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Strange, but for me, the last few weeks have been the hardest of the whole pandemic — even harder than actually having COVID.
Truckers blockading downtown Ottawa, journalists being swarmed and spat on at the Truck Crossing in South Surrey and, last weekend, a senior having “Karen, Karen” yelled at her because she asked protesters to move down the block, away from a retirement home and a long-term care facility.
Of course I respect people’s right to demonstrate. I also recognize that demonstrations can be noisy, inconvenient and even go beyond the bounds of the law.
Think Rosa Park, the Black woman who in 1956 broke state law when she refused to move to the back of the bus in Montgomery, Alabama.
So, yes, there are times to push the envelope.
I have a hard time equating health policies intended to protect us all from a potentially deadly virus, with laws that subjugate certain groups because of the colour of their skin — but clearly some do.
Because, while confederate flags and swastikas were seen at the Ottawa protest, many of those standing in the cold genuinely believe they are fighting for all the same things early civil rights activists fought for — democracy, freedom and a better future for their children.
What I find distressing is just how huge the gulf is between our two sides and how nonexistent are the bridges. The recent incident in Richmond was a great, if heart-breaking, example of the challenge.
According to a Richmond News reader, a group of about 35 people were standing in front of the Minoru Seniors Centre on Granville Avenue on Sunday protesting the various COVID-related health mandates. They were playing loud music and encouraging drivers to honk their horns.
Our reader said she went down to let them know they were in front of a couple of seniors homes and asked them to move to the next intersection.
“I have chronic pain and my neighbour is going through chemotherapy. It’s really hard to be subjected to all that noise.
“I walked out with the best intentions. I thought we could just talk, one decent person to another.”
She said she approached the only woman she noticed in the group, but as soon as she did, a man (apparently the leader) intervened and took over the conversation.
“I kept saying, ‘it’s not about what you’re protesting.’ I just wanted them to be aware of who was in the neighbourhood. But I hardly got 10 words out and he started yelling ‘Karen, Karen.’”
Undeterred, our reader said she crossed the street to see if she could connect with someone there, but the man she tried to talk with stared straight ahead, refusing to even make eye contact.
By the end, our reader, who has a background in conflict resolution, admitted she was hurling insults back at the apparent leader...we can all go to a dark place.
So how do we get out of this mess?
In my opinion, communication is key. (Of course I’d say that, I’m a journalist.)
I’m appalled at the notion of journalists being harassed for doing their job. However, I also recognize too many people are feeling unheard, and as journalists we’ve played our role in that. It’s not lost on me, for example, that I’m telling this story from our reader’s view, not that of the anti-mandate protesters. Then again, they didn’t called.
But if there is hope for finding common ground, it will be through a willingness to listen and a show of respect.
The ethos of not legitimizing misinformation, which mainstream media has been standing by, is fair enough. But the line between misinformation and diverse opinions can be fine. This isn’t to say all opinions are equal, but it is to say we need to change our tack from trying to control the narrative, to creating safe forums where uncomfortable conversations can be had.
That, too, is journalists doing their job.
