Empowerment. Engagement. Authenticity.
Graffiti - Writing a Wrong
“Any post-game reaction, Shawn?”
I toyed with my dinner, at a loss for my own words.
“That fucking sucked. What the
hell was that,. Shawn blurted around a mouthful of pasta. ”Four nothing?
Maybe you expect Vancouver to suck and to lose and to find a way to
screw up a perfect season,” his fork stabbed the air and his throat
worked as if unable to get past the taste of the words, “but that was
reCOCKulous.”
On TV, newspaper boxes crashed
through glass storefronts, torched cars sent sparks into the night and
triumphant looters modelled purloined Coach bags, Starbucks mugs and
maniacal grins. A cameraman cursed as a brick broke his nose but he kept
filming. From CTV to CNN, the 2011 Stanley Cup Riot in Vancouver was big
news.
The next morning, my producer at
Accessible Media asked me to cover the cleanup. I felt a momentary surge
of panic. For my first live assignment as a reporter he was sending me
to a war zone?
The first thing I saw were the
signatures, messages and graphics covering plywood-patched windows for
blocks and my stomach clenched. I braced for drudgery and discontent.
“People have been incredible,”
the city’s sanitation manager assured me as we watched adults, teens and
kids collect debris into garbage bags and sweep the street. “Some even
used sticks to get glass out of cracks in the sidewalks. A social
network contacted the city wanting to help so we brought supplies down
this morning. Hundreds of volunteers showed up.”
I took a closer look at the
plywood. An Asian girl outlined a pink heart in black marker under the
words, “Vancouver is where my heart is.” An older man in a bike helmet
stood beside a child wearing a Canucks shirt, both inking their
own messages of support for the city and hockey team they loved, for
better or worse. I added my own scribbled thank you to the collage.
“The people last night were
shameful and a disgrace. I wasn’t proud to be a Vancouverite last
night,” one volunteer lamented to me. “So I wanted to be here today to
right a wrong.”
When the windows along the
fashionable downtown streets were replaced, the plywood panels were
relocated to the Vancouver Museum. There’s not a time I walk those
sidewalks without recalling the days where affection was literally
written on Vancouver’s walls.
Graffiti
