Candlelight vigils were held.
“This is day seven,” said a Latina woman on her live video. “Me and my kids live in a high-rise on the twelfth floor. No electricity. No elevator. Water flooded the ground floor and below. We hoped these people in their big houses would have opened their doors to us by now, but we’ll have to settle for dry ground to sleep on. We’re just gonna take this day by day.”
The Others sang throughout the night, hoping to turn the tide. Instead, the police were called and they were forced to disperse.
A reporter shot a walk-and-talk segment, with her videographer steadily shuffling backwards to follow her movements along a muddy city street. “According to the Toronto Police Service, early this morning, two men have been charged with aggravated assault against a police officer,” she said before gesturing to a series of broken windows. “And instances of looting at grocery stores continue to be rampant. The special task force, the Boots, has joined first responders by handing out much-needed supplies and rebuilding our devastated city.” She timed the end of her phrase with her arrival at a Boot who was handing out blankets to a lineup of citizens. “The police chief urges those displaced to honour the laws and allow city services to respond.”
By the fall, the floods subsided; the Others returned to mildewed, rotting homes and high-rises with dysfunctional elevators. The privileged were finally left alone. The city tried to operate as a soggy version of itself, but the exhaustion from the crisis soon turned to rage.
Over the course of three days, climate activists donned cheap yellow rain boots and began marching in a large circle at Toronto City Hall, spanning all of Nathan Phillips Square. News outlets captured drone footage of hundreds of Others stomping around the expansive urban plaza in the demonstration’s signature yellow boots.
“Toronto the Good, I see you for who you are!” a climate activist said over a megaphone. “If there was any sign of racism, if there was any sign of religious, gender and class bias in this city, the flood showed it ALL!” The crowd responded with “Shame! Shame! Shame!”
The yellow boots appeared in Ottawa, the nation’s capital. This time clustered in front of the Parliament building. “Shame! Shame! Shame!” From Vancouver on the west coast to Halifax in the east, the Others in their yellow boots shut down transit stations, blocked roadways and staged sit-ins. “Shame! Shame! Shame!”
To offset media coverage of climate activists calling for governmental accountability, Prime Minister Marshall Pollack launched a two-pronged campaign. One side of his jowly mouth urged Canadians to band together in the face of environmental disaster, while the other spoke about issues of national security in the presence of groups he classified as extremists, bogus refugee claimants, illegal immigrants and sexual deviants.
“It is the nature of these instigators that they target us when we are the most vulnerable, when this nation is treading water, while claiming to stand for equality. This is not the time for people to ‘Other’ themselves by declaring the importance of their so-called identity. This is a national emergency! We cannot waste our valuable time and energy on protecting Others. Covering women as if they are in ancient times is a choice that True Canadians have a right to dispute. Jumping the line into our beautiful nation instead of going through the proper protocol is a choice that True Canadians have a right to dispute. Presenting yourself in a way that is deceitful to those around you is a choice that True Canadians have a right to dispute. These Others think they can distract us by demanding their rights. We are not fooled by their rhetoric. We know better than to believe that the needs of Others override the needs of True Canadians,” Pollack said at a press conference celebrating the erection of a new landmark in Ottawa. “Today is a celebration of all that this country holds dear: teamwork, positive thinking and a vision for the future. Through our work, our nation prospers. Through our unity, we end conflict. Through my leadership, we find peace. Through order, we find tranquility.” He gestured dramatically behind him and two stagehands pulled ropes to reveal a statue. The cast iron sculpture was of a dinghy, with waves licking its underbelly. Inside the boat were hopeful passengers: a father, a son, a mother holding a baby. All of them were frozen with their arms reaching up and smiling at an angel in mid-air. The cameras clicked. The audience applauded.
In Toronto, once the colder months hit, the white “True Canadians,” from laid-off pencil-pushers to small-business owners whose shops had been vandalized by the hungry, considered their options. Instead of lining up for limited supplies, they joined the Boots, who offered free room and board.
“Through our work, our nation prospers. Through our unity, we end conflict,” they recited before demanding IDs from citizens on the street, their eyes scanning all points of suspicion: clothing, skin colour, mobility, gender expression. “Through our leader, we find peace. Through order, we find tranquility,” they recited before dividing up supplies found in the homes of Others. It was easy to believe the creed when they were fed and warm.
White folks whose attachment to their upper-class comfort outweighed their desire to speak out against injustice watched the Renovation unfold and did nothing. They were the ones who chose to draw their curtains and turn up the volume on their televisions while Others were patted down outside their windows.
White folks whose sensitivity to injustice outweighed their attachment to their own comfort covertly joined the Resistance. They were the ones who considered how to leverage their access to supplies and information.
Those who straddled the line between being Others and being wealthy tried their best to steer away from conflict but soon realized that they were not immune to the demoralizing effects of a Boots checkpoint. Whether they drove a Lexus or rode a bicycle, Others were stopped and questioned. Whether they carried an Hermès purse or a plastic bag, Others’ belongings were searched and often confiscated. With what little dignity they had left, they quietly coordinated passage out of the country.
By December, the Renovation was in full swing, and the international community, dealing with environmental crises of their own, from hailstorms to droughts, watched and did nothing. In the months that followed, Liv spent her days leading Others into hiding and her evenings toasting Charles’s success.
Tonight, things were different. He wanted to meet at her house on Homewood Street. Liv was touching up her makeup in the washroom, her stomach clenched as she thought of me in her basement. Under the harsh vanity light she delicately placed concealer on the bruise near her cheekbone using staccato dabs with her ring finger.
“Gary told me it’s probably best to put my house up for sale in the fall,” she called out to Charles in the bedroom. “That gives me enough time to focus on the wedding, then stage the house and do some minor renovations. It may mean we’ll have two homes for a bit. But he says it’s worth the return on investment.” There was a long pause.
Finally he said, “Hey, where were you this afternoon? It took you forever to text me back.”
Liv gulped before answering calmly. “Wedding planning. Oh, and another appointment with my gynecologist. You know . . . woman problems.”
“Ugh. Say no more.”
She didn’t want him to question her whereabouts any longer. It had been a busy day of relocating Others, disseminating information.