The embattled homeless encampment, in Nashville known as Tent City, which has escaped several shutdown notices from Metro police, was washed away by the floods earlier this month. Most escaped with little more than the clothes on their backs. Reginald "Vegas" Watson, 45, a member of the residents council that helped organize Tent City, told the Tennessean after the floods resided that the camp was uninhabitable.
The property is covered with diesel fuel from a nearby ruptured storage tank and waste from overturned portable toilets.
I don't recall mention of this on CNN.
The following is from Real Changes News.
Submerged beneath the consuming waters
via: The Contributor Newspaper, Nashville, Tennessee
In Tennessee’s recent historic floods, a thriving tent city gets washed away
When Ronnie Smith lost two jobs and a house four years ago, he was left with only one option: Nashville, Tennessee’s largest year-round shelter space, the Nashville Rescue Mission.
Having never been homeless before, Smith struggled to adjust to such a chaotic and crowded environment. When he was finally able to move into an abandoned house with a friend, he felt relieved. But when that friendship dissolved, Smith tried another option: a tent. He spent his evenings setting up camp anywhere he could, often threatened by strangers or told by police to “move along.”
Overcome with the realities of camping alone, Smith headed to the place he had hoped he’d never wind up: Nashville’s Tent City. Having heard bad stories of the city’s largest homeless encampment — drugs, theft, violence — Smith carried his belongings toward the riverside encampment with trepidation.
But when Smith arrived at Tent City in late 2009, he found little confirmation of those rumors. Instead, he discovered something he hadn’t been able to claim in his years on the street: a community. “People were real helpful. They’d even watch out for your stuff when you were gone,” says Smith, one of approximately 140 residents of the camp who, up until the morning of May 2, 2010 when floodwaters completely destroyed the camp, were grateful to be able to call Tent City home.
Before the flood
The Tent City that Smith encountered eight months ago was not the same Tent City that had existed on the banks of the Cumberland River for more than 20 years. Not only had its population grown in that time from a mere handful of residents to over 140, it had also changed from a well-kept secret to a widely-recognized reality, appearing in local newspapers, countless television news stories, a few documentaries and even The Wall Street Journal.
Tent City’s change in exposure goes back to 2006, when then-Mayor Bill Purcell announced that Nashville would begin raising the “quality of life” in its downtown area. To many, the campaign appeared concerned with improving the city’s pleasant feel. Unfortunately, a direct result of this public policy was the criminalization of homelessness in Nashville, and the city’s court and arrest records prove it.
As Tent City grew, so did the Nashville city government’s awareness of it. Police officers showed up at the camp in 2008 and posted notices that the camp would be shut down in a matter of weeks and would therefore need to be cleared of all belongings as soon as possible; anything left standing would be razed and anyone remaining would be arrested. And so, once again, homeless individuals were told to “move along.”
That is, until local churches, advocates and outreach workers stepped in. Offering to clean up the premises, along with paying for dumpsters, port-o-potties and showers — and all while promising to stand face-to-face with any bulldozer that might tear down tents and well-designed wooden homes — Tent City’s allies worked to change the camp’s fate. Their efforts paid off, when word came down from current Mayor Karl Dean that the camp would not be demolished.
Since then, despite occasional and somewhat subtle attempts by the city’s police department to reverse Mayor Dean’s order, Tent City has gone from being a homeless encampment perpetually on the verge of destruction to the closest thing Nashville has to an officially-sanctioned “transitional housing” site. In a city that promised 2,000 units of low-income housing five years ago and has drastically failed to follow through, a place like Tent City remains inevitable.
But because it had grown so rapidly on land owned by the Tennessee Department of Transportation, city officials had no choice but to put a timeline on relocating Tent City. To that end, in February of this year, the Metropolitan Homelessness Commission formed two subcommittees charged with locating an alternative site for the camp.
But, to the shock of its residents, it wasn’t the cold machinery of bulldozers that leveled Tent City; it was the unexpectedly volatile Cumberland River rising over its banks.
“It wasn’t all that unusual”
When Ronnie Smith arose Sun., May 2, to a small but steady stream of water running in front of his tent (a large tarp fastened over a wooden frame), he wasn’t terribly surprised. “It wasn’t all that unusual,” he says. “So I went back to sleep.” When he woke up 15 minutes later, however, with water halfway up his stack of two mattresses on top of two box springs, he began to worry. After a quick glance around his tent at his belongings floating like debris on the surface of the water, he grabbed the only dry items he had time to get: a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. When his feet hit the floor, the water was well above his waistline. Emerging from his tent, he started wading with other residents to higher ground.
One of those other residents was Ruth Simmons, a relative newcomer to Tent City. Waiting to receive word on her disability appeal, Simmons considered it a gift to be able to live there. “It was my home.” Even as the water rose, Simmons says, it didn’t quite sink in what, exactly, was happening. “I was kinda in denial.” Until she stepped outside her tent into waist-high water.
An hour or so later, residents began to gather together on higher ground where they met an outreach minister from a local church, who used a bus to transport residents to a Red Cross Shelter that had just been set up at Lipscomb University. The minister drove two busloads of residents — about 70 people and more than a dozen pets — to the university. Those Tent City residents and approximately 130 other people stayed at the university until May 18. Churches or friends offered most of the remaining Tent City residents temporary shelter. The rest straggled on the edges of the flooded camp until they found someplace else to go.
It had been nearly 100 years since Tennessee had seen anything close to the amount of rain that fell those first three days of May. Close to 18 inches of rain fell in some areas, leaving countless streams, rivers and waterways well above their capacity. Rescuers directed boats down the middle of roads that have never been underwater; homes and businesses were all but submerged; people hung onto trees and cars for dear life.
Ruth Simmons, holding back tears, says that she lost “everything:” her bed, a few bags of clothing, her personal identification, photos of her children and grandchildren. All of it now floats somewhere along the banks of the Cumberland River, while she strains her mind to figure out some way to start again.
The waters recede
For those living in Tent City the future remains especially uncertain. Metro has officially condemned the land on which Tent City stood for so many years; saturated with raw sewage, upturned port-o-potties, diesel fuel and other contaminants, it is no longer a place where humans can live in relative health and peace.
The immediate goal is to locate an alternate site for Tent City. Calls for land in the downtown vicinity have been sent throughout the city, but those calls have yet to be answered satisfactorily. Donations of tents and sleeping bags have, however, been plentiful. The long-term goal is to move the camp to a permanent location before the end of the year.
In the wake of the flood, many Tent City residents have received aid from the Federal Emergency Management Agency. In addition, a number of Tent City residents have been approved for Section 8 housing vouchers. As for the rest, some former Tent City residents have received hotel vouchers that will last for a few weeks, while others will take refuge inside the walls of a handful of area churches.
In the end, Nashville — with its churches, non-profits and government institutions — does not have to stand alongside the very poorest of its displaced flood victims. But there is the city’s slogan: “We Are Nashville.” If those words hold true, then the city’s doors — and its land — may be opened up as a Tent City for Ronnie Smith, Ruth Simmons and the others left with no place to go.
Toronto's winding razor-sharp tipped security walls surrounding the upcoming G20 summit centre certainly have inspired controversy and critiques across the political spectrum.
Behind the immediately pressing story of security checkpoints cutting up downtown Toronto, intrusive CSIS interrogations targeting social justice activists, and a government-driven security atmosphere aiming to intimidate social movements working to challenge the G20, is a corporate-driven narrative of profit by any means.
In Toronto this week, contract workers are putting final touches on the three-metre high and six-kilometre long $5.5 million dollar concrete and metal security fence encompassing the Metro Toronto Convention Centre. Total security bill for the G20 in Toronto and G8 in Huntsville is expected to reach over $1 billion, the most expensive in history. Within and around this armed camp are 20,000 law enforcement officials, 1,000 private security guards, closed circuit TV cameras, military-style checkpoints along with sound and water cannons.
Behind these steel cages is a corporate-driven narrative of profiteering. An open conspiracy that fuses Canadian state security agencies and one of Canada's key multinational corporations, directing millions in public funds towards private accounts.
Montreal-based engineering giant SNC-Lavalin has been awarded the contract for the construction and conceptualization of the militarization of downtown Toronto. SNC-Lavalin's history is global in reach and politically fascinating as a corporation that has quickly moved to seek global contracts in occupied lands with minimal public controversy.
In 2004, SNC Technologies, a subsidiary, secured a deal to manufacture 300-500 million bullets for the U.S. military in the months after the Bush administration launched the "shock and awe" invasion of Iraq. Protests in Toronto targeted SNC-Lavalin's annual general meeting in 2005, bringing attention to the role of Canadian corporations in the U.S. occupation of Iraq. In 2006, SNC-Lavalin dropped the bullet-making division as public critique towards the Iraq arm contract compounded.
SNC-Lavalin is also the largest Canadian private contractor in Afghanistan, working in close co-ordination with the Canadian military in Kandahar. With hundreds of employees in the country, SNC-Lavalin works to develop infrastructure that normalizes the reality of a NATO-lead military occupation, under which torture, poverty, and violence have come to shape contemporary life for many Afghans.
As part of the 3D -- defence, diplomacy, development -- paradigm touted by the Canadian military, in 2009 the corporation was selected to rebuild a major dam on the Arghandab River. Billed as one of Canada's "signature projects," today the $50-million Dahla Dam project in the northern Kandahar province is heading towards a political disaster.
SNC-Lavalin operates directly within the militarized compound of Ahmed Wali Karzai, younger half-brother of Afghani leader Hamid Karzai, and recent paramilitary clashes over the project facing a ballooning budget have forced Canadians guarding the project to flee Afghanistan.
Reports indicate that U.S. investigators are currently probing the possibility that Karzai-linked security officials "may be colluding with insurgents to maximize profits," in securing a "development" project that is on the brink of becoming a national controversy, pointing to blurry lines between corporate interests in Afghanistan, Canadian military activities and interchanging local political alliances, all forces playing politics for greater influence and capital gains within a war zone. Disaster capitalism at ground zero of the first major U.S. military strike point post 9/11.
SNC Lavalin is a direct beneficiary of the global security industry that has been rapidly ballooning in the post 9/11 climate. Private security and engineering contractors have crafted a niche market that relies on escalating conflict and perpetuating fear.
A deliberate manipulation of fear, supported by government and media sound-bytes on terrorism, has meant the mass introduction of mass surveillance systems. An atmosphere that allows countries like Israel to normalize its daily illegal occupation of Palestine, and the U.S. to justify its construction of the anti-migrant U.S.-Mexico border wall, both inherently unjust realities cloaked in security. It has also meant deep pockets for pioneering companies like Boeing and Elbit Systems who produce related security technologies. In the years after 9/11, the U.S. Department of Homeland Security handed out $130 billion to private contractors.
In Toronto, the summit perimeter walls are similarly rooted in post 9/11 security concepts. A security fence that is also a strong ideological reminder of the contradiction of the G20 process: select global leaders having closed-door meetings that exclude voices of dissent, while simultaneously extolling political rhetoric promoting the "free flow of ideas," "removal of barriers," and "global community," language standing in stark contrast to thousands of armed police silencing dissenting voices. Democracy is rooted in dialogue and engagement, not militarization.
In 2009, Barack Obama delivered a major address in Europe, pointing towards nuclear disarmament, advocating that "voices for peace and progress must be raised together," political language pointing to the violent contradiction of advocating for global justice from behind kilometres of razor wire fence as militarized police repel voices advocating for change from the streets.
As the G20 convention centre is shrouded in two tight rows of welded wire, as armed police flank street check points and state-issued photo ID is the only ticket into the Toronto's downtown core, it is clear that security preparations towards the G20 summit, as previously with the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver, are testing limits on security culture in Canada.
Certainly fences are becoming a symbol our era, locally and globally, as security doctrines often conflate terrorism with political protest, walls silencing dissent become politically possible.
CSIS has itself admitted that the risk of "terrorism" is low, hence the tired-old stereotype of "violent anarchists." This has resulted in intrusive CSIS and RCMP interrogations targeting and intimidating social justice activists of all stripes and efforts to demonize protestors in the eyes of Toronto residents. Tips in the G20 Summit Resident Information Guide include not engaging in conversations with protesters.
Currently in Toronto, the main rationale for the $1 billion security apparatus is apparently an incredibly dangerous form of domestic terrorism: protestors.
Over the past decades, countless thousands advocating for global justice have gathered on the streets every year to protest the closed door meetings of both G8 and G20 summits, as global inequalities continues to rise protests have grown; never at these mass convergences has a single protester serious harmed anyone.
It was in Genoa, Italy, at the G8 summit in 2001 when the first lethal gunshot rang out, and Carlo Giuliani, a young Italian anarchist, was shot in the face by Italian police. Giuliani died on that Italian street surrounded by police. In Quebec City, as tens-of-thousands gathered to protest U.S.-driven efforts to establish the hemispheric Free Trade Area of the Americas Agreement (FTAA), street protesters suffered multiple injuries on the part of police, one young activist from Montreal was permanently disabled, a rubber bullet crushing his larynx, forever silencing one voice of dissent in Canada.
Today in Toronto, police rule the day on downtown boulevards, while SNC-Lavalin is laughing all the way to the bank at having perfected the equation between militarization and profit. Mainstream political rhetoric revolving around the G20 remains a surface level discussion on security, silencing real global issues of poverty, war and displacement facing so many throughout the global south.
So the question for those caged within Fortress Toronto is a simple one: will we capitulate to this cultivated culture of fear and the normalization of an Orwellian police state? Today, let us see past the smoke and mirrors of security and join thousands on the streets in the daily struggles against the violence of G20 policies locally and globally.
Harsha Walia is a Vancouver-based writer and activist who is athttp://www.twitter.com/harshawalia. Stefan Christoff is a Montreal-based writer and activist who is at http://www.twitter.com/spirodon