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Civil Disobedience Stops the Chainsaws

Sat, 16 Feb 2008


A small but spirited group put their freedom and safety on the line today to stop the work crews that are destroying rare ecosystems and First Nations sites on Vancouver Island.

About 40 people turned out at noon in Langford, BC and marched up the highway to view the destruction. Two dozen or so were inspired to scramble over the fresh-cut trees and stand in front of the yarders and excavators that were working. All four machines had to be shut down. The handful of police on the scene made no arrests and issued no warnings.

After stopping the machines, many of us made our way through the stumps and slash to Langford Lake Cave, which has a huge mass of rebar crisscrossed over the entrance like a drunken spider web. The second entrance has a triangular steel cap welded over it. The forest was cut down to within a few meters of the cave entrances.

Langford Lake Cave with rebar welded across it and drilled into the rock around the entrance. On Saturday, ferns and oregon grape leaves were placed in the grate at the four directions. (Photo: R. Bowen.)

We found the spot where the camp kitchen had stood, and we were able to salvage much of the food, camping gear, and personal belongings that were piled up and left on the site.

Without a medium-sized army of RCMP and special forces to back them up, the contractors had no choice but to give up and go home. The police forces withdrew on Friday evening, and one officer said the operation had required 300 personnel in rotating shifts on patrol, command and communications. We estimate the operation cost $5000 an hour for the 60 hours or so the officers were on the ground. The question of who is picking up the tab has not been answered.

We have raised the cost of aggressive development on the Island. If the greedy thugs want to force through this kind of horrific, destructive project, they will have to call in the army. Otherwise, we will stop them.

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Interchange Overkill: Tree Sit Busted Hard

Thu, 14 Feb 2008

Westshore RCMP and a municipal enforcement officer lead away activist Ingmar Lee and attempt to move another protester, who identified himself to media as Carl Stevens. Both were blocking a truck from entering the site of a controversial interchange development. Photo: Ray Smith, Victoria Times Colonist

Here is the bad news: Everyone in the tree sit camp was arrested today. Three people, including two tree sitters, are being held with charges pending. They may be released tomorrow. Everyone else was released without charge.

The massive attack by police had as many as 70 RCMP officers, dozens of them with assault rifles drawn and pointed at the campers, surrounding the camp before dawn.

The area is sealed off by police tape and RCMP patrols. Heavy equipment was moved in and the destruction has begun. From Leigh Road, we could see trees falling to a feller buncher – a giant tree cutting machine.

We also saw welding equipment being moved in behind police lines. It’s possible that one of the first acts of destruction today was welding shut the entrance of the Langford Lake Cave.

Here is the good news: It is not over yet. This act has outraged the community and people will not give up resisting this hideous development. We have arranged for top-notch legal representation for our defendants. They are heroes.

RCMP move in on anti-highway protest site

Bill Cleverley, Times Colonist

LANGFORD – In the false light of a pre-dawn Wednesday more than three dozen RCMP officers – some dressed in riot gear and carrying assault rifles – surrounded and rousted about a half dozen protesters from their camp in the woods between the Trans-Canada Highway and Leigh Road in Langford.

Some, told they’d be charged with mischief in they didn’t vacate, agreed to move. They were cuffed and moved out to Goldstream Avenue where they were released.

At least one and perhaps as many as three protesters, however, remained in their tree-top platforms while police blocked media and other access to the woods – stringing yellow tape along the highway and erecting saw-horse barricade at Leigh Road and Goldstream.

Protesters said people dressed in climbing gear were among those who stormed the protest camp, erected last April in opposition to the $32-million Bear Mountain interchange proposed by Langford.

They say the interchange not only feeds urban sprawl but threatens Spencer’s Pond, a cave and other karst features and an urban forest complete with culturally modified trees.

Protest organizer Ingmar Lee was arrested after he attempted to block a piece of logging equipment from entering the area.

Tree-sitter Kalanu Johnson, 34, decided to come down from a tree after an armed officer approached. “When I refused to come down I noticed one of the SWAT team guys closest to me was fiddling with his assault rifle and I got intimidated. When I asked them what all the weapons were for they just said they were police and they carried weapons,” Johnson said.

He estimated 50 to 60 police, equipped with a dog and a mobile command centre, accompanied by construction crews and equipment including a back-hoe and a feller buncher were involved in the raid.

“Just as the sun was about to come up they moved in and sort of spread out around the kitchen and up the hill surrounding the camp. After about 10 minutes there were about a dozen of them at the foot of the tree with assault rifles and beanbag shotguns and that sort of thing.”

Johnson who has been at the protest for about seven months said it’s been worth it.

“This is wrong on so many levels. People need to stand up against it whether we can stop it or not. People need to resist.”

Leena McGinn, 24, who has been at the protest off and on since the summer, was asleep in a teepee with her boyfriend when the raid happened.

“There were a lot of them. There was a whole SWAT team. They asked us to co-operate and we agreed. We were tired. We were cranky. They hand-cuffed us immediately.

“We asked if we were under arrest and they said: ‘No.’ They were detaining us.”

They agreed not to come back to the area and they were not charged with anything.

RCMP Const. Tasha Adams said police were acting on a complaint from the city of Langford of illegal camping.

She would not say how many police were involved but said the number was “significant obviously to ensure public safety; police officer safety.”

“Police moved in response to a complaint from the city of Langford – the complaint being an illegal campsite on their property. So the police moved in to ask those individuals on the site to vacate the land.”

Langford administrator Rob Buchan said the city filed its complaint with the RCMP after finalizing paperwork acquiring the last piece of land it needs for the interchange.

City contractors began work on the interchange on the north side of the highway even as the protesters were being removed from their camp deep on the other side.

“As soon as the site has been completely cleared, we’re beginning (work there as well).”

Buchan said there was no reason for the municipality to get a court injunction to remove the protesters.

“We’ve been trying to get access to do things on our property, property that we had a right to be on, for some time but we’ve been continually frustrated by the protesters,” he said.

“Yesterday we received the final bit of tenure for the last bit of land we needed to be an occupier for the entire property and that was sufficient for the RCMP to say: ‘You have the right to be on the land. They don’t. We can remove the protesters.’ “

Watch the video – part one is a news broadcast, part two is an interview with Saanich hereditary chief Eric Pelkey.


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Assplode Therapy

Sat, 26 Jan 2008

OK, so I’ve been having stomach problems. No big deal. But one of my friends, a rich, gay lawyer and alternative health guru, insisted on doing something about it. He turned me on to probiotic supplements, and for six months he’s been nagging me to try colon hydrotherapy.

What’s colon hydrotherapy? It’s like colonic irrigation. What’s that? Well, like an enema, only more. Much, much more.

I said no. No, thank you, no, I’m really not a fan of enemas. He said, you have to do it, the health benefits are incredible. I’ll even pay for it.

My friend wouldn’t take no for an answer. He paid the hydrotherapy clinic in advance for six sessions. At first I told myself, I’m not going to do this. Then I decided to call and just ask some questions. I spent a lot of time on the phone with the resident expert, explaining that I had serious reservations and I was only checking it out to please my friend. I wasn’t convinced the procedure wouldn’t do me harm, actually. Reading up on it, I found it could hurt people with ulcerative or inflammatory bowel disorders. But the doctor’s diagnosis ruled out those problems, and with my friend urging me on, I went ahead and reluctantly made an appointment.

That’s how I came to be lying on a hospital bed with a thick metal nozzle pumping warm water up my ass for three-quarters of an hour while Maggie, the attractive young woman holding the tube, made small talk about her trip to the cloud forest of Costa Rica. Occasionally she would pinch off the outflow hose, which was very uncomfortable, but it only lasted a minute. Otherwise, it wasn’t terribly unpleasant. It just felt like lying on a hospital bed with a warm and slightly pulsing metal tube up my ass.

After the first session, I felt great. Energized. Wonderful. So I set up the rest of the appointments.

The second time was a let down. I didn’t feel any better, and I had watery shit for a day afterward. Both times I was disappointed that hardly any stuff came out of me, after my friend’s graphic descriptions. The outflow tube is transparent and runs right next to the bed, so you can see what’s coming out. In my case, it was just water and bubbles.

Today, during the third session, I was cramping badly and finally asked to be let go. And then I did let go. Apparently a little chunk of shit – maybe a piece of corn or something – had been blocking the outflow tube. But as soon as the young woman removed the nozzle, the unforgiving laws of physics and fluid dynamics took over and I assploded all over the bed, the rubber mat, and finally the bathroom. I hadn’t taken off my socks and they were soiled as soon as my feet hit the floor. The stench was foul, like something long dead, which I guess it was. This was no ordinary shit. This was deep shit.

Maggie shrugged at the mess. “We see it all in here,” she chirped at my naked backside as I flung myself toward the toilet in the next room.

That’s the whole point of the treatment, she reminded me cheerfully through the closed door. It often doesn’t happen the first or second or even third session. It takes time to work everything loose.

Maggie had assured me from the start that there was nothing to be embarrassed about, people assplode all the time. Although she didn’t use that term, she called it “release.” I think they should just go ahead and re-name the procedure “assplode therapy.”

Walking out a half hour later, after washing my socks in the sink and using up all the Baby Wipes, I felt like I’d had a bowling ball removed from my belly – ten pounds lighter, ten years younger, and I’m sure an inch slimmer in the waist. Like dropping some heavy old baggage I was carrying so long I stopped noticing it. Like I could just pick up my feet and fly away.

I’m not making any medical recommendations about hydrotherapy here. Some folks insist it is a scam, and it can be even be deadly if the equipment isn’t sterile. It’s definitely expensive and I’m sure after the six sessions I’ll get a pitch about the need to do it twice a year for the rest of my life or more bad shit will pile up and choke the life out of me.

But I think it’s helping, along with the probiotics treatment and the doctor’s medicines and attention to diet and everything else. I was desperate enough to try it in spite of the risk and my aversion to having things shoved up my ass. I’ll go back for the rest of the sessions, but I’ll remember to take off my socks next time.

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Road Kill

Thu, 10 Jan 2008

New highway blocked by protesting “Raccoons”
The barricade at the end of the road is decorated with freshly-planted poinsettias in a mound of earth. Yellow plastic sunflowers, two graffitied TV sets and an oversize truck tire line a meter-wide trench just past the pavement’s end. They mark the boundary between the city and a protest camp occupied by a new generation of Canadian environmental protestors: the Raccoons.

The Raccoons are a ragtag mob of irregulars holding back a major highway interchange project designed to service Bear Mountain, a sprawling golf resort in Langford, just west of Victoria, B.C. A few dozen dumpster-diving, trash-talking, anti-authoritarians with a passion for undisturbed natural places have built a camp in the path of the new highway. The proposed interchange cuts through a pocket of forest packed with natural and cultural rarities: a sacred First Nations cave, a seasonal pond, garry oak meadows, arbutus bluffs, red-legged frogs and chocolate lilies.

Right now the Bear Mountain Tree Sit looks like a gloomy, swampy hobo camp, dotted with tents, tree forts at dizzying heights overhead, and a giant teepee covered with tarps. “A tarpee,” notes one of the campers.

“This is the only example of eco-anarchist action in Canada right now,” says Ingmar Lee, a Victoria environmentalist and camp supporter. “This is the grassroots, and it’s a totally different kind of protest.” Hundreds of people in the community directly support the camp with donations of food, camping gear, and funds for legal defense.

Almost all the Raccoons are under 25, and some are veterans of the Cathedral Grove treesit protest, which lasted two years and ultimately defeated a B.C. Parks plan to cut down giant trees to build a parking lot. Here, the first platform went up in April. Five more followed, and they are staffed 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Kicking the protest camp off public property is a sticky legal issue, and so far no one has moved to start a court case. But Stewart Young, the gung-ho pro-development mayor of Langford, is ramping up his criticism. The mayor’s rumblings peaked with Young accusing the campers of poaching deer and rabbits at the site.

Young said bylaw officers found a deer carcass near the camp in the woods. “We’ve respected their right to protest, but killing deer and rabbits is absolutely disgusting,” Young told the Goldstream News Gazette in December. The city directed the RCMP and conservation officers to investigate and lay charges if they find out who is responsible. No one has been charged.

Two neighbors who live adjacent to the forest said it’s not the campers who are killing animals. “There’s been poaching in this area for decades,” said an elderly neighbor on Goldstream Avenue who declined to give his name.

“We’ve called the conservation officers about deer carcasses a couple times a year ever since I’ve lived here,” said Ron Rayner, a long-time resident who lives just north of the camp and the TransCanada Highway. “It’s an ongoing problem.”

Langford resident Bob Partridge is “skeptical” about the mayor’s claims. He writes, “[J]ust now, as construction is supposed to begin on the Spencer Road Interchange, the protesters/activists who have previously been requesting donations of whole grains, have apparently suddenly become carnivores, slaughtering innocent animals in the woods of Langford?”

“Are we certain they are also not sleeping on duvets stuffed with spotted owl feathers?” Partridge asked sarcastically.

Some of the campers admit they eat deer, rabbits and even raccoons – but they insist they are not hunting . The meat is road kill collected from the TransCanada Highway, one tree sitter told A Channel News. Another pointed out the hypocrisy of building a highway that will mangle more animals, while simultaneously trying to cast the environmentalists as bunny killers. A third wondered aloud if Stewart Young was vegan.

RCMP and bylaw enforcement officers tell us the Raccoons are “guests of the city of Langford,” and they even allow them to have a campfire without a permit. Back in April, Young huffed to reporters, “They are on provincial land right now and it’s going to be a year or so before we get to the point of having to go there, so they can sit there as long as they want.” The protestors took him at his word and set up a kitchen, where they cook raccoon stew, venison steaks, and bunny burgers.

No doubt the tree sit gives Young a royal pain in the ass, but the blustery mayor has bigger fish to fry. Langford City Council, in a “special” meeting convened two days after Christmas, made the unusual move of adopting two new bylaws, rather than just giving them first reading. One bylaw authorizes borrowing $25 million to build the interchange, while the second exempts the process from the usual counter-petition process, which normally would give citizens the right to challenge a decision.

The community’s response is a roar of outrage. Many residents of Langford, it seems, are more irate about the apparent abuse of process than about the imminent loss of green space, wetlands, and rare species. Dozens of volunteers are joining forces to canvass the city with a (non-binding) petition to reject the bylaws.

Steven Hurdle of Langford is organizing the petition drive. “While Langford may have found a legal loophole in declaring the interchange a ‘Local Service Area’ to let them avoid the referendum, we can still win the political war,” he writes. “Langford council might find this an albatross that’s unexpectedly hanging around their neck as this issue drags on.”

Back at the camp, tree sitters and visitors are critiquing the City of Langford’s annual levee tour. Every New Year’s, politicos across the region open up their offices to the public, with free booze and food for all.

Well, not quite all. “They only had bag lunches for like 25 people,” one complains. “I got there at the end and there was no more food. So I took all the tea bags that were left.”

Another camper pipes up, “That punch was weak.”

“Yeah, the punch was watered down, so we had to drink more of it to get a buzz.”

“Yeah, that’s why we brought our own cups. We did it up proper with the cups.”

“We asked if we could take their poinsettias with us, but they said no. ”

Laughter. “We kept asking and we wouldn’t leave. Then after a while, they gave us the poinsettias just so we would leave.”

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Tree Sit Braces for a Showdown

Sun, 16 Dec 2007

From and our December 15 press release.

Rally against the interchange, December 8, 2007. (Photos by Pete)

Bear Mountain Tree Sitters Bracing for a Showdown

Since April 2007, people have been occupying a large piece of land in Langford, British Columbia, Canada in order to stop the construction of a four-lane cloverleaf interchange. The interchange is being built to service the recent Bear Mountain developments (golf course, luxury homes, etc.). The land that is to be used for the road construction includes many culturally and ecologically sensitive sites including a large garry oak ecosystem, a sacred cave, a pond, and culturally modified trees. People have been resisting the Bear Mountain developments for some time, but the city of Langford and the developers have been plowing forward with their plans.

A series of visits from RCMP and Langford bylaw enforcement officers in the past few days has put the campers on high alert. On Friday, December 14, police walked into the camp and took photographs of everyone they saw. Bylaw enforcement officers also photographed people and the camp. Work crews removed two banners on Highway 1 Friday afternoon, and police threatened to arrest the campers if they interfered. A new banner was raised Friday evening.

The city is expected to demand a court order to remove the campers so interchange construction can begin. As of Friday, volunteers had raised five platforms to the tops of the trees, up to 120 feet (40 meters) off the ground, in an effort to stop the project so that environmental and cultural values can be protected. Another platform is set to be raised on Saturday, December 15.

In April, a loosely-organized group established a camp in the woods to protect the wetlands, forest, cave, and wildlife from the development. The area around Spencer’s Pond and the Langford Lake Cave at the north end of Leigh Road is valued by local residents as a park and green space. The new interchange is likely to decimate the cave, the pond, the underground geology and the diverse wildlife in the area.

Volunteers have conducted their own survey of the flora and fauna in the path of the new highway project. Some of the results are online at the Treesit Blog, along with maps, photos, background and links for more information.

Rose Henry (centre) speaks to the crowd about indigenous rights.

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Why My Dad Killed Himself

Tue, 27 Nov 2007

Last Thursday night, right after Thanksgiving dinner, my father poured a glass of wine for his wife Karen and gave her a kiss. Then he went out, as he often did, to sit on the pier and enjoy the city lights reflecting on the ocean.

Friday morning, after looking all over the house for him, Karen found my father in the garage, hanging by his neck from the rafters.

He did not leave a note. The family is in shock. They can’t understand why a healthy, fit man who had everything would commit suicide.

At age 63, my father spent the better part of his days on his sailboat, tooling around the harbor, racing other sailors, and coaching disabled kids. He had a comfortable retirement income while his much younger wife worked part-time. They were happy.

Dad was famous — briefly and locally — thirty years ago as an Olympic athlete. In the past decade, he won the world sailing championship in his class for three years running. He was applauded for his volunteer service at the local yacht club. His friends and colleagues remember him as a pillar of the community, a champion, and a highly intelligent, educated man who didn’t mind hanging out with the common people.

Family secrets

I remember my father as a cruel and emotionally disturbed man who dealt out pain and punishment to his wife and children whenever it suited him. He started with me before I was old enough to talk. When I was seven years old, I made a sassy remark and he knocked me down, grabbed me by the hair and pounded my head against the floor until I passed out. It wasn’t the first time he beat me unconscious, nor was it the last.

We never discussed the beatings. Not even when I had a breakdown and tried to commit suicide at age 12. Or when I tried again at age 14. That year, he tried to smack me around one more time. I finally fought back and delivered one hard and fast punch to his solar plexus that doubled him over. That was when my parents decided to hand over custody to the authorities, who determined I would serve an indefinite sentence in a mental hospital.

My parents agreed with the juvenile court that I was delusional, a pathological liar, violent, immoral and incorrigible. That meant everyone could comfortably ignore my accusations of abuse and neglect, and when I raised the issue with counsellors and court workers, they took my statements as more evidence of my illness. Of course, this was the 1970’s, when child abuse was not often recognized as a serious or widespread problem.

I spent my teenage years in a locked ward at a mental institution, while my parents carried on with their lives as respected members of the community, coping bravely with the burden of a sick and demented child.

Multi-generational trauma

Of all those who knew him, I may be the only one who is not surprised at my father’s suicide. The family’s deepest secret is the death of my paternal grandmother when my dad was in his twenties. She was depressed and drinking heavily, and one day my grandfather packed his bags and told her he was leaving her. Soon after, she swallowed a bottle of prescription pain killers and washed them down with a bottle of wine.

When I finally understood the mystery of my grandmother’s death, it struck me that my father might take his life the same way. He, too, was an alcoholic who suffered from depression. Fifteen years ago, in a rare moment of candor, he told me he was tormented by guilt about the way he treated my sister, my mother, and I. Then he changed the subject. It was the second to last time I saw him, and he never mentioned it again.

My father’s drinking habits didn’t raise many eyebrows down in Florida. Every day, he would crack open his first beer before noon and drink steadily until he stumbled into bed at midnight. But there was nothing unusual about that. Sailors love their grog, and the yacht club was known for its weekly keg parties and prodigious boozing.

The last time I saw my father was September 15, 1999. He picked me up in Vancouver and we drove up to Whistler. We sat on the patio in the late summer sun, ordered burgers and beers and talked about nothing. He stared in puzzlement at the massive hotels, construction crews, traffic jams, raw earth and fresh asphalt, trying to reconcile this scene with his memories of a rustic little village tucked away in the wilderness. The pub’s speakers pumped out Welcome to the Boomtown.

I made my peace with my dad years ago. After the visit to Whistler, he sent me a couple letters, but we never spoke again. With the help of a trauma counsellor, I was able to work through the pain of my childhood and the grief of my father’s rejection.

I spent this past weekend trying to comfort his wife, my mother and my sister. I told them no one could have known what he was planning, since we can’t read minds or predict the future. Even if we could, who has the power to fix someone who is broken?


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Tree Sit Diary, Part 2

Tue, 4 Sep 2007

It’s the first weekend in September and I’m back at the tree sit near Victoria, BC. With the cold wind and light rain, it still feels like April. Almost five months after I first climbed up to the platform, the camp at the end of the road now boasts a motley assortment of tarps, tents, bikes, tables, stoves, coolers, and gear bags stretching across the hill above the tree house.

Langford cave. Photo: Kevin Slagboom

The legendary Langford Cave is guarded by a thirty-foot tripod over the entrance. In June, an elder from the Songhees Nation informed the campers and the city that the cave – a 40-meter-long karst cavity – is a place of cultural significance for indigenous people. He said the cave has a name in the Songhees language, but the Songhees keep their spiritual practices secret and he is not permitted to reveal the name of the cave.

This was a few weeks after city contractors showed up with a bulldozer, rock drills and welding equipment, intending to bulldoze a path to the cave and close it off with a concrete and metal grate. A dozen campers met the crew at the end of the road and politely refused to move aside and let them go to work. The tripod went up soon after, and the crew has not returned. Members of the Songhees and Tsartlip nations thanked us for defending the cave

Tripod over the cave. Photo: Clare A.

A couple hundred people have visited over the summer, including cavers, neighbours, botanists and birders. The bluffs above the camp are home to a rare and flourishing Garry Oak meadow. The oaks survive in a few undisturbed pockets on southern Vancouver Island, co-existing with wild camas and other wildflowers on rocky park-like knolls.

Garry Oaks covered with moss and lichen on the bluff above Langford Cave.

The sun has gone down and it’s dark under the tree canopy. I’ve strapped on the harness and clipped it to the rope that’s anchored sixty feet above, and I’m ready to climb the cedar again. Physically I’m in worse shape than last time, thanks to a flare-up of the chronic pain and weakness all down my left side. But so what? Paraplegics are climbing mountains these days. I could always sit at home and feel sorry for myself, but what good would that do?

I shimmy up the rope with no problems (hooray!) and clamber onto the platform. The tent and tarps look just the same. A couple dozen people have stayed up here since then, and everything is stowed away neatly, but I can sense their presence. There is new graffiti on the plywood.

Just because you fell and died

Doesn’t mean you didn’t fly.

— Lurch

Under the tarp below, the lamp is lit and a couple visitors are telling the campers about the roadkill deer they’re eating. This is the third or fourth deer they’ve found on the highway in the last couple months. Dozens of young people in Victoria survive without jobs or welfare by dumpster-diving and scavenging, and a few come out to the camp whenever they need a place to sleep or hang out.

Cars and trucks whir past on the highway. I turn on the flashlight and write. The small circle illuminates the white tarps and the red cedar tree that forms the centrepiece of the platform. The blackness beyond presses in. Eventually I switch off the light, crawl into the sleeping bag and sleep, deeply and completely.

Labour Day is cool and rainy – no surprise. Two new volunteers have arrived, full of enthusiasm for the camp and the tree sit. I rappel down to the ground and join them for breakfast – corn flour pancakes and tea made from vanilla leaf and nettles growing on the hill.

The proposed interchange route (in black) would blast right through the cave, the wetlands, and part of the Garry Oak bluff. Composite image courtesy of Rob Bowen.

Langford city staff told us last week that the interchange is going ahead as planned in spite of the outcry over protecting the cave, the bluffs, the wetlands, and endangered species in the area. The staff said they see no reason to consult with the public about the interchange project. We don’t agree, so we’re launching an unofficial Community Environmental Consultation this month.

The police are leaving the camp alone, but it seems clear that civil disobedience by itself won’t stop this misguided interchange project. The city could order us out at any time. That’s why I’ve been working my ass off consulting with lawyers, experts, activists and community groups. That’s why we’re bringing all their concerns forward in public – to put the government on notice that it’s no longer acceptable to disregard rare species, First Nations’ rights, and the will of the community when fast-tracking massive highway development projects. I’ll keep you posted as the battle grinds on.

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Protected: Anger is the lever that will tip this top-down system

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Nazi Punks

hothed paisan

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Protected: The Year of the Dumbest Racist is OVER

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