REFUGEE

In the middle of an unusually warm Sunday afternoon in the heart of Toronto, a large man with a scowl on his face went strolling along Queen Street, wearing a newish-looking blue dress and a large, matching sun hat, the sort once favoured by the Queen Mother.

What gave the spectacle particular charm, apart from the novelty of a hefty male in a bright new dress, was the utter absence on the man’s face of any sign that he knew he was up to something unusual. Other strollers, who took pains to hide their giggles, could have saved themselves the effort: the linebacker in the party frock was oblivious.

Elsewhere, at about the same time, George Smitherman was notifying his boss, Premier Dalton McGuinty, that he was quitting cabinet to run for mayor of Toronto. Smitherman, a burly type not unlike the man in the dress, has wanted to run the city for some time. He is not without self-regard: “I’m putting my lofty title and job on the line. A native son is coming home to serve,” he declared in revealing his decision.

Whether or not anyone can actually run Toronto is the question. Here’s what was going on Saturday, the day before Smitherman made his announcement:

Across the street from Dundas Square, the big open gathering spot carved out at the corner of Yonge and Dundas, a man clad only in boots and green underwear was riding a unicycle that was about twice as tall as he was. The crowd watching him as he told jokes and juggled swords spilled off the sidewalk into the street, further obstructing the single lane of traffic that was already backed up for blocks, thanks to lane closures caused by the fact the sidewalk was being re-paved.

It would have made sense for the man in the underwear to take his act to Dundas Square, since that was presumably the point of building it, but the square was closed (and guarded) for 500 people assembling for a charity walk, accompanied by a sqaudron of police on bicycles, for which an additional lane of Yonge Street was blocked to traffic. The effect, predictably, was gridlock in several directions.

The marchers set off north to another street that was closed for repairs, headed east to Church Street, an important artery that has been torn up for blocks for work on the streetcar tracks, where they spilled into the only southbound lane still open, driving one lonely motorist into a screaming match with not one but two police officers, one in a car and the other on a bike.

Everywhere the marchers went, weaving back and forth across the commercial core, intersections were blocked, traffic was halted, patience was tested.

Outside The Bay, near City Hall, a set of anti-fur protesters had gathered, shouting at passing cars and wielding gory photos of butchered animals. Over on University, a large group of Tamils lined another sidewalk, shouting slogans and waving Tamil Tiger flags at the U.S. consulate across the street. They displayed maps showing the area of Sri Lanka they want as a homeland, apparently unaware that the battle ended months ago, and they lost. Another big squad of police faced them from the opposite sidewalk, though they appeared to be guarding a film shoot in the building beside the consulate, rather than the consulate itself. Another film shoot was apparently taking place near Richmond St., where traffic lanes (again) were blocked to make way for the trailers. Someone had called some fire trucks, which were blocking the remaining lanes. (The next morning they erected a huge crane with sprinklers located at the top, which sent “rain” pouring down while actors scurried around beneath umbrellas. They closed the road to make it easier.)

The Tamils chanted for hours, then marched off down Queen Street accompanied by police, who blocked all traffic to make way.
All this going on at the same time, within a few blocks of the commercial heart of the city. As theatre it was captivating. As entertainment it was great. In terms of order or efficiency it was nuts. Anyone hoping to get anywhere, other than on foot, was kidding themselves. Any poor sap dumb enough to drive downtown hoping to penetrate beyond the perimeter was to be pitied, or ridiculed. It was only going to get worse later when the hockey game began, various concerts got underway and the streets were given over to nightlife.

The bill for policing this must be astronomical. No wonder the city is going broke. It was also clear that city council’s obsession with bike lanes and public transit is an act of mercy meant to save inhabitants from the constant circus obstructing any normal means of transportation. Cars have no status in this city -- none. On council’s list of priorities, they rank below Tamils, fur protesters, charity marchers, men in green underwear, sidewalk-pavers, movie shoots, artificial rain-makers and possibly even the dour-looking guy in the blue dress.

If George Smitherman thinks he can do anything but watch this in awe and amazement, here’s to him. David Miller used to think so too.