Community Politics

I stumbled upon the Community Council Meeting in my neighbourhood last week. A in tow, we took our seats and listened to the first presenter, developers of a new infill on a major street in the area. A was excited to be attending a meeting. She'd seen such community affairs on her Berenstein Bear's videos. Very important stuff. I asked her to be quiet and listen and gave her a granola bar, paper and a pencil. A meeting organizer contributed crayons and colouring pages. She left these all on her seat and climbed into my lap to listen.

At the beginning of the talk, the developer turned our attention to some story boards that he brought along with images of the street scape he was proposing to alter so drastically. His proposal involved constructing a large single family dwelling and a duplex on a single unit of land. The contemporary three story homes were attractive, but as our current tastes dictate, quite bold and masculine with black and dark rust colours and jutting floors and setbacks. They would certainly clash with the rural cottages and Victorian brick homes surrounding them, but the architect was pointing out the visual congruences as he saw them, "Here is the three story house next door, its roof is almost at the same level as our top floor, beside that on the other side there is a bungalow . . . "

A jumped at the word and piped up merrily, "I live in a bungalow!"

The crowd laughed.

The developer replied, "Oh, you live in one of those do you?" and the conversation flogged on.

Point is, there is a disconnect between contemporary sensibilities and those of our rural past. I live in a post-war bungalow, a house constructed for maximum efficiency at minimum cost. What this project's entails is to create maximum profit with minimum variances. I think this point was lost on the assembled crowd. They weren't paying attention to negotiable aesthetics at all.

What amazed me about the proceedings is how skillfully the architect of the project was able to convince the audience of the merits of his design and the development itself and how he used the highly controversial lane development to arouse the passion and sympathy of the audience. By the end of his extensive presentation (which lasted well over an hour), attendees were raising their hand to congratulate him and the councillor of the ward had departed in disgust after charges of a City Hall conspiracy against residents of the area.

What did I learn? Well, something of the local history of this place, which I found fascinating. There were residents at the meeting who have owned property here since 1912 when there were honey trucks and milk wagons using lane ways for deliveries. There were others who have owned their property since the 1920s and saw the community move from agricultural roots into the amalgamated City of Ottawa. It was nice to hear that this place I own was once productive land. That encourages me somehow. I feel part of an earnest past.

I also learned that I want to be more involved in things like this that matter, but be informed enough to contribute a critical voice to the proceedings. A lesson from my daughter.