To my fellow inhabitants of the city you supposedly loved:
In the morning, I wish you will remember the smell of acrid smoke from the fires you started and the faces of the people whose cars you destroyed. I hope the tears of the people who work in the places which windows you broke and goods you stole will haunt you.
Tell me what this is for.
You have your democracy, your health care, your education and housing to extents that half the world won’t even dare to dream of. You break apart the worlds of the people you live among for a few short hours of anger and rage, of a riot and something you dare to call fun. You stay to watch like this is entertainment, something to talk about in the morning, complete with pictures for your new album.
I want to know if you can face the mothers of the ones who are stabbed and tell them every word of the stories you mean to gasp over with your friends. And if you can, how you can still see yourself in the light.
Please: If you know someone still downtown, urge them to go home. The busses aren’t running but the SkyTrains are. The SeaBus is still heading to the North Shore. Offer them your place if there is nowhere else for them to go. Don’t let them stay out in this mess of disgrace and regret.