My sister kidded that maybe I should consider being a journalist instead, since I keep running into the Occupy movements as I move around. We chanced upon Occupy Toronto on a drive downtown, and we literally walked into an Occupy protest march while in Montreal.
The one campsite that I did deliberately flock to was the mother of the movement — the Occupy Wall Street base in Zuccoti Park. I had to see it for myself. Perhaps more than anything, there was this intense desire to witness why these men and women, who had the sheer luck to be born in an affluent nation, have grown so discontent that they had to take to the streets. Shameful it might be to admit, but having grown up in a third world country that has more or less given up in expecting any sort of productivity from its own government, I guess I sort of felt smug. I was genuinely puzzled, and I had this need to understand how protestors on this side of the world felt and what they had to say. Continue reading Crossing Paths with Occupy Wall Street