Meet the Protest Groups at the Vancouver Olympics

This article was produced in collaboration with The Tyee, where it originally appeared.

Nobody saw them coming. Not event organizers. Not police. Certainly not the afternoon's emcee, Renee Smith-Valade, as she readied hundreds of cheering voices for a booming crescendo. Instead, "Fuck 2010!" exploded from mounted loudspeakers across the north lawn of the Vancouver Art Gallery. A startled Smith-Valade rocked from the physical impact of a hooded Olympics protester with a black bandana stretched across his face.

"Where are the police?" she wondered out loud. Cops grabbed the microphone-snatcher fast. They dragged away his comrade in the Detroit Tigers cap. Five more arrests followed. The event went on despite shouts and jeers from dozens of remaining protesters. A white veil dropped to reveal the cedar, glass and stainless steel Olympics clock, ticking down three years until Feb. 12, 2010. Police were shaken, and vowed to get tougher. A new, more aggressive era of Olympics protest had begun.

With the opening ceremonies of Vancouver's Games now less than two weeks away, a city waits and wonders. What will happen on downtown streets when home-grown activists, civil society crusaders, out-of-town idealists and native naysayers meet $900 million worth of security?

The Tyee recently chatted at length with four Olympics resistors, each the spokesperson for a unique culture of dissent. Conversations revealed a vibrant movement, nearly as diverse as the city it's tied to. The following is a 2010 protest primer.



Civil Society: Big dreams, empty promises



Am Johal stops just short of calling himself naïve between sips of Italian coffee on Vancouver's bustling Commercial Drive. "The frustrating thing is there's a big disconnect between the bidding process and the actual moment the organizing committee gets set up," he says.

Johal has arguably the longest tenure of any 2010 Games critic. He was at the table in 2002 when the Bid Corporation and its government partners drafted a list of 37 social legacy promises, a first in Olympics history. As leader of the Impact on Communities Coalition (IOCC), Johal proposed a new model for mega-events. One where civil society leverages public funding and global attention for social gain. He shook hands with politicians and helped shape civic policy.

In the years since Vancouver's winning 2003 bid, Johal's felt like a dinner guest demoted to the children's table. Regime changes in civic, provincial and federal government diminished his political influence. Consultations with Olympics organizers produced sparkly reports and little follow-through. The city's homeless numbers more than doubled while the IOCC struggled to remain relevant.

"There were times where I thought, 'Wow, civil society does not exist in Vancouver,'" Johal says. It's now too late to get action on many of the 37 promises that fed his organizing verve. The International Olympics Committee likened them to religious commitments last year -- nice but intangible.

Still, civil society leaders have faith. They want Stephen Harper's Conservative government to swear by Bill C-304, a national housing strategy which could be debated as early as March. That urgency propelled a recently-announced Pivot Legal Society plan to fast-track 500 bright red tents to Vancouver's homeless.

Johal himself will lead a housing demonstration on Feb. 20. It's expected to be one of the major protest events of the month. He dreams of a bi-partisan citizen lobby lasting beyond the Games, emboldened by global media exposure and Olympics adrenaline.

"Imagine," he says, "if we could have a robust enough movement so we actually set the political agenda. I think that would be really exciting."