Crash in the Community

This week, someone was flying up the street near where we live and work at highway speeds. I am so glad none of us were driving or walking or biking at the accident scene—and that someone’s vehicle ended up nicking the back of this speeding truck and putting him out of commission instead of being T-boned himself. Other high-speed chases ending in our neighbourhood have not had such a positive outcome. I feel angry that the actions of people trying to evade police put innocent people at risk—people in my community.

My husband was so close to the accident on Monday night that he heard the boom and crunch and ran out from the basement of our photography studio, wondering if his building had been hit. He saw the wreckage and the bloody driver lying on the street. He saw the police on scene immediately—gang unit and all manner of squad cars. He grabbed his camera and some shots and called to let me know he wouldn’t be home for supper as he was blocked in, and that he had some photos he needed to send in to some news desks. He heard the story of the couple who might’ve been hit if they hadn’t heard the sirens and gotten off the street.

I’ve been reading and watching some of the coverage of the incident. So far, it seems the focus has been on gathering the details of what happened and alluding to the gang angle. And of course, speaking of how fortunate the mother and kids were not to be in the living room at the time of the shooting that preceded the chase. If more commentary is added, I hope it will include the human element without sensationalizing it. People were going about their ordinary lives when someone trying to escape the law sped through a stop sign at 100 km/h or more, but mercifully ended up only seriously hurting himself and the stolen truck he was driving. I wonder how the man responsible for putting an end to the chase feels about his brush with almost-certain death and the one who nearly caused it. My kids wonder why the guy wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. Maybe he will next time—although I hope there is no next time of this nature. Maybe this nineteen-year-old will realize he’s not invincible. Maybe he'll realize this isn't the movies and real lives are at stake, including his own.

Today, I’m thankful my husband was inside and not backing out of the driveway to come home for a late supper. I’m thankful he was able to use his expertise to help bring the story to Winnipeg. I just hope the focus of the ongoing story will include the everyday lives of people in our community who work hard and live simply. People with children. People with skills. I hope it’s not a one-dimensional story that makes the North End look like one big problem. I guess we’ll watch and find out.

Down in the Dumps

Ever since we bought our first house in West Kildonan, we’ve had a dumpster in the back alley.  We’ve felt very fortunate to take our garbage out whenever we need and not worry about missing garbage day.  These bins are so efficient and convenient.  Unfortunately, they are too convenient.  Pick-up trucks drive by and conveniently dump construction waste, yard waste, and household furniture and belongings into the bins.  

This morning, the bin was piled high as usual, with all manner of things, as if the contents of an unsuccessful garage sale had been transferred there.  It was smelly and full of flies (none of our dumpsters have lids as they were melted in dumpster fires).  I looked over to a neighbouring bin and it was piled even higher and overflowing. 

I know that short-notice evictions happen.  Occasionally, someone on my block might buy a new couch or mattress.  But the amount of furniture, clothing and household items that end up in every dumpster down our alley would dictate that we all get rich or evicted every week.  And that just isn’t the case.

What is the solution?  For awhile, I was a vigilante who chased away trucks that looked unfamiliar or tried to take down license numbers and report them. At best, it moved the problem down the lane (and I have better things to do).  When the city didn’t seem to take action, the idea of direct retaliation became tempting (slashing tires, spray-painting truck boxes, and dumping rotting material into the cab all come to mind when the frustration mounts).  But those types of reaction are not going to promote personal safety or be viewed favourably by the justice system.

So what do we do?  Continue to watch helplessly as our bins invite flies and budding arsonists, and our back alley is taken over by ugliness?  It is depressing to walk down our alley and see the garbage overflowing.  I didn’t fully realize how others view our community until talking with a near-retired neighbour just today.  He recounted how he spotted three young people (with jobs, they pointed out) unloading their truck into our dumpster and confronted them.  The conversation went like this: “You can’t throw your garbage in there—you need to take it to the dump”.  To which came the reply, “What do you mean?  This is the dump.”

If that is the attitude we are fighting, perhaps a media campaign would help.  If enforcement is the problem, is video surveillance the answer?  Something like mobile photo radar?  With a ticket worth $5000, the city should jump at the chance to bring in revenue.  Maybe the only answer is to get rid of the dumpsters altogether.  I’ve heard that’s in the works anyway.  Which is sad.  It’s a shame that such an efficient garbage removal system be trashed.

Meantime, maybe I’ll get creative.  Plant some flowers.  Use some humour.  Maybe paint a sign on my already-pink dumpster that says, “Don’t throw your junk in my backyard—my backyard’s full”.