Lawn Order at Trinity Bellwoods Park by Anarcharachnid

Editor’s note: as I wrote about back in May, I’m currently engaging in a project to increase the amount of always free to read content here on ninaillingworth.com by publishing articles by other left wing authors under the category “Friends of the Blog.” Today, I’m proud to bring you a new and hopefully regular contributor to this website; joining both myself and Duval County Wobbly Chris Walker. Please give a warm welcome to anarchist observer and NIDC man on the ground in Canada, Anarcharachnid.

In today’s narrative essay, our intrepid scribe brings you the real story behind the City of Toronto’s attempts to restore “lawn order” in the face of roughly two dozen homeless people and a couple hundred encampment defenders, at any cost. It was a tale of cops, copters, and carceral coercion at Trinity Bellwoods Park, and our very own weapon of mass instruction was right in the thick of it.

 

Lawn Order at Trinity Bellwoods Park

Like many strangulating centres of capitalist excess, Toronto is home to an increasing number of people with no housing. Many find living in tents in the safety of encampments within the city’s park spaces to be the only workable option, particularly during a pandemic when the already inadequate “shelter” “solutions” the city provides are even deadlier than normal. All the while, pasty neoliberal muppet and failson Mayor John Tory continuously blathers the same disproven lies about “safety” (like misrepresenting fire statistics) as he attempts to gaslight his way through another week of sheltering private capital from the spiraling consequences of its drunken vampirism.

Just over a month ago, activists, neighbours, and residents of a nearby encampment at Lamport Stadium successfully defended most of the shelters there from being removed by several dozen police and city workers. Perhaps that recent embarrassing authority-fail contributed to what went down on Tuesday June 22 at Trinity Bellwoods Park when the city once again decided to “enforce” the “eviction” notices they had previously delivered to the people who remained living there.

We go over now to our agent on the ground, me, for a first-hand recounting of the events that day.

 

The Widening Gyre

Word came the night before that things might get ugly in the morning at Trinity Bellwoods Park, so I arrived at around six-thirty in the morning. Ten minutes later, eight mounted police clopped and plopped north along Shaw Street on the western park perimeter while I finished a cigarette at a rendezvous point; things were clearly happening already. Rather than wait for whatever group would form, I walked east on Lobb Avenue, following the police on bicycles moving into the park area.

Trinity Bellwoods Park is large; it spans almost six hundred meters from north to south and three hundred meters from east to west, and was originally the site of Trinity College when it was built in 1852. Turning down Crawford Street and walking past a police cruiser that’s blocking the road to vehicles, I could see the Trinity Community Recreation Centre ahead, buzzing like a hornet’s nest with yellow-jacketed security muppets and police. They’ve purposed the front parking lot as a marshalling yard and there are trucks with pylons and sections of modular fencing. A few hours later the entire western portion of the park and those still within it would be surrounded, caged, and coerced by a small army, but for now only the constant overhead fading to and fro of an ever-present helicopter offers any hint of what is to come.

Moving past the community centre towards Queen Street and cutting left down the alley behind a row of businesses brought me into the southern end of the park and the encampment. A number of city workers and groups of police were already engaged with some of the park inhabitants, clustered around their tents with clipboards and practiced unrelenting reasonableness.

Directly ahead a ceremonial fire was burning. As I arrived, an Indigenous Elder was explaining to a policewoman that it was only going to be there for a few days and that she was there for a peaceful ceremony. The policewoman seems to appreciate the kind words she is hearing, and leaves deferentially. I am welcomed, and offer some tobacco and a prayer to the fire; this is a completely unexpected surprise. I am interested and motivated to learn more whenever Indigenous Elders are available to share; it is Indigenous perspectives us colonizers refuse to understand, to our exponentially escalating imperilment. Indigenous knowledge guided by Indigenous wisdom can help us repair our dysfunctional Lawn Order and enable a viable, equitable future for all of humanity. We must first give up our addiction to the disease of settler-colonialism and our mindless collective faith in carceral capitalist economics.

By about a quarter to nine in the morning there is a line of Star Security guards spaced every ten feet or so on Queen Street along the southern edge of the park as far as the gate, and north from there into the park along a main path. Soon the modular fence will be set up, fastened together by red metal joiners that connect the hollow edges of the blue panels, managed by yellow-shirted security temps presumably too young and desperate for a wage to confront the vulgar nature of their employment. A little after nine, the roar of a distant fighter jet screaming overhead drowns out the helicopter for a long surreal moment. Just how many layers of government are operational here? It seems ridiculous to think there’s any connection, but looking around at the extremely ridiculous deployments already arranged here now, maybe it’s not so far out after all.

Less than an hour later the park has been encircled with fencing, and police are managing a gateway they’ve created in the eastern perimeter to allow people out but not in. This includes accredited and even renowned journalists; all are barred entry. You’re either inside the fence, or outside the fence, and there’s an army monitoring it. A realization occurs to me; this is the eye of a hurricane of rapidly unspiraling Lawn Order. Smoke from the ceremonial fire drifts in a slow arc upward with the breeze.

At some point we hear news of the hammer falling in the north park; there’s been tear gas and arrests. Tension builds palpably, but the Elder at the fire laughs and says not to worry because she’s breathed it all in her time and she knows what tear gas smells like. There’s none in the air she declares (and she’s right; it was pepper spray).

As noon approaches and more deliveries of food continue to arrive from local businesses and neighbours (so much food!) there is a hue and a cry from the eastern fence. The inevitable has happened, and some defenders have dismantled and pulled down some panels to allow a surge of people into the perimeter, bolstering the ranks and morale of the supporters around the tents. There is much rejoicing. I can tell this grotesque misuse of state power is strengthening something vital within people; it sure as fuck makes me glad I’m not anywhere else. Some of the red metal fence joiners find their way into bushes as the yellow team swarms to plug the leak and repair their barrier. It’s relaxing to watch from around the fire while enjoying a very rich and fancy pastry; it arrived in a pink paper bag and probably retails for at least six dollars. A drone arrives, but it’s missed the party. I’m pretty sure it’s not lawful for the police to be flying these machines over us the way they do.

Thankfully there isn’t the heat we’ve had on some recent days, but it’s a good thing there is lots of water available. A dozen cardboard containers holding bladders of coffee frame the communal collage of food piling up. There are a lot of organized volunteers here supporting the encampment residents, and everyone seems bright, brave, and beautiful. It’s no wonder the crusty stale technocrats running this stockyard of a town are discomforted to the point of violence. This is the loving, beating heart of what regressive fascist muppets would call “Antifa”. This is a different and humane vision of Lawn Order decoupled from legally-enforced supremacy for colonizing land ‘owners’. I’m old enough to be a father to many of the young people gathered here defending this community, and if any of these were my children I’d be beaming a huge smile seeing them with arms linked in these defensive perimeters of human solidarity.

A drummer plays a steady forceful beat that rises and falls in tempo, a woman in a white dress with black highlights and covered with silvery jingles dances in tandem. I am reminded that what’s happening now isn’t anything new to the Indigenous People that are here; their rightful stewardship of the Lawn Order is still denied by our Rue Love Law.

I wander another circuit of the south park. An elderly Chinese woman who lives here is giving an impassioned speech; she has nowhere else to go and is very upset at her impending forced removal, but also very grateful for all of the people who have come to lend support. A loud and lengthy round of applause follows; today anyway, she has been heard. I recognize her now; she had walked a round of the south park earlier in the morning, handing out strawberries to everyone. Spontaneous chants of “No Justice, No Peace!” rise and fall punctuated by many hands clapping.

A triple-wide column of black-clad riot police looking like a mammoth centipede has crawled up to the northern edge of the south park and is shading itself under the leafy canopy of the lush trees inside Trinity Circle. The atmosphere becomes serious again as small, distanced social circles break apart to form larger circles of linked arms around the tents once more. I scout around the park for another lap. I’ve discovered one way to sneak back in, at least once anyway, and I’m thinking just how much easier it would be to permeate this metal membrane wearing one of those goofy neon yellow Star Security shirts.

Just before two in the afternoon, the fence is again opened up on the eastern front. Fresh re-enforcements rush through the widening gap as police scramble to contain the flow of those they’re there to “serve” and “protect”. Two or three dozen brave Bellwoodsians have poured into the isolation zone before the hull of the giant steel container around us is patched and repaired. The yellow shirts start deploying thick black zip-ties to secure the fence fasteners in place and double-lash the panels together as well. So much for disassembling the fence at will after this. We mustn’t be defeated by zip ties! Alas I’ve deliberately left my pocket knife behind, but surely someone else has one! I decide to calm down and think about what comes next. This calls for another fancy pastry and some of that coffee if it’s still warm.

More people continue to arrive at the perimeter of the fence; this is threatening to turn into a party. The police are clearly stymied; they form a line of bikes along the twice compromised section of failfence to keep us about ten feet away. What they’ve come here to do is going to be seen around the world, and there is no way they can accomplish their Lawn Order objective of clearing the park while also maintaining their Lawn Order veneer of being friendly peaceable protectors of public safety.

Toronto is perilously close to showing the stark contrast between peace and pacifism, and they’re about to inflict the lesson on a large and lively crowd of “somebodies” who are there defending “nobodies”. This is looking like the city is going fail at another park eviction again despite the enormous efforts they’ve made to intimidate people. If the centipede advances on us there’s likely to be a riot, and there are too many witnesses live-streaming for the police to pretend they didn’t start it. This is what settler-colonial fragility looks like on an institutional level; we are mice darting underfoot a blinkered elephant.

I go for another walk around and overhear a centipede commander on his radio talking about his orders relating to the importance of the ceremonial fire. I already know we have different rules for Indigenous People in Canada and this is further evidence we live in an apartheid state. Usually the rules aren’t preferential, but I get the impression in this case the police are finding themselves required to behave in a more respectful manner towards the Indigenous People here. I wonder how long they can keep it up; this scenario screams of an imminent incoming application of police violence, but the youngsters are holding firm.

Someone is napping on the edge of a Unity Flag laid out near the fire. Drumming and singing punctuate the busy soundscape. The crowds outside the fence chastise the police with chants of “Shame!” and “Who do you protect!?”, and the helicopter and drone are still constants in the air overhead. At around four in the afternoon a steady stream of cases of water flows into the site on a human conveyor belt. Someone has unloaded a small mountain of them outside the Queen Street section of the fence. Eventually some of the water goes back outside to be kept elsewhere; there are well over a thousand bottles stacked here now. While I’m beginning to think this camp will hold, and I’m out of cigarettes, leaving at this point seems premature. I’m really curious how the establishment gets out of this confrontation they’ve escalated to these proportions.

The tension continues to build, and smaller teams of the riot cops in black rotate in and out of their serpentine formation to visit the Community Centre, giving the frequent appearance of preparing to mobilize against the defenders. I feel like my hypothesis that the city can’t order an attack against this position is correct, and I again wrestle with the decision to leave. Then at about half past five, one of the more recognizable encampment support organizers announces that the residents of the encampment have been accommodated by the city and that the defenders are being asked by the residents to now leave. A stream of visibly relieved camp defenders begins to flow across the grass and out of a newly formed opening in the corner of our enclosure near the front gate on Queen Street. Before long we’re half the team we used to be.

Not everyone is so quick to leave. The Elder and her fire are there to stay; she says something about seeing the receipts for what the city has promised before taking their word about anything. I am having trouble reconciling what I’ve seen all day with what I’m hearing, but there are more people leaving and it’s too late to stop the bleeding; this game is over except for the fire, and I feel like somewhere someone cheated.

I need to tend to some routine responsibilities, and they’re not nearby. The keepers of the fire are moving their woodpile closer under instructions from the Elder, building a circle of log wedges around the perimeter. This feels like the scene from a vampire movie, and I should be staying to wave flaming branches at the encircling monsters all night. Instead I decide to return rested and alert in the morning; I have reason to suspect the police might not interfere with the small group tending the fire, and doubt my presence will affect the outcome if not, so at six I’m calling it a day and leave through the newly formed front fence door.

Later that evening I see footage on social media of the police forcing the firekeepers out of the park, and I see Tweets from an evicted park resident clarifying that no meaningful housing was immediately available, only the same unsafe options that additionally involved people being separated from their community. I watched scenes of dinosaur machines gobbling tents; the City of Toronto says those being evicted can take two bags of personal effects into shelters and says that people will be able to claim things left behind later. I wonder how that is when those things are being chewed up and spit into a garbage dump.

 

Always Return to the Crime Scene

I returned two days later, and again two days after that. Many people have simply moved to other parks downtown to bide their time until the next militarized mass eviction is unleashed on them. A small group of displaced residents nearby are nonchalant about the missing things they couldn’t save, except the lost bicycles; they’re more concerned about some of the older residents who aren’t able to roll with these punches so easily.

The fence is still up; at the time of this writing it’s been there for a whole week, and police are still patrolling the outside. Inside, instead of the park residents, for the last week there have been about the same number of paid security guards loafing with their phones and hoping to be the next one driving the golf cart. Signs posted on the fence say that the park is undergoing “remediation”. Other areas of similarly sterilized and presumably now “safe” parks around Toronto have had fences like this in place for months.

The (now former) residents of the park I spoke with preferred the encampment environment to the sketchy unsafe isolation of the shelter accommodation that the City of Toronto maintains. The community that had been established in Trinity Bellwoods Park was a highly evolved safe space for anyone with nowhere else to go who didn’t present an imminent threat to the safety and wellbeing of others; in other words, it was total anarchy. In any colonial Lawn Order regime like Toronto this anarcho-solidarity presents an intolerable hazard, so it was encircled by a kilometer of steel cage fencing and bulldozed by hundreds of state stormtroopers.

Please now take a moment to appreciate some of the fatuous musings of Mayor John Tory speaking with CP24 News about the events that day:

 

“We’re quite insistent that it’s no place for people to be in a park in terms of their own safety and besides which it is illegal."

“I stand by what we have done which is a reasonable, firm, but compassionate way of dealing with this where we offer, and we offer, and we offer ways to take people safely indoors to housing, but there does come a time when it comes to camping in parks, which is unsafe and illegal, where you have to take action,” Tory told CP24.

“I support what they did and I think it mostly went quite peacefully.”

 

Examples of the ongoing willful ignorance and gaslighting by Toronto City Council in pursuit of their zero-tolerance policy towards public park encampments could fill another lengthy article. It seems clear to me that unhoused people in the city are being punished for their visibility, which threatens the cherished delusions of Lawn Order we continue to hold so dear.

 

– Anarcharachnid

 

Psychological Terrorist / Weapon of Mass Instruction.

You can find more of my work here on ninaillingworth.com.