The Incident | The (First) Arrests
The Preamble
It has been a little over a year since the Ontario Human Rights Commission released a report on anti-Black racism and the Toronto Police Service (TPS). Their conclusion?
Black people are subjected to systemic racial discrimination, racial profiling, and anti-Black racism across the range of interactions with the Toronto Police Service.
It may seem unlikely that every possible type of interaction with policing in the City of Toronto could be tainted by anti-Blackness, but I am here to tell you: it most definitely can be.
I was waiting to tell my story until the court case was over. I am free to do so now.
I preface this piece with the statement that I am an abolitionist and I was not and am not seeking greater punishment for the perpetrator of the racist act described below.
Please do not use it to push for increased carceral bullshit.
The Incident
It was a Search the LandFill solidarity march on a sunny August day in 2023, calling attention to the situation in Manitoba, where a serial killer had declared that he had literally treated four Indigenous women like trash, and then the system had continued his horrible handiwork by refusing to search for their remains.
Their names are:
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Morgan Harris, 39;
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Marcedes Myran, 26;
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Rebecca Contois, 24; and
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Mashkode Bizhiki’ikwe (“Buffalo Woman”, age unknown).
The march began at the Pape subway station, planning to wind its way down to the Commissioners Street Transfer station, with intermittent stops along the way to raise awareness of the situation, through drumming and singing.
I was there to legal observe (LO) in case of “interactions” with the police.
At the time, I was part of the Movement Defence Committee, a group that provided legal support to progressive activists. Part of the function of LOs is to document problems that could lead to police interactions. I find it easiest to use the timestamps to map out what happened should I need to write something up later; and if nothing happens, I just purge everything later.
The times below indicate when the images were taken.
I have legal observed for many years, a thing I do because the chance of “interactions” between the Toronto Police Service — hell, ANY police service — and racialized groups is substantially non-zero.
I just didn’t expect to be one of the racialized people having a special moment with the cops, myself.
Photo: 12:41
The march had turned off Danforth onto Carlaw to make its way south, stopping for a few minutes here and there to drum and sing, and talk to passers-by about what was happening. It was a smallish group, maybe 30 people all-in, and aside from a few impatient drivers turning off and taking a different route, it was well-received.
Until we reached Gerrard Street.
I have accompanied many similar marches, and they typically pause for no more than 15 minutes at any one intersection. They always have a destination to reach, and this day one was no different.
Shortly after the demonstration at Gerrard began, a streetcar arrived. The driver gave the riders the option to get out and walk, or wait a few minutes until the group moved on.
And that’s where angry white man Josef Picken entered the fray.
Given that the photo above is timestamped 12:41 and we hadn’t yet reached the corner and the one below 12:46, when he started throwing his tantrum, I think it’s fair to describe him as “not a very patient man”.
Photo: 12:46
Tired of waiting (more on this later), he opted for the bizarre strategy of telling Indigenous people to go back where they came from. Some barbs were exchanged back and forth, and the organizer opted to keep to the schedule, instructing the truck, drummers, and main banner to move south. About half the group followed immediately, while I waited with the stragglers because that’s where a problem was most likely.
If he had stopped at this point, the entire group would have gone from the intersection, and all would have been over.
However, he completely ignored that the demonstration had begun moving.
And then…
Video: 12:47
Apparently, I called him a “colonizer”.
.
Good.Racist asshole.(And I am not a lawyer. I just work with a shit-tonne of them at the MDC.)Post by @Gigi@kolektiva.social
I reiterate: I am NOT a lawyer. I don’t even play one on TV.
I have just been legal observing for so long that I reflexively start filming when I see a potential problem, and generally immediately delete the footage when nothing actually transpires.
(I was honestly surprised to discover I had filmed that, and didn’t even figure out that I had until we were sitting outside 55 Division much later.)
The end result of what took place in the video?
Photo: 12:53 pm
It’s funny: I’m the one who’s there to document anything that happens, but it took me a while to even think about documenting what happened to me. The photo was taken at 12:53 pm, after we had moved south and passed under the bridge (visible behind me in the photograph) to catch up with the rest of the group.
But this is just what it means to be Black in Canada.
The unwritten, unspoken assumption for Black and Indigenous people in Canada is that:
Help is not coming.
But that was okay because, as far as I was concerned, I didn’t need help.
I was going to finish the march, go home, take a long shower and then a hot bath, throw my clothes in the garbage and move on.
When the cops yammer about certain communities experiencing an uptick in hate-motivated interactions, remember that they are talking only about REPORTED incidents.
I don’t like cops.
They don’t like me.
And this mutual contempt is about to be illustrated in just another few hundred metres south, when a troupe of them (that’s not a typo) swarm us.
The (First) Arrests
Help may not have been coming for me or the Indigenous activists, but buddy is white, so help was coming for him.
Unbeknownst to us, he was telling the cops that he was the victim of an assault. (He later insisted that he hadn’t called them.)
Over the next forty minutes or so, we found ourselves with an ever-increasing police “escort”.
They unhelpfully performed such activities as: directing traffic to squeeze past the protestors while turning onto Carlaw from Dundas, instead of just waiting for the demonstration to finish; and: pretending not to see me.
13:04 to 13:29
13:04 Just after Ossifer Blondie decided to help by directing traffic in the most incompetent way I have ever witnessed.
13:04 I ask for and document her badge number in case someone gets injured
13:29 a cop car pulls up to the rear of the group to block traffic
13:19 Oh okay, not suspicious at all.
I am a dark-skinned woman in BLACK clothing, covered in WHITE latex paint.
That latex paint is drying on my skin, it has seeped through my clothing, it’s covering my bag, it’s on my shoes, it’s in my hair, it’s on my hat.
And somehow, the cops can’t see me.
What’s wild is that I didn’t even catch the implications of the photo of the cops deliberately ignoring me until a white person pointed it out. I am just that used to being ignored. Being Black is like being invisible — as long as you don’t seem to be “up to” anything.
I just hadn’t captured it in such a way that drove it home to OTHER people.
Anyway, we were about to learn why we had the police escort. I am unclear on what exactly Picken decided to tell the cops, but they chose to arrest the truck driver and an Indigenous youth who was holding the banner at the front of the march: two people who weren’t even present by the time he threw the paint.
Photo: 13:42
I got on the phone and gave the on call lawyer a heads up about what was happening.
And then: I broke my personal rule and spoke to the cops, although very briefly. I mentioned that they were making a mistake and that they might want to ask the complainant a couple of key questions.
I literally said, “You can see me, right?”
Well, they chose to ignore my snarky ass, telling me that they were doing their “investigation”.
And that’s when I knew, I was going to have to do it my damned self.
The Social Media Campaign
I had made my first post about the action, at 13:28 – just before I took the photo of the cop car flanking our rear. By that point, it was pretty clear that it was probably a good idea to have some external eyes on the situation. It was a simple post about what the action itself was.
As soon as the arrestees were taken away, though, I posted (with the photo of me holding my paint-covered hat):
Angry white guys are a trip.
Imagine coming to an Indigenous action, picking the lone Black person and throwing a can of white paint on her.
I could only hope it would gain some traction while we completed the walk, and then headed over to 55 Division to do jail support. (It always takes a bit of time for the cops to book arrestees, so the organizers decided to complete the action and then head to 55.)
17 minutes later as the action paused at another intersection, I posted his photo, with the text:
This guy.
#LightHimUp #FindTheRacist
It worked.
By 14:47 we had reached the transfer station, the banner had been affixed, and a short ceremony held. I posted a photo of thee banner on the gate, saying simply:
This is what it’s supposed to be about.
#SearchTheLandfills
We headed to 55 Division for Jail Support.
By this point a friend had met me with clothing that they didn’t mind being ruined, and another couple of friends came to sit with me. We were there from just after 3pm (15:00) until well after 7pm (19:00).
We tried filing a police report three times, while I was still covered in latex paint (I had a large t-shirt over top, but it was still obvious), but the Desk Sergeant said they were too busy to take the report, and I should wait outside.
On one of the forays inside, I showed the video of the incident. It didn’t matter.
I’m not entirely sure how long they imagined I was supposed to just sit there, entertaining myself by peeling white paint from my skin, my phone, and my belongings, but once the people who were arrested were released, we all left.
All I wanted was to go home and get cleaned up.
By the time I got home, we had his name, and the incident had jumped platforms and was taking off on Twitter.