NOTE: Respectfully shared for historical record and educational use. Original links and date intact for context.
Last night, Michelle and I were walking down Burrard when the intersection with West Georgia became blocked by a noisy group of about 200 anti-Olympic Games protesters. Cool, right? Many were wearing scarves over their faces with hoodies and parachute pants, and of course they were taunting police, posing for photographs, and chanting indecipherable slogans. In other words, they were generally making asses of themselves and not at all advancing their cause, which is a good one. They were heavily shadowed by at least a dozen police officers, some with video cameras and all wearing that contrived, “aggressive” posture that tends to make you question why anyone would ever want to be a police officer when they train you to act like total dickheads. We followed the protest as it marched in Orc fashion around the Hotel Vancouver, buzzed all the way by helicopters above and lit by the mobile red and blue lights of mustachioed CHIP stand-ins below.
I couldn’t help but think I was witnessing the worst protest I’d ever seen. I’ve seen peaceful ones, extraordinarily violent ones, and even been arrested for “inciting a riot” before. This was pure lameness, as if it’d been conceived by Tweedle Dee and executed by Tweedle Dumb. While I wholly get their motivation (the Olympics are a big waste of resources when so many of Vancouver’s most pressing problems remain decidedly unsorted), they were doing it all wrong.