Flashback to the Sixties

I was a teenager in the Sixties. It was the era of protests. Some people protested against war, against abortion, against poverty. Other people protested for student rights, women's rights, and civil rights. There were marches and demonstrations and sit-ins. Some were peaceful; some were not. Some times, there were small groups of people. Other times, like the famous March on Washington, gathered hunderds of thousands of like-minded citizens together. These events were in the news on a daily basis. And these marches and demonstrations and sit-ins changed our society.

As a young person, I watched but never took part in a demonstration or march. I saw the signs and placards, heard the shouts and slogans, but, at that time was too conservative, sheltered, fearful, naieve--or a combination of all these things.

When my daughter was at the University of British Columbia in the Nineties, not only was she in a protest, but her shouting face and upraised arm were prominent in a photo in the Vancouver Sun. I remember feeling proud and a bit fearful at the same time when I saw that picture.

Recently, I had a second chance to stand up and be counted. I took part in a demonstration right here in my hometown, a town of 18,000 people in a northern, rural area. We were protesting the proposal to build a dam seven kilometres southwest of this city. We were protesting because building this dam will mean flooding a valley, destroying good farm land, removing people from their homes, destroying wildlife habitat and fish species. These things are forever.

We gathered at a park in the centre of the city, a group of about 30 people. We had placards and banners, cowbells and whistles. As we marched up the main street, drivers honked their horns and we shouted all the louder, "No Site C! No Site C!" Others took up the cry with "No consultation without the information."

Traffic stopped as we crossed the street, then back again to the other side. Once we reached the main crossroads, we posted groups on each of the four corners so cars approaching from all directions could read our signs.

We were peaceful, but we were not to be deterred. When we entered the hotel where the utility company was holding public stakeholders meetings, the security guard told us that we couldn't go in there, but we responded that it was a public meeting and we were going in.

Once inside the meeting, we lined the room. One of the group had written a protest song specifically for that night's demonstration. He had his guitar and sang the verses, and we all joined in on the chorus. Members of the public applauded as we finished singing and filed out of the room.

I don't know if the protests will change the outcome of the consultation process and prevent what many say is the inevitable, but somehow I think they change those who participate in them. By making our voice heard in this way--a way that is still available to us in this country, we know, whatever the outcome, that we have done our part. We have done our best. We have believed enough in something to stand up and be counted.

We have tried to make this world a better place.