Why I’m Occupy-ing Toronto

“We cannot understand the poor unless we begin to understand what poverty is like… In the poor we meet Jesus in his most distressing disguises.” –

Blessed Mother Theresa

“Perhaps the devil is just as likely to wear a three-piece suit as to have horns and a pitchfork. And perhaps the angels look more like the bums in the alley than like feathered white babies.” – Shane Clairborne

“The more stuff we have, the more clubs we need to protect it.” – Saint Francis of Assisi

On October 15th, three thousand people met at the intersection of King and Bay in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. The met, they talked, they marched, here, to St. James Park. On Saturday afternoon, I joined them.

I was drawn, curious. I wanted to come as an observer, an outsider. I thought I’d stand back and watch, just to see what this Occupy movement would look like in my own city, with my neighbours, and people I might know.

I certainly did not plan to become a part of it.

I’d seen the media, read the news and knew that people were unhappy. I, along with millions of others, watched the Arab Spring uprisings with a mixture of fear, awe, inspiration, jealousy, and gratefulness that such things took place overseas, far away, and that I could safely observe, reTweet, and comment from a place where I would not have to take a stand or position and then be called upon to defend that position with my life. I was safe, warm and comfortable. But I was curious, and just a little bit envious.

The West, which has for so long touted itself as the ideal example of democracy has been put to shame by some of the Eastern protests, as people proved that power could be returned to the hands of the masses and that people who’s lives were affected by policy decisions had a right to be involved in those decisions. And Occupy Wall Street began as thousands, dissatisfied with government, politics, corporations, economics and greed began to whisper and speak and yell and scream that there is something desperately wrong in our world and we have reached the breaking point.

As September ended and the protestations against greed and injustice continued, a few people in Toronto and other cities began to talk, began to meet, began to call. And people answered.

On Saturday morning, St. James park was the quiet home of a few homeless, some pigeons, local dog-walkers, passing church-goers and a wedding party gathered to celebrate the start of a new marriage in the Anglican Cathedral on the property. By Saturday at 5pm the gracious wedding party had moved to their reception, the pigeons had fled and the local homeless and dog-walkers have been absorbed into a crowd still well over a thousand strong gathered for the second General Assembly of Occupy Toronto. I was in that crowd.

Around 3pm I left the Eaton Centre and walked down to the park, curious, proud, distant and nervous. What would I find? There were so many people and tents were starting to go up. People were gathered in groups, around speakers with megaphones or mics, around drummers and dancers, around rapidly-growing infrastructure and a quickly growing food area. The Cathedral doors were wide open and on my third circuit of the park I was one of dozens who stopped in to pray for a moment. It saw signs, hundreds and hundreds of signs reflecting every cause, movement and voice imaginable. There was a lot of marijuana, a lot of black, a lot of Anonymous (or V for Vendetta) masks. There was a lot of media, a lot of police and a lot of mud.

And I heard through the grapevine around me that at 5pm a General Assembly would take place.

Growing up in the Presbyterian Church in Canada (PCC), I’ve heard of General Assembly. I know what it is. I know how it works – elected elders are appointed to Presbytery which sends two delegates to General Assembly once a year to bring forward the voices of the members of the PCC. To speak at General Assembly, you must be one of these delegates, an ordained minister who’s been sent by Presbytery or a YAR – a Young Adult Representative. One from each Presbytery is selected to go every second year to attend, observe and even speak, although they are not permitted to vote. I was a YAR. In 2008 I attended General Assembly in Ottawa. I was on the communications committee and every motion passed by our table at the front of the floor. It seemed to me a fair, workable, incredibly democratic process – the closest to direct democracy I’d ever seen or experienced, (aside, perhaps, from the vote on where to take our year-end class trip in grade six).

And then the drums stopped. The park went dead quiet. And a single voice yelled out ‘Mic Check!’ A dozen voices echoed the call – and it was echoed again and again and suddenly more than a thousand people had gathered together as tightly as they could to be heard and to listen.

I was near the front, mostly by sheer luck, no more then ten bodies away from the facilitators who moderated the meeting. Guidelines of respect, inclusivity and non-discrimination were laid out. Hand signals were taught and relayed. Questions were asked, repeated, answered, repeated. Objections to any point were noted, repeated, discussed, resolved. And I watched, slightly amazed, slightly dumbstruck until suddenly I was frantically digging through my bag for my notebook as they asked for minute-takers. I began to write and watch and write. The meeting went on and we heard from committee after committee – logistics, media, medical, safety, food, action, and more. The facilitators worked together to ensure every voice was heard, every question answered, every concern addressed, every objection resolved. I wondered, where could I volunteer? how could I help? what could I do? Food? Medical? Logistics? Even as I wondered where I could volunteer, I wondered what position would have minimal impact on my life. What would be the least disruptive?

The meeting ended and I had my minutes to turn in. I made my way to the logistics tent and they directed me to media. On my way I passed a woman explaining to several others about the women’s safe sleeping place they had set up – a large tent for just women, with a rotating night watch and a buddy system for crossing the park at night. The thought occurred to me – could I stay? I had the next two days off. I brushed it aside

and made my way to the media tent which was a single table, two chairs and a box under a just set up white tent with no walls. There, a group of fifteen or so were discussing media plans and I shyly asked if I could submit my notes. I was introduced to Jared, a young man full of energy who asked if I could type them. I said yes – and joined the media team.

I typed the minutes, went home, packed my gear, came back, staked out a spot in the women’s tent and got to work. Around me, the park transformed. St. James is now a fully-functional mini-society. A union donated dozens of portable toilets. The church donated electricity to run the kitchen which provides hot meals 24hours a day. The media centre now has two walls, a projection screen, a generator, space for more than a dozen laptops and chairs for all, two networks providing 24hour high-speed internet,

a livestream feed broadcasting around the globe, and near-constant monitoring of Facebook, Twitter, mainstream media and the pages of the other Occupy movement’s around the world. Medical is a collection of tents with an impressive array of gear. Logistics has tents, shelves, and both space and volunteers to receive donations of all kinds.A Jewish sukha has been built. A Buddhist meditation mat sits in a clearing.  There are Muslim prayer mats lined facing Mecca. The doors of the Cathedral remain open.

The women’s tent, where I’ve been staying on the nights I’ve camped out and when I need to crash for a nap is a haven. I came in one afternoon to find that mats had been placed under every sleeping bag, we’d all been given two fleece blankets and there was a chocolate bar on every pillow.

Most of my time at camp has been spent at the media tent, where there are constant updates rolling in at the Media tent as we are the main source of information and communication for the camp with the outside world. Donations requests, media interview requests, urgent updates, GA minutes, the day’s schedule, planned events all come through here. I’ve been helping with communications, specifically, monitoring Facebook, Twitter, the blog and news media updates as well as responding to e-mails, coordinating volunteers and fielding media interview requests. I’ve appeared on camera from the camp, speaking about why I’m here. I’ve gone in to the studio at CBC, and was part of a panel on Goldhawk Live on Rogers TV. I’ve done phone interviews, giving status updates and talking about what I’m doing. I’ve posted on Facebook, Tweeted and reTweeted and written blog posts, press releases and countless announcements.

So far this post has had a lot of what and how, but not a lot of why.

Here’s why:

Because I believe that there are deep, serious flaws in out current economic and political systems.

Because I believe that the root of these flaws lies in how we see and treat one another as human beings.

Because I want to be in a space with people who are concerned about our world, willing to take responsibility for our contributions to a flawed system, and dialoguing about how to enact real and lasting change.

Because I believe that change begins at a local level – that changing the way we look at and see one another starts with our neighbours in the local park.

Because I want to be in intentional community, through all of its challenges.

Because Jesus was homeless, unemployed and lived off the kindness of others.

Because I care deeply about people and am so inspired to see others come together to care about people.

Because Jesus said ‘come and see’.

Because if I do not act, if I do not listen then I will have failed to reach out to my neighbour in love. Because it is in the faces of the poor and the abandoned that we meet Christ. Because I wish to see the Living God in others and for them to experience the Living God through me.

Because I met God here.

In solidarity with the poor, the homeless, the oppressed, the cold, the hungry, we are begging for blankets, eating from a soup kitchen, sleeping on the ground, dealing with pressure from society, police, government. It is an incredible crash course on grace and humanity.

The most important thing you need to know about Occupy Toronto is that it is a space and a place in which EVERY voice is heard. No matter how long that takes. No matter their message. No matter their background, education, language, colour, creed or personality. With respect, with patience, with love, with peace and with compassion everyone has the chance to speak. Everyone is invited to listen.

There are trouble-makers. There are attention hounds. There are rabble-rousers and shouters and those who interrupt. And the Assembly extends it care, patience and respect to all, gently reminding everyone that we strive for respect, peace and love in the truest sense of those words. I’ve found God in the midst of the anarchists.

So that’s why I’m Occupy-ing Toronto. Because this is my city, my neighbourhood, my home. I have experienced more grace, peace and love in the last 5 days in a tent city in a cold October rainstorm than I can remember having every experienced before. Nothing in my experience (and I’m a pretty optimistic person) has prepared me for the incredible generosity of others, in the their finances and material donations and, more importantly, in their gifts of self.

So if you’d like to answer the question in the photo here with a ‘Yes!’, here’s what you can do:

1. PRAY – while this is by and large a secular movement, we can accomplish nothing apart from God’s will and love. Pray for peace, pray for change, pray for warmth, food, shelter, donations, patience, grace and love.
2. LEARN – read, research, investigate. Familiarise yourself with the issues in your world today and talk about them with friends, neighbours, coworkers, strangers on the street.
3. SUPPORT – donate your time, resources, skills and finances to the local Occupation here in Toronto and to community groups in solidarity with us striving to bring justice to our city and our world.
4. JOIN US –  like us on Facebook, link our blog, follow us on Twitter. Come out to St. James Park for an hour, and afternoon, an evening or a week. Pitch a tent, pitch in and listen to the voices of your brothers and sisters.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I welcome discussion and feedback – please be patient with me if it takes time for me to get back to you. Feel free to leave a comment here, contact me on Facebook, or send me an e-mail at growing.w.grace@gmail.com.