The first half of this post is going to piss you off, but before you delete me from your blog roll or leave me nasty comments can you read this all the way through…please.

<!–[if !supportEmptyParas]–><!–[endif]–> I’m not sure if this story got much press outside of Canada, so I’ll give you a thumbnail sketch. Willie Pickton is a local pig farmer who was arrested five years ago and charged with killing 26 women from Vancouver’s downtown eastside. This is regarded to be Canada’s poorest urban neighbourhood. For lack of a better term, skid row. Every city has a neighbourhood like this; we all know what it looks like. We also know what these women were; transient, drug addicted, sex trade workers. Pull your claws back in, I know they had names and lives. They were someone’s daughter, probably someone’s sister. But what they had become is relevant to my little rant.

<!–[if !supportEmptyParas]–><!–[endif]–> When the story first broke, it was front-page news for weeks. Every few days some more names were added to the list of victims. About this time I was watching my sons’ soccer practice and one of the other parents was a Vancouver City cop and we were talking about the case. During the course of the conversation, she admitted that they’d really dropped the ball (for years they’d insisted none of the cases were connected), but it wasn’t like they were now trying to blame Willie for every unsolved disappearance. (Though that’s how it seemed) They were looking at every unsolved case to see if he could have been involved. It was clear even in those first weeks that the scope of the investigation was HUGE (over the next five years, investigators would sift by hand the soil of two entire farms). I remember asking this woman if it wouldn’t be better just to gather the evidence on a handful of really strong cases. Have the trial and move on. She insisted the investigation needed to be thorough because those families needed to know what happened to their daughters. They needed to have closure. But the amount of resources that are going into this, can we really afford that luxury, I asked. She was appalled. I shut my mouth.

<!–[if !supportEmptyParas]–><!–[endif]–>Five years later the trial starts. The judge decides that trying 26 murders all at once would be too much for the jury and tells the prosecution to pick six. (I said that five years ago). Even with only six, this trial is expected to last an entire year. A high profile case like this will undoubtedly go to the Court of Appeal and then the Supreme Court of Canada. Three lengthy trials and that’s only for the first six. We don’t have capital punishment here so this will be going on for a very long time. I have no idea what’s been spent to date on police, investigators, criminologists, lawyers, journalists covering the story… but it must be a staggering amount.

<!–[if !supportEmptyParas]–><!–[endif]–> I was at a social gathering recently and the trial came up. I mentioned that I thought it had been a huge waste of money. They should have picked six to start out with and left it at that.

Don’t you understand about closure? I was asked.

We can’t afford it, I said.

What if it were your son?

I know where both of my sons are tonight, but if I woke up tomorrow and one of them was gone, of course I would move heaven and earth to find out what had happened. That’s not what happened here. These weren’t fresh-faced children plucked from the bosom of their family in the dead of night. These were badly damaged people and they’d been lost for a long time before Willie got a hold of them (if in fact he’s the monster he’s accused of being)

A community is all one family. It doesn’t matter how badly damaged a person is. We all have value.

It seems to me that 26 dead drug addicted hookers have far more social value then any number of living ones.

<!–[if !supportEmptyParas]–><!–[endif]–> That’s about the time the drink got tossed in my face and I was asked to leave. If I’d stayed, I’d have asked if they truly believed that the women living down there today are any safer then they were five years ago.

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<!–[if !supportEmptyParas]–><!–[endif]–> Are you still here? Thank you. What I’ve written so far isn’t going to win me any popularity contests, but something happened this past weekend and it put it into perspective for me. ♀ & I went to an afternoon performance by the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra at the beautiful Orpheum Theatre. To get there we needed to drive through the heart of Willies old stomping grounds. We did what I’m sure most of you would do; made sure the windows were rolled up and the doors were locked. While waiting for a red light, I looked over and there was a little girl (maybe 10) sitting on the sidewalk eating a sandwich. There were lots of people around, but she didn’t seem to be with anyone in particular. I can’t get this kid out of my head.

<!–[if !supportEmptyParas]–><!–[endif]–> I’d like you to imagine that you and I are the parents of three daughters, a 30 year old, a 20 year old and a 10 year old. We both work so there’s money coming in. There’s never quite enough, but we manage to provide the necessities. We could borrow if we had to, but that has to be repaid eventually. The bottom line is there are limits to our resources.

<!–[if !supportEmptyParas]–><!–[endif]–> The oldest daughter had a rough start to life. You and I were having problems and we didn’t notice that she was hanging out with a bad crowd. She started doing drugs and staying out all night. We tried curfews, but she’d just take off. She was sixteen when she left for good. She was living in crack houses, selling her body to buy drugs. We haven’t heard from her in six years. We wonder what’s become of her. I think she’s probably dead. How long can a person survive living like that?

<!–[if !supportEmptyParas]–><!–[endif]–> The 20 year old, god help us, followed in her sisters footprints. Maybe we were so caught up in her sisters’ drama that we missed the signs. Maybe she thought that was the only way to get our attention. Who knows? But at least we know she’s alive. We hear from her once in awhile, usually she just wants money. She says it’s not for drugs, but we know better. She’s not the same girl anymore. Even if we could get her off the streets and off the drugs, what sort of life could she have? It’s not just her body that been damaged, her brain has been scrambled. Can she ever really recover from that?

<!–[if !supportEmptyParas]–><!–[endif]–> The 10 year old is still in school, but this is a tough neighborhood. We want her to have a better life then her sisters, I’m just not sure we know how to do that. How do we give her hope in a place like this?

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I keep thinking about that little girl sitting on the sidewalk eating a sandwich and all those millions of dollars. Can you imagine the good that money would do if it were spent at the beginning of a child’s life rather then sifting through pig shit looking for teeth?

Think about that little girl on the sidewalk and tell me our priorities aren’t all fucked up.