In this issue
In a year of “unprecedented times,” the world didn’t split apart in ways that were terrifying and new. It cracked along familiar seams, over and over again.
In the middle of a pandemic, with multiple crises devastating their community, Nanook Gordon and Brianna Olson Pitawanakwat started a grassroots organization to bring compassion, aid, and culture to Indigenous people on Toronto’s streets.
For the last year, seven days a week, I’ve woken up to post the province’s COVID numbers. It turns out people don’t want data—they want someone to tell them how this all ends.
My father believed that biking was a way to strengthen our communities. In this strange and sorrow-filled year, I’ve tried to follow his path.
When COVID-19 leaked into my children’s make-believe games, I worried they were being traumatized. Maybe I’ve been looking at it the wrong way.
As the months stretched on and days became meaningless, I did the natural thing—turned to 800-page novels and 15-hour German movies just to feel the passage of time in all its punishing slowness.
Derrick Black, one of the original residents of the Moss Park encampment, survived a year of confrontations with the city, police raids, and extreme weather in his fight for permanent housing. His story in his own words.