Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Love story

When I came to Canada more than twenty years ago, it was April. In May I fell in love. The sun was bright, the air was fresh, spring was exploding with bright green leafs and colorful flowers, people were gentle and understanding. I had a lot to learn - a language, customs, ways of thinking, and I was happy and thrilled to do so. I went through my share of odd jobs. I payed my dues. I did not complain much. I was grateful.

When Sebastian was diagnosed, my world was turned up side down and inside out. But I still was thinking Canada is a good country, full of good people. And I have met many of them in my time of need.

When I started protesting I was still quite naive. Now I have been watching who is coming to Queen's Park to protest, how each group is treated by officials and media, and I can clearly identify the oppressed. The oppressors are hiding somewhere safely, behind their desks, and are using all their wits and position to bring themselves the most profit or power or both.

Like my friend told me, in this system the weak and undesirable are not being killed, they are being exploited or left to die instead. Or left without available therapy like autistic children or cancer patients. Or left without safe drinking water supplies on reserves. Children are dying and being abused while under the care of Children's Aid and nobody has paid any attention to the problem for decades - this is also Canada.

It hurts somehow.

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