarah gave me two pipes and bade me farewell.

Next stop, 380 East Hastings, headquarters of the Vancouver Area Network of Drug Users. A busy place with a constant stream of people flowing through VANDU's brick archway. Behind another front counter, Marlene, a First Nations women with a black ponytail and leather jacket, smiled at me.

"Can I have a crack pipe, please?"

"No problem."

Before leaving, I asked Marlene about drug treatment options. She referred me to her colleague-a tall, bearded thirtysomething in an L.A. Dodgers hat. "We're not expert on that," he said. "Our suggestion is to go to Insite." (Incidental footnote: During a letter to the Courier last September, Patricia Daly, VCH's chief medical health officer, said "health care providers" who are "professionals" would distribute crack pipes. Marlene and the L.A. Dodger may be nice, but they're not health care professionals.)

Outside on the sidewalk, Jennifer Gravelle, who also received a kit from Marlene, inspected her pipe. Now 30 years old, Gravelle's smoked crack for 10 years. The rain flattened her brown hair and left two circles of pink blush on each cheekbone. "I think it's awesome," she said, noting the many pipes she's received from VANDU over the past few weeks. "People sharing crack pipes is not a good idea." But has anyone from VANDU asked about your situation or recommended treatment options? "Nope. Never."

Last stop. The Washington Needle Depot at Main and Hastings. To find the depot, walk west on Hastings from Main Street, take your first left into an alley and enter the second door (slightly ajar) to meet Lawrence, a grey-haired deadringer of late comedian George Carlin.

"Can I have two crack pipes, please?"

"OK. But you can't come back today."

Lawrence didn't want me "back today" because crack pipes sell on the black market, although the market impact of government pipes remains unknown. However, back on the street: "I don't like it," said Allan Diplock while wiping raindrops off his bifocals. "Why buy a pipe on the street if you can get one for free?" To subsidize his crack habit, Diplock sells pipes on Hastings for a buck a piece. I showed him my five-pipe stash. He shook his head and smiled. "That's what I'm talking about. It doesn't make sense."

 

Christmas gifts for Ryan Kesler, Occupy Vancouver, PETA and other naughty folk

(Vancouver Courier, December 19, 2011)

When magi visited the Christ child, they didn’t have this in mind. Christmas gifts, once symbols of praise, now represent corruption—mindless consumerism in a material age. Nevertheless, I’ve compiled a gift list for Vancouver’s naughty and not-so-nice. Merry Christmas.

A job: to Occupy Vancouver protesters who squatted for weeks outside the Vancouver Art Gallery before blocking truck access last week to the Port of Vancouver, angering longshoremen who, you know, work for a living. Get a job, any job, to occupy your time. Unfortunately, most hardcore Occupy Vancouverites prefer the easy life. It’s their Achilles heel. And so, if faced with a future Occupy squatter’s camp, city officials should erect an employment centre among the tents and tarps, then sit back and watch ’em scatter. Jobs are like kryptonite to Occupy protesters.

A soother: for Ryan Kesler, the Canucks six-packed stud who overacts to every slash, every hit, doubling over like he’s been shot. It’s part of what’s wrong with the game. Two weeks ago, following a clean hit from Ottawa Senator forward Nick Foligno, Kesler pouted during a post-game interview, claiming Foligno “deliberately targeted my head.” Boo hoo. You’re 6-foot-two, 200 pounds, making $5 million a year. Shut up and play hockey. But if you want something to complain about, how about your no goals and one assist during last spring’s Stanley Cup final.

A job description: for Constance Barnes, newly crowned chair of the park board, already flush with power after only three weeks on the job. During her first park board meeting as chair, Barnes called for the creation of 500 new childcare spaces in Vancouver. Meanwhile, grass grows wild in city parks, the Mount Pleasant pool disappears and wrecking balls loom over the Riley Park rink. If Barnes wants to expand the local childcare system, she should quit the park board and run for the provincial legislature.

A pink slip: for all seven commissioners at the Vancouver Park Board and a demolition permit for the park board building on Beach Avenue. Most cities in Canada don’t have a park board, for good reason. It remains an unnecessary layer of bureaucracy blowing taxpayer cash to justify its existence. For example, Beaver Lake, a glorified pond in Stanley Park. In July the board approved $500,000 for a Beaver Lake “restoration” plan, which will eventually cost millions. Barnes calls for childcare spaces. That’s great! Who’s going to pay for it?

Soap and water: to football fans at B.C. Place. Been to a Lions game lately? It’s like the Star Wars bar in denim. I know, I know. Due to the outrageous cost of Canuck games, the Lions are the live sporting event of choice for (what Nietzsche called) the “bungled and the botched.” But seriously folks, before busing in from Surrey, jump in the shower. Then, when raising your arms in celebration while spilling flat draft on your stretched and straining Lulay jersey, nearby fans won’t recoil in disgust. As much.

A calculator: For Patti Bacchus, chair of the Vision-dominated school board, who last week helped earmark $100,000 for a budget review by PricewaterhouseCoopers. In other words, to help cut costs, the school board will spend $100,000 in a district $14 million in the red. And here’s the kicker. Results of the review aren’t binding and may be ignored by Bacchus and friends. That sound you hear is hundreds of Vancouver parents stampeding to the nearest private school.

A medium rare porterhouse caked in demi-glace: to the five PETA members in white and black cow costumes who picketed before a crowd of one or two onlookers outside the Vancouver Convention Centre, home to this month’s B.C. dairy industry conference. Hayden Hamilton, local spokesperson for the animal rights group, spoke to the Georgia Straight, the paper of record for non-events. “Our herd of cows is here sticking up for cows on dairy farms who don’t have a chance to speak up for themselves.” That’s true. Cows can’t talk. Yet PETA spokespeople can. What bitter irony.

 

Refugees embody hope of Christmas

(Vancouver Courier, December 12, 2011)

Grinches and Christmas go hand in hand. But last Saturday night at John Knox Christian, a private school in Burnaby, dozens of refugees gathered in the gymnasium for an event more fantastic, more bursting with life, than any Dr. Seuss tale.

They came from everywhere. From Afghanistan, Colombia, North Korea and Kosovo. White, brown and black. Young and old. Christian, Muslim and Hindu. As guests of Journey Home, a Christian non-profit based in Burnaby, they ate pumpkin pie and sang Christmas carols in a cacophony of accents and broken English. With help from Journey Home staff and volunteers, the refugee children staged a nativity play based on Luke’s Gospel about a wayward family and a precious child. That story ended in salvation, the ultimate goal for refugees. Might they find it here? Perhaps. But there’s no guarantee. Canadian refugee claims are often denied. Citizenship may take years. And then, it’s merely the end of the beginning.

Every refugee knows by heart the date they landed. They can recite it like their birthday.

“April 27, 2009,” says Daniel, a stout middle-aged Mexican who, alongside his wife and extended family, fled the drug wars that have killed thousands in Mexico since 2006.

As chief breadwinner, Daniel works nights at a Burnaby peanut factory (9 p.m. to 5:30 a.m) before punching in at a nearby office building for a janitorial shift (6 a.m. to 10 a.m.). He returns to a small house in Burnaby where the whole family lives. Denied refugee status, Daniel’s launched an appeal, yet despite looming deportation, considers himself lucky. “My family is safe at any time in the day. We are very happy to be safe.”

Safety is relative. What most Canadians take for granted, many newcomers cherish.

Paul and Rachel (not their real names) arrived in Vancouver on April 16, 2011, fleeing persecution in their native Iran. Why? Because Rachel converted from Islam to Christianity during a covert baptism in Tehran. According to Shariah law, that’s apostasy—a crime punishable by death. “They were following me,” says Rachel, a pretty 38-year-old. “They were going to kill me and maybe take away my daughter and hurt her.” Now living in Burnaby, the couple awaits a refugee hearing. Paul was recently baptized at Willingdon Church. Their daughter has made new friends. The mullahs could not be reached for comment.

Battered clichés notwithstanding, Saturday night’s event at John Knox Christian, like the many journeys over land and sea, was mainly about the children. In the tired eyes of refugee parents lies hope for their kids. So they might have a better life, parents sacrifice all.

Yet some come young, leaving parents and family behind.

On Aug. 13, 2010, Vani (and 491 other Tamil migrants) staggered off the Sun Sea cargo ship in Nanaimo after three months at sea. Now 20 years old, slight and short with deep brown eyes, Vani tells her story gently and with smiles. Born near Kilinochchi in northern Sri Lanka, her family suffered through years of war while government forces battled Tamil Tigers, a militant separatist movement. She lost an older brother, missing and presumed dead, and an older sister in an air raid. She eventually married and fled to Thailand where the Sun Sea was waiting. She now lives with her husband in a one-bedroom apartment in New Westminster. While he pumps gas at a Chevron, she works double-shifts at a Fresh Slice in East Vancouver making pizza at $9.50 an hour. “At the beginning, I liked pizza,” she laughs. “Then I was making the pizza, touching the pizza, smelling the pizza, serving the pizza. Now I don’t like it anymore. The pizza, not the job.” Each month Vani sends $120 to her family in Sri Lanka. With her refugee status pending, her English grows stronger every day. She plans to become a nurse and a Canadian citizen. “I’m going to be—how you say?—brave. I’m going to be brave. With God with us.”

Last Saturday night, many nations gathered in fellowship, a community of castaways and castoffs seeking shelter from the storm. Facing similar circumstances, Joseph led his family from Bethlehem to Egypt before settling in Nazareth bearing a child that changed the world. Folks like Daniel, Vani, Rachel and Paul aren’t trying to change the world, just their lives. Following their star to a promised land.

 

Explosion of 'disability' welfare crippling Vancouver's Downtown Eastside

 

(Vancouver Courier, November 28, 2011)

"The righteous care about justice for the poor, but the wicked have no such concern."—Proverbs 29:7

In Vancouver, we like our poor people contained. Away from our restaurants and mountain views, mainly in the Downtown Eastside. It's a welfare state in the literal sense.

According to the Ministry of Social Development, out of 16,590 neighbourhood residents, 7,841 (47 per cent) receive welfare cheques each month, not including folks on worker's compensation or unemployment insurance. The neighbourhood's reliance on welfare belies a province-wide decline in welfare cases. Since 1995, thanks to provincial reforms, the number of British Columbians on welfare has dropped every year from 367,387 to 180,921 in 2011. However, during that same 17-year span, welfare "disability" cases, folks deemed unemployable due to physical or mental maladies, increased every year from 22,167 to 94,986.

In the Downtown Eastside, the numbers loom larger. In 2000, only 1,720 neighbourhood residents received disability welfare compared to a whopping 4,255 in 2011. That's a 247 per cent increase in 11 years. Disability cases now comprise the majority of welfare recipients in the neighbourhood.

So what's the deal?

Like most issues in the Downtown Eastside, it depends on who you ask. Last week I talked to several neighbourhood residents who all receive some form of social assistance. Nobody spoke on record, fearing reprisal from provincial benefactors, but everyone agreed about disability welfare. If you're on it, you cherish it. If you're not, you aspire to it. Why? Because a single person on regular welfare receives $610 per month compared to $906 for singles on disability. A single parent with one child receives $946 on regular welfare compared to $1,242 for that same parent on disability. The maximum monthly amount for regular welfare ($1,221) falls far behind maximum disability welfare ($1,863). These maximum rates do include $35 bonuses for each additional dependent. And finally, disability welfare recipients aren't required to look for work and often receive monthly cheques for many years.

Of course, there are legitimate cases of disability in the neighbourhood, from arthritis to schizophrenia, and mental disorders born from tragic histories of abuse and addiction. But our increasingly self-obsessed culture, which assigns disease to every human condition, has lowered the bar. Mark Sieben, deputy minister of social development, defends the disability explosion, pointing to mood disorders and depression "which might affect somebody's ability to seek and remain in gainful employment."

Additionally, welfare reforms, which place greater onus on back-to-work measures, have seemingly inspired welfare workers who make final decisions on disability cases. Speaking anonymously to me, another ministry bureaucrat made the following observation: "Let's be frank, the frontline workers are amazing people, and if they see somebody applying for income assistance who they really feel should be applying for disability, which is more money and more security, they really pull out the stops to help get that done."

No doubt that's true. The majority of welfare workers, like the majority of advocates in the Downtown Eastside, act in good faith. Welfare, they say, alleviates poverty. But can they accurately make that claim? According to the latest Metro Vancouver homeless count, despite a 2007 welfare rate hike, homelessness increased by 314 people between March 2005 and March 2011. In the Downtown Eastside, anecdotal evidence-supported by police, advocates and residents-suggests daily decline. Far from lifting folks out of poverty, welfare cheques often seal their fate, helping fund drug addictions and an ever-expanding social housing scheme, which feeds the drug market and fuels the poverty machine.

In their controversial 1994 book The Bell Curve, Harvard psychologist Richard Herrnstein and political scientist Charles Murray argue against perpetual welfare and a "high-tech and more lavish version of the Indian reservation" in urban areas. They also note the erosion of individual rights and freedoms of poor people "once it is accepted that a significant part of the population must be made permanent wards of the states."

Welfare is necessary, for the helpless. For everyone else, it should remain a temporary stop on the road to brighter days. Government-sanctioned "disability," when wrongly prescribed, epitomizes the soft bigotry of no expectations. It removes incentive, keeps poor people poor, dousing destinies with the stroke of a pen. Despite good intentions, there's nothing righteous about that.

 

 

Mayor Robertson bungles mean-spirited Occupy Vancouver protest

(Vancouver Courier, November 7, 2011)

It came at the worst moment. But the end is nigh.

The Occupy movement, spawned in New York and copied across the globe, landed Oct. 15 outside the Vancouver Art Gallery and into Vancouver's civic election campaign.

Before the protest, despite the Stanley Cup riot and his party's low public approval numbers, Mayor Gregor Robertson was cruising to reelection Nov. 19. Then a tale of two cities-Vancouver, home to 640,000 Vancouverites, and the tent city, a lawless zone of blue tarps, bongo drums and several dozen squatters-took centre stage.

In the beginning, Robertson blessed Occupy, saying protesters could remain camped outside the gallery forever. After all, Robertson's a global dude and former director of Tides Canada, an eco-activist war chest with international ties. If not for his current job title, Robertson would likely have frequented tent city during its opening days, making impromptu Al Gore-style appearances among the proletariat.

But as Occupy's UBC students lost interest, and the weather grew cool, the protest grew dark. Shouting protesters interrupted Sunday mass at Holy Rosary Cathedral where society's true villains, grandmothers in plastic pearls and Filipino immigrant families, came to pray. The protesters stormed a TD branch, scaring bank tellers whose only crime was sharing an industry with Lehman Brothers and Goldman Sachs. They flouted city bylaws and ignored fire marshals.

And the mayor watched from the sidelines like a six-year-old. Robertson's bungling of Occupy Vancouver reinforced his image as a man-child. At first, he was reckless. Then, as public sentiment turned and election day loomed, he sent mixed-messages before tragedy-the suspected fatal overdose Saturday of a 23-year-old women-provided the cover Robertson required. Past proclamations notwithstanding, he's now anti-tent city, albeit in a dithering way. "I have directed the city manager to expedite the appropriate steps to end the encampment as soon as possible," Robertson said Saturday, "with a safe resolution being absolutely critical to that."

Meanwhile, whatever its genesis, the Occupy Vancouver protest has lost all credibility. An angry "leadership," mainly young and white, spews venom daily while prohibiting rank-and-file protesters from talking to media. Despite Saturday's tragedy, most tent city inhabitants remain on site for selfish reasons. To be validated. To be the centre of attention. To eat. To sleep. To push dope or get high.

I visited the tent city several times over the past two weeks. Protester complaints mirrored a "list of demands" released by Occupy Vancouver online. Banks are evil. The minimum wage is too low, tuition too high. The media is corrupt. Criminals run the country.

Some of what they say is true. Capitalism is unfair. There are winners and losers. But capitalism, with its inherent flaws, offers opportunity to anyone willing to educate themselves and work hard. And because of that fact, it remains the best economic system within a democracy. Ironically, capitalist innovation created the social media and hand-held devices vital to Occupy protests. Moreover, protesters embrace the same hypocrisy they decry. While railing against inequality and double standards, they elevate their right to protest over the rights of others to work, worship and enjoy public space without fear of harassment.

Yet during my visits to tent city, I was most struck by the lack of spirituality within the movement. It's mainly about money, or more accurately, the money they lack and others grub. Last Friday morning at tent city, a 20-something man in a half-beard and red poncho complained about banks and bailouts. "They buy the politicians and get paid. Where's my bailout?" When I asked why he, a young man in good health, needed government assistance, he told me to f--k off. Vancouver's iteration of the global Occupy movement is mean-spirited, narrow-minded, self-righteous and utterly devoid of humility. And that, more than any politically motivated mayor or overdose tragedy, seals its fate.

So, if you're young, healthy and want to change the world, get off your ass, tear down your tent and go forth. The world is rife with injustice that requires immediate attention, from African villages to First Nations reserves. Don't listen to the haters. Give, work and fundraise. Lobby, build bridges and volunteer. And do so with a glad heart. It may not get your face on the evening news, but the things worth doing rarely do.

 

Mayor Robertson's post-riot duplicity looms over Occupy Vancouver

(Vancouver Courier, October 31, 2011)

 

Remember the anarchists? It was all their fault.

On Monday, four months after the Stanley Cup riot, during a press conference at VPD headquarters, police recommended charges for 60 alleged rioters for crimes including mischief, break-and-enter and arson. And there'll be more. According to VPD Chief Jim Chu, the recommendations represent the beginning of the beginning. "We still expect hundreds of charges to be laid."

Fair enough. But what about the anarchists?

On June 15, as dusk fell and cars burned on Georgia Street, Mayor Gregor Robertson, fresh from his seat at Rogers Arena, held a sidewalk press conference two blocks from the riot epicentre. While television cameras rolled, with his eye on job security, Robertson made a choice. "We had a small number of hooligans," he said, "on the streets of Vancouver causing problems."

Damage control. Not for the city, with its shattered glass and looted businesses, but for Robertson, architect of the fan zones, which swelled beyond their flimsy blue fencing, spilling thousands of drunks across the downtown core.

Faced with millions in damages and mounting criticism, Robertson sharpened his message at a press conference the following day. It was the "anarchists," he said. The perfect foils. Faceless, underground, reviled. Anarchists are arbitrary. You can't pin them down. They remain hidden from view. Robertson, by contrast, can't escape the public record. He, alongside city manager Penny Ballem, lowballed Stanley Cup policing costs. He ignored police calls for more security guards. He failed to plan for what everyone else feared. And when it blew up, he blamed an enemy familiar to most Vancouverites. White punks in black hoodies. They trashed storefronts during the Olympics. And according to Robertson, they did it again.

Meanwhile, during a separate press conference June 16, VPD Chief Jim Chu picked up the script. He blamed the "anarchists." Why not? Chu had nothing to lose. He ignored the 1994 Cup riot report and deployed too few officers. Most damning, his "hands off" approach to crowd control handcuffed police until it was too late.

For several days post-riot, despite no proof of anarchist involvement, Chu and Robertson beat the anarchist drum, deflecting blame and fuelling a media narrative ablaze with righteous public anger. In August, a worthless riot report virtually ignored the duo who walked scot-free, hand-in-hand, from a multi-million dollar disaster largely of their making.

Of course, they had help. Several hundred rioters damaged people and property. Their selfishness, captured by cellphone cameras and YouTube, should guarantee many convictions. And that's great. But seriously, what about the anarchists? Presumably, they're still out there, free to threaten future public events such as the upcoming Grey Cup or the Santa Claus parade. Or Occupy Vancouver.

Robertson's actions during and after last June's riot eerily resemble his handling of the protest outside the Vancouver Art Gallery. On Oct. 14, in the beginning, Robertson endorsed the protest-a fan zone for leftists and layabouts-and three days later, said protesters can remain camped outside the gallery forever, barring any violence or public health issues. On Oct. 22, hundreds of protesters stormed the TD Bank on Georgia Street. According to a TD staff member I talked to, protesters shouted obscenities, unplugged electronics and danced on counter tops. Police watched but made no arrests. (Sound familiar?) Trauma counsellors visited the bank the following day to comfort shaken employees. Robertson said nothing. But public sentiment slowly turned.

Now, as the "tent city" and its cost to taxpayers ($500,000 and counting) takes centre stage in the Nov. 19 election campaign, Robertson's solidarity with the protesters has evaporated. Again, he's made a choice. "We do want to see the tents moved off," he said late last week. "It can't go on forever."

When police move in sometime before election day and violence erupts, Robertson will face the same questions posed last June. What was the pre-protest plan? How'd he lose control? What was he thinking?

Back then, he scrambled for a scapegoat. It was his first instinct. Facts didn't matter. Now, on election eve, he's cornered again. And if history is any guide, a few Occupy Vancouver protesters are destined for demonization. Better ditch your hoodies, boys. They make good targets.

 

Vancouver civic election: the issues you won't hear about

(Vancouver Courier, October 25, 2011)

The Vancouver civic election's only three weeks away, and while 12 mayoral candidates stand proud, due to Vancouver's strident party system, only two stand a chance. Last Friday at the Mount Pleasant Community Centre, the Courier staged the first mayoral debate of the campaign starring NPA challenger Coun. Suzanne Anton and Vision Vancouver incumbent Mayor Gregor Robertson. It was a good debate. However, like most political campaigns, the issues least discussed often carry the most resonance. Here are a few issues you won't find plastered on any campaign poster or shiny button.

 

Free heroin:

No one campaigns on free heroin. No one's that crazy. But sometime soon, thanks to UBC researchers and their so-called SALOME study, drug users in Vancouver will receive up to three daily doses of government heroin for up to 13 months at a time. It's another harm reduction experiment crafted outside the bounds of democratic accountability by a handful of lab coats. But wouldn't it be nice if at least one reporter, sometime over the next three weeks, asks Anton and Robertson-both parents, both proponents of so-called harm reduction-the following question. If your child, as a young adult, became addicted to heroin, would you support their involvement in SALOME, where they'd receive free dope from health officials?

 

Affordability:

They talk about it-but not really. Because absent radical policy such as a moratorium on development permits, there's not much any municipal government can do about free market forces in a capitalist democracy. But make no mistake, nothing will shape our city more over the next 10 years than the price of housing. It affects everything. From practical matters (viability of small businesses reliant on consumer spending) to social concerns (the ability of immigrants to settle in Vancouver). Perhaps a hockey analogy is in order. Remember when the Canucks played at the Pacific Coliseum and regular folks filled the seats? Construction workers, teachers, kids. Remember the atmosphere? Fast forward 20 years. Corporate season ticket holders at Rogers Arena wine and dine clients, and the only kids-outside the offspring of the affluent-huddle in seats donated by Kevin Bieksa. Soon, only the rich and real estate savvy will purchase property in Vancouver. Renters will comprise a disgruntled serfdom destined for migration. That's the truth. But you won't hear it from Robertson or Anton. And I don't blame them.

 

Prostitution.

Compared to most of the world, and most everyone throughout history, we live in paradise. Blissed out in Lotusland with our mountains, seawall and restaurant scene. No wars, no famine, no mass injustice. With one glaring exception-prostitution. Whatever your views on the issue, consider this. Prostitution, even where legal, is run mainly by organized crime. Most of the women involved in indoor prostitution in Vancouver are immigrants from Asia. Outdoors, most prostituted women are aboriginal. Abuse, violence and prostitution go hand in hand. So let's see. We have a criminal "industry" reliant on poor women of colour who have no money, social status or political clout. I'd ask, considering these demographics, why politicians pay little attention. But to ask that question is to answer it.

 

Campaign finance reform:

In the Courier debate, both Anton and Robertson touted transparency and reform. Meanwhile, they collect big bags of cash from individuals and corporations. For the '08 election campaign, all three major political parties-Vision, COPE and the NPA-spent a combined $5 million. Robertson owes his political career to big American donors. Anton hopes to raise $2.5 million this time around. Know this. If they wanted to cut the spigot, they could. They don't, so they won't.

 

Creekside Park:

Speaking of campaign donations. Twenty years ago, during a land deal with the province and city hall, Concord Pacific, a mega-development company led by CEO Terry Hui, promised to build a nine-acre park in Northeast False Creek. It's 2011. Still no park. Instead, Concord's made millions leasing the land, known as Creekside Park, to various interests including the Quebec provincial government, which during the Olympics paid $1.3 million to erect its Maison du Quebec on the site. Nearby residents aren't happy. They want their promised park. Incidentally, Hui donates thousands each election cycle to all three major civic parties and enjoys a friendly relationship with Vision Vancouver. So naturally, you won't hear much about Creekside Park.

 

The Downtown Eastside:

Seriously, it's not a big issue in the campaign. The neighbourhood's gotten so bad, it's radioactive. Remedies require large chunks of political capital with no guarantee of immediate results. For a three-year mayoralty, that's a losing proposition. Instead, barring a mayor of singular courage, the neighbourhood will remain mired in poverty and despair while the can gets kicked down East Hastings.

 

The police:

As mentioned, the Downtown Eastside gets worse every day. Dealers and pimps prey on neighbourhood residents struggling with addiction and mental illness. Yet both Robertson and Anton remain enamored with the Vancouver Police Department and VPD Chief Jim Chu. Even after the Stanley Cup riot, a disaster enabled by police incompetence, the chief got a free pass. Anton blamed everyone but Chu. Robertson, in his weakest moment as mayoral, shrugged like a vaudeville clown when Chu refused to reveal how many cops were deployed downtown for Game 7. Note to Robertson: Chu works for you and you work for us. Get it?

 

Bike bridge:

A bike bridge over False Creek. "A what?" you say. Back in July 2009, Robertson floated a $45-million plan for a cyclist/pedestrian bridge running parallel to the Burrard Street Bridge, connecting Vanier Park with Sunset Beach. Robertson beamed. It was another piece of his master plan. Until Arno Schortinghuis, the grey-bearded cycling guru and president emeritus of the Vancouver Area Cycling Coalition, panned the plan, calling it a "non-starter" with commuter cyclists. To my knowledge, Robertson never again mentioned the bridge plan in public. It sank to the bottom of False Creek, torpedoed by his premiere special interest group. Not exactly campaign button material.

 

 

 

 

Vancouver politicians court Chinatown while enabling its decline

(Vancouver Courier, October 17, 2011)

What did you do in Chinatown? As little as possible.

That's from the 1974 film Chinatown, a crime story based on California's "water wars" of the 1930s.

Today, in Vancouver's Chinatown, nobody has declared war. Not yet. But discontent abounds in a neighbourhood struggling to maintain its status as a cultural hub. The Asian diaspora long ago assimilated and settled across Vancouver. Chinatown, meanwhile, shares a northern border with the Downtown Eastside. As the open drug market grows, neighbourhood businesses suffer, residents move away.

Yet thanks to the vital Asian vote, Chinatown remains important to Vancouver politicians-if only for a few weeks every three years. As the November election looms, candidates court Chinatown votes and dollars. Earlier this month, hundreds packed the Floata restaurant on Keefer Street for a Vision Vancouver fundraiser starring Mayor Gregor Robertson, a remarkable turnout considering Robertson's record of inactivity in the area, especially the Downtown Eastside.

Since 1987, Rod Chow, president of Jack Chow Insurance, has worked at the family business inside "the world's skinniest building" near Chinatown's iconic archway. According to Chow, Chinatown's never looked worse. "We've seen Chinatown deteriorate. Right now it's in its lowest state and has to be brought back to its heyday when the streets were full of people.

From his office window, Chow looks north down Carrall Street into the Downtown Eastside. It's a quiet street, dead and dark. City hall has eliminated off-street parking on Carrall to make room for a so-called greenway and separated bike lane, part of a citywide strategy to encourage cycling and discourage driving. But apparently Robertson and company failed to consider the unintended consequences of linking North America's largest open drug market with a narrow street devoid of parking. "When there are less people, less circulation, that leaves the street open for the undesirables to come over," says Chow. "And we've seen more drug dealers infiltrating Chinatown."

Furthermore, according to Chow, police presence has dwindled. And he's probably right. During my two-hour stroll around Chinatown last Friday morning, I didn't see one uniformed police officer. But I saw several empty storefronts, evidence of Chinatown's struggling economy.

At the KC Trading souvenir shop on Pender Street, Wendy, a smiling cashier, says increased drug activity has chased away business. In fact, if not for her job, she'd avoid the neighbourhood. "I don't do my shopping here no more, and I don't live here."

Up the street, Anita, who sits behind the counter of an empty home decor shop, tells a similar tale of declining sales. "No tourists, no local people. Business is no good."

So what do the candidates say about Chinatown woes?

Coincidentally, last Friday I bumped into city councillor and NPA mayoral candidate Suzanne Anton on a Chinatown street corner. In her power suit and red, white and blue campaign button, she was pressing flesh on the campaign trail. Anton says she's sympathetic to Chinatown's crime concerns, but like her mayoral rival Robertson, won't promise any change in police strategy. When asked about parking on Carrall Street, Anton, a committed cyclist who helped Robertson install bike lanes on Hornby, Dunsmuir and the Burrard Street Bridge, is more resolute. "We're not going to go backwards on Carrall." She points to three parkades in the neighbourhood before NPA council candidate Francis Wong, who rode shotgun during Anton's Chinatown tour, notes that two of the parkades are used sparingly due to theft and safety concerns.

Across the street, Lilly Chong, a 25-year-old immigrant from Hong Kong, tugs on her white apron among barrels of dried mushrooms and shrimp at a Main Street food market. Chong worries about the neighbourhood and its people, especially older immigrants who rely on Chinatown. She doesn't follow civic politics. Being "green" ranks low on an immigrant's agenda. But as far as she can tell, Chinatown is an afterthought at city hall. "They don't care that much, that's what I think."

Maybe. But to be fair, people can change. Maybe after the November election, city politicians will listen to Chinatown. Or maybe the people of Chinatown need to get with the program. Haven't they heard? This is a world-class city. Get out of the way.

 

Teenage housing nightmare opens for business in Vancouver

(Vancouver Courier, Sept. 21, 2011)

They tried to keep it quiet, but when exposed, they found two teens and stuck them inside. Imouto House is open for business.

A quick history lesson: Last March, city council rubberstamped a social housing proposal from Atira Women’s Resource Society, the non-profit wing of the Atira social housing empire, which grows exponentially with the Downtown Eastside. According to the plan, Atira will house up to 25 teenage girls (ages 16 to 19) in the old International Inn (renamed Imouto, “little sister” in Japanese) at 120 Jackson—ground zero for drugs and prostitution. The only adult on-site—a so-called “house mom.” Most of the girls will be aboriginal.

And council barely noticed. Before the vote, there was little discussion and no debate. No presentation from Atira, no input from neighbourhood organizations or members of the aboriginal community. Scandalous. Considering the plan’s unprecedented nature—a building full of kids in the Downtown Eastside—council should have staged at least one public hearing. They do it for casinos and bike lanes, why not teenage girls?

Following the vote, which received no media coverage or publication from city hall, women’s groups were outraged. In subsequent months, as Atira prepared for Imouto’s grand opening, opposition mounted. Groups like Ray-Cam, a longtime neighbourhood institution, lobbied city hall. Aboriginal groups such as AWAN and ALIVE lined up against the plan. We need housing for teenage girls, they said, but it must exist outside the Downtown Eastside, away from pimps and predators.

Meanwhile, Atira, led by CEO Janice Abbott, made no attempt to reach out to the community. City hall made no attempt to enlighten or inform. Instead, Atira posted a “FAQ” form deep within the city website and city officials mailed a few postcards last week to “neighbours within a two-block radius” of 120 Jackson. The postcards, a mandatory notification for any new development, point to the city’s website and a labyrinth of links mysteriously identified as “100 Jackson Avenue.” That was the extent of neighbourhood consultation. Again, scandalous.

Last Thursday, Atira finally met with roughly 35 neighbourhood residents and advocates including Scott Clark, director of ALIVE, a non-profit organization aimed at urban aboriginals. According to Clark, for two hours, they pleaded with Abbott to halt her Imouto plan. Then, as the meeting closed, Abbott dropped the bomb. Imouto House, she said, opened earlier this month. Two kids live there now, with more to follow.

Brilliant move. Abbott knows the neighbourhood, she’s been there for years. She saw the mounting outrage—Clark and others had collected more than 1,000 signatures opposing her plan. The petition was destined for city hall. More media was bound to follow. Abbott had to act. She found two kids, pawns in her plan, and moved them into 120 Jackson. Now, when responding to opposition, Abbott can use the kids, the very people her opponents seek to protect, as human shields. If we close Imouto House, she’ll say, they’re out on the street.

Brilliant yet typical. Abbott, who’s married to B.C. Housing CEO Shayne Ramsay, built her empire on hubris and close cooperation with B.C. Housing, which doles out taxpayer millions to Atira and other social housing firms. During a four-year period beginning in 2007, Atira received $21,459,729 from B.C. Housing and assumed management duties at 13 government-owned hotels. In July, Atira opened a $26.8 million housing project on Abbott Street, and last September B.C. Housing helped secure a $1,443,600 mortgage for 120 Jackson, Atira’s wild plan for teenage girls. And so on.

It’s been nearly 10 years since Willie Pickton, and what have we learned? Despite cries from the community, we have no rigorous “exit service” infrastructure for prostituted women. While B.C. Housing dumps millions into the Downtown Eastside, the province is unable to provide healthy housing options for young girls outside the neighbourhood. And now, in the same neighbourhood where dozens of women vanished forever, a two-storey brick building will house up to 25 teenage girls.

I hope and pray that the fierce opposition to Imouto House at 120 Jackson was unnecessary. But if history is any guide, tragedy looms large.

 

Vancouver crack pipe giveaway will include children

(Vancouver Courier, Sept. 14, 2011)

They’re giving crack pipes to kids.

A vulgar statement, sure to sour the most liberal sensibilities. The very notion of arming children, innocence incarnate, with the instruments of hard drug addiction summons outrage from deep within the soul. Anyone engaged in such blasphemy surely occupies a rancid corner of the human experience, alongside Randall Hopley and pimps who prostitute children on downtown street corners.

You’d think that. But think again. A new “harm reduction” project in the Downtown Eastside will see nurses and other healthcare officials distribute at least 60,000 crack pipes to neighbourhood users during an eight-month period. While final dates are pending, the project, run by Vancouver Coastal Health, may begin next month, end sometime next spring and cost up to $60,000. It’s the first government-funded crack pipe giveaway in Vancouver. (The Portland Hotel Society has distributed crack pipes for more than two years but relies on private funding for its pipe program.)

Crack pipes are basically skinny glass tubes roughly four-inches long. According to theory, fresh pipes limit the spread of disease such as hepatitis C. Give an addict a new pipe, they say, and you’ll decrease the rate of infection. Whether you support this project or not, you’re probably certain of one thing: When it comes to free crack pipes, children need not apply.

You’d think that. But think again. According to Dr. Reka Gustafson, a VCH medical health officer, government crack pipes are for everyone, age notwithstanding. “This is a health regulation,” said Gustafson, during a recent phone interview. “Anybody who’s competent to ask for a health service should receive it.”

According to Gustafson, pipe distributors will talk with children and other users and help connect them with addiction services. But there’ll be no mandatory counselling or treatment attached to a free crack pipe. If a 12-year-old girl wants a pipe, without chitchat or medical advice, she’ll get it. And your tax dollars will pay for it. What part of Christy Clark’s “Families First” agenda is this?

Of course, depriving a 12-year-old crack smoker, damaged by exploitation and neglect, from government crack pipes won’t stop her from smoking crack. And while greater dangers exist on the street, pipe-sharing may make her sick. But rather than spend $60,000 on free crack pipes, why not fund prevention and recovery programs aimed at kids. Wouldn’t that be money better spent?

Children who smoke crack in the Downtown Eastside are likely victims of abuse (physical, sexual, emotional) and predominantly aboriginal. They likely lack positive role models and search desperately for direction. Often, their only positive encounter with adults takes place at healthcare centres and drop-in clinics, which will soon hand out crack pipes. In a child’s eyes, that gesture carries great weight. Despite oversight from Gustafson and the other lab coats at VCH and UBC, no clinical study can measure its impact. Enablement may extinguish a child’s fragile hope, dooming her forever.

And therein lies the fundamental flaw of so-called harm reduction philosophy. It reduces a complex problem like addiction into simple logic, that if extended, moves quickly from the absurd to the surreal. She’s already smoking crack, so let’s make sure she smokes it safely. To feed her growing habit, she’s engaged in petty crime, which is dangerous for a child. So let’s give her the crack and eliminate the middle man.

Never happen, you say? Think again. They already did it with adults and heroin (NAOMI study, 2005-2008) and they’ll do it again with heroin (upcoming SALOME study). And with crack pipes, they’ll never attach age limits. They can’t. Doing so would threaten grand plan. If kids are too young for free crack pipes, what about free needles? If kids are incapable of consenting to government-sanctioned drug abuse, what about the mentally ill? What about first-time intravenous drug users who rely on Insite nurses for direction? What about this whole “harm reduction” thing?

No, that can of worms will remain sealed. And beginning next month, she’ll receive shiny new crack pipes like so much free candy from representatives of the state.

 

 

Canada’s short-form census feeds Big Government machine

(Vancouver Courier, August 24, 2011)

“We have tried on many occasions to contact your household to complete your census.”

Yes they have. A stack of yellow envelopes, stamped by Statistics Canada, bears witness on my kitchen table. I received my first mandatory short-form census in May. Over the summer, the packages kept coming. A yellow envelope. An orange census form. A letter of admonishment in stern bureaucratese. “Please note that completing your census questionnaire is mandatory under the Statistics Act, and by the same law, the information you provide will be kept confidential and used only for statistical purpose.”

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Last summer, the federal Conservatives axed the mandatory long-form census, which pried into the personal lives of Canadians, and replaced it with a voluntary National Household Survey, which pries—albeit, more politely—into the personal lives of Canadians. The media, sensing proof of a “secret agenda,” courted complaint from census advocates, namely Big Government backers bent on social engineering. The census, they said, makes Canada work. “It’s not just the multicultural programs,” howled pro-Liberal pollster Frank Graves. “The whole question of employment equity in the workforce, which is a huge issue, is based on analysis of this [census data], things like legislated employment equity.” The relentless media narrative elevated the census to sacred status on par with the Constitution. However, the Tories stood firm and the voluntary National Household Survey was distributed to 4.5 million households this spring.

End of story? Not even close.

Despite high-minded talk about privacy and liberty, Harper and company retained the mandatory short-form census. It’s brief (four pages) yet invasive (marital status, sexuality, language preference) and far exceeds the basic requirements of a census. Webster’s defines census as: “a periodic governmental enumeration of population.” Census history dates back to Moses who counted the Israelites based on orders from above. Caesar Augustus tallied the Roman world, mainly for tax purposes. During the Second World War, Hitler used census data seized in occupied countries to help deport Jews to their death. On the homefront, the U.S. Census Bureau worked in concert with Washington to locate and intern Japanese-Americans.

Speaking of war. Since 2004, the Canadian federal government has outsourced census automation (scanning completed forms, compiling data) to Lockheed Martin, one of the world’s largest weapons manufacturers, which operates a lucrative sideline business in information technology. As part of the American military-industrial complex, Lockheed Martin supports the War on Terror where personal information of suspected terrorists is sought worldwide. Incidentally, during a brazen cyber attack in May, computer hackers infiltrated Lockheed Martin’s security network. The extent of the breach has not been disclosed.

Despite all of that, Statistics Canada says your census information is safe. For argument’s sake, let’s say that’s true. That Lockheed Martin, if apprised of a major terrorist threat emanating from Canadian soil, will stick to its confidentiality agreement. And that our bloated federal bureaucracy, which was raided by Chinese hackers last winter, is capable of securing your personal information. The census in its current form remains unnecessary, and more importantly, damaging. It provides statistical ammunition for every government program and taxpayer-funded non-profit from St. John’s to Victoria. Using census data, any skilled bureaucrat at any level of government can justify their pet project come appropriation time. The census doesn’t make Canada work, it makes government grow. Census advocates claim public services such as healthcare are inexorably linked to census data. Funding decisions, they say, rely on demographic trends. But much of the information gleaned from the mandatory short-form census (marital status, sexuality, language preference) reaches far beyond basic determinative medical factors such as age and location.

So the yellow stack on my kitchen table will continue to grow. According to the Statistics Act, census scofflaws face “a fine not exceeding five hundred dollars” or imprisonment “not exceeding three months.” A man came to my home last month and another two weeks ago. They’re leaving messages on my answering machine. The last yellow envelope was delivered in person and left open for my convenience. It fell in pieces through my mail slot. I’ve been marked for registration by the government machine.

 

Teenage housing nightmare part of growing Atira empire in Downtown Eastside

(Vancouver Courier, August 24, 2011)

It’s a beautiful day in this neighbourhood, a beautiful day for a neighbour. Would you be mine? Could you be mine? Won’t you be my neighbour?

Mister Rogers never stayed at the International Inn. It was built as a brothel in 1912, at 120 Jackson in the Downtown Eastside, and grew grey with the neighbourhood. Today, it’s surrounded. One block south: Oppenheimer Park, a landmark for drug dealing. One block west: Powell and Dunlevy, one of the worst corners in the country. All around, pimps and dealers. Needles, black eyes, blood and tears.

It’s the last place you’d put your children. Compared to 120 Jackson, Kandahar doesn’t look half bad. But astonishingly, barring a last-minute reprieve, the Inn will be transformed into a housing project solely for teenage girls. According to the plan—concocted by Atira Women’s Resource Society and approved by city council last March—Atira will spiff up the Inn, rename it Imouto House (Imouto means “little sister” in Japanese) and warehouse up to 25 girls (aged 16 to 19) who’ve “aged out” of foster care. Foster care graduates are famously vulnerable and often fall victim to pimps and drugs. The only adult on site, a so-called “house mom,” will help the girls adapt and mature.

Crazy, you say? You’re not alone. Opposition is widespread. Women’s groups, aboriginal groups, youth workers—all shake their heads. We need housing for girls, they say, but it must exist outside the Downtown Eastside. Dave Dickson, a retired Vancouver police officer, spent 28 years patrolling the neighbourhood. Now an outreach worker for the Lookout Emergency Aid Society, Dickson hits the streets every morning at 5 a.m., talking with women and girls, helping where he can. According to Dickson, Atira’s plan is unprecedented and the location couldn’t be worse. “Housing young women down here should not be an option. It doesn’t end well, I’ve gone to way too many funerals,” he says. “There will be predators circling that building. I would ask anybody if they’d house their own daughter down here.”

Janice Abbott, Atira’s executive director, was unavailable for comment but during an April interview with the Courier, she defended the location and pointed to the many nearby services for troubled young people. She also said she’ll rely on police to help provide security at 120 Jackson, a claim that draws laughs from Dickson, the former beat cop. “Good luck with that. The police are understaffed, there’s no way they can rely on the police to protect them.”

While city council approved Atira’s plan last March, final development permits are pending. Late last month, in a desperate effort to thwart the plan, board members of the Ray-Cam Cooperative Centre, a longtime and respected fixture in the Downtown Eastside, penned a letter to council and housing minister Rich Coleman, asking everyone to reconsider 120 Jackson. Council acknowledged the letter and Ray-Cam may meet with city officials next month. But the province remains mum. Why? Not sure.

But consider this: While Atira’s non-profit wing provides support services for women in the Downtown Eastside, Atira’s for-profit subsidiary, Atira Property Management, manages a myriad of hotels reliant on government handouts. In June 2010, Abbott married Shayne Ramsay, CEO of B.C. Housing, which doles out taxpayer millions to Atira and other social housing firms. B.C. Housing won’t say when they met or provide a relationship timeline. Atira’s growth may have nothing to do with the marriage. In fact, considering the millions dumped into the Downtown Eastside, it’s likely Atira would profit notwithstanding. But for the record, here’s what’s happened to Atira over the past four years.

From April 1, 2007 to March 31, 2008, Atira received $1,722,438 from B.C. Housing. The following fiscal year, that number increased to $3,745,403 for projects such as the Drake Hotel. During the 2010 fiscal year, Atira received $7,541,828 from B.C. Housing and assumed management duties at 13 government-owned hotels in Vancouver and service duties at 10 additional government-owned hotels. During fiscal year 2011, Atira received $8,450,060 from B.C. Housing. Last month, Atira opened a 10-storey housing project on Abbott Street. The building cost $26.8 million paid for by all three levels of government including $14.6 million from B.C. Housing. And finally, last September B.C. Housing helped secure a $1,443,600 mortgage for 120 Jackson, Atira’s pending disaster for teenage girls.

It’s business as usual in the Downtown Eastside. Welcome to the neighbourhood.

 

Vancouver park board practices duplicity at Beaver Lake

(Vancouver Courier, Aug. 3, 2011)

The Beaver Lake scandal. BeaverLakeGate. The Beaver Lake affair.

Most people have never heard of Beaver Lake, a small shallow wetland in Stanley Park. It was created by heavy machinery in 1929. Due to a natural process called succession, it’s slowly shrinking, and if left alone, may evolve into another ecosystem less attractive to frogs and salamanders. It may take decades to dry up—if it happens at all. But if it happened tomorrow, despite discomfort for a few frogs and salamanders, the ecology would adapt. There is no pending environmental disaster in Stanley Park.

However, last January, thanks mainly to COPE park board commissioner Loretta Woodcock, the park board approved a plan to “save” Beaver Lake. The plan included two phases: 1) An environmental assessment (price tag: $100,000); 2) An intensive public consultation process to determine what—if anything—should be done.

Woodcock repeated this promise in the media, and one week before the vote last January, she spoke to the Courier. “I want community groups to create a vision for Beaver Lake,” said Woodcock. “We just need to figure out how to get there and what the public wants.”

That was last January. To date, there have been no public meetings about Beaver Lake. And the environmental assessment, which would determine Beaver Lake’s fate, never happened. Yet last month, Vision park board chair Aaron Jasper made an announcement. The board, he said, plans to spend $500,000 on the “restoration” of Beaver Lake.

But what about the public consultation? What about the environmental assessment?

According to board spokesperson Joyce Courtney, the assessment will take place sometime this year. A “team of various folks with environmental expertise” will devise “the best solution for that rapid-infilling problem.” Then “contracts will be tendered to actually start the work.”

Whoa, wait a second! Back in January, Woodcock and company said the assessment would examine a range of options. It sounds like this “team” will craft a plan to dredge the lake. That’s not an assessment, that’s a blueprint!

“The board,” says Courtney, “did not consider doing nothing a viable option.”

Confused? Don’t be. It’s quite simple. The park board lied. Woodcock and friends promised an open process of impartial assessment and public consultation. We got neither. They’ve earmarked $600,000 ($100,000 for the bogus “assessment,” $500,000 for the first phase of restoration) to “save” a tiny, two-metre deep, manmade lake. Moreover, the $600,000 is a mere down payment. The final Beaver Lake price tag will surely soar skyward like Stanley Park’s majestic blue herons. (Incidental footnote: In December 2010, the park board threatened to close public washrooms due to budget woes. And this summer, Vancouver greenspaces, once kempt and inviting, grow wild because the park board reduced its lawn-mowing budget.)

In related news, yesterday crews began demolishing the Jericho Wharf, a wood and concrete structure at Jericho Beach, which was used by the Royal Canadian Air Force during the Second World War.

In November 2010, the park board fabricated an environmental crisis—a green Gulf of Tonkin, so to speak—to torpedo the wharf. The old wooden pilings, they said, were leaking creosote and contaminating the water. The evidence? A letter from Murray Manson, a biologist with Fisheries and Oceans Canada (DFO), who wrote the park board last summer recommending the destruction of the wharf. But wait. The DFO conducted no testing or evaluation of the water around the wharf. In fact, according to Manson’s letter, the main problem with the wharf was not water contamination but shade cast on “visual feeders” such as perch, herring and flounder.

Nevertheless, last November the park board voted to demolish the wharf. Price tag: $2 million. And pending approval of the city’s capital plan, an additional $500,000 will be spent on “beach restoration and historical interpretation.”

No comment from the skittish flounder of Jericho Beach. Let’s hope they’re happy.

These two park board projects—Beaver Lake, Jericho Wharf—honour city hall’s Greenest City 2020 Action Plan, which places the environment above all other city concerns. Where hysteria trumps reason. Fiction eats fact. And the formerly scandalous is virtuous and green.

 

Secret camera captures Mayor Robertson/Pride pact

On Canada Day weekend, operatives entered city hall and planted a hidden camera in the mayor’s office, collecting hours of video footage. The following conversation between Mayor Gregor Robertson and Mike Magee, Robertson’s chief of staff, took place Monday morning, July 25.

Robertson stands before a full-length mirror wearing silver bike shorts, a plunging purple V-neck shirt and a white feather boa. Magee, bald and goateed, wearing a grey suit and black tie, sits at Robertson’s large oak desk typing on a laptop.

“Mike, I think I like the green boa better.”

“Just a second. I’m MSNing with Doug Keefe. L-o-l. T-t-y-l.”

Magee closes the laptop and turns towards Robertson.

“So what’s the problem? Struggling with your dance moves?”

Robertson stares into the mirror, attempts a pirouette and stumbles forward.

“You’re getting better. Remember, the Pride Parade is one of the biggest political events of the year. We can’t win reelection in November without the gay vote. You need to look good on the float this Sunday—professional, like you know what you’re doing.”

Robertson’s desk intercom beeps and crackles. A nasal-voiced receptionist speaks.

“Morning, G-man. Ken Coolen on line two.”

Magee slaps the desk.

“Speak of the devil! Now remember, Coolen’s president of the Pride Society, a very important institution. He’s a vote-getter, like the pope. We want to be very good friends.

Robertson throws the feather boa over his shoulder and replaces Magee in the mayor’s chair.

“Hello Ken, Gregor Robertson, here. Happy Pride week.”

Silence. Magee taps the intercom, points at Robertson and falls backward onto a bright yellow beanbag chair.

“Hello Ken, Gregor Robertson, here. Happy Pride week.”

“Hello, Mr. Mayor. Happy Pride.”

“How’s things at the Pride Society? You guys have everything you need?”

“Great, we expect record revenues this year. Our gold sponsorship package sells for $40,000. We’ve got TD on board, so the money’s rolling in.”

Magee scribbles on a notepad. Holds it up for Robertson to see.

Robertson squints at the notepad.

“Wonderful, Ken. Vision Vancouver has always been a big supporter of the gay and transformer community.”

Magee quickly scribbles again on the notepad. Holds it up.

“I mean, the gay and transgender community. Anyway, what can I do for you, Ken?”

“Well, I just want to touch base with you guys. I know you’re probably a little skittish about large crowds right now, but you have nothing to worry about. The Pride Parade is a peaceful celebration.”

“We know that, Ken. And while I haven’t talked to the police chief about how many officers he plans to deploy, I’m sure he knows that, too.”

“Yeah, well, here’s the thing. The Pride Society estimates parade attendance figures. In 2009, we said 530,000. Last year we said 650,000. This year, we promised our sponsors 700,000. So… you good with that?”

Magee nods. Robertson eyes Magee, nods slowly.

“Ken, make it 700,000 and one. Listen, I have to run but I’ll see you Sunday. And in the fall, during the campaign.”

Magee approaches Robertson’s desk. Taps the intercom, ending the call.

“Seven hundred thousand! Hah!”

“Sorry, Mike?”

“C’mon, we’ve never had anything close to 700,000 people downtown—not even for the Olympics. We had 100,000 for Game 7, maybe.”

“You think Pride’s pumping up the parade numbers?”

“Listen, the most they’ll ever get for the parade is 90,000—and that’s if the sun shines. But 700,000? That’s more than the population of Vancouver. The city would grind to a halt. We’d have dead bodies on the SkyTrain.”

Robertson’s intercom beeps and crackles.

“G-man, I’ve got Terry Hui on line three.”

Magee slaps Robertson on the back.

“I’ll take this. You get back to work. Only six days ’til Sunday.”

Robertson walks back to the mirror, starts doing side bends.

Magee taps the intercom.

“Mayor’s office, Mike Magee speaking.”

 

Mayor Gregor Robertson’s wild ‘green’ plan will cripple Vancouver

(Vancouver Courier, July 20, 2011) 

While Gregor Robertson watched from the mayor’s chair last Thursday, city council approved the Greenest City 2020 Action Plan, a 162-page manifesto crafted by Robertson’s new green bureaucracy. The vote was nearly unanimous. Robertson’s Vision/COPE council majority rubber-stamped the plan, which will be phased in over the next few years. Only opposition NPA Coun. Suzanne Anton voted no. Following the vote, council quickly approved the plan’s first “priority action item,” which requires water meters on all new homes. Annual cost to the taxpayer: about $500,000.

Predictably, the media barely noticed. But last Thursday’s vote represents a fulcrum in Vancouver history, perhaps the most important political moment since incorporation in 1886. If followed, the plan will transform the city and help Robertson realize his wild green dreams. Environmentalism will trump all other city priorities. It’s why he ran for mayor, everything else was incidental. In many ways, the plan mirrors Robertson’s mayoralty. Enthusiastic but naive. Ambitious but myopic. It’s elitist to the core. Only a man of Robertson’s privileged background and political good fortune could present this plan with a straight face.

For example. The plan includes a myriad of recommendations—from “a Green Enterprise Zone” in the Downtown Eastside and False Creek to a “technology centre” with a “food processing enterprise incubator”—yet provides no cost analysis. It warns only of “significant financial investments” because “becoming the Greenest City also represents changes in how we do our business and can add costs.” It targets developers, homebuilders and construction companies, prescribing stringent environmental standards and “higher permit fees” for “less energy efficient projects.” It’s a regulation blitzkrieg that will discourage development and investment, inflate construction costs and increase housing and rental prices. If you thought it was expensive to live in Vancouver in 2011, wait until the plan kicks in.

Despite the plan’s heavy regulation of business and expansion of bureaucracy, its primary target is ordinary people. You and me. The obstinate obstacles to Robertson’s vision. In this sense, the plan is remarkably candid. Rather than reduce the cost of living for Vancouverites, it will make life more expensive. Green policy must “affect people’s finances in positive and negative ways.” Only then, will we develop an environmental conscience.

For example. According to the plan, “Energy is too cheap… Homeowners, tenants and business owners are not responding to price signals… to motivate them to conserve energy.” The solution? City hall must “lobby/advocate for policy and regulatory change” to increase energy prices (a.k.a. your home heating bill, prices at the pump) and lobby the province to create costly “pay-as-you-drive insurance premiums” and “road and/or congestion pricing.” Hello, toll booths.

Aware of the potential for revolt, the plan is one part policy, one part public relations. City officials must reach out to “new immigrants,” “faith communities” and folks of “different classes/incomes.” Tailor a green message for the Chinese community because “the way the green movement is being marketed with romanticism of going back to nature, may not resonate with cultures that have worked to distance themselves from nature.”

While people are bad, cars are worse. In areas “well-served by transit” the plan requires “parking and housing costs to be unbundled” in apartments and condos and will “consider eliminating off-street parking requirements.” Translation: higher home parking fees, less parking almost everywhere. The plan will also “design parking spaces… so that spaces can be converted to other uses in the future (e.g. bicycle parking, storage).” When faced with a parking shortage, downtown businesses “can share logistics, shipping and receiving facilities, and parking allocations.”

Phew. While the plan sounds unbelievable, too much for any city to take, consider this. If Robertson wins reelection in November and retains his council majority, he’ll have at least three more years to institute the plan. During his first term in office, he’s demonstrated a disdain for public consultation (see the “f**king hacks” incident) and a willingness to ram through controversial green projects (see three “temporary” bike lanes). Yes, Robertson’s on a mission. The plan is real and coming soon to a neighbourhood near you.

To see the 162-page plan, visit vancouver.ca (Council Meetings/Previous Meetings/July 14).

 

Female power brokers betray vulnerable women and girls in B.C.

 

(Vancouver Courier, July 13, 2011)

It’s a great time to be female—in a non-Muslim country, that is. After centuries of second-class status, suffrage begat progress. And in 2011, for all intents and purposes, equality rules.

In British Columbia, Christy Clark is premier. (She wasn’t elected, but that’s still pretty good.) Four women sit on Vancouver city council representing all three major civic parties. The city’s highest paid—and arguably most powerful—employee, city manager Penny Ballem, is a woman.

Famed feminist Camille Paglia once said, “Women are in league with each other, a secret conspiracy of hearts and pheromones.” That may be true. But considering the major role women play in local politics, two recent decisions speak to the corruption of both genders.

In response to Robert Pickton’s multi-year murder spree, the province created the Missing Women Commission of Inquiry expected to begin later this year. Purportedly, the inquiry will investigate police conduct between 1997 and 2002 when women were reported missing from the Downtown Eastside. All of Pickton’s victims were women, many of them prostituted and aboriginal. Yet in May, Clark’s government denied legal assistance to 13 aboriginal and women’s groups hoping to participate in the inquiry.

Two weeks ago, Wally Oppal, former B.C. attorney-general and inquiry commissioner, penned a letter to current attorney-general Barry Penner. “Failure to fund the participant organizations,” wrote Oppal, “would leave disenfranchised women and victims in a clearly unfair position at the hearing.” A quick phone call from Clark to Penner would right this wrong. But Clark, in her power suit and “Families First” smile, won’t budge.

Meanwhile at city hall, nobody talks about prostitution—the number one human rights issue in Vancouver. Prostituted women toil on the streets and in de facto brothels, which each pay a $226 yearly business licence fee to city hall. Rather than help, city council hurts. Last March, council unanimously approved a new social housing project at 120 Jackson, ground-zero for drugs and prostitution in the Downtown Eastside. Pickton’s old stomping ground.

According to the plan, Atira Women’s Resource Society will transform the old International Inn, built as a brothel in 1912, into a single-room-occupancy home for at least 25 troubled teenage girls, aged 16 to 19. The plan oozes with medieval charm. Drug dealers, pimps and johns are licking their chops.

“It’s a building with a public address in the Downtown Eastside,” says Cherry Smiley, spokeswoman for the Aboriginal Women’s Action Network. “So we’re very concerned for the safety of our young girls.”

Post-Pickton, little has changed in the Downtown Eastside. Pimps and dealers still run the show. It’s a very dangerous place. No place for teenagers. During an April interview with the Courier, Janice Abbott, executive director of Atira, said teenage girls will be safe in 120 Jackson’s little rooms but provided no evidence to back up that claim. Smiley, and others who work with women in the Downtown Eastside, understand the importance of location when housing vulnerable teenage girls. “It has to be outside the Downtown Eastside. I would like to see something based on a transition house for battered women and children, something more along that model of communal living that’s, again, outside of the Downtown Eastside.”

Unfortunately, although final permits are pending, 120 Jackson is a fait accompli. Atira is courting two “house moms” for the project. According to a Craigslist job posting, applicants “must subscribe to a feminist analysis of violence against women.” How prophetic. Thanks to inevitable future disasters spawned by 120 Jackson, there’ll be ample opportunity to analyze violence.

Incidentally, Abbott, Atira’s woman in charge, is married to Shayne Ramsay, CEO of B.C. Housing, which doles out taxpayer millions to Atira and other social housing firms in the Downtown Eastside. Atira operates several women’s only housing projects while Atira’s for-profit subsidiary, Atira Property Management, manages 17 single-occupancy hotels.

Abbott’s a modern-day success, a liberated money-maker. Unfortunately, the latest wrong-headed addition to Atira’s social housing empire helps cast men and women in historical roles. Villain and victim, flesh merchant and fresh meat.

 

Hidden camera captures Vancouver riot talk in mayor’s office

(Vancouver Courier, July 6, 2011)

Over the Canada Day weekend, Courier operatives entered city hall and planted a hidden camera in the mayor’s office. The following conversation between Mayor Gregor Robertson and Mike Magee, Robertson’s chief of staff, took place Monday morning, July 4.

Sitting behind a large oak desk, Robertson types on his laptop. He’s wearing a tan suit, purple tie and blue cycling helmet. Magee, bald and goateed, enters the office and slams the door.

“It’s brutal out there, Mr. Mayor. It’s been three weeks and we’re still catching hell over the riot. It just won’t end.”

“Mike, how many times do I have to tell you. Call me Gregor or G-man. So how bad is it?”

“Terrible. We’re getting hammered in the press. Even the Globe’s turned on us. If it continues like this, we might have to start our own blog.”

“I like it. Modern thinking. Keep going, Mike.”

Magee walks toward a window and stares at the Vancouver skyline.

“We’ve got to stop the bleeding. I know you don’t like the idea, but we must consider gassing the police chief.”

“Now Mike, Jim’s a good man. So he won’t return my phone calls or be my Facebook friend. He’s very busy. He’s the chief of police, for frick sake!”

“Listen, G-man. We dropped the ball, big time. Those live sites we’re a huge mistake. Who invites 100,000 people downtown with no plan? And we saw it coming. I was downtown after Game 5. I haven’t seen that many drunks since the last provincial NDP convention. People are pissed and we need a scapegoat.”

“What about the anarchists?”

“Nobody believes that. The anarchists don’t have the brains or the ability to pull off something this big. Besides, many of them voted for you.”

“Hmm. Maybe we should tell the public that we are genuinely sorry for the riot and promise it will never happen again. We could hold a press conference outside The Bay. I’ll wear my Luongo jersey.”

“Um, I’m not sure...”

Robertson’s cellphone lights up on his desk. The ring tone: MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This.” Robertson picks up the cellphone.

“It’s Penny. Should I answer it?”

“Send it to voice mail.”

Robertson peers into his phone, furrowing his brow as the ring tone grows louder.

Magee flops back into a bright yellow beanbag chair.

“She’s part of the problem. As city manager, she should have been all over this thing. Between her and Chief Chu, we’re paying more than $600,000 in salary. For what? We’d be better off with Mike Gillis.”

“Geez Mike, settle down. Here, have a juice box.”

Magee rises from the beanbag, approaches Robertson’s desk.

“They screwed us, G-man. But we’re not dead yet. The election’s four months away. Chu is the key. If we can hang the riot on Chu, we’ll get out from under. Sure, we’ll lose a few cop votes. But we’ve still got Mount Pleasant, the West End, Kerrisdale.

“Ah, geo-politics. I love it. In Vancouver, it’s all about neighbourhoods. Let’s take a look at the ol’ electoral map.”

Robertson opens his desk drawer and pulls out a small map.

“So let’s see. Kerrisdale, Kerrisdale...”

“Mr. Mayor, that’s a White Spot placemat.”

“Hmm, you’re right, Mike. Now it all makes sense.”

“G-man, please. You need to focus. In my opinion, you should fire Chief Chu. Or at least blame him publically. But first, we need to know how many police were deployed downtown for Game 7. You must get Chu to tell you that number. We can’t wait until August when the provincial inquiry goes public. We gotta get out in front of this thing. Up until now, we’ve been playing catch-up. Chu’s making you look weak and stupid.”

“OK, Mike, I’ll go see the chief at the police station. Maybe I’ll bike down there this afternoon. Is it raining outside?”

“How are you going to do it? What are you going to say?”

“Don’t worry, Mike. I can be very persuasive.”

Robertson stands up and walks towards the door, revealing his neon green spandex bike shorts.

“G-man, don’t forget your pants.”

“Good thinking, Mike. Better safe than sorry.”