Remember when sticking daisies in riot policemen’s guns used to at least be, you know, original?
Vietnam War Protesters, 1967 (Bernie Boston)
Could all that “postmodern irony” actually just be “laziness”?
Toronto G8 Protests, 2010
And am I the only one who thinks this guy should be waving a rolled-up copy of Captain Marvel, instead?
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Of course, there isn’t anything particularly funny about forcing Canadian taxpayers to pony up 1.2 billion dollars so that super-hip anarchists in trendy riot-wear can make social statements like this one:
Anarchist Liberates Name-Brand Consumer Electronics
Or this:
Anarchist Teaches Chicken Fascists Who’s Boss
Just in case you’ve forgotten the unique funk of filthy hippies, here’s a picture that will bring it all back:
Dried Sweat, Old Patchouli, Dirty Toes, Clove Ciggies?
At least his mother doesn’t have to worry about him ending up in the hospital wearing dirty underwear.
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Of course, the police in Toronto are taking heat from the Left for being, you know, fascist defenders of Starbucks, family-owned chicken places, phone sales kiosks, and the multinational leadership of the G8 (though I imagine not one in ten protesters could explain precisely why they pitch these G-8 tantrums).
And the cops are also taking heat from the Right for failing to prevent the torching of police cars and looting.
But what the heck are they supposed to do? Nobody should be criticizing the police. All responsibility lies with the Québécois anarcho-buffoons who planned and incited the violence, risking police lives — while the police struggled to protect the protesters’ safety. Talk about insult to injury. We’ve tied police hands with citizen’s reviews, and threats of lawsuits, and irresponsible media accusations, and this is the consequence: Mom and pop fried chicken, you’re out of luck.
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I don’t know why they bother to hold G-8 events in cities with lots of vulnerable storefronts and lots of local anarcho-political types whose personal life choices demand hip shopping districts and vegan restaurants for chilling out in after a long day of showing up The Man.
Why encourage the protesters by making it easy to take to the streets and be home in time for lattes and clubbing? Most “anarchists” who show up at these things don’t have the attention span to travel long distances, especially when the destination is extremely un-hip.
Remember when they held the G-8 on Sea Island, off the Georgia coast, near St. Simons Island and the sleepy shore town of Brunswick, GA?
Remember how 200,000 protesters were expected, and some 300 perplexed and sweaty anarchos actually woke up early enough to get there, only to be greeted by disinterested locals and crabby reporters who’d had to start the day without their Starbucks, because there are no Starbucks to loot in Brunswick?
Remember how the handful of protesters resorted to beating up a cameramen because there was literally nobody else around?
Brunswick, Georgia, 2004. Behind This Tiny Meleé: Nothing.
I lived in St. Simons Island for a little more than a year. So I can say with some authority that the protesters were absolutely correct when they whined that the G-8 organizers had outwitted them by holding the conference on an inaccessible island near a humongous federal law enforcement training center, surrounded by unbearably humid, mosquito-and-alligator infested marshes.
Yes, they did. Outwit them.
So, for the sake of municipal budgeting and police sanity, why not pick similar places for future G-8s? How about Crawford, Texas, where President Bush has his ranch and town-people are experienced in hosting the media while ignoring screeching loonies?
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Meanwhile, nobody ought to waste a single breath critiquing police response at the G-8 riots in Toronto or the Lakers riots in Los Angeles last week. Hands tied firmly behind their backs, the police did what they could do to minimize and contain hordes of violent thugs acting out with premeditated violence — while the protesters and the media shoot pictures of each other and point fingers at the police the moment anyone gets hurt.
G-8 Protests, 2009: A Hundred Pictures Worth a Single Word
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