As racialized communities in Canada know well, cracking down on protesters by police is not new

This column is an opinion by Hamilton-based writer Sarah Adjekum. For more information about CBC's Opinion section, please see the FAQ.

For those who have never faced an encounter with police, the images in Ottawa last weekend may have seemed shocking. But cracking down on protesters is not new. Police and government response in Canada to Indigenous and Black-led causes has historically been heavy-handed, and prompt — leaving Indigenous people and racialized Canadians to wonder why this protest went largely unencumbered for several weeks. 

We know this first hand in Hamilton, where calls from a growing list of organizations, community leaders, and even some elected officials continue for charges to be dropped against encampment activists and for a judicial inquiry into the actions of police from incidents in November. 

Five people were arrested and face charges — nearly all of whom are Black and between the ages of 20 and 33 — in connection to a protest at the city's J.C. Beemer Park, where an encampment eviction was taking place. 

Three of those were charged with both assaulting a police officer and obstructing police. The two others are charged with obstructing police and assaulting a police officer, respectively. A sixth person was charged with assaulting a police officer, related to an incident at the police station two days later, where supporters were protesting the earlier arrests.

The Hamilton police's defence was that the protests were "not peaceful."

But "peaceful protests" is a nebulous term. A few years ago, in July 2016, myself and several McMaster University students coordinated a vigil for victims of police violence in a public park in Hamilton. Police arrived at the park almost immediately, despite no disruptions and the presence of community members and city councillors. We were informed that the presence of police was due to the lack of a permit to protest. 

In that moment, as police loomed around the park perimeter, it was evident that Black grief and anger over the apathy of continued police brutality was perceived as a threat. And that we, young people who sought a means to express our desire for change, were simply read by law enforcement as potential criminals.

As for the police actions in November, they prompted reports of injuries sustained by the young people who were arrested. Police watchdog Special Investigations Unit did look into at least one report of an injury but cleared police of wrongdoing in January. 

Similar scenes played out at encampment eviction protests last summer at Toronto's Lamport Stadium and Trinity Bellwoods Park, where police used force against protesters.

For Calla Moya, an encampment network supporter who was arrested and charged in Toronto, her encounter with police causes pain even months later. She alleges that she suffered a concussion during the scuffle and still grapples with post-concussive issues including sensitivity to lights and sounds.

Those events have prompted concerns that this trend is meant to criminalize the activism of some. Despite the advocacy of those protesters, we have yet to have a national debate on the crisis of homeless individuals struggling for shelter this winter. Nor has there been a call for government leaders to sit down with the encampment eviction advocates to hear their demands.

Compare this to the actions of those who protested in Ottawa and elsewhere the past few weeks. Those arrested in Hamilton weren't occupying entire streets around government buildings, harassing entire neighbourhoods, or preventing vital trade routes. They didn't show up with seemingly immovable vehicles or, as in at least one case recently, weapons. And yet police didn't hesitate to clear them from city parks.

There are many other examples, of course. In 1995, the RCMP used landmines and fired live rounds at Ts'Peten Defenders during the Gustafsen Lake standoff in B.C. The Ts'Peten Defenders had sought to complete a Sun Dance, an Indigenous ceremony that had been prohibited through the racist Indian Act, and demanded their unceded lands be returned. 

This past fall, an injunction was enforced against Wet'suwet'en land defenders, allowing RCMP officers to arrest several people. Calls continue for the charges to be dropped against those arrested in Wet'suwet'en.

Echoing words from scholar and activist Robyn Maynard, who attended a solidarity event in Hamilton on Dec. 1 and is the author of Policing Black Lives, racialized and Indigenous-led movements in Canada are criminalized and endemic to the systemic racism that exists against these communities. 

It doesn't happen in one fell swoop — it is a continuous targeting of these protesters and ongoing effort to prevent them from being in spaces that disrupt the status quo. 

And now, although the federal government ended its use of the Emergencies Act Wednesday, it is uncertain what legacy invoking the act will have on civil liberties and the future of protest in Canada. 

Last year, the Canadian government labelled the Proud Boys a terrorist organization in response to the storming of the U.S. Capitol by Trump supporters. Harsha Walia, the former executive director of the B.C. Civil Liberties Association, warned that these kinds of responses — enforcement and criminalization — could be readily turned on racialized organizers. 

Under the Emergencies Act, the Canadian government blocked access to bank accounts and insurance. We have yet to take stock of what impact it had and what the outcome will be in the debate over whether its use was warranted.

But for Indigenous and racialized protesters who have had encounters with police, it is hard not to wonder if police will actually learn from this experience that restraint is possible, or if Canada has learned that the Emergencies Act could be used as just another way to impede the ability of racialized protesters to demand equitable change in the future. 

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