Category Archives: Rage

Just a Car Crash Away

Look Ma I'm An Artist!

Last night, I was minding my own business, just heading to Red Lobster for some crab legs with my gentleman friend. I was looking forward to the hot savoury biscuits and the mid-week alcoholic beverage I planned on ordering (don’t look at me like that, Dad, I’m a grown up and I’ll drink vodka on Thursdays if I wanna!) and was just explaining to my companion that I really didn’t understand the appeal of drawn butter with seafood cause, well, it’s just freaking butter and who put butter on meat, anyway?

As we were preparing to pull into the parking lot, we noticed some shit-for-brains on one of those e-bikes zooming down the sidewalk. The sidewalk! Whatta jerk! He was weaving from side to side too – it was ridiculous. So we’re just about to make a right turn into the parking lot (using the driveway with the big IN sign, cause we like obeying signs yo) when a dude in a white work van makes a left turn into the street (from the IN driveway, because he’s a rebel who disobeys signs I guess). This guy was seriously ugly – bright yellowish red afro that started right at the top of his head because of his receding hair line, a sleeveless basketball jersey, and crazy I’m-on-crack bugged out eyes.

Well, he didn’t look where he was going when he pulled out, because he was too busy cackling at e-bike guy, and he T BONED ANOTHER CAR! We saw the whole thing. Read more »

Bicycle Rage

Aaaaaand the bikes go crunch.

Well, that’s it. I’ve succumbed to cyclist’s rage. But not as a result of actually, you know, riding my bicycle. No, my friends, my ire is roused today by some loutish miscreant who lives in my building and who’s been messing with my new blue bike.

(It occurs to me that I haven’t yet written about my newly acquired wheels – maybe tomorrow, when the anger has settled into a plan of action.)

About two weeks ago, someone snuck behind my house, hopped on my daughter’s bike (which, it should be noted, has two flat tires and hasn’t been ridden in over a year) and took it for a joyride in the middle of the night. I never would have noticed, except they didn’t put it back where they got it – they left it leaning against my front porch. What a stupid thing to do, I thought, but it’s really my fault for leaving it unlocked.

From that moment on, I was (a bit) more vigilant in locking up our bikes. I live in a quiet residential neighbourhood and all spring and summer, the bikes were unlocked without a problem. Still though, I didn’t want to tempt fate.

However, Sunday night I forgot to lock my bike, and guess what happened? Read more »

Would You Protest or Riot?

Everyone in the universe who doesn’t live under a rock has, by now, heard about the shameful and despicable rioting that happened in Vancouver after the Canucks lost the NHL finals to the Boston Bruins. Vandalism, violence, looting… all over a hockey game?

I have a more direct and personal experience with rioting – I was in downtown Toronto during the G20 summit last summer and actually participated (along with 15,000 other people) in the rally that occurred before the rioting started. I managed to find safety and shelter in a wing restaurant (lol) and I watched, horrified, as a few bad apples took to the streets and undid all the good we’d tried to do with the positive message of our rally.

Riots are terrible. Mob mentality takes over. No one can argue that rioting and looting do not, ever, have a positive outcome. No one’s going to “get the message”, if there’s even a message to get.

But protests… that’s different. It’s no secret that I lean to the left. I do protests. A lot. Sometimes, it’s the only way to get the attention of the big guys. According to Wikipedia, a protest is an expression of objection, by words or by actions, to particular events, policies or situations.

So. What would cause me to protest for something? Instead of telling you, I’ll show you:

In 2009, twenty-nine staff members at the Art Gallery of Ontario were laid off. In 2010, 39 more workers were threatened with job loss. Many of the remaining staff were being forced to work two part time AGO jobs  equalling 40 hours a week instead of being offered one full time, permanent position. Why? So the employer could avoid providing benefits and pension contributions, and so the CEO of the AGO, Matthew Teitelbaum, could receive 1,070,000$ in salary and “bonuses” in 2009. What’s fair about that? Nothing! So when contract negotiations broke down and a strike vote was given, I went to help my brothers and sisters tell their employer to play fair.

This is me and my 8$-a-week rental megaphone outside a 375$ per ticket Liberal fundraiser at the Scotiabank Plaza in May 2010. The issue here? The McQuinty government’s proposed public service wage freeze. While Children’s Aid Society offices are closing due to lack of funding, children with mental health issues are growing up before they get treatment, and the healthy nutrition supplement for disabled people on ODSP was wiped out, the Ontario government is telling public service workers, some of whom only work part time, that it’s time for them to “take one for the team” – to do their part to help in this economic crisis by taking a wage freeze. Why, then, do top-level executives and senior management continue to rake in bonuses and raises that in some cases exceed a hundred thousand dollars a year?? The working people didn’t cause this problem. They shouldn’t be made to pay.

Here are my daughter and I in the Put People First Rally and March at the G20 in Toronto last June. Hours before a few vandals, rioters and anarchists took the downtown core hostage and wreaked havoc across the city, over fifteen thousand peaceful activists rallied at Queen’s Park and marched through the city to draw attention to what the G20 Summit leaders were ignoring: maternal health with full reproductive rights, poverty and work issues at home and abroad, and how the  G20 should have been about more than helping wealthy corporations and powerful CEOs get back to business as usual, as if the recession never happened.

This was taken at a rally in Hamilton this past January. My union rented a bus and piled people from the Toronto area onto it, and we headed down to support our brothers and sisters from the Steelworker’s Union, who had been locked out by their employer simply for demanding fair treatment and good jobs.

There are others. I have a big mouth and no shame, and I have no problem walking the talk and sticking up for those who need help. I don’t approve of rioting… but if there’s a protest, chances are I’ll be there.

How Far Would You Go To Protect Yourself?

Imagine yourself in physical or mortal danger. If you don’t do something to protect yourself, serious harm or death will befall you or your family.

How far would you go to protect yourself? What would you do? I’d do anything to save my family, you’re  thinking. I would kill to save my son. I would do whatever it took. No questions asked.

Would you lie? Cheat? Steal? Would you defend yourself physically, even if it meant the harm or death of your attacker?

What if your attacker were your own child? Would you kill your own child to protect yourself, if your child were trying to kill you?

Seems a little far-fetched, even to me, that this would happen. I mean really, what child would try to kill its mother? And what parent would, in turn, place more value on her own life than their child’s, and actually kill that child to save their own soul? I can’t imagine that ever happening.

Unfortunately, I don’t have to imagine it happening. Reality has supplied us with this exact scenario in Calgary, Alberta, where Aset Magomadova, a refugee from Chechnya, stands accused of killing her fourteen-year-old daughter Aminat by ligature strangulation [link] in what she calls self-defense.

[link] Toronto Star article
[link] Global News, Calgary

According to the media, the fourteen-year-old girl had a history of drug abuse and regularly took crystal meth, which is known to cause erratic, violent behaviour in users [link], as well as mood swings and unpredictability. The articles go on to say that the police had been called to the home five times in the last five months, by the mother, who feared for her safety and that of her young son, who has muscular dystrophy. Aminat was often brought home by police, high, after violent fights with her mother.

This family obviously had a lot of problems, but despite repeated visits from police for domestic disturbance, no authorities were ever brought in to assist the family, despite Aset’s desire for intervention. She felt she could no longer control her daughter, and with the help of her sister, attempted to convey this fear to the police. She even stayed in a battered women’s shelter for a few days, less than a month ago.

Nobody ever referred her to the appropriate social services, such as the Calgary and Area Child and Family Services, or the Domestic Dispute and Cultural Resources units of the Calgary Police. This family could have been helped. This girl could have been saved.

How did Calgary fail this struggling family after it survived refugee untold horrors at the hands of Russian soldiers? Who knows the horror in that girl’s mind after living through what we can only imagine in our worst nightmares. It’s no wonder she turned to drugs to alleviate the damage done by terror. But it all went horribly wrong.

Now, the girl’s mother is in jail, charged with second-degree murder, and her wheelchair-bound son is in foster care. It breaks my heart. However, I am torn.

I’m trying to put myself in this woman’s shoes. I imagine that Gwen Junior is older, the same size as me, and prone to violent drug-induced rage. I imagine that she beat me. I imagine that she smashes furniture, breaks windows, and runs away constantly, only to be brought home by police time after time. I imagine her coming at me with her fists or with a weapon, hatred and rage in her eyes, intent on causing me physical boldily harm. What would I do? Would I allow her to hurt me? Would I try to protect myself without causing her pain, if it were at all possible? Or, with my backagainst a wall, would I fight back?

The thought haunts me. What would be more powerful: maternal instinct or fight-or-flight response?

* Article originally written in March 2007