I think it may be time to take a news vacation as I
sit here in the deceptively calm paradise of the Almaguin Highlands,
overlooking our little lake from the comfort of our upstairs porch. Back in the
80s, before I met Shauna, I used to come up to Toronto relatively frequently, to
attend concerts and theatrical productions, and simply to hang out in one of
the world’s best cities. Back then there was relatively little crime in Toronto,
certainly in comparison to many of the big cities in the U.S.A. Toronto had
many of the cultural benefits of New York City but was much safer and cleaner.
Well, thirty years later things have changed and Toronto is catching up to the
rest of the world. A few months ago there was the deadly van attack on Yonge
Street, not far from where my mother-in-law lives, which killed or injured a
number of innocent pedestrians. Recently, there have been a slew of deadly
shootings in the downtown core, and just last night, there was a mass shooting
on the Danforth in Greek Town, not far from where Shauna and I used to live.
While the news is still trickling in on this latest attack, so far there are
two casualties, and thirteen people were shot. I always felt safe
walking around on the streets of Toronto, but now, when I walk around the city,
I’m wary.
It’s strange, because I grew up in a relatively
dangerous city. Per capita, there was more gun violence in Buffalo than there
ever was in Toronto. I myself had been mugged twice, and I knew that there were
certain neighborhoods I just needed to avoid. That said, I became numbed to the
violence about which I was apprised every night on Channel 7 News at Eleven. When, in 1994, I moved up to Toronto (which was at the time relatively crime free), I became more sensative to every violent act. Slowly over the past 20 + years, I
have watched as the gang graffiti began to litter the bridges, buildings, and
subway trains. There have been about 280 shootings in Toronto since the
beginning of this year, and it seems like gun violence is escalating in the city.
The guy who shot all those people on the Danforth last
night was mentally ill. There’s a lot of that going around these days, and it’s
almost impossible to tell who the ticking time bombs are. There's usually a reason why people go off, but we always seem to find out after the violent act. Maybe it’s a crazier
world than it was; there just seem to be a lot of mentally unbalanced people
roaming around. Regrettably, procuring a gun does not seem to be a problem.
About two years ago, I wrote a song about denial, and about
how I process traumatic events. It is a loosely strung together group of experiences
from my past, and it begins with the first time I ever saw an adult in emotional
distress (it was not a milkman by the way). I think I live in denial to survive, ignoring much of the pain and suffering that goes on around me. These days, every time I watch some catastrophe on the news, I wonder what I would have
done, what I should do. Would I be a hero, or a more likely, the coward?
I saw the Milkman he was crying
Right outside my cellar door
I think those preacher men been lying
Nothing makes sense to me anymore
So I bury my head, bury my head, bury my head in the
sand.
Bury my head, bury my head, bury my head in the sand
Don’t want to bury my head, bury my head, bury my head
in the sand.
- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED
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