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I’ve just discovered why I got stopped by the cops for no reason while walking through the Downtown Eastside last month. Turns out it’s all part of the plan — specifically, the Vancouver Police Department’s 2009 Business Plan:

[There is] a “target” in that plan to increase bylaw ticketing in the Downtown Eastside by 20 per cent to “improve livability by reducing street disorder.”As part of their duties, each cop walking the beat will do a “minimum of four street checks” of pedestrians on every block.

… [T]he B.C. Civil Liberties Association and a number of organizations representing people with AIDS complain that this latest police crackdown will simply drive the most vulnerable people in the area further away from health care and cause them to engage in more risky behaviour, including shooting up with used needles.

… The draft plan landed on the police board agenda and was made available to the public on Jan. 21. But the police actually began their latest ticketing exercise two months earlier, conveniently timed to hit the streets while Sam Sullivan was heading out the door and [Gregor] Robertson and his crowd were making plans to move in.

Looks like I was right: to the cops, simply being in the DTES is suspicious behavior. They can’t seem to do anything about the current wave of gang-related violence, but when it comes to harassing poor people, you can rely on Vancouver cops to get the job done.

And don’t expect our new and improved City Council to do much about it. When Vancouverites think about police crackdowns on poor people, we tend to think of Project Civil City, an initiative of former mayor Sam Sullivan. For those who thought that things would change now that Gregor Robertson and Vision Vancouver are in charge at City Hall, please take a closer look at the article I linked to above. It’s clear that Robertson and Vision are all over the VPD’s odious new business plan.

You can download the VPD business plan here.

Two hours ago I was walking home through Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside. The DTES is Canada’s poorest postal code, crammed full of impoverished folks (many with addiction or mental health issues) living in appalling conditions. It’s not particularly dangerous if you’re just passing through and not bothering anyone, but there are always a lot of cops around because they always have plenty of excuses to hassle the locals.

Sure enough, as I was walking along with my hands in my pockets and a newspaper under my arm, a cop car pulled to a stop on the street beside me. One of the cops inside said, “Hey.” I responded, “Hey,” and kept walking. But they flashed their lights and got out of the car, so I stopped to talk to them.

One of the cops asked what I was doing and I said I was going home. He asked if I was from around here and I told them I live in the West End. Then he asked for my ID. I asked why and he said they were “looking for someone.” I didn’t like it, but I didn’t want to cause any trouble and I knew cops are dangerous when their authority is questioned, so I handed over my old but valid out-of-province driver’s license. (That was my second mistake, and it went against my better judgement. My first mistake was answering their questions in the first place. Don’t talk to cops.)

The cop got back in the car to look me up. While he was doing that, I struck up a conversation with his partner — another mistake, really, but it turned out to be for the best. This second cop was a rookie, still in training; he’d only been on the streets for about a week and a half. As a result, he was friendly and naive and didn’t have the usual cop demeanor. He even smiled when I showed a personal interest in him.

“What do you think of the job so far?” I asked him.

His face lit up. “I like it. It’s been pretty fun.”

“What do you think your partner would have done if I hadn’t handed over my license?”

“I don’t know. He’s kind of tough.”

“Why do you figure he stopped me?”

“He’s been around this neighborhood for a while and he didn’t recognize you.”

The first cop was still trying to look me up, so I got out my cell phone, called an anarchist friend of mine who I’d left at a bus stop ten minutes earlier, and told him what was going on — not so much because I was worried as out of sheer amazement that this was actually happening, and because I knew my friend would be very interested indeed. And I was right: he was angry that I’d been asked for ID for no reason, asked if we were living in a fascist country (we aren’t, yet), and reminded me of my rights. I already knew them, of course. (Note for people living in Canada: you don’t have to talk to the cops. If they stop you, ask if you’re being detained. If you are, ask why; if not, you’re free to go. If you’re under arrest, you have to identify yourself, but you still don’t have to answer any other questions.)

As I was hanging up, the first cop got out of the car and asked if I had any BC ID. I said I didn’t (“You don’t drive?” “No.”), and he gave me back my license and asked me once again where I live. I repeated, “The West End.” He asked for my address, but I was tired of cooperating, so I responded, “Am I being detained?”

Cops don’t give a straight answer to that one. This one acted surprised and said, “I’m just asking you some questions. Do you know why we wanted to talk to you?”

I told him what his partner had told me. I almost felt bad about it, because I knew the rookie would be getting in trouble for giving the game away like that.

“That,” the cop said, “and we’re looking for someone who matches your description.”

“What, a guy with a beard and a hat?”

“And glasses, and a blue jacket,” he added, as if those two extra details mattered — it still fit dozens of other people I’d seen in the last ten minutes. “I take it you won’t be answering any more questions?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

I explained that I don’t like it when cops stop me and ask to see my ID for no reason, and asked if I was free to go. He told me I was, so I got his badge number (I didn’t bother with the rookie) and left.

I was lucky. I wasn’t carrying ID with my current address, and I don’t have anything on my record anyway, nor did I have anything in my possession that might have gotten me into trouble. (The laptop with the Community Watch Area: Police Not Welcome sticker was at home.) Also, I’m white and I don’t look especially poor. Under different circumstances, the encounter could easily have turned into a disaster.

Still, I wish I had exercised my rights from the beginning. I was doing nothing wrong — unless simply being in the DTES is suspicious behavior (and for the cops, it probably is) — and the rookie’s comments made it clear that they weren’t actually stopping me for any particular reason, except to demonstrate their authority over the people they claim to serve and protect.

Remember when “Ihre Papiere, bitte” was a criticism of totalitarian states?

So about an hour ago, I was waiting for a bus on Robson Street in downtown Vancouver, on my way home from dinner with some friends. A cop car drove by, then turned around in the nearest alley and pulled up to the curb maybe ten feet down from the bus stop. There was a homeless guy sitting outside the 7-11 there, quietly asking for change; the cop in the passenger seat rolled down his window and called the homeless guy over.

Being a civil libertarian, I watched the conversation with interest. (I didn’t get too close, though — those guys are dangerous.)

After exchanging a few words, the cops handed the guy a piece of paper and told him to get lost. He grabbed his backpack and stormed off angrily down Granville Street. I caught up to him afterwards and asked him if they had given him a ticket, and indeed they had. BC has a law which, among other things, prohibits panhandlers from asking for change within 5 metres of a bank machine. There was an ATM inside the 7-11, and even though the homeless guy was more than 5 metres away from it, he was close enough for Vancouver’s finest.

The penalty? A $115 fine. Which, if you’re sitting on the street asking for money, is obviously way more than you can afford.

Naturally the cops were grinning at each other as they drove off.