To that date, I had spent my life pursuing many paths, academic, political, personal exploration, philosophy, and at no time had any of these dedications threatened to compromise the other - as they did when this issue came to me at the age of nineteen. Politics were a natural fit to my ambitions, and I thrived in that sphere for many years. I worked on my first political election, traveling daily, for one hr. by bus to the office on my own at the age of ten. My interests at such a young age caught the attention of people I worked alongside. I was a page in Queen’s Park, the Ontario Legislature by age thirteen. An activist on causes such as homelessness, welfare, sexual assault, environmental concerns, I had invested an enormous amount of work into the care of people in Canada, and the world over by the age of nineteen.

I had just been accepted into Ryerson University for film production, and for the first time felt that the world was widening to remarkable possibilities beyond the restrictive culture of political thinking. Truthfully, I did not do drugs, I drank only socially, was very protective of my friends, and more or less walked a very difficult line of maintaining a life that others would feel confident in entrusting to leadership, yet pushing the boundaries in what I felt were very real and important ways. I was the kind of teenager that loved to explore the world as much as I could, and was really drawn to things that made me healthy and strong, or provided a unique insight and adventure. Artistry, and championing causes that were not often powerful allies such as the poor, economically oppressed, or the set upon, were often those areas I consciously would “get into trouble” for doing so.

My family had been in Canada since the 1600’s, and at times I felt it was something I had to take on, as so few could with confidence. Not as a newcomer that may feel as an outsider, but a person with a past tied and invested in the country to say “this is not acceptable, we must do more than this”. More than that, because of my love for directing and acting, expression is a large motivator in my work. Canada has built a culture that does not allow for any strong voices to emerge over the general din of the crowd. There is no one person you can pluck from it’s design that will rock it to its core, and cause waves of angst and concern, were they to suddenly perish. This is not the result of coincidence, and lack of talent, but of policy in the sculpting of the nation. I was coming to a place in life where I knew I had to go abroad to find the people I would work with, that will embrace my ambitions, but at the same time wanted to push that barrier for Canadians as much as I could until then.

It was mid summer, and I was driving in my mother’s car. The radio news came on with a quick story regarding a woman on a bus. She had been breast-feeding her baby, and the bus driver had asked her, and then forced her off of the bus, refusing her fare. When I had heard this story, I was absolutely beside myself. The country was going too far in allowing this oppression of especially women in Canada. For those few weeks it troubled me, and I kept returning to that idea of the mother being made to feel shamed into leaving a bus for breast feeding her child. It seemed that we were forcing women to be so little of their potential in all ways. Already any future they had, was offered as tired, and void of enjoyment too often. No voice was strong. Leaders were few. Such had led to an affection for the Statue of Liberty. It always struck me that she was the largest symbol of womankind in the world today, and certain of the only few left to stand, but sadly, even she was made of fiction.

I had just spent a few years aiding the women at the Toronto Rape Crisis Center, and seeing woman after woman suffering from abuse, and being so pushed down, it seemed whether as sacred as a mother feeding her baby, or as expressive as being a voice, with a name and a cause, there was no tolerance for any of it. Women had to be quiet, unassuming, hard working, or used. Indeed, I kept running into the same in my own life. The more sensual I was, the more I appeared to be wearing hand-me-downs, the more expressive, the more part time jobs I had to keep. For all I strove to excel in life, the more drab, anonymous, and burdensome it presented itself back. It seemed that there was a severe fundamental flaw in the design of the country that made me yearn to create in America even more.

Two weeks following that, I again heard a news report on the radio regarding a small demonstration that was going to occur at the Peace Bridge, over an hr. away from where I lived. A woman had been arrested for having taken her shirt off in public. For many people this hearkens to images of sexuality and expression, for myself it returned me to my early years growing up in the North country. From an early age I was a baby that ran around partially dressed in the quiet and wonder of the woods. I would collect frogs, and crayfish, a build small worlds for them to play within the sand at the lake. It caused me to think of the mother feeding her child on the bus, an act that now arguably would be made illegal. More than that, she not only could be refused fare on a bus, but be fined, and imprisoned. Some of my best days in life, and most free in this country were as a child experiencing life with that enjoyment. Not too long before, a woman would be scorned for revealing her ankles, or perhaps her arm, for some, even her hair. For a place such as Canada, this issue would not be popular to support. The more I was thinking upon it, the more I realized that it was in fact extremely important.

The proposed law was not only gender based, but as well, guided entirely by convention, with no basis in logical reasoning or justification. They would not make it illegal for a man to take his top half of clothing off. No man would be arrested, nor fined, they simply would conduct themselves according to their surroundings as they felt needed. It pointed even more to the sexualization of women in society, taking from them their own ability to exist with that expression or not. A woman, doing the same, would be arrested and jailed.

What further laws would then suddenly result from this success in inequity based purely on arbitrary prejudice? What precedent is set, where the law could then state a woman could not reveal her hair, her ankles, equally as sexualized and forbidden in countries? Were we acting with the same intent to oppress and control without regard for the human being’s rights? Were we beginning to step backwards, taking aim at an easy target to defeat the basis of equality and the integrity of human rights? I realized the answer was yes.

There was this woman that now stood to be arrested, and I knew that few would stand up for her. My weight aids greatly in areas such as this. Having invested so much into a potentially political life following success as a film maker, I stood to loose it all. Yet, I realized, that perhaps ahead of its time, it was exactly the kind of political leader I wanted to be. If I had no success for this, then I was quite happy to never have the job, to be a director and create my vision otherwise. If at worst, I would invite the mothers, the tribes women of Africa, those that have been marginalized having had their rights taken, and used to serve as sexual entertainment, and those that enjoy themselves innocently basking in the sun, to join me one day to set it right. That is an investment in a country of bright exploration, opportunity, a culture that breathes freely without exploit. It could be argued as negative, it could be heralded as bold, but it would be a voice, singular, and with cause.

I could barely afford the trip to the march, and was not entirely certain if I could even find it. I had not heard mention of it again since then. I asked a friend to drive me to Niagara Falls, near to where it was going to take place. I used what little money I had for a room to stay for the night at a small bed and breakfast, that took over an hr to find one in my price range. The next day, I went to the Peace Bridge, uncertain if I had the right one. I expected to find a small gathering of a few people, and indeed, that is what was there. What I did not expect was the hundreds of cameras and media from around the world that surrounded the small gathering. I made my way through the crowd, all chances of this event being kept quiet very much dashed. There was that moment when I knew I could back away, watch from the sideline, be supportive, perhaps see these people being arrested, and have no risk to my own career. Yet, I knew it would do nothing, if I risked nothing, and so I walked up and introduced myself, and lent my support to the cause.

Suddenly I was being interviewed by reporters, something I had not prepared for. Yet, I had known why exactly I was a part of this event, and the words flowed freely and with good intent. It felt more of an act of trust in the media. So often we see them twist words and imagery to humiliate or harm, this so easily could be one of those moments. Indeed, we were surrounded as well by men with video cameras, hooting and calling, another unforeseen presence. It appeared as the embodiment of that oppression I was there to undo, and so quickly had to ignore the ease of embarrassment and belittlement that they presented to me.

I began on the bridge to walk from what was Ontario, Canada, to where it was legal in New York, USA, such being the sentiment behind the march. A single line dividing what brings misery, to what is the freedom of existence, and to release Canada from that finally. I knew that I wanted to live in the States, and I was worried that the march would draw attention to me for when I would visit again. Yet, it felt good, and that I was moving towards a kinship in New York, so those fears passed swiftly. So many things swept through my mind, both edging me on, or encouraging caution. The police, I so often worked by and felt comfortable with stood by, they had issued warnings that they may arrest us. I trusted in them to not. At moments it felt as if I had everything to lose and for what gain? Ultimately the gain besides the success itself, was really seeing the result of what a few people can do. It is an inspired expereince and encourages my individuality and belief in change. On the bridge, I for the first time, took my shirt off in public. It was a warm, sunny day with a breeze on the bridge, much like my days up North as a child. Looking upon the gawking cameras, the memory kept me encouraged, knowing that the men were simply not seeing what this actually was.

When I came to meet with the boarder guards, I was really impressed. They asked the usual questions, of whether I had anything to declare, us both finding amusement in the moment. They were kind and allowed me through, and at that moment I felt very proud to be entering America. It felt as though the barriers of our own strongest borders were making way. Now in New York, I threw my shirt into the air happily, and we all gathered to hear a few women speak. Later, I traveled back to Toronto, not mentioning much of the event to hardly anyone. I had a friend, the first love of my life, call me from South Africa. A man threw down a newspaper in front of him declaring "Look at what they are doing back in your Canada". More surprised than the news presented was he to see me on the front page. I was quite surprised, and happy with the media being kind and intelligent about the subject, and having reached Africa to relay my intent to say that Canada was now more welcoming. Welcoming to the women specifically, and not just a tolerance for their being here, but for being themselves.

We had succeeded, and it was now legal for women, as men, to be without a shirt in public. Such a large and threatening situation to meet with such a simple and basic right. Mothers breastfeeding, artists, individuals being told it was legal only if to entertain sexually to men’s benefit alone, women from old cultures, others basking in the sun. The threat of a dangerous precedent in sexually biased law now prevented. What I did not expect, was the sudden political backlash that would occur behind my back, quietly, and with harm planned towards me. It seems that this is the way some of Canada deals with strong voices and challenging women. Much of my initial successes meeting with deceit, betrayal, usurping of identity, and assault occurring thereby. Yet, this was still the beginning of an incredible journey and learning of the larger structure and design of the world. My work having gained the attention of people I admire, and would guide me through the harm and oppression to an understanding of what it is to really build and create, a gift I never expected, and still have to realize at its best. Perhaps Liberty, she is not a dream of fiction after all.

by Chantall Çollet