Photo : Blaine Campbell, courtesy Artspeak, Vancouver
In Vancouver on the evening of February 24, 2010, Canada thumped Russia in Olympic hockey to advance to the semifinals, effectively putting them back into medal-winning contention after a lacklustre start to the games. Throngs of people spilled out into the streets, jovial and exuberant. Strangers high-fived each other, men broke out into the national anthem, people donned flags over their shoulders, and faces were painted with a red maple leaf. Above the din of the crowds, the sound of helicopters circled like duelling mosquitoes, a telling sign of the massive police presence in the city.
Moving through the crowds was exhilarating and frightening; at any moment, something could go awry. After all, the difference between parade and protest, street party and riot, is a thin social line. In the midst of the cacophony came another sound from a nearby sport field: seven individuals in matching black uniforms with loudspeakers called out alternating cheers and chants. Straddling known forms of exclamatory public expression, their presence was deliberately ambiguous. Were they fans, security, or protesters?
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