The massive article, “Anatomy of the G20,” published by the Toronto Star last Friday, is a curious document indeed, especially coming from a newspaper that has taken a hard editorial line against the police’s actions that weekend. It feels like one of those articles that has gone all wonky as higher-ups got their hands on it and started messing around for political reasons.

For example, why, in an article that purports to be “The story from both sides of the fence,” devote the lede and end to police explanations that are intended to be exculpatory? One reason might be that this is an old journalistic strategy to give an article a point-of-view without actually articulating it. About 200 words in, Toronto Police Chief Bill Blair is depicted as heroically marching into the TPS command centre and, despite his concerns about subverting standard operating procedure, ordering that the protestors and assorted bystanders kettled at Queen and Spadina be released. “I went to the command centre and I said, ‘I believe now is the appropriate time to end this thing. End this thing,’” he declaims.

Blair was apparently a widely-admired police chief before his lost weekend; with PR like this, it won’t take him long to regain his standing, or at least his self-image.

Later, this:

“The black bloc was growing. And for police, the timing couldn’t have been worse. Just two blocks north, a military repatriation ceremony was underway. The body of Sgt. Jimmy MacNeil, killed in Afghanistan on June 21, was being transported to the coroner’s office, just north of where the boisterous rally was headed.

“According to Blair, about 30 black-clad protesters began breaking off from the crowd and moving north toward the coroner’s office.”

And:

“Police say their lines were stretched thin; officers could not disengage from their responsibilities. At one point, police were facilitating the transportation of a kidney to a downtown hospital, according to Insp. Scott Weidmark, a planner stationed at the command centre.”

So there you have it: not only were Blair’s forces protecting the city — sort of — they were also protecting the remains of a Canadian soldier and making sure those raving anarchists didn’t steal the kidney of a needy recipient. I’m not suggesting the Star is in the propaganda business — but it might consider it as a hedge against declining journalism revenues.

My favourite bit: “Officers ordered people to move out of the way but Emomotimi Azorbo, a deaf man, failed to hear police demands and was arrested.” He failed to hear them? Damn those deaf people; they’ll just have to try harder to hear.

Look, the Star has acquitted itself better in reporting and following-up on the G20 than any other of our major news organizations. It has certainly done better than the CBC, which was hopelessly weighed down by the hardware of television, or Maclean’s, which revealed that it really will put anything on its cover. But that doesn’t forgive the basic failings of this piece, which are most evident in the questions it begs but doesn’t pursue. “By early afternoon [on Friday], police were already ringing the site, searching people’s bags and confiscating potential weapons”? Er, um, weren’t those searches illegal? And what potential weapons did they confiscate, given that they had nothing significant to show the press days later?

“Two undercover agents had infiltrated [the Blac Block]“? Why then did Blair not know “beforehand of the intent of this group to engage in criminal acts away from the summit site”? And if the answer is, well, you can’t know everything, how is it police were so sure, once the vandals allegedly melted into the crowd at Queens Park, that “they weren’t done,” and used that as a pretext to attack peaceful protestors?

A police cruiser was abandoned on Queens because “A handful of black bloc members — now revealing a cache of golf balls and hammers — engulfed the lone car and began smashing its windows and lights”? Okay, but what about that other “abandoned cruiser” with “‘murderer’ scrawled on its hood,” the one at King and Bay? If anyone’s explained what it was doing sitting there, I’ve yet to see it. The Star doesn’t ask.

There’s a lot the Star doesn’t ask.

While the paper’s columnists continue to hold authorities to account, per Thomas Walkom’s“The G20 protests and judicial farce,” it’s prominently played big pieces such as this one that tend to seep into the public mind and become the accepted version of events. If the Star’s going to take them on, it needs to do the job properly — or at least not let them become vehicles for authorities trying to explain away their criminal behaviour.

Below we reproduce, with permission, the post in its entirety, including the images originally used by Taylor. I find it hard to imagine a more important piece of journalism being written this year. – FM)

By Tommy Taylor

I’m going to start by saying that at no point in this note will I be exaggerating, bending the truth or lying in any way. I can also say I’ve never felt this angry, violated or betrayed.

Black Bloc left alone to create carnage and photo ops.

 
I’m not going to wig out in a conspiracy theory way, just read for yourself. The Black Bloc caused so much distraction and carnage. It happened to me and I still find it hard to believe, I don’t want to believe it. My country broke my heart.

So here is what happened.

PART ONE: Grandmas, Idiots and High School Reunions.

I was home during the day on Saturday June 26th until around 1:00pm when I went over to Allan Gardens Park (which is literally across the street from my apartment). Hey, if Mayor David Miller was encouraging people to get out and do things in the city, why not? There were a few tents left over from the Tent City, which slept there the night before. Various groups were getting signs still, ready to march over to the ‘Free Speech Zone” at Queen’s Park — far away from all things G20. I met a group of grandmothers who were marching on behalf of grandmothers in Third World countries who have adopted millions of children whose parents have died of AIDS. (To all those who are speaking out against the violence in the streets of Toronto and damning the protesters — where were your voices of outrage at this? Or do you only care when the irreplaceable Starbucks has its window smashed? When it’s on your front doorstep you cry and give the rest of the world your apathy — why are you only upset now?)

I walk with the grannies and arrive in Queens Park. There are thousands of police in all kinds of riot gear, mounted police units (people chant of “Get those animals off those horses” made me laugh). There were students, seniors, media, everyone, thousands! And it was so peaceful and a tremendous sense of community. The riot squads were quite scary, but people were chanting “You’re pretty, you’re cute, take off the ugly riot suit!”, which also made me laugh, and many of the officers in the riot gear laughed too, one of them quipped “I wish, this thing’s hot.” Cool, this was fun. Good messages, free speech, the grannies along side the burly boys of the Steel Workers Union. Someone gave me a marker and bristol board. I made a sign “Apathy Will Kill You.” After a while of awesome speeches, interesting people and wasted money (1.2 Biliion…?) I give away my sign and head home to Jarvis & Gerrard. Like on the way there, cops are lined up everywhere, watching everything — no holes anywhere. Strange absence of cops at Yonge and Dundas Square . . . they were all over it earlier . . . .

At home I soon read about the violence happening along Yonge . . . what? Where are the cops? It’s guys in ALL black, easy to see. Why are they just running along with no one to stop them . . . there were cops there. Ok. Weird. These guys suck for doing this, because this is all anyone will see and read about. And now it’s justification for the gross amount of force and money spent. Then comes word about the police cars parked and abandoned, they even rolled down the windows before leaving. What? No radios or any equipment inside the cop cars? No police in sight? Arrest these idiots before they ruin any chance at — oh, too late. So then the media starts to assemble the evening news with the fiery money shots of Yonge St and the burning cars. Vandal assholes taking the bait and acting in a predictable destructive way. Idiots.

Watch an account by a photo journalist who followed them:

 
Argghh! But, hey, at least things were cool in the “Free Speech Zone”. My girlfriend Kate gets home with her co-worker Ben and their friend Simon at around 7pm. She asks if it’s ok to go out and see what’s going on. I said sure, the Free Speech Zone is awesome, there’s all kinds of causes, we can go take a look. So, off we go along College Street. There are people on sidewalks and taxis and cars, all very normal. We got to Bay and College when around 20 mini-vans full of riot cops honked their horns and went flying through the intersection — I had never seen anything like it, it was crazy. We arrived at University Ave to find it completely blocked off by riot cops in full gear. The “Free Speech Zone” was completely blocked in. The cops wouldn’t answer any questions, wouldn’t move, wouldn’t look at you. Nothing. Then rows of riot police form on College behind us, start banging their shields and march in, followed by a rows of mounted horse units. Then out of nowhere two young guys are pepper sprayed nearby, everyone runs, nothing is said by police, no announcements. People help the guys and pick them up, they don’t know what happened or why.

Up on the steps of a building I see a friend from high school, Derek. We head over, catch up — he came down to see what was happening, but was blocked off from Queen’s Park on all sides. Shortly after some homeless people threw on arm bands and had extending night sticks and tackled people standing around and dragged them behind the dense line of riot cops and dragged them away. Secret under-cover homeless police — oo la la. Still no messages from the police and no violence to be seen except from them. I remember on JackAss when Johnny tried being tasered and peppered sprayed and said the spray was the worst thing he’s ever had done to him and never again, poor dudes on the ground. Nothing happened. So, guess the day was over and police didn’t want the protest getting any bigger (is what we thought). Derek went back to Mississauga and we decided to head home and Simon went to a bar.

PART 2: A Blue Raspberry Slushie and the Lost Tactical Squads — A Saturday night in TO.

Now 9pm. Kate, Ben and I were thirsty and I remembered reading a story about the ice cream truck guy that parked at City Hall at Queen and Bay and how G20 was killing his business, and I like blue raspberry slushies. So down we went, he was up front with his feet on the dashboard. I was very thirsty at this point, so it was great. The streets seemed a little empty, but people were around, walking, going places to eat, taxis and cars driving around. Seemed like the oncoming rain and shut-out from the police killed the protests. We said “All people will talk about is the violence, too bad.” Then things changed around us. It was now just after 9pm, all the violence from earlier in the day was long over and the vandals who committed it, gone. Vans and buses of riot police and tactical teams were swarming. We couldn’t see any protesters, but the streets were filing with cops, cars tried backing away and had to jump the curb, people were getting confused, and no cops were saying anything.

We thought it best to head east and get home right now, who knew what was happening. The guys in green tactical gear were pretty scary and shouting to each other “We’re in the wrong place, go west! Go west!” They got in their vehicles of all kinds (from armored personnel carriers to Budget panel vans), big gas guns, crazy gear. Kate needed a bathroom desperately, nothing was open now and there were quite scary police squads everywhere — now very confusing as to what’s happening. We see two construction workers peeking their heads out of the door of a store. We run over and Kate talks her way into the bathroom. We talk to the guys, it’s confusing, but no signs of violence. The workers wish us well and head back inside.

We’re now at Bay St and King St, trying to head east. The sky opens up and the rain pours on down. Heavy. We see a group marching AWAY from the fence, away from G20, they get blocked in by police, but are then let go and told to move east — great, towards home! It’s a crowd of maybe 200 people, all kinds. Some flags and signs lead the group. The free speech zone was shut down, so I guess there was nowhere else to go. We live in Canada, so before you say that everyone should have gone home, no. Is that the country you want to live in? Where you can’t speak up? One day you’ll have to actually face an issue of injustice that will make you actually stand up and go outside and use your freedom, use your voice — and you’ll be glad you can. Imagine if you couldn’t? What country does that make you think of? So, with no instructions from the surrounding police I ask someone marching in the street and they seem to think it’s back to Allan Gardens Park, perfect! We live there!

PART 3: Tommy Taylor, You’re Under Arrest.

So the three of us follow, on the sidewalk, away from the central group. Occasional clapping on some great slogans chanted. There are regular people on the street watching, who live and work in the area. We get to Front St. continue south to the Esplanade and stop in front of the Novotel. Hrm? Apparently the workers are on strike at Novotel for unfair treatment and some delegates from G20 will be staying there. We are across the street on the sidewalk, in front of The Keg. The marchers sit down and chant “peaceful protest”. And it is. Everyone is calm; it’s actually pretty awesome to see. There are some awful things in this world and when our economic and political leaders gather in one place to decide the world’s solutions and futures (including the government of China), people are going to want to have their voices heard. That’s the Constitution, thankfully.

Then they start singing “Give Peace a Chance”, wow — it’s actually a cliche of a protest! It was a lot of fun, a great thing to witness live instead of stock footage form the 60’s and 70’s when people were changing the way sexuality, gender and ethnicity are treated in North America. Without public protests we would still have slavery and women couldn’t vote. Would you go back and tell those people to go home? No word from police yet, and why would there be? It’s 10:00 at night on Saturday on a small sub-street in Toronto with no traffic tonight. Everyone’s peaceful and out of the way, and only in a number of 200. It actually seemed like just a little whimper from the numbers I saw together earlier, but at least they had heart and spirit. We join in singing “Give Peace a Chance” — how could you not, it felt so great. Then, riot cops show up on the sides of the street. Uh-oh. They’re blocking it off, time to go.

We head towards them to leave; they say “Get Back”, no problem. We turn to leave the other way, more riot cops “Get Back”. Okay, we ask if we can please leave — no response. They haven’t said anything. There are journalists in here, a couple comes out of The Keg and tries to leave, they are told, “It’s too late.” Too late for what they ask, and are told nothing. We ask again (Kate has become quite distraught and upset) if we can please leave and are told, “You should have left when we told you.” Wait, what? When? Everyone is saying the same thing. Then the phone number for legal aid starts making the rounds, people write it on their arms and hands (I already had it on a post-it note). The guy from the Keg can’t believe it. The guy in the wheelchair on his way home is stunned. The confused guy with cerebral palsy is freaking out and scared. A few First Nations people around us say, “Well, this is familiar. Welcome to our club everyone.” A gay couple hugs, in tears. An older lady (the splitting image of Jane Goodall) asks what’s happening. The media with the huge cameras seem at a loss. The riot police have the full gear, shields, helmets, masks down, saying nothing. The leaders of the march ask for a negotiator to get people out of here. No response. They give official media a chance to leave that have badges, but no one else. Not even people who have obvious news camera and photo cameras. Steve Paikin from TVO managed to get out. We all chant, “Let us go!” They begin pulling people out of the sitting crowd and take them away. There was no resisting, they turned around and offered their hands. Then a riot cop with a classic cop mustache announces, “You’re all under arrest. You will all be charged and you cannot leave. ”

We can’t believe we’re about to be arrested. They won’t tell us why we are under arrest, which they legally have to. We were on the sidewalk the whole time. People from the condo above The Keg throw things down at the group. We throw nothing back and a few riot police laughed. The workers in The Keg are all at the window, confused, one of them starts crying and walks away. Everyone is trying to find out why we just can’t go home. Then the riot squads form a half circle around us, shield to shield. People angry, afraid. We were nowhere close to the fence; there was no violence — what was this? People singing a John Lennon song all arrested? Confusing. Upsetting. I want to get out of there with Kate and go home and I can’t. I hate the way this made me feel. I didn’t do anything. Nothing was happening here with these people, whom I was now a part of. Some sat down, many were on dying cell phones trying to call family and friends, some kids trying to call parents and asking to borrow phones, journalists calling their offices for help . . . scary.

The unmoving riot officers had arm badges saying they were from Calgary. Then all at once, they took some pill and took a sip from the tubes attached to their riot gear. It became clear they were a little confused, a supervisor was yelling at them they were in a wrong formation, some of them tripped over each other. I noticed the street was blocked off at both ends, no media anywhere at either end . . . denied access to see what was happening down here. Soon the street was full of buses and paddy wagons and riot cops outnumbered people 5 to 1. Many of the cops behind the semi-circle took off gear and lay down, sweaty on the sidewalk, obviously overworked. One by one, officers would come through the shrinking semi-circle line and take people roughly away. People would turn and offer their hands peacefully, waiting to go.

My new name!

My evidence bag.

 
I turned and offered my hands, I was handcuffed and made to walk backwards across the street to officers in front of the Novotel. I’m handed over, searched, asked my name — all very peaceful. My arresting officer, Toronto Constable Caesar, asked me if I understood I was being arrested — I said I understood, but I didn’t know why. He paused. “You’re being charged with — ” He stops, talks with someone else, moves me, and says “Mischief”. Another officer comes over with a form and a clipboard, Caesar says “Finally got a clipboard huh?” The officer replies “Yeah, this thing is fucked up.”

Our wristbands.

 
Here are two videos from some people who were in the condo. Listen to the Rocket Scientist who yells, “You guys are dumb!” then breaks into a Beavis and Butthead laugh. No media was allowed to see what was happening to us, so, here’s what it looked like:

 
PART 4: Taken on a Ride.

So, handcuffed and waiting around I see cops on the sidewalk lying on their shields, gulping Gatorade. Kate is put into a paddy wagon. I’m brought over to a different one and put in after a young guy. The back of the wagon has two seating areas, divided by a steel wall. There are no lights; the back wall is angled so you have to hunch over. I introduce myself to my fellow prisoner, he does the same. His story is much like mine. 45 minutes later we now have 6 guys on the bench. The last one in is a photojournalist, the officers toss in his evidence bag (with big fancy camera and case). “That’s my camera!” he yells, they laugh and slam the door. The police’s attitude is very relaxed, casual, many smiling and laughing. I overheard many talking about the confusion they faced in the day and right now. The other guys tell me they never had their rights read either and were all told different reasons for the arrest, “Disturbing the Peace”, “Obstructing Justice”, and so on. No one clear reason we were all there. I can only make out their silhouettes when they lean forward, no lights.

We can hear the guys on the other side of the truck. One of my 6 guys shouts “Tim?!”, “Yeah?” we hear back. Turns out they went to elementary school together in rural Ontario way back when. The ages of the guys in the truck range from 15-47. The only light that comes in is from tiny circles in the metal doors, the glass is dirty, so we can’t make out too much. We drive for 1 minute and stop. They turn off the truck and leave. The truck behind us backs over and stays put, still on. Our truck now begins to smell of fumes . . . I don’t think this was on purpose, as the drivers seemed confused about where to go, we could make out there were many discussions happening between all kinds of officers outside. But diesel fume headaches started in. After another 10 minutes we drove to a large prisoner transfer bus.

Our bus looked a lot like this.

Everyone couldn’t believe what was happening to us. We all talked about our rights, what phone number to call, where we might be headed. The general thought was the new detention centre they built inside the Toronto Movie Studios at Pape and Eastern. And sure enough, as the bus left the St. Lawrence Market area, we headed east. There was a sense of outrage on the bus, but when we got our phone call and legal counsel, this would be exposed for the farce it was. A girl started getting really wild and screaming — it was a bit much, a few guys laughed, and I heard a “Shut-up” — it was unmistakably Kate, she wasn’t into the girl next to her losing her mind just yet. I called out “I love you!”, another guy jokes “Will you be my prison wife?”

We arrived outside of the wet and dark Toronto Film Studio, with its large gates and armored guards and dozens of police cars and fenced off areas. It was creepy. The buildings were huge and grey with red signs with white numbers on them. It was something from a George Orwell novel. Large spotlight pointing down from posts, in the rain. Our bus was stopped in front of a large garage door to one of the hanger-sized buildings. The door rolls open a light pours out from it. We drive inside.

PART 5: Behind the Grey Door.

As we go in there are rows of cages on left hand side. About 12′x20′ and around 10′ high. They were cages. Chain cages full of people. From what I could see they were all young people in these cages, maybe the young offenders. I have never seen anything like this, only in holocaust films, sci-fi films or pictures of Guantanamo Bay (and no, am I not comparing this to those events, I’m just sharing what came to mind and the only things I can reference it to).

There are skids of bottled water and Gatorade the police are drinking from. The men on the bus are talking about how the police cars were abandoned and no police officers stopped the infamous Black Bloc — learn more about that here.

We all agreed that we were the hundreds of protesters left at the end of the day; long after the violence was done that afternoon. But hey, how do you justify to the people of Canada that we spent 1.2 billion dollars? You arrest all the protesters. We thought we might be held for 24 hours so that the streets would be cleared from people demonstrating their right to free speech. I mean, they closed down the “Free Speech Zone” in a public space, so . . . why were we there? Finally an officer comes on the bus and states “Come forward and give your number”. So one by one we go. Outside we are handed off to a Court Services officer, all with “Special Constable” patches. Some have removed their nametags, others have them still on. Some are Barrie Court Services, some Toronto. I’m given to a shorter female constable who removed my metal cuffs and put me in the plastic binds — she had trouble getting them tight enough. “My gloves are too sweaty” she says, a male officer grabs the tie and pulls them — tight. My wrists are already raw from the cuffs; I say they are too tight. “You’ll live” I’m told. Oh.

She asks where I’m supposed to go, no one really knew. Everyone there seemed a little overworked and confused. Someone told her to make sure I read ‘the sign’. She takes me towards an ominous black corridor — it was this pocket of darkness in this hanger that led to another section. Kate had already disappeared inside it. She stops in front of a sign, which states that all video and audio would be recorded in the cells and could be used as evidence, etc etc. She asked if I understood and I said I did. I was actually happy to read that, in case anything in violation of the law happened to me inside. We walked into the darkness . . .

PART 6: Welcome to Cell Block OL 6 in Detention Level 2 Prisoner #0106, or
Come for the cup of water, stay for the condom-ball.

Inside the former movie studio, I almost can’t believe it. I’ve never seen this outside of movies. It is almost unreal. There are no windows to be had. The cavernous ceiling is 200 ft high, I can barely see it. It makes the warehouse from the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark look small. Hanging down to about 15 ft off the ground are rows of intense florescent lights. Dozens of rows as far as I can see in either direction. Over each cell is a small black pod container, a camera. It appears to be a maze made of industrial shelving, construction office trailers, wooden decks and walkways and cages. The cages are roughly 12′ by 20′ and around 10′ high. There is sheet metal on 3 sides; the front side has a sliding door section that locks. Inside each cage is a porto-potty with the door removed, no toilet paper. It reaches close to the ceiling and is about 4′x4′ around. Those potties — bright orange, with an elaborate art deco style molding. A 1.2 billion dollar porto-potty to be sure. I pass rows of the cages with people bleeding, crying slumped on the concrete floor. Huddled, asking to call family, asking for water, asking what the charge is, wanting to know their rights. All the officers were ignoring them and laughing. Laughing at people. I have never seen anything like this.

UPDATE: PHOTOS FROM THE INSIDE

My officer was asking where to take me — no officers knew. One officer tells her “Who knows? This place just got fucked up. Good luck.” She sighs. Finally it’s decided and I’m taken down a row of cages, I see Kate in a cage with about 30 girls, huddled, still wet and in this place (which I just notice is freezing). She smiles — “I love you!” I call to her, I hear “I love you too!” as I’m brought around the corner. I see the girls have no door on their potty, with mostly male officers around them walking by, looking in. We’re near the wall and I see a cage full of about 35 men. “Cell Block OL 6″ says a white sign on the cage door. In I go. I recognize some of the guys from the bus and paddy wagon. Hello agains are said. We are still handcuffed with the vinyl ties; I now have a cut on my wrist. I see the guy with the green mohawkish cut — he looks troubled.

Like this, but little bigger with one bench and huge outhouse.

 
It was now around 2:00am. I’ve been held since 10:30pm, not read my rights, not explained anything, not yet charged,no phone call. And in an overcrowded cell with no access to water. Every guy had to pee; there was a line around the inside of the cell to piss. Trying to pee with your hand cuffed together was horrible . . . but we all managed . . . the outhouse was messy. No toilet paper. So, here we all were. Ages from 16-78. Three German men asked why the guard made a joke about Auschwitz. They were here from Germany, left a bar, got arrested. They said they had no idea Canada was like this; they said the world thought we were free. They said “Poor Canadians, this is shame.”

The camera -- I hope you're getting all this up there.

 
Stories are exchanged, we all discuss what to say to our lawyers or legal aid when we call. One guy explains how he was working at a music store up at Ossington, left work, saw his buddy across the street gave him the rock and roll horns with his hand, then a cop saw him and said ‘Don’t give the cops the finger!” while running at him and then tackling him. He was bleeding and his clothes ripped. He was shocked. Still thirsty. We ask why we’re in here. “Because you committed a crime,” quips a Barrie Court Services officer — a tall, bald man with one hell of mean streak. It looked ugly. Some officers were laughing and joking at us. I was feeling the crowded cell growing tense and angry. One black, shorter male Toronto Officer came over as we began pleading for an explanation, for water and for some of us to be moved into another cell. He came over and said, “This is wrong. Guys, I’m sorry, this is fucked up. But there’s nothing I can do. This place is just chaos. I’m sorry.” he leaves. Very thirsty.

In police custody for 6 hours now, no water, no anything. We start to get worried. We are still very polite to the guards, “Please, we need water. Please help us. Please help this 16-year-old kid. Please split us up, we can’t even all sit in here.” We look at the camera and beg for help. We can hear people in the other cells yelling and begging for water. We hear a girl “Please! I need my medication! HELP ME!”. I yell “Help that girl, what the hell is going on here!” Other cages begin to yell. I find out later this girl was in my girlfriend’s cell and was way past her medication time. The male officers were laughing in at her and tapping their keys along the bars leering at the girls in wet clothes. Finally two female officers took the girl away. They also had a 17-year-old girl in her cage as well. Still thirsty.

7 hours into custody, the people break. A shout for water breaks into a little riot, all cells yelling water, shaking the cages, and kicking at the doors. People with cracked lips and cracking voices — I’ve been awake for 22 hours now. Luckily a guy in our cell kept a watch. The place is going insane, we are told by guards “We’re working on it!”, some are apologizing, some are obviously lost and confused, others are laughing.

Finally water reaches our cell. They have a blue jug on an office chair, rolling it around with one officer pushing, one with a key, and one holding styrofoam dixie cups. We are told to line up. Many of the men say “Thank-you”. I had to beg for water. BEG FOR WATER. For 9 hours. I hated being made to feel grateful for this tiny sip of water. Many gulped their cup down, some took it slow. “So shut-up now,” said the officer. Well, guess who was starting to get hungry after 8 hours in custody?

An older First Nations man produces a condom and blows it up into a balloon. We all laugh — the water did us good. In fact we all got along really well, making the best of things we could. Quiet guys, big loud guys, punks, well dressed men, journalists, people who were at work, protesters, homeless, gay guys. We all got along, totally united. So, with this condom balloon, we started bouncing it around, like volleyball. We then called it Condom-Ball. The rules were to bounce it with your elbows or legs, and try and catch the tip in your empty dixie cup (as they were tied together, like a volleyball bump already — too easy). Some guys got really into it, some were laughing, some thought it was gross, but funny. We joked about starting a condom-ball league. We’d rent the cages and have teams of 40 guys in each one. I’m looking forward the security footage from our cell — look at these crazy violent protesters . . . . playing games. So, some dude popped the condom with his cuffs, we all jokingly booed him and someone said “Now you’ll have to pay child support, never break the rubber!” Then the First Nations guy pulled out another condom. We cheered. They guy who broke the last one volunteered for blow-up duty. Someone said “When we get out I’m gonna say being in a cell with 40 guys sucked, until we found a condom.” We all laughed our asses off. Soon people tired of the game, as we were wet, crowded and hungry and still didn’t know anything.

PART 7: Awake for 25 Hours, Imprisoned for 10 of them.

It was a weird feeling being locked in a cage like animals. Told by my captors that it was wrong (but also laughed at by others), begging for food and water. Then, down the hall across from my cell I saw this: the bald Barrie officer was dragging in a kid with mild cerebral palsy (I saw him with a friend while they were arrested, he was so scared). He pushed and then they said something to him, his clothes were torn and his eyes red from crying. I guess they wanted his shoes, because he struggled to lift his leg (his pants were falling down) when the officer slammed his leg down. “Never mind. Stop being stupid.” He laughed at the kid, as did the other officer. Away they went. Heard a door slam.

The guy who took his girlfriend to the Keg tells us how he told her it would be safe out “The violence was long over, and even the Mayor had said to go and enjoy Toronto.” He called out for his girl, “Trudy!?!”, we hear a “Yeah!? Is that you Sean?” he looks happy and yells “Yeah Baby!” she yells back “It’s over!!!” we all start laughing. Later I find out from Kate that Trudy was in her cell and also yelled, “Just joking!” but he didn’t hear because we were all laughing. The laughs were hard to come by. I was still sick that I begged for water and had been here for 11 hours and I hadn’t done a thing. And that I watched helpless as they roughed up a kid with CP. This was like some sick, twisted social experiment. All handcuffed, we ask “What if we have to shit? No toilet paper!” 45 minutes later they push a few sheets through the fence. “We’re bound, we can’t even wipe!” The male officer says “Figure it out boys”. Laughs. We make a pact that none of us will shit. I find out from Kate that the girls had to make a human wall when using the bathroom and help wipe each other. They also had to beg for toilet paper. Apparently they didn’t think girls needed much for the bathroom. So women asked for tampons or pads, the male guards laughed and said, “That explains your attitudes.”

Haha, cerebral palsy is hilarious. BEG FOR WATER!

 
People are hungry. We plead to the passing guards for food or an explanation, or to tell us what’s happening — even to split us up so we can lie on the cold concrete. They say we will be processed, interviewed, charged and released in about maybe 3 hours — we can also make a call then to legal aid. And food? “We’re working on it.” We ask the guards how they could be a part of this. Some look guilty as hell, some laugh. We get the attention of Toronto Special Constable White, a short balding man with glasses. He comes to us; we all desperately and calmly explain what’s happening to us. White listens, apologizes, admits that it’s wrong and says, “I’m just a pea in a pod. I can’t help.” So, the old “I’m just following orders”, which followers of human right violators have used for ages. Wrong is wrong, whether it’s your paycheck or not. But hey, this is the G20, blood money for all!

White leaves us, apologizing and saying he’s going to try and help. 10 hours, a sip of water, no food, nothing. The gay couple has curled up on each other trying to sleep and keep warm. The man next me says, “I’m jealous.” I say “Me too.” he says, “I’m starting to look for the cutest guy in here.” I say, “Well, when in prison . . .” We chuckle, but it’s an empty chuckle.

PART 8: “Food” for the disillusioned.

You know what smells? 40 guys who haven’t showered in 30 hours with an open door outhouse and wet socks. I wonder what happened to Ben? Tension is mounting in the cell, some guys are getting wild-eyed. Some are starting to freak out. We’ve been in the cage for 10 hours, crammed together. Finally food arrives in the form of a plastic wrapped dinner roll with a slice of processed cheese in it, and slathered in butter. Everyone digs into their food, devouring them. It’s around 8:30am. One guys asks “Why is there so much butter?”, the officer replies “It’s not butter, it’s margarine.” He jokes back “I can’t believe it’s not butter!” Some us laugh, some are too into the sandwich to notice anything else.

I suggest we write a message in the chain ceiling with our dixie cups for the people watching on the camera. We all decide “HELP” is the best option — maybe they’ll do something and at least split us up. A quiet young guy in glasses puts it up. Nicely done. I find out that Kate’s cell (Cell Block OL 5) made a peace symbol and that Ben’s cell block (OL 2) made a chandelier from some danger tape they pulled inside, the cups, and the ends of the plastic handcuffs they chewed off. Fancy. I hope the officers on the other sides of the cameras saw the dangerous people they had. Then two officers arrive and take away the green mohawk guy. We ask about the rest of us and we’re told “Soon.” That’s all. We ask about our rights and Toronto Court Services Special Constable # 99257 says, “We can hold you for as long as it takes to process you.” I ask him “Is that the law? What if it takes four years to process, you can hold us?” He says, “Yes.” I tell him he’s lying. I demand to know his name (his name tag was off) and says “Your fault if you believe me”, looks nervous and quickly leaves. Never gave a name. We were told many times about being processed and we’d reach what they called “the Otherside”. What was there? I don’t know. They said that we’d have to wait again there anyways. What was this Otherside? Someone suggested we’d be turned into cheese slices. I said I would make terrible Soylent Green. A few guys laughed emptily.

PART 9: No Help for a Broken Heart.

We are thirsty again; it’s been 15 hours in police custody. Still 39 guys overcrowded. Getting very scary. Awake for around 30 hours. Had one sip of water and cheese shit-bun. The 16 year old hasn’t been able to call his parents. We yell for someone to help us, to help this 16 year old kid — for someone to do anything, to please help us. We get the attention of black female Toronto Special Constable Ottey, with short hair and glasses. We tell her about the 16 year old, she writes down his information and says she’ll do something about it. I see her several times in the next few hours, ignoring us as we ask for an update. Poor kid. His poor parents. We see officer White a few more times, he always apologizes. They say they are looking for people they suspect of bigger crimes first — an officer comes by and yells “Islam! Is there an Islam in here?” Nope, no one by that name here.

We start losing it a little bit. Saying to every officer, “You know this is wrong, look at us in here!” We hear from the other cells that some only have 20 or 15 guys. Why is this happening? How is this happening? Some guys start screaming, kicking the cage, and shaking it. We can hear this happening all over the place. We yell for help, some cops are laughing, some look devastated and helpless. I’m so thirsty and I’m screaming for water. It felt like nothing I’ve ever felt before. A prisoner. Innocent. Screaming at my captors for water. Right then my heart broke.

I looked around at the screaming men, the scared kid, the huddled couple, the disgusted Germans, the confused old man, the First Nations man who didn’t seem surprised at all, the guards laughing, the others dismayed. Thought about the peaceful things I saw at the park, the grandmothers with AIDS orphans, Kate taken away in handcuffs, the kid with CP roughed up, begging for water, and my heart simply broke. That’s the only way I can describe it. My beloved country, my city. I looked down at my t-shirt — bright blue with a big white maple leaf and in bold, caps letters below: FREEDOM. I kid you not. I was proud to wear that shirt earlier that day. Now it stung. I was so helpless and empty. For those of you who may not think this sounds like much, or is justified, you weren’t there. People from all walks of life were breaking in that place, including police officers. One guy lost it and went into “Fucking pigs! Fucking giving us swine flu! Fuck you!” I always thought people who said things like this don’t appreciate that the police have a hard job and deal with so much crap. But right then, I got this guy and those people. People who have been victims of the police. Are all bad? No. But they give into their own kind of mob mentality. I saw the blood lust in those Riot Cops’ eyes and the disregard from some of these guards. One man yelled “We are people! We pay your salary through taxes!” The officer yelled, “You don’t paying any fucking taxes, look at you!” The university educated, employed man in awe asked “What the hell do you mean?” He walks away laughing.

We yell and scream, beg and cry out. Eventually officers arrive and say “You’ve been in here too long. Sorry, we’ll move some of you,” and take six guys, then another six. I went with the second six.

PART 10: Meet the New Rat Cage, Just Like the Old Rat Cage.

I’m led down to Cell Block OL 2. Across from us are large sections of industrial shelves and we can see into a deck area where 4 trailers meet, they each have a door. The door I can see says “Booking Room 10″ with a red light above it. Cops lean on the railing, laughing, and dancing when people chant slogans from their cells. They think it’s hilarious. Coming on 15 hours in custody. There are already around 15 men in this cell. They tell us some guys got removed a while ago. There are many similar stories in here, and another journalist. There is one guy in an English soccer jersey that tells me he was at a bar, stepped out for a smoke and was arrested. He was a huge soccer fan and was about to miss the big Germany/England match. The 16 year old was now in this cell. Around 10am there was a shift change in officers and we began begging for water again, maybe these guards would help us. I notice the evidence shelves under label OL 6, there are 5 bags — but there were 40 guys in that cell . . . where’s all our stuff?

My mouth was pasty and dry. Some guys mouths were cracked. We were once again ignored and told to wait. More promises of the Otherside. Some try to sleep on the concrete and share the single metal bench. Officers wander the hallways aimlessly, some calling out names, asking each other what happened to certain prisoners — confused. Several officers repeatedly pass our cell asking for the same names and numbers. Why don’t they know where they put anyone? There were hundreds of officers in this place. Why so slow to process? What was the charge? Where is our phone call? I beg for more water. I’m getting dizzy and have been up for 31 hours. The lights never dimmed, no blankets. The majority of everyone I’ve met so far lives in Toronto.

Another cheese sandwich arrives. My mouth was so dry I had trouble swallowing. Some guys used theirs as pillows. One man asks a guard if he has any kids, the guard says he does and so what? The man says that his two kids have no idea where he is and were expecting him two hours ago. The guard writes some info down and says he’ll see what he can do. I’m seeing some spots and getting woozy.

PART 11: Lights Out, Tommy Taylor.

The next thing I know, I’m outside the cell, surrounded by a few guards. An older female guard with short dark hair and glasses is offering me a cup of watered down Tang and instructing my binds be cut. I’m given a second cup of juice and new, looser cuffs. They ask if I’m ok, I’m so confused about why I’m outside the cell and ask “What’s going on?” They ask if I’m alright, and I say “I guess so” then they open the cage and put me back. The guys make room on the bench and sit me down. Asking if I’m ok. “What happened?” I ask with a now splitting headache. “You passed out man!” they tell me. Timber. Over I went, boom to the ground. They yelled to the guards for help, the officers wouldn’t come in to get me so the guys had to pick me up and take me to the door. I was then up on my feet and being given juice . . . so the blanks were now filled in.

I passed out. After begging for water. I passed out and fell over in jail. What was happening to me? No sleep, no water. The men went nuts. “Is this what it takes, a guy passing out! Christ!! What’s wrong with you monsters!” My head kills, they ask for medical attention for me, I second the motion and we’re told “Not right now”. Guys slump to the floor in defeat. The female officer who helped me aids in bringing some watery orange Tang to all the cells. We line up, quietly and broken, for our drink. I find out from Kate that this same female officer broke down and cried with the women at their cell. She was sobbing and apologizing, “This is wrong, you shouldn’t be here. This is all so wrong.” Their own officers couldn’t handle it, she was worn down by the injustices she was being ordered to do. This happened in Toronto.

Across from our cell Special Constable C. Smit, a short white female officer with blonde/brown hair, stands guard. We nicely talk with her through the cage. “Please tell us how you can do this? We are begging for water in here. This guy is only 16 and this guy passed out. Your co-workers laugh. They are joking to us about our rights and laughing at a disabled kid. You know this is wrong, what’s happening?” After too much of this, with tears in her eyes she breaks. “I don’t know anything, no one here knows anything! I’m not even a cop . . .” She then leaves in a hurry. Madness.

PART 12: Live from Cell Block OL 1, it’s Test Their Logik!

So, from out of the blue, in the cage next to ours, a rap starts. About the G8/G20. It’s awesome, and holy hell. It’s the rap from a video I watched about a rap duo appearing at the party supposed to happen Saturday night. And holy hell, those rappers, Test Their Logik are in jail. And now they are singing live in prison. Every cage joining in the chorus “G8, G20, they few, we many!” They do the whole song, the place gets pumped and they finish with everyone singing. Then when it’s over we all clap, yell, cheer and rattle our cages. It was so awesome; it reminded me of when the prisoners hear the opera song in Shawshank Redemption. Brilliant moment for all of us in detention hell. The song is “Crash the Meeting”, see it here:

 
PART 13: See you in the Parking Lot, Special Constable Milrod.

The “fuck the pigs” guy is loosing his damn mind. A young guy on the new officer shift, with reddish hair and a goatee seems ready for a fight. He says to the guys in our cell “I want to see all you guys outside in the parking lot, then we’ll see what’s what. I’ll take you down.” Wow. He walks away laughing. I inform an actual Toronto Police Officer of what he said and his name. Next we saw Milrod, his nametag was gone and he didn’t look at us or speak to us. It’s on camera Milrod, with 30 witnesses.

The cops are still searching for random names. They claim processing is taking long. One officer says, “We had to arrest 1,000 people, so wait.” We theorize that we’ll be held until just before the legal 24 hours they can hold without charging, which coincides with the end of the G20 Summit. Spirits are broken, guys lying all around. Two are removed for processing and they tell us they are clearing our cell next. Finally. It’s almost 3pm we’re told, when we ask for the time.

The only evidence I can see that it’s the day is a tiny hole 200 feet up with light on the outside. I wonder if anyone knows what happened down at the Novotel or what’s happening in here? We’ve only seen officers — no lawyers, medics or media (other than the ones in cages). It’s getting close to 24 hours in custody. I haven’t slept in 40 hours and new prisoners are being brought in. We’re told they are trying to process the women first, as they are out of room for female prisoners. I find a silver lining in that, hoping Kate might have gone home.

PART 14: Time to rush and time for rain.

So, they tell us they’ve doubled the staff and will be moving quickly. Some guys have pulled their hands out of the plastic cuffs. Some are too tight. Some guys are still in metal cuffs. 22 hours in cuffs. Bloody wrists. My head is in hell, my elbow hurts, and my wrists kill. I pull my one hand finally out. Finally I can stretch my arms, after 22 horrid hours. Rub my wrists, but it stings. I guess I always saw people rub their wrists in movies after removing handcuffs — that’s bull, it hurts too much. The guards don’t care that we’re doing this. Why were we all in handcuffs if we were already locked up?

So, bags of evidence are rushed around as officers call out names, holding photographs of some guys, looking around. They mostly just call numbers. My wrist tag is pretty worn out by now, but I remember my number, 0106. The crazy “fuck the police” guy has exactly 12 stickers on his body with his name. Looks like the police had fun with him. I hear them say “Santos!” That’s Ben’s last name! A few minutes later I see Ben taken down a hallway with his evidence bag. Awesome I think. See you soon buddy!

We’re told we’re being taken straight outside. No processing, no interview, no phone calls. We’re leaving. The officer who was there when we first arrived and made the Auschwitz joke comes back in for his next day of work, sees us and says, “Holy shit, you guys are still here? What the fuck is going on here?” and walks away. A few more guys are taken from our cell, we’re all calling each other brother now, pounding our handcuffed fists and reminding each other of how we’ll stay in touch and to tell everyone what’s happening in here. Then there is a loud steady booming. A rainstorm. The sound fills the entire chasm. Sounds like heavy rain. They finally take the 16-year-old kid.

As time passes I think about what to do when I’m out. Then I hear my name. I almost can’t believe it. 23 hours. Was it over? I answered questions about my date of birth and address. They opened the door and led me away. Around the corner, back through another area to the fabled Otherside.

PART 15: Break on Through to the Otherside.

So, just after the G20 was officially over, just before the legal 24 hours they could hold me, I was being rushed out. Convenient. They found a way to keep 500 legal protesters from their Constitutional rights. In this country. Canada. My shirt feels dirty. When I make it to the Otherside I see signs that let me know I was a Level 2 Detainee and I was heading into Levels 3 & 4.

Inside this hanger, more cages and metal detectors. The L3 area housed small groups of men and women, looking battered, some bleeding. They all made peace signs and told me to tell everyone about them. Down another hall, rows of single person cells. These look like leaders, organizers, many bloody. I see the green mohawk guy. He says “Adios”. I’m then put into another cage with some former cellmates. They tell me not to worry; they are taking us out one by one from here. There is a younger black guy with an awesome baseball cap; an officer asks, “How’d you get to keep that hat?” “Because I look good in it.” he replies smoothly. We all laugh, including the officers. I’m taken out, cuffs cut off and put against a wall to have my photo taken again.

Against the wall I’m told that I was arrested for “breach of peace”, I will not be charged, but if I am arrested for this or a similar crime again, I will be charged and appear in court. Do not join any more protests and assemblies during the G20. “Do you understand these terms?” I said I did. He then said “And the bad news is it’s raining cats and dogs out there. Take him out.” Then, I try to take my jacket from my evidence bag, but am told to head out, don’t stop.

I’m out in the pouring rain, it’s around 9:30pm, still a little light. I’m told to cross the parking lot. There are large gates with a turnstile to the side. GO through the turnstile riot cops tell me. Out I go. A crowd across the street under tarps and umbrellas cheers for me. I see a basket of apples, I eat 4 and gulp a glass of water. Pats on the back. My mind is ablaze, I can’t focus. I don’t see Ben or Kate.

PART 16: Scream.

The detention centre was at Eastern Ave. and Pape. I have no money, no wallet, no phone. My head is aching, my wrists raw, body sore and awake for 43 hours. I walk up Pape to Queen. I have a long walk home to Jarvis/Gerrard. My keys and shoelaces are in a bag. Some people didn’t get their shoes back. Standing in the rain. No shoes. The angry is whelming up inside, my brain is exploding, tears are filling my eyes and I scream and punch the construction wall next to me. How did this happen? Where are my friends? What did I do? Who was in charge in there? I’m crushed, lost and might as have been hit like by a truck.

I make my way finally to a pay phone by a bar. It’s raining and dark. I make a collect call home, Kate answers. She was out around 4pm and told nothing about myself. I have trouble speaking when she asks if I’m okay. I can barely keep it together. I tell her I’m fine. I’m not. She asks if they beat me — I don’t know. I’m standing soaking wet in the rain on a collect call on a payphone with cars whizzing by. It took everything not to fall to my knees. She says take a cab, she’s called my parents and the Legacy’s are worried. Come home. She hasn’t heard from Ben. He’s not answering his phone. I finally hail a cab and fall into it.

PART 17: Homecoming.

I arrive home at 11:00pm. Kate’s waiting outside. We hug and kiss. I’m starving, soaked, thirsty and sore. We go inside, I call my family and my friend Chris. I can’t talk long, I just tell them I’m home and safe. Ben’s mom hasn’t heard from him, he’s not answering his phone. We finally hear from him at 1:00am. They detained him and accused him of being Black Bloc. He was still in a bright yellow shirt from work. Horrible things happened to him and Kate. I peel off my soaking wet Canada Freedom t-shirt. I throw it on the ground and get a lighter. I want to burn it. I don’t. I drink juice, we eat. We’re so sad. Our lives have changed. I was shivering and couldn’t form sentences. A shower. I couldn’t sleep. I had 38 emails. Where are you? My production team for the show I’m directing at SummerWorks wonder where I am, we have things to do. I send brief messages, make a note on facebook. I also notice how many people are raging about the protesters on facebook. Of course, the news is all about burning cop cars and broken windows. Things went exactly as I said when I saw those photos the previous afternoon. Jesus, it worked. Everyone got spoon fed a justification for the 1.2 Billion spent.

NOW:

That’s all true. Think about it. Is this Canada? Do you think this is right? You don’t want to live in a country where this happens. It’s changed my whole outlook and attitude on life. My responsibility to every human being in this world. Plato said, “The Price of Apathy towards public affairs is to be Ruled by Evil Men.” I used that as a tagline for a play I co-wrote and directed in the 2006 Toronto Fringe, called Lifeboat. Back then I felt pretty good that I explored these issues in my theatre work. Now I know it has to be a part of my life. The World needs you. Educate yourself. Your comfort is shame; your looking away kills people. You’re not small. You’re not helpless. You can do something. You have a voice, don’t let them silence you before you even try to speak.

This guy, Dan, was in my cell, he’s gay and was segregated by homophobic police:

 
Think this is bullshit? Fine, stick with the mainstream media, but look what they say:

Read what happened to others in The Toronto Star.

Read what happened to National Post photographers.

The truth is tough from the violence:
http://www.prisonplanet.com/peaceful-protesters-attacked-arrested-while-cop-car-arsonists-left-alone.html

Or is it like this?
http://toronto.mediacoop.ca/blog/oshipeya/3966

Watch an account from a prisoner, jump to 2:20 minutes:

 
Read all the news you and be your own judge:
http://2010.mediacoop.ca/

Charlie Veitch, one of the first activists arrested at the G20 in Toronto, was arrested a second time on Tuesday as he attempted to catch a plane home to England. According to a Toronto Police Service media release (pdf) issued on Tuesday night, Veitch has been charged with impersonating a police officer.

It is to laugh. Or rather, not to.

Here’s video of the incident that’s gotten Veitch, a gifted satirist (especially when he’s on his feet), into trouble. To cut to the chase, scroll forward to the 6:20 mark.

 
In it, he deadpans to a security guard outside Union Station in Toronto that “We’re from British military intelligence, I’m here with the Metropolitan Police, see, so it’s all fully authorized to the highest levels.” As if conflating the military with city cops isn’t absurd enough, he continues: “Have you heard of what an agent provocateur is? Sometimes when there are big demonstrations — I can tell you this because you’re security — they use fake protestors to cause trouble. And we’re here to be those fake protestors.”

My favourite part is: “I can tell you this because you’re security.” Note also that, besides revealing all this to a security guard, he is being videoed by at least two cameras, which would make him the least competent undercover agent in the history of British Intelligence. Or is that the Metropolitan Police?

In the next video, also filmed by pressfortruth.ca, he tells the first actual police officer who approaches him, quite clearly, that he’s “from The Love Police. We’re kind of absurdist, surrealist filmmakers.” That part, mind, is true.

 
The cop goes on to tell one of the the accompanying cameramen that he can’t film (wrong) because they are within five metres of the G20 security fence and the “Public Works Act states that.” Wrong again. It’s telling, though, that the first thing the police want to do is stop the filming.

Eventually Veitch is arrested, not for impersonating an officer, but for failing to provide identification which, he is told, is also a crime under The Public Works Act. Wrong, wrong, wrong. On Tuesday, the Ontario government announced that it never did pass “a secret law that gave police additional power to arrest people during the G20 summit in Toronto,” despite widespread reports to the contrary. And apparently the Chief of Police knew it. Reported Canadian Press: “Asked Tuesday if there actually was a five-metre rule given the ministry’s clarification, Toronto Police Chief Bill Blair smiled and said, ‘No, but I was trying to keep the criminals out.’”

Nice. So in addition to misleading the public, Blair hung his officers out to dry, enforcing a law that didn’t exist. The province insists that no one was arrested under the Act. That will come as news to Charlie Veitch.

We can hope that when Veitch comes before a judge this afternoon, on the impersonation charge, it’s one who has a sense of the absurd, or who at least knows a vexatious and vindictive use of the law when s/he sees one. With hundreds of people inappropriately arrested and still to be processed by the courts, did the Toronto police really need to add one more? If they want to keep charging people, how about the cop who was making up the law as he went when he approached Veitch last Thursday? How about the ones who arrested him under a law that also didn’t exist? Or better yet, their boss, who told them it did? How about the ones who broke the Charter of Rights on the weekend — broke it into a million pieces and then stampeded their horses all over it?

That’s who should be in court today. Not Charlie Veitch.

Update: Veitch was released on bail; court appearance scheduled for August 23rd:

A photojournalist followed and filmed 75 to 100 Black Bloc for 90 minutes and 24 blocks as they rampaged through the streets of Toronto smashing windows and torching police cars while police looked calmly on from several different locations:

 
Why was this rampage allowed to happen? Police say they had already infiltrated a Black Bloc group and knew what to expect, but on Monday night the head of G20 security operations told an incredulous Susan Ormiston on CBC that the police had better things to do than attend to the Black Bloc. So much for “serve and protect” then if you’re not a G20 fence.

The photojournalist is interviewed (above) by Paul Manly, who shot the footage of the three rock-toting police provocateurs at the SPP protests in Montebello back in Aug 2007 and wonders if this is a repeat performance. There’s the question of the abandoned police cruisers and it was only after the rampagers dumped their black gear and dispersed into the crowd that the police attacked the peaceful protesters.

Well, perhaps not all of them dumped their black gear. Below some 20 plainclothes, including a couple of blackclad guys in hoodies, are seen making a run for safety behind a police line. The crazyangry woman who attacks the photographer scampers off with them:

 
After Montebello, we should demand to know exactly what these guys were up to here.

Video to left: Protesters amuse themselves playing with the sirens and lights in two police cruisers inexplicably driven into the crowd and then abandoned in the middle of the street. Calling in to dispatch, making airplane noises on the mike for the crowd, and handing out tickets — it’s all rather jovial.

Kid lights a paper fire on the passenger seat, someone else puts it out, and a short altercation about safety ensues. Another guy writes on the cruiser in green paint: “This is bait, aka a prop.”

Kid on the mike in the cruiser: “For $1.2 billion dollars, thanks for all your photography. This will be on the news tonight justifying the whole event.”

And later when the cars were torched for real it was. But some in the media remember the agents provocateurs at the SPP protest at Montebello.

The Guardian :

Many Canadians have become suspicious of police tactics since the Quebec police force admitted that it had disguised three of its own officers as rock-wielding anarchists in an attempt to provoke violence at a peaceful protest in the town of Montebello two years ago. Somewhat farcically, the three were exposed as agents provocateurs when they were found to be wearing official issue police boots identical to those of the uniformed officers “arresting” them.

“There are concerns that similar skulduggery may have played a part in Toronto this weekend, where the burning of three police cars quickly became the defining image of Saturday’s otherwise peaceful demonstration. Questions are being asked as to why the police chose to drive the vehicles into the middle of a group of protesters and then abandon them, and why there was no attempt to put out the flames until the nation’s media had been given time to record the scenes for broadcast around the world.”

Indeed. The other three parts to this event follow.

Related: From openfile.ca: Contingent of police abandon vehicle

From backofthebook.ca: Widespread police misbehaviour, illegal activity at G20

While mainstream news coverage of the G20 was dominated on Saturday by footage of burning police cars and vandals smashing windows, video of police misbehaviour, breaches of law, and plain old abuse emerged overnight on the internet. I’ve gathered some of it below.

For a more complete picture of the G20 than you’re liable to get from your TV, I recommend the Toronto Media Co-op and the G20 Alt Media Centre, including the latter’s live video feed on UStream. Also streaming live coverage on Saturday was Alternative View Network. Hopefully, it’ll be up and running again today.

On the other hand, you could just settle back and enjoy the NatPost’s Jonathan Kay “On the extraordinary professionalism of Toronto’s G20 police force”. “Doesn’t it tell us something,” he writes, “that, for all the images of violence displayed on TV screens over the last half day, not a single person seems to have suffered any sort of serious injury? On the left-wing web site rabble.ca, the only photo of an injured protestor the editors could find (as of 2:30am Sunday morning) shows someone lifting a band-aid to reveal a mildly scraped thigh.”

Hmm. Kay might want to check the rabble website again, for its story of The Guardian journalist Jesse Rosenfeld, who was beaten by one of Toronto’s extraordinarily professional police officers, then arrested. Or does getting punched in the stomach and elbowed in the back not count as an injury?

Related: G20: Were the burning police cars bait cars?

Police block march at University and Elm (clowns sent in)

Illegal search at Queen’s Park

Police spokesman questioned re arbitrary searches

Police shut down free speech zone