Democracy in Kingston: A Social Movement in Urban Politics, 1965-1970 9780773561267

Table of contents :
Contents
Tables
Figures
Preface
Abbreviations and Acronyms
1 An Exemplary Place
2 A Synthetic View
3 The Inheritance
4 Into Unknown Kingston
5 Rebels with a Cause
6 The Triumph of Hope over Experience
7 Two Types of People
8 The Dummies Get Smart
9 A Democratic Vision
Appendix A: The City Directory and the Measurement of Social Class
Appendix B: Patterns of Ward Voting in Federal Elections, Kingston and the Islands, 1958–74
Notes
Index
A
B
C
D
E
F
G
H
I
K
L
M
N
O
P
Q
R
S
T
U
V
W
Y
Z

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Democracy in Kingston A Social Movement in Urban Politics, 1965-1970

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Democracy in Kingston A Social Movement in Urban Politics 1965-1970 RICHARD HARRIS

McGill-Queen's University Press Kingston and Montreal

McGill-Queen's University Press 1988 ISBN 0-7735-0583-0 Legal deposit first quarter 1988 Bibliotheque nationale du Quebec Printed in Canada Printed on acid-free paper This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Social Science Federation of Canada, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Harris, Richard, 1952Democracy in Kingston Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-7735-0583-0 1. Kingston (Ont.) - Politics and government. 2. Kingston (Ont.) - Social conditions. 3. Urban renewal — Ontario — Kingston — Citizen participation. I. Title. FC3099.K56H37 1988 971.372 C87-094337-5 F1059.5.K56H37 1988

For my parents

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Contents

Tables ix Figures xi Preface xiii Abbreviations and Acronyms xvii 1 An Exemplary Place 3 2 A Synthetic View 24 3 The Inheritance

30

4 Into Unknown Kingston 50 5 Rebels with a Cause 71 6 The Triumph of Hope over Experience 88 7 Two Types of People

106

8 The Dummies Get Smart 126 9 A Democratic Vision 145 Appendix A: The City Directory and the Measurement of Social Class 157

viii Contents

Appendix B: Patterns of Ward Voting in Federal Elections, Kingston and the Islands, 1958-74 162 Notes

165

Index 193

Tables

1 Imputed Wages in Selected Occupations, Kingston, Ontario, and Canada, 1961 34 2 Occupational Composition of the Labour Force, Kingston, 1961 and 1971 39 3 Class Segregation in Kingston, 1970 60 4 Residential Differentiation in Kingston, 1970 62 5 Poverty Rates by Census Tract, Kingston, 1970 65 6 The Waiting List for Public Housing, Kingston, 1967-76 84 7 Federal Election Results, Kingston and the Islands, 1958-74 90 8 The Geography of Party Support in Selected Federal Elections, Kingston, 1958-74 91 9 Voter Turnout in Kingston Civic Elections, 1962-70 97 10 Class and Tenancy in Kingston 108 11 General Welfare Assistance: Types of Recipients and Expenditure Levels in Kingston, 1961-76 138

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Figures

1 2 3 4

The regional setting of Kingston 33 Wards and neighbourhoods in Kingston 41 People of relief in Kigston, 1970 64 Beneficiaries of general welfare assistance, Kingston and Ontario, 1961-76 79 5 The location of properties owned by John Hewett, Kingston, 1969 81 6 The geography of support for the Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston, 1968 111 7 Beneficiaries of family benefits assistance, Kingston and Ontario, 1961-76 141

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Preface

Over thirty years ago, C.B. MacPherson wrote a book about politics in the province of Alberta. He analysed the rise and fall of Social Credit, a movement that, rejecting party politics in the name of democracy, had set out to achieve sweeping social change. In MacPherson's view, this movement had to be interpreted in its economic context. In particular, he insisted that the issue of political democracy that it raised could only be understood in terms of its complex relation to the organization of class interests. In many respects, my concerns and perspective echo those of MacPherson. This book is about the rise and fall in Kingston, Ontario, of a social movement that sought to bring about greater democracy. Like MacPherson, I believe that movements of this kind must be understood in terms of the historical milieu out of which they arise and which they in turn seek to change. This milieu is at once economic, in the narrow sense political, and also geographical. In each respect, of course, Kingston in the 1960s was different from Alberta between the wars. The class structures and the powers of the relevant political jurisdictions were not the same. An urban, as opposed to a predominantly rural, setting offered unique possibilities and problems. The character of the movements in each place reflected those facts. But in each case, and in each study, the same issue is at stake: in a capitalist society, where people are unequal, how do the powerless try to make democracy? The question is one that interests many observers and I believe that it can usefully be explored by looking in detail at the actions of people in a particular place. The most controversial aspect of my argument is likely to be my treatment of social class. For that reason, it is important that I make my views clear from the beginning. On the one hand there will be those who question the inclusion of "class" in a study of modern

xiv Preface

Canadian politics. For the most part, Canadians define themselves in terms of income, ethnicity, place of residence, and gender, rather than in terms of class. Of course, the point can be overstated. There are many blue-collar workers, and perhaps just as high a proportion of bankers and industrialists, whose perception of class is keen. But, especially to a middle-class audience, the argument that class matters still has to be made. To these sceptics I would like to point out that this argument has already survived one test. As a Canadian of British background, I have not always found it easy to come to terms with the meaning of "class" in Canada. There is the obvious danger of importing preoccupations and distinctions that are essentially alien, of trying to cram a new reality into an old category. All immigrants should be aware of this danger. Even if they were not, such an awareness would probably be forced upon them. As I was writing this book, it was suggested to me several times that my emphasis on class, as a fact of economic and political life, is a product of my English upbringing. In most cases, the implication was that if only I knew enough about Canada then I would change my mind. This is a difficult argument to resist. After all, who am I to suggest to native-born Canadians that they do not understand their own society? Not wishing to be accused of intellectual arrogance, I questioned the assumption with which I had begun this enquiry: that politics must be understood in relation to class. I had to persuade myself that class is a relevant and significant factor in Canadian life. In the end, the evidence has convinced me. In Kingston I see that, most of the time, overt class conflicts play a relatively minor role in local politics but that when the chips are down, class tells. Consequently, I conclude that, although class is not usually the most visible factor in Canadian life, it is the most important. On the other hand, there will be those who think that my interpretation does not attach enough importance to class. In recent years a number of writers, mostly Marxists, have attempted to define the city, politics, and social conflict exclusively in terms of the class relations of capitalism. To these I can only say that I disagree. The experience of Kingston — and I believe any other modern capitalist city — demonstrates the local political significance of many other bases of social division. Among these, the ownership of domestic property and people's place of residence are consistently important. Both are determined by, but neither can be reduced to, class. Instead of ignoring class, or of elevating it to a lonely eminence, I have attempted in this book to emphasize how class, place, and domestic property combined to shape a social movement in a particular milieu.

xv Preface

My interpretation draws upon the ideas of a number of writers. I hope that my intellectual debts are adequately acknowledged in the body of this book, and especially in chapter 2. But, of course, I have also accumulated more personal debts. Some years ago, this book began life as a thesis. I count myself lucky to have had on my thesis committee Peter Goheen, John Holmes, and Eric Moore. They provided me with complementary intellectual models, each of which has been a continuing source of inspiration. Fellow graduate students, notably Fran Klodawski, Greg Levine, and Ray Schmidt, together with Ron Baxter and others in the Kingston Socialists, helped me to develop my ideas. Carol Town made me at home in Canada. At a later stage Carol, Bev Chaykowski, Shoukry Roweis, and two anonymous readers made useful comments on the book. Others eased the tasks of research. Archivists and librarians at Queen's and McMaster universities, as well as at Kingston Public Library, were unfailingly helpful. The City of Kingston gave me generous access to minute books buried in the basement of City Hall. The Kingston Whig-Standard let me use its clippings file, which saved me an enormous amount of time. I owe thanks to the Social Planning Council of Kingston and District, the Community Information Service, and the NDP of Ontario, for giving me permission to use their records, and also to the many people that I interviewed who were willing to share their memories and views of the 1960s. A special mention is due to Joan Newman Kuyek who gave me access to her personal records.

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Abbreviations and Acronyms

ATAK CCF CC CIS CMHC CUCND FLH HS KCP KCVI KWS LIP NDP OFY PB QECVI QJ SCM SDS SPG SS SUPA

Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston Co-operative Commonwealth Federation (Canada) City Council, City of Kingston Community Information Services (Kingston) Central Mortgage and Housing Corporation (Canada) Combined Universities Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (Canada) The Fire, Legislation and Housing Committee, City of Kingston The Housing Sub-Committee of FLH Kingston Community Project Kingston Collegiate and Vocational Institute Kingston Whig-Standard Local Initiatives Program (Canada) New Democratic Party (Canada) Opportunities for Youth (Canada) Planning Board, City of Kingston Queen Elizabeth Collegiate and Vocational Institute Queen's Journal (Kingston) Student Christian Movement (Canada) Students for a Democratic Society (US) Social Planning Council of Kingston and District Social Services Committee, City of Kingston Student Union for Peace Action (Canada)

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Democracy in Kingston

One place comprehended can make us understand other places better Eudora Welty No single constituency is like any other ... The politics of each [place] is touched by its history, influenced by its geography, and swayed by the special character of its inhabitants. Peter Newman

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CHAPTER ONE

An Exemplary Place

Students of urban politics in the United States and Great Britain have shown how the study of the local political system can enhance our understanding of both national politics and some of the central issues in modern democratic theory. The same cannot be said [in] Canada. Andrew Sancton, 1983 The main problem about participatory democracy is ... how to reach it. C.B. MacPherson, 1977

I Democracy is seductive. This is not primarily because of any moral or intellectual superiority that it may have over other political ideals. Rather, it reflects the simple fact that, as long as the few make decisions for the many, the latter will eventually rebel. It is in the majority interest to do so. Within what is normally thought of as the political arena, the consequences of this fact have been very significant. In the twentieth century, democratic social movements such as socialism, populism, and modern liberalism continue to draw most of their support from those who are relatively powerless: the working class, the small farmer, and, intermittently, the poor. But when taken seriously, the idea of democracy, and the nature of its appeal, transcend politics as it is generally understood. People still debate whether political democracy can coexist with the economic inequalities of modern capitalism. Some believe that it can. Of these, American pluralists

4 Democracy in Kingston have advanced the most influential case.1 In essence, their argument is that, in a relatively open society such as that of the United States, all people can and most people do make their views known to their elected representatives. But the findings, and indeed the assumptions, of the pluralists have been challenged.2 Many observers have said that, as a matter of fact, all people do not have an equal opportunity to exert political influence. Inequalities in education, personal contacts, wealth, and income stand in the way. Some go further by saying that the pluralist model of democracy is largely irrelevant: the rise of the bureaucratic state and the manipulation of the state by corporate interests has rendered politicians, and the issue of how they make decisions, relatively unimportant. Both types of criticism suggest that political democracy is impossible without economic equality. If that is so — and where people are unequal - then any democratic movement is likely to end up attacking the economic foundation of society itself. The question as to why such movements emerge, change, and decline is arguably one of the most important of our time. As the twentieth century has shown, democracy cannot be taken for granted. It must be won and defended. In both respects, social movements have played a vital role. In most countries the franchise would have been extended to all men and women much later (if at all) without the pressure from labour, socialist, and women's movements. The continuing strength of such movements helps to ensure that this minimal democratic right is not taken away, although there are no guarantees. Even movements as significant as these, however, have waxed and waned, while others, such as populism and progressivism, have gained support that proved to be more erratic or ephemeral. The reasons for such fluctuations are complex, but it is evident that social, geographical, and economic circumstances are all important. 3 Changes in class relationships, such as the growth of wage labour and the decline of independent commodity production, have historically produced social tensions. The concentration or dispersal of groups have affected their capacity to organize. Bad, and especially deteriorating, conditions often spur people to action, while improvements may undercut the pressure for reform. But such conditions are not sufficient (nor even, perhaps, necessary) to the development of a democratic movement. For people to rise up, they must believe that conditions are unjust. This judgment depends as much on ethical standards as it does on people's material standard of living. Indeed, even a conviction of social injustice is not enough.4 People must believe

5 An Exemplary Place

that change is not only right but also possible. Among the powerless, this victory of faith over experience (which we call optimism) is a rare and elusive quality. It is rare not only in the obvious sense that it does not develop very often, but also in that it can make the remarkable difference between social revolt and personal despair. Optimism is elusive in that its appearances and disappearances are unpredictable, while even its presence is hard to pin down. Here the leadership of particular individuals can play an important role. In any movement it is likely that the specific combination of social, geographical, economic, ethical, psychological, and personal influences at work will be unique. But in some way, all are likely to be important. Taking account of such influences, this book follows the rise and fall of a particular democratic movement - one that reached its peak in most Western nations in the late 1960s. II

The social movement of the 1960s was democratic in a radical sense. Not only did it seek to increase the amount and significance of citizen participation in government but it also attempted to make society as a whole more equal. It was shaped by forces that were international in scope and accordingly influenced most of the advanced capitalist nations. In each country, the unfreezing of the Cold War coupled with the post-war economic boom made social criticism and domestic reform seem both acceptable and affordable. As a result, in every country there was an upsurge of political dissent. That this movement of dissent had no single name, however, is a clear sign that it was rather diffuse. In general it had two major elements. One was generally contained within the traditional framework of political reform, but the other was not. The latter, which named itself the "New Left," was clearly the more radical of the two.5 Developing in the late 1950s and early 1960s "the movement" (as it was also called) drew intellectual nourishment from a wide range of sources. Of these the most generally important were anarchism, pacifism, and, to an increasing extent as the movement developed, socialism. In the United States such ideas were combined with indigenous populism, which imparted to the New Left on that continent a peculiarly strong emphasis on direct, or participatory, democracy. The defining characteristic of the New Left was an insistence upon equality, and a complementary suspicion of hierarchy, in all spheres of life. This idea was captured in the popular slogan "the personal is political."

6 Democracy in Kingston

The more traditional element in the reform movement varied widely in character from place to place. In the United States it was associated almost exclusively with the liberalism of the Democratic party. In Europe, it was much more likely to be linked with socialist and social-democratic thought, represented in organizations like the British Labour party. In Canada, it found expression in both the Liberal and New Democratic parties, the former leaning more towards the liberal-democratic tradition, the latter towards social democracy and, on its left wing, to socialism. The social roots of the New Left were predominantly, although not exclusively, middle class.6 At the beginning, it drew much of its support from traditional socialists and more-or-less established middle-class professionals, including those academics who gave the movement its name. In the early sixties, however, it was largely taken over by a baby-boom generation that was beginning to flood university campuses everywhere. This was more than a demographic phenomenon. Participation rates in post-secondary education were rising steadily. Parents who had lived through depression and war wanted something better for their children. The young, raised in the increasingly affluent societies of the post-war economic boom, had high expectations. Able to take food, shelter, and security for granted, they looked for a way of life that offered more: personal fulfilment and a freedom from hierarchy or arbitrary restraints. The world as they found it could not satisfy them. Universities, overwhelmed by numbers, became more and more impersonal. The whitecollar and professional jobs that graduates might expect to get were becoming more common in many ways. They were being standardized and de-skilled, offering fewer and fewer opportunities for personal autonomy and job satisfaction. Above all, the nuclear shadow continued to threaten pleasure, freedom, health, everything. It is no paradox, then, that one of the most privileged generations in history formed the basis of a movement that called for wholesale change. But the fact that this generation was so privileged did give its radicalism a feverish and fragile quality. The New Left's suspicion of hierarchy extended to the existing organizations through which their views might have been expressed. There was a quite widespread, and growing, belief that the state had become institutionalized to the point that it was unable or unwilling to respond to popular demands. Political parties were continuing to lose much of their power to the growing civil-service bureaucracies.7 Voting mattered less and less. The traditional parties of the left had come to be held in very low esteem.8 After 1956, the Communist movement in many countries was thoroughly discredited by the Soviet

7 An Exemplary Place

invasion of Hungary and by the revelation of Stalin's purges. The vanguardist approach to communal democracy was seen to be a black farce. But the record of socialist and social-democratic parties did not appear to be very good either. By the late 1950s most parties had given up any serious attempt to organize people for any other purpose than securing their vote. They had become hierarchic and remote. Moreover, coddled in affluence, they had grown less critical of social injustice. They had become part of the establishment - part of the problem and not the solution. Rather unfairly, organized labour was seen in much the same terms. In North America the labour movement had made great strides in the 1930s and early 1940s with the organization of many blue-collar workers into new industrial unions. The unfavourable political climate and growing affluence of the 1950s, however, had pushed most unions into adopting a more accommodating role. The traditional goals of organizing the unorganized and of Fighting social injustice were never completely abandoned. But, in the minds of most labour negotiators, they were displaced by a more parochial concern to secure better wages and working conditions for the current union membership. Whether or not this process of accommodation was inevitable, it had happened.9 The New Left concluded that it had to fend for itself. It did so by forming its own organizations and media at the local, national, and indeed international scales.10 Perhaps the most thoroughly international of the organizations was the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), which began in the late 1950s in Britain and then spread throughout Western Europe. Groups that were formed when CND went into decline tended to restrict themselves to the national level. Even so, they shared common concerns and a common discourse, which was promoted through journals such as the New Left [and Universities] Review, based in London, and Our Generation [Against Nuclear War], published from Montreal. National and local papers, newsletters, posters, and flyers, as well as reports in the establishment media, kept people aware of what was happening in other places. Built on a substratum of gossip, from the late 1950s to the early 1970 the international New Left maintained a common shape and direction. The political alliance that the New Left sought with greatest consistency was with those who were the most powerless: the working and welfare poor. The idea of organizing the poor was not entirely new to the left. After all, by any reasonable standards the working class of the 1930s had been, overwhelmingly, poor. But the nature of poverty in the 1960s, and its social and political meaning, were new. By the sixties, in contrast to the thirties, the poor had become

8 Democracy in Kingston

clearly distinct from organized labour. The organizing drives of the Great Depression had provided economic protection to some workers, but many were still at the mercy of a labour market that pushed wages below subsistence. The unorganized did not see themselves as part of a labour movement, and unions did not try to speak for the unorganized. A line was drawn. Also during the depression, political unrest had forced the American and Canadian governments to provide the unemployed and the unemployable with some kind of safety net. Unemployment insurance, and federally funded relief programs, kept many people from starving. In the process, they had created a new class of welfare-dependent poor. By the 1960s, there was little sense of solidarity between the welfare poor and the working class. Indeed, some of the latter were wondering why their taxes should support the apparent idleness of others, a view that seems to have been shared by an even higher proportion of the working poor. Altogether, then, organizing the poor had a very specific social and political meaning in the sixties. Many among the poor had no workplace, or their workplace was the home. To organize this group, the New Left had to spend most of its time dealing with welfare and community issues. This was a departure for the left. Traditionally, socialists and communists had always stressed the importance of organizing people in their workplace. After all, the strike was a powerful weapon. In contrast, they had viewed community issues as of secondary concern. For a variety of reasons the New Left reversed this emphasis. Probably the most important of these reasons was that, for middle-class organizers with little workplace experience, community organizing was simply the easiest thing to do. But broader principles were also at stake. In some respects the community — or what some have called the sphere of reproduction - had become steadily more important since the Second World War.11 The Keynesian solution to the crisis of the 1930s involved state intervention to promote demand-led growth. Pushed by the state, mortgage institutions underwrote a suburban boom that created a demand for consumer durables, and hence industrial prosperity. Growing affluence meant a greater capacity to consume. Shorter work-weeks gave people more time to spend in their communities and around their homes. The New Left did not wholly approve of these developments, and indeed attacked the bland materialism of the suburban consumer society. But they sensed that the residential community had thereby acquired an unprecedented importance. Far from being a liability, then, the necessity of organizing the poor around community issues seemed to give the New Left an entree into a newly significant political arena.

9 An Exemplary Place

Community issues touched everyone. Partly for that reason, the traditional reform organizations, with their constituency among the working and middle classes, were influenced by the activities of the New Left. In many countries by the mid sixties, the labour movement was becoming more active, both in the political arena and also in attempting to organize white-collar workers, a growing but hitherto neglected part of the labour force. If only out of self-interest, liberaland social-democratic parties responded to the political success of the New Left. They began to show some concern for their "grass roots," notably by becoming involved in community and tenants' organizations. The process, of course, was different in each country. In Britain the Liberal party led the way, although at the local level some Labour-dominated city councils soon responded in sympathy. In Canada, the New Democratic Party (NDP) took the greatest interest both in community organizing and in local politics. Indeed, for the NDP the whole issue of extraparliamentary action came to be divisive in the late 1960s. Such activity was promoted by the Waffle group, a left caucus that emerged within the party in 1969, which attempted to redirect the party in the early 1970s, and which was eventually ejected.12 In general, however, in national elections the Liberals were better able than the NDP to capitalize on the new enthusiasm for reform. This was especially true in the 1968 federal election. By then, one of the most popular slogans of the New Left had become "Power to the People." In the 1968 campaign the Liberals adapted it to "More Power for Everyone."13 This revision emptied an already vague phrase of all meaning, but it sounded good and helped to win votes. After the election, Pierre Trudeau, the successful Liberal candidate, promised to build a "just society," a truly "participatory democracy." With hindsight such rhetoric sounds empty. But it would be wrong to interpret the actions of reform parties at this time as purely cynical. They were a genuine response to a broad change in political attitudes that Inglehart has called the "silent revolution."14 It was not only the New Left that criticized the impersonal and undemocratic character of the larger corporations and the state. To many working- and middle-class people, both government and business seemed to be getting larger and consequently less responsive; people were becoming mere numbers. A call went out for greater participation. On the economic front, for those in their thirties or older, the continued existence of poverty in the midst of plenty was a standing criticism of the society for which so many had fought. Many came to believe that such an affluent society could (and should) now afford the luxury of caring properly for those unable to care for themselves. In the United States this movement gave John Kennedy a narrow victory

10 Democracy in Kingston

in the 1960 presidential election and kept the Democrats in power until 1968. In Canada a similar movement found a clear party expression a little later, coming to a peak only in the latter year with the election of Trudeau. It was in rapid decline by 1970. While it lasted, however, a broadly popular support for liberal- or socialdemocratic reform was probably the most influential and certainly the most diffuse of the two elements of reform in the 1960s. The nature of these two reform elements has not received much attention, especially in Canada. Admittedly, the New Left has been quite well served. Apart from contemporary accounts, two books have been written on the subject. In Long Way From Home, Myrna Kostash has attempted to recreate the spirit of the time, while Cyril Levitt, in Children of Privilege, has provided a more critical account that sets the Canadian New Left in its international context.15 But the other current of traditional party-based reform has been almost entirely ignored. It is referred to in modern histories of the Liberal and New Democratic parties, as well as by Richard Gwyn in his political biography of Trudeau.16 But this is not enough. In some countries reform became synonymous with a particular political party. This was the case in the United States where, as Matusow has shown, the Democratic party held a virtual monopoly on the liberal vote.17 The same was not true in Canada. Here, reform transcended party boundaries, being split between the Liberals and the NDP. Indeed, it even touched the Progressive Conservatives.18 In Canada, then, party histories are bound to leave us with a fragmented view of the reform movement. In view of the fact that no synthetic treatment has been attempted, it is not surprising that the relationship between traditional reform and the New Left is very poorly understood. It has been shown that, in terms of ideas and also of people, there was a close continuity between the New Left and the Waffle-NDP.19 Other more diffuse connections within the overall reform movement have simply been ignored. There were, however, two observably distinct currents within a single reform movement: the difference between the liberal and the radical was clear. The one called for judicious pruning, the other wanted to uproot the weed. Indeed, in practice, the two groups were often at odds with one another. Most people in the New Left were sceptical, if not contemptuous, of traditional party and electoral politics. Many were concerned about being co-opted by "the system." This became a major source of division within the Canadian New Left after 1965, when the Canadian government established the Company of Young Canadians (CYC). A domestic equivalent to Kennedy's Peace Corps, the CYC provided a living wage to young

11 An Exemplary Place

people who carried out community-based activities ranging from social work to political organizing. Some viewed this as a fine opportunity to get the government to sponsor social change, while others viewed it as co-optation. The debate was never resolved and contributed to the demise of the movement.20 In contrast, many liberals and social democrats thought the New Left to be unnecessarily extreme. In the United States, for example, Matusow has argued that the extremism of the New Left gave liberalism a bad name and thereby alienated potential allies.21 In large part this was the result of misunderstandings. The media played up the more bizarre elements of the New Left, helping to polarize opinion against it.22 The violence that came to be associated with the movement was perpetrated by factions that formed when the New Left fell apart. The Weathermen were the most notorious example in the United States, and the Front de Liberation de Quebec the most significant in Canada. These groups were not part of the New Left; indeed they represented a clear rejection of the movement's democratic vision. But this was not altogether clear at the time. For whatever reason, then, many liberals and movement activists worked hard to differentiate themselves from one another. But they protested too much. More committed liberals and radicals were eager to establish their differences precisely because they shared so much. New Left radicalism, particularly in North America, drew a good deal of inspiration from the liberal ideals of freedom of expression and of equality of opportunity. Many in the New Left made much of the fact that society did not live up to those liberal ideals. Far from being, as it has sometimes been portrayed, an ideological movement that was essentially alien, the New Left was very much a child of North American society. In their insistence that their parents' society be consistent, New Left activists might be described by an epithet that has often been applied to the Canadian NDP: "liberals in a hurry." Of course, there were those in the New Left who espoused substantially more radical ideals. But in general the goals of the traditional and the radical reformer were quite similar. Moreover, in practice only a minority of people fell clearly into one camp or the other. For every political purist there were ten activists whose views were more loosely defined and a hundred others who simply reckoned that something should be done. This was even true in the New Left, where popular interest in political issues was quite broad. Among the majority, then, the distinctions between the two elements of the reform movement were quite blurred, at least until the rise of factionalism in the late 1960s. Both radical and traditional elements of reform were critical of undemocratic state bureaucracies and

12 Democracy in Kingston

powerful corporations. Both thought that the existing degree of social inequality was wrong. Both believed that something should be done about it and, perhaps even more important, agreed that something might. The boundaries between radical and traditional reform became particularly blurred in Canada. Canada is perhaps unique among the Western democracies in that it has a well-established socialdemocratic party that has never come close to holding power at the national level. The NDP could plausibly present itself as a radical party that was at the same time committed to electoral politics. Further to the left than the Democratic party in the United States, it was untainted by the compromises of office as was, for example, the Labour party in Britain. As a result, when the New Left disintegrated in the late 1960s, a number of activists turned to the Waffle. For purists, the ideological line between the New Left and the NDP (and even more obviously the Liberals) was clear. But for others, probably the great majority of the supporters of these groups, there was a strong sense of a common purpose. One of the most important reasons for this latter view was the identification of both radicals and reformers with the nationalist cause. More than in most countries, nationalism in Canada has been fraught with uncertainty. Although Canada gained political independence from Britain in 1867, it remained for many decades heavily dependent on British trade and investment. It was largely emancipated from this by the United States, which, from the early years of the twentieth century, came to play a dominant role in the economic, and therefore political and cultural, life of the nation.23 Outside Quebec, this produced a continuing uncertainty about the nature and, indeed, the very existence of a separate Canadian identity. The 1960s, however, saw a resurgence of nationalist sentiment, even in English Canada.24 The roots were complex. The rapid urbanization of the country, coupled with an influx of immigrants from a wide variety of European and Asian countries, appear to have been of decisive importance. Together, these conditions created for the first time a sense that Canada was a cosmopolitan nation - creative, culturally exciting, and diverse — a mood that Richard Gwyn has described as "secular liberalism."25 There was a growing feeling that, perhaps in the idea of a cultural mosaic, Canada had something to offer. With nice timing, this spirit was embodied in Expo '67. A century after Confederation, it seemed that Canada had arrived. This forward-looking nationalism tapped some of the enthusiasm of the post-war baby boom. At the same time, it imparted optimism and the general feeling of a shared purpose to the movement for

13 An Exemplary Place

social reform. Even the Progressive Conservative party was touched by this, with "Red Tory" nationalists such as George Grant finding common ground with radicals in the NDP and New Left.26 In the United States, liberalism (and even more the New Left) became embroiled in opposition to us involvement in Vietnam. In the process it laid itself open to the charge of being unpatriotic. North of the border the opposite was the case. Nationalism and reform complemented one another. On the one hand, to promote nationalism in the Canadian mosaic, some social reforms — notably bilingualism and multiculturalism — were seen to be necessary. On the other, social reform in such a dependent nation appeared to demand policies that were aggressively nationalist. In Canada, then, all reformers wrapped themselves in the flag. For this reason, I believe that it is useful to view the democratic reform movement of the 1960s as a whole, while recognizing that it contained within itself two complementary, and sometimes warring, elements. As the movement waxed and waned it reflected and shaped the politics of an era. Ill

In Canada (as elsewhere) the movement for democratic reform was concentrated in the cities. There were good reasons for this, quite apart from the fact that by the beginning of the decade almost threequarters of all Canadians lived in urban areas. The massing together of great numbers of people creates new opportunities and reasons for social conflict. To thrive, any political organization or movement must develop an effective means of internal communication. This is particularly true of a democratic movement in which everyone's views are supposed to count and where one of the most important forms of communication is the participation of members in collective decisions. Newspapers and newsletters play a vital role in disseminating information, but effective internal democracy still seems to require that people gather together in a particular place. Other things being equal, this is likely to be easier in the city than in the country.27 In the city, people do not have to travel far to get to a political meeting; even those without cars can readily make their way by transit. This is likely to be especially important in the early stages of a movement, when it has relatively little support. In that situation, only the mediumsized city (or larger) might contain enough people to get a local organization off the ground. Of course, the existence of the city does not guarantee that a political movement will emerge. But it does offer the nascent movement a particularly favourable environment in which to develop.

14 Democracy in Kingston

Cities also provide new occasions for conflict. It has been said that political battles over the use and regulation of land are distinctively urban.28 This is surely an overstatement, for such conflicts can develop anywhere. But there can be little question that the concentration of economic and social activity in cities does exacerbate the issue. Neighbours may not care much what you do to (or in) your home when they live on the next farm over. They will care a good deal when your home and theirs are attached. This is not simply because your actions can affect their comfort and peace of mind but also because the actions can have a considerable influence on the price their property can command on the market. The intimate interdependence of urban land, then, creates a rich field of potential conflict - over what neighbours have done, have not done, and are proposing to do to their properties. Neighbours, of course, can include governments, developers, and industries, as well as the family next door, and landuse conflicts can be as various as they are intense. The person who is most likely to be involved is the property owner, who has a financial stake in the issue. In the case of the home owner, this stake may amount to the greater part of the family's assets. The owner will generally have become reconciled to the status quo and indeed probably took account of it when buying the present home. But proposed land-use changes are another matter. Owners view change with suspicion. This is obviously true where the likely effects on property values are negative. It is also likely to be true in situations where the effects are less clear-cut, for most property owners are risk-averse. Thus, conflict over land use often occurs in cities, especially where change is rapid. In these terms, the development of cities in the post-war period invited political conflict. Cities were growing and changing, perhaps more rapidly in Canada than in most other countries. Through immigration and rural/urban migration, Canadian cities grew very rapidly after 1945. At the beginning of the 1940s, the proportion of people living in urban areas in Canada (43 per cent) was about ten percentage points lower than that in the United States. By 1971 the level of urbanization in the two countries, at 69 per cent, was the same.29 In Canada, suburbs sprouted at the crab-grass frontier. Backed by federal loan guarantees, a whole generation bought new detached homes and settled down to raise a family. The suburbbuilding process was uncontroversial. Few stood to lose by it and many, including the middle class and the burgeoning development industry, reckoned to gain. But suburban growth had consequences for the inner city. More people than jobs moved out of the downtown. The volume of commuters rose steadily, increasing the pres-

15 An Exemplary Place

sure for road and freeway construction. The restructuring and expansion of employment in the inner city put pressure on older residential districts. Developers itched to replace warehouses, factories, and low-income housing with profitable offices and high-rise apartment buildings. Governments were not unsympathetic. In 1946 and again in 1954 urban-renewal legislation provided public subsidies for inner-city redevelopment. Public monies also went into highway projects that would keep commuter flow at least one step ahead of gridlock. The problem was that redevelopment and road construction meant change. They entailed the displacement of existing residents and threatened the way of life (and property values) of many more. In the post-war period, then, the restructuring of the city created many conflicts of interest arising from the use and regulation of land. Such conflicts gave the reform movement of the 1960s a particular intensity and character in the city. Much of the reform activity that developed in cities came to be focused upon city government, that is to say, upon those who were elected or appointed locally.30 This was not inevitable. In Canada, local governments have no constitutional status.31 For those seeking personal redress or social change, federal and provincial courts and governments are the loci of power. In the field of land-use regulation, for example, the ultimate arbiter of disputes in the Province of Ontario is the provincial Municipal Board. But on many of the issues that be came important to reformers in the 1960s, local governments were if not the ultimate then at least the first court of appeal. Through zoning and building by-laws, municipal governments regulate much of the built environment and, therefore, the immediate context of community life. This fact guarantees that local governments are at the centre of conflicts over housing and redevelopment. But this is not all. Municipal governments are concerned with other matters as well. These include education and certain types of welfare assistance. In terms of welfare, for example, policy in the 1960s was determined partly at the federal and partly at the provincial level. The day-to-day administration, however, and de facto some elements of policy, were concerns of local government. Most funds for welfare came from the upper levels of government, but some were still provided from the local tax base. There were, then, a number of reasons why reformers might want to concentrate their attention on city hall. The most important of these concerned the real-estate connection. Because they taxed and regulated real estate, local governments were brought into a particularly intimate relationship with propertied interests. Each came to depend upon the other, the one for revenue

16 Democracy in Kingston and the other for regulatory favours. This was quite generally the situation in advanced capitalist countries where local governments taxed and zoned land. This mutual dependence, however, took a particular form in Canada. Here, rapid urbanization and federal tax policy in the post-war period encouraged the growth of large, vertically integrated development companies.32 By the 1960s, a mere handful of these companies - dubbed "the developers" by James Lorimer — exerted a degree of control over property development (and redevelopment) in Canadian cities that probably had no parallel in any other country. Their bargaining power with local government was correspondingly large. The size and local political influence of these companies came to be viewed by reformers as an affront to democracy, making the developers the most visible political target of the decade. Because political activism of the 1960s was concentrated in urban areas, it has often been treated as a distinctively urban phenomena. This line of thinking has had a considerable effect on the academic disciplines associated with urban studies. Influenced by the work of Manuel Castells, a French sociologist, a number of writers have suggested that the sphere of reproduction, or "collective consumption," defines a specifically "urban" set of issues.33 On this basis, they have treated the resurgence of popular, community-based politics as evidence for the existence of an "urban" social movement. This view is unhelpful.34 On the one hand, as critics have pointed out, it is not at all clear why city-based issues (or movements) should be defined solely in terms of consumption. Cities contain factories as well as homes, and city governments often try to influence industrial development just as much as they do housing. On the other hand, it is plain that reproduction issues are not exclusively, or even predominantly, the concern of local, as opposed to federal and provincial, governments. In the 1960s, for a variety of reasons, the international social-reform movement came to focus many of its energies upon reproduction issues in cities. But the movement cannot be defined exclusively in these terms and neither was it uniquely or specifically "urban" in character. Although the writings of Castells and his followers have not had much influence in Canada, a comparable misunderstanding has arisen about the nature of the reform movement in English-Canadian cities. This, too, has been treated as a purely urban phenomenon. This view was first made popular by James Lorimer, in his roles as author, book publisher, and editor of City Magazine. He interpreted the rise of citizen participation as a response to the development of the "corporate city," a city built by and for the large developers.35 Some

17 An Exemplary Place

authors, notably Warren Magnusson, have suggested that the origins of the corporate city lie deeper than that. In their view, the development of the modern city has reflected and reproduced corporate capitalism itself. The development companies, then, were little more than the instruments of a much larger process. This is an important difference, especially because it highlights the similarities between the situation in Canada and elsewhere. But these observers agree on one point. Both Magnusson and Lorimer see urban political activity in the 1960s as the result exclusively of the conditions of city redevelopment.36 Whatever caused them, those conditions are supposed to have been decisive to the emergence of urban reform. This is surely only half of the story. It is generally recognized that urban reform in the early twentieth century was an integral part of a much larger "progressive" movement that sought the reform of many social and political institutions. The argument has been most effectively made by Wiebe with respect to us cities, but the same would also appear to have been true in Canada.37 Moreover, it is also well known that in Quebec in the 1960s, the links between provincial and city politics were very close. This was especially true in Montreal, where the emergence of the Front d'Action Politique, followed by the Montreal Citizen's Movement, are usually interpreted as the confluence of civic reform and Quebec nationalism.38 When nationalist sentiment found a new outlet in the 1970s in the separatist Parti Quebecois, the cause of urban reform was hurt.39 Different, but comparable, connections surely existed in the 1960s between national and urban politics in English Canada. Indeed, without reference to such connections, it is difficult to explain why, in most cities, reform emerged in the late 1960s. The process and content of municipal government was not much different in the 1960s than it had been in the 1950s. The restructuring of the city was proceeding rapidly in both decades. With the exception of public housing, the issues that reformers addressed were not new to the 1960s. Why, then, did an "urban" reform movement emerge in (about) 1968 rather than (say) in 1958 or 1948? Neither Lorimer nor Magnusson have an answer. When local reform movements are set within the broader national and international context, however, the answer is clear. Socalled urban reform was one manifestation of the broader social movement that developed with the thawing of the Cold War, with growing affluence, and with the emergence into adulthood of the post-war baby-boom generation. In Canada it drew strength from a new nationalist spirit. It was the combination of urban and more general conditions, not one or the other, that gave rise to a municipal reform movement and gave local reform its particular chronology

18 Democracy in Kingston

and character. Of course, local circumstances were important to the timing and to the nature of urban reform. Writers such as Lorimer and Magnusson have emphasized the extent to which the same social and economic changes were affecting cities across the country. Accordingly, they view reform as a movement that was urban in character and national in scope. Higgins has quite properly called this view into question.40 He has pointed out that local economic conditions led to significant local differences in the timing (and presumably the character) of municipal reform. It is apparent that in some cities reform scarcely developed at all; in others it coincided with the rise and fall of the national reform movement as a whole, being in decline by 1970; in still others, and Toronto is a prominent example, it lagged slightly behind.41 Many factors, acting separately and in combination, might account for this circumstance. Especially rapid, or slow, growth would create unique pressures. Social divisions within the locality might affect the character and strength of reform. The presence of recent immigrants and ethnic minorities, for example, could complicate the picture in unpredictable ways. I would argue, however, that the most generally significant divisions that shaped reform at the local level were those defined by the ownership of domestic property, by place of residence within the city, and above all by social class. Tenants and home owners often found themselves at odds with one another.42 With a greater stake in their neighbourhood of residence, owners were the more likely to organize against urban redevelopment. Indeed, in some respects the two groups might find themselves opposed to one another, if only because owners generally want property values to rise, while tenants generally prefer to keep rents low. These aims are not usually compatible, and in some cases renewal proposals set owners and tenants against one another, as happened in Toronto's Trefann Court. Similarly, the residents of one neighbourhood often found their interests to be opposed to those living in other areas of the city.43 In the 1960s, many neighbourhoods organized against public housing. In this regard, as in a number of others, the political "success" of one neighbourhood depended in part upon the failure of another. Thus the residents of different neighbourhoods could find themselves at loggerheads. Above all, the character of local reform was shaped by the local class structure. This is neither a simple nor an obvious point. Social class is one of the most disputed concepts in the social sciences, as it is in society as a whole. It has been defined in many ways.44 The most satisfactory definition, because it is rooted in a broader theory of social structure and change, and because this theory has been

19 An Exemplary Place

shown to have great explanatory power, is the one developed within the Marxist tradition. Since they share the conviction that classes are at once objective economic relations and yet also subjective frames of mind, Marxists disagree as to how, exactly, classes should be defined.45 The relationship between "class" and "class consciousness," then, is the primary difficulty in using the Marxist conception of class. In one sense, the nature of this relationship is an open (that is to say empirical) question. Defined in economic terms, the members of a class may or may not conceive of themselves, or act politically, as a class. If they do, we may say that class and class consciousness coincide. If they do not, we might conclude that the members of the class in question are misguided, or exhibit "false consciousness." But this label should be used very carefully. People have a variety of economic interests, and at any particular time these may quite legitimately overlay in their minds the significance of class. For example, at a time when rents are increasing rapidly, a working-class tenant may quite reasonably decide to spend more time working for a tenants' association than in a union. In my view this is not, as some Marxists might claim, false consciousness. But, conversely, in such a situation it would not be correct to conclude that class had ceased to be important. The economic significance of class is the continual creation of value, and appropriation of surplus value, in the workplace. This continues whether or not the tenant in question acts, politically, as a worker. Moreover, as many writers, including Max Weber, have noted, economic class divisions that are obscured in everyday consciousness typically come to the surface in moments of crisis.46 At such times these divisions can play a decisive role, thereby reaffirming their political and economic significance to the society in question. This situation would appear to be what occurred in the 1960s. By the 1950s and early 1960, class consciousness had virtually disappeared from the surface of Canadian politics and, as Porter noted at the time, from the Canadian self-image as it was presented in the mass media.47 Although it did not conceive of itself primarily in class terms, the reform movement implicitly challenged this image. In many cities the movement formed a political coalition that was drawn mainly from the ranks of the poor, middle-class youth, the organized labour movement, and a young generation of social-service professionals. The power and economic interests of these groups were not identical. No one cared more about state programs of welfare assistance than the poor, the group that was also clearly the least powerful. The middle class, with its greater knowledge and direct experience of how government worked, was usually in the best position to bring

20 Democracy in Kingston influence to bear on city hall. But in several important respects, these groups found common ground. All stood to gain from the expansion of government social programs - the welfare poor as recipients, the working and middle class as employees and possible beneficiaries of unemployment insurance, pension, and medical assistance. None were powerful. The working and middle classes had developed, or were in the process of making, organizations to protect their interests. These organizations carried some clout but were mainly defensive in character. They helped to protect employees against inadequate wages, unfair dismissal, and, later, government cut-backs. But at the local level, prior to the reform movement of the sixties, they had little voice at city hall. Ranged against this coalition were local businessmen and landlords, along with what may be called the development lobby. The latter typically comprised builders, developers, real-estate agents, and banks, along with associated professionals and the local construction trades. Again, these groups did not have identical powers or interests. The professionals and the building trades were usually the weaker partners in this loose alliance, and some of the interests and loyalties of the latter were the same as these of their union brothers in the reform coalition. But, in varying degrees, all these groups shared a direct interest in the growth of the local economy and specifically in the processes of urban development. They saw municipal government at best as a facilitator, and at worst as a barrier, to the economic growth being promoted by the private sector. As many writers have shown, these were the groups that typically had the ear of City Council, and for whom local reform posed the greatest threat.48 For the most part, then, reform issues divided the major classes fairly neatly into two coalitions. In any particular place, the vitality and character of reform politics depended heavily the relative numbers, attitudes, and political organization of the major classes. Class attitudes and organization were, in turn, likely to depend to a considerable extent on the particular way in which housing tenure reinforced, or cut across, class divisions, and also on the ways that class and tenure were embodied in the social geography of the city. In this manner, the nature and impact of reform in each city came to depend upon the complex interpenetration of social divisions within the locality, as well as on the broader course of events. IV

This book is the story of the reform movement that developed in one Canadian city, Kingston, Ontario, between 1965 and 1970. Taking

21 An Exemplary Place

account of the peculiarities of this place, my intention is to substantiate a particular view of the nature and significance of reform during this period. My argument is that although reform in cities reflected the particular conditions of the urban milieu, it was part of a broader movement for social change. The latter contained two different, and sometimes warring, elements, but it should be viewed as a whole. When it is seen from this perspective, its significance may be seen to lie not in its immediate achievements, which were modest, but in its character as a popular movement for participatory democracy. As a self-conscious and coherent political force, this movement has died. Yet, properly understood, it can be seen to have left a significant legacy: its effects are still being felt, and assimilated, in the politics of the 1980s. A local study, closely limited in both its geographical and historical scope, may seem to offer too narrow a base upon which to build such an argument. It is true that a thoroughly convincing demonstration would need to encompass many cities, and to examine national as well as local politics. Even so, a great deal can be gleaned from the microscopic examination of one place. In the 1960s, Kingston was a modest city: its population was holding steady at about 60,000. With such a subject, it is possible to explore the reform movement in great detail. This is vital if we are properly to disentangle its various elements: the mixture of local influences and wider context; the related but distinct effects of class, housing tenure, and place of residence on political action; the separate but intertwined progression of liberal-democratic and radical reform. Perhaps even more important, such a manageable subject makes it possible to put these elements together, to develop the type of synthetic account that alone can do justice to the movement. In the current state of our knowledge I believe that the synthetic case study offers us more penetrating insights into the nature of reform than a more superficial treatment of many cities, or a more selective examination of one aspect of the complex whole. The nature and merits of this approach are considered in chapter 2. Kingston is a particularly appropriate place in which to study reform because local circumstances came to favour it to an unusual degree. The class and tenure composition of the city, the marked degree of social segregation, and the emergence of a housing crisis created many political opportunities. Organizers took advantage of them. As a result, a particularly strong reform movement was built up. The New Left came to play as large a part in Kingston politics as they did, perhaps, in any other Canadian city; from nowhere, the NDP built up a strong local presence; the electoral swing towards the NDP

22 Democracy in Kingston

and Liberals was stronger in Kingston than in the country as a whole. If anything, then, the reform tendencies that were most characteristic of the 1960s found a rather exaggerated expression in Kingston: the city was exemplary rather than typical. This circumstance may be viewed as a difficulty. Certainly, it prevents us from making any specific or literal generalizations about other cities. But in another way, it is an advantage. Kingston offers us an image of 1960s reform at full stretch. In this position, the distinctive character and significance of the movement are most clearly revealed. If Kingston is exemplary of urban reform, it also offers us insights into what was happening on the wider field of action. There are many difficulties, of course, in generalizing from the local to the national scene. Geography, and the division of powers between the federal, provincial, and local government, create distinctive opportunities and problems in the urban milieu. Pluralists and Marxists alike have too often ignored such differences. For that reason their arguments have been called seriously into question.49 My suggestion that urban reform in Kingston is indicative of the character of the wider movement is no more than that: a suggestion. To be developed it would need to take account of the many differences between local and national politics. Among the more important of these are the relative importance of political parties, the particular combination of class interests, and the nature of regional geographic interests. A consideration of such matters lies beyond the scope of this study. Even so, the suggestion that reform at all levels was cut from the same cloth is consistent with what is known about national politics in this period, and not merely in Canada. I believe, then, that the view of reform that is developed here offers us a new understanding of the significance of the social movement of the 1960s within a broader national, and indeed international, context. Reform in Kingston emerged in 1965, developed steadily over five years, and then rapidly disintegrated. It never stood still. Accordingly, this account attempts to follow the movement's course of development, which can only be understood in the context of the class inequalities specific to the city and the peculiarly conservative political milieu that reformers inherited from the 1950s (chapter 3). Leading the movement was the New Left, which focused its attention on certain parts of the inner city and began organizing in 1964—5 (chapter 4). In the following two years it met with mixed success in its dealings with working-class youth, inner-city residents, and the welfare poor (chapter 5). In the same years, a more diffuse movement of middle-class reform began to find expression in the churches, voluntary agencies, and NDP (chapter 6). In 1968 the two major currents

23 An Exemplary Place

of reform drew together. Focusing on the issues of rental housing and urban renewal, reformers sustained an intense level of political opposition for over two years (chapter 7). For a variety of reasons, however, by the end of 1970 the movement had fallen apart and the remaining fragments apparently lost influence (chapter 8). The significance of the movement is considered in the final chapter.

CHAPTER TWO

A Synthetic View

Rejecting historical materialism ... [geographers] lacked methods to achieve synthesis. David Harvey Attention to differences in national patterns is what is missing in recent Marxist ... analyses of urban movements and conflicts. Ira Katznelson

The social movement of the 1960s aroused the passions of supporters and detractors alike. Different classes of people stood to gain, and to lose, from reform. Each group believed its interests to be legitimate. Each saw the world in a particular way, and made its own version of the truth. The perspective of hindsight helps us to avoid some of the grosser errors of the time. The notion, for example, that the movement was a Soviet plot or that students would lead a revolution are obviously wrong. But hindsight does not provide us with a vision that is singular and true. Today, class interests are as different and opposed as ever. They colour our view of both the present and the past. Any interpretation of Kingston politics in the sixties, then, must have a particular point of view.

I Social movements have a way of highlighting the character and latent conflicts of the wider society. In Canada the movement of the 1960s heightened popular interest in the issue of Canadian identity and brought class divisions into the open. For this reason the origins,

25 A Synthetic View

nature, and significance of this movement can only be understood if they are placed in their historical, economic, and specifically national context. The local manifestations of this movement must be viewed in terms of the geography of each place. Accordingly, I believe that the social movement in Kingston may best be viewed synthetically, in relation to its context and as part of a larger whole.1 The value of the synthetic approach may seem so obvious as to require no further comment. It is not, however, the usual socialscientific method, which assumes that things are best understood by analysing them into their component parts. Indeed the present academic division of labour is based on such an idea, being organized into disciplines, each with its own particular subject. Thus "urban politics" is thought to be the domain of the "urban political scientist." In one sense such a division of labour is reasonable and perhaps necessary, because it makes the organization of research more manageable. But it has its dangers. Politics does not exist, and cannot be understood, in isolation from its context. The academic division of labour tends to disguise this fact. For example, in North America in the 1950s and 1960s the field of urban politics was dominated by political scientists, and in particular by those who took a pluralist point of view. Pluralists assumed that it was meaningful to ask who governed at city hall without having to weigh this against the structure of power and democracy in the world beyond. Their research, therefore, left open the question as to whether it really mattered who governed. Good research has been done under the pluralist banner, but it needs a context.2 Putting things into context is not the prerogative of any particular academic discipline. To be sure, it has been most closely associated with history and geography. Indeed, some believe that the synthetic approach actually defines these disciplines. History, it is said, aspires to study the interrelation of people and circumstance at a particular time; geographers do something similar for a region or place. But in recent years some of the most notable exponents of the synthetic view have come from a variety of backgrounds: Eric Hobsbawm from history, David Harvey from geography, C.B. MacPherson from political studies, Harold Innis from political economy, C. Wright Wills from sociology, and John Kenneth Galbraith from economics.3 These writers have drawn ideas from outside the discipline within which they were nominally working. In some cases they have identified themselves primarily with intellectual traditions that transcend academic boundaries. By far the most influential of these traditions is Marxism.

26 Democracy in Kingston II

Marxism means many things to many people. In an intellectual context it is in part a method, or way of thinking, which may be labelled "historical materialism." This method is synthetic, but in a particular way because it assumes that material conditions determine (in the sense of setting limits upon) the prevailing forms taken by politics and social ideology. Using this method, Marxists have elaborated a theory of what capitalism is and of how it has changed. According to this theory, class (defined by ownership of the means of production) is the central feature of all capitalist societies. Class exploitation creates profits, a dynamic of accumulation, and an irreconcilable conflict of interest between labour and capital. The state attempts to sustain the process of accumulation, while at the same time it mediates class conflict through the redistribution of income and the legitimation of the social order. Political democracy, and the beliefs that underlie it, are seen to have been shaped by a class-based system of production. Marxism, then, is a method, coupled with a theory of capitalism and the state. The breadth and certainty of Marxism have been its greatest strengths. But they have also attracted widespread condemnation. Although some critics have been ill informed, others have raised important questions that require careful consideration.5 Perhaps the most general charge levelled against Marxism is that it places too much importance on the "economic" factor in human history, reducing almost to nothing the significance of ideas, culture, and even politics. This criticism is closely bound up with two others: that Marxists overemphasize the extent to which people's lives are determined by events beyond their control, and that they attach too much importance to social class, as opposed to other bases of social division and conflict. It is certainly possible to find general references in the writings of Marx and his followers that would lend support to such criticisms. But it is also easy to find statements that refute them. On the question of determination and free will, for example, Engels observed that people make their own history, albeit under conditions not of their own choosing.6 In theory, then, a plausible case can be made on both sides. More substantial evidence concerning the nature and limitations of Marxist thought can be found in the empirical research that it has inspired. Here it must be said that there are consistent biases. Beginning with Marx's Capital, the most persuasive Marxist research has concerned itself with what are normally considered to be economic processes. Similarly, a good deal has been written about class, in both

27 A Synthetic View

its economic and political manifestations, but much less about, say, gender, place of residence, ethnicity, or ownership of domestic property. Again, Marxists have generally viewed people as the victims, rather than the makers, of history. Such a view has been reinforced even by those who have studied social movements, for they have often failed to show that the movements in question had much impact. This limitation is particularly true of social scientists, as opposed to historians, and it characterizes much of the literature on contemporary urban politics.7 Of course, such biases are not necessarily wrong-headed. If the economy is of decisive importance, if class and work are of overwhelming social significance, and if people really do not have the power to live as they might wish, then Marxists have done no more than describe reality. Far from being biased, they may in fact be disconcertingly accurate in their social vision. The problem is that the crucial arguments have too often been taken as premises rather than being treated as subjects for investigation. The issue of social class is a case in point. Studies have usually abstracted class from its overall social context. This is most apparent in those theoretical treatments that dissect the nature of class in capitalist society.8 It is even true, however, of a good deal empirical research on the subject. In recent years, statistical studies have documented the class composition of modern capitalist societies, but much less has been said about the social significance of class.9 Only in the historical literature is there a strong empirical tradition on the subject, most notably in Britain. The classic study is generally considered to be Thompson's account of the making of the English working class.10 Even this work, however, says more about the formation and meaning of class than about its importance in relation to other bases of social division. Such a limitation is not serious in the context of a single work. After all, it may be left for other writers to put class in its broader context and this has been done for nineteenth-century England. But the same is not true for Canada or the United States today. Too often the continuing significance of class has been assumed rather than demonstrated. The root of the problem is the relationship between theory and empirical research. Theory is by its nature selective. The theory of capitalism is an abstraction of certain elements from their historical context.11 Even supposing that those elements are important, perhaps crucial, they cannot define the character of a place and time. No place is wholly capitalist. To understand it, we must use the theory of capitalism with other theoretical concepts as the basis for empirical research. This has too rarely been done. A good deal of Marxist writing has been primarily theoretical in character. This is notably

28 Democracy in Kingston

true of recent Marxist (and neo-Marxist) discussions of urban politics that, as Katznelson has pointed out, have paid little attention to particular local and national situations.12 Acknowledging this problem, Marxist social scientists have recently directed their energies towards empirical research. In the process, however, many have retained a bias towards theory. Attempts have been made to demonstrate the validity, in whole or in part, of the theory of capitalism rather than to provide an understanding of a particular place and time. These purposes are not, of course, incompatible. Indeed, as historians like John Foster have shown, the most convincing way to argue for the validity of the theory is to show that it throws light upon a particular situation. To do so, however, it is essential that the limits of the theory be acknowledged. Marxists have seldom been willing to do this. Instead they have sometimes implied that their theory can comprehend all key aspects of the society in question. Other concepts are made to seem unnecessary, while discontinuing evidence may be ignored or forced to fit unsuitable categories. In this manner Marxist theory has been made to seem inflexible. Some critics believe that this inflexibility is inherent in the Marxist approach.13 Giddens, for example, has suggested that Marxism is mired in a tradition of thought that makes a rigid and untenable distinction between social structure and human agency. As an alternative, he has proposed a theory of "structuration."14 But I believe that the rigidities of Marxist theory are not so much intrinsic as contingent upon the way that it has been used. For political reasons Marxists have frequently been forced onto the defensive. In such a position they have been reluctant to admit to any weakness of their theory, and in reaction have been pushed into making extravagant claims.15 If Marxism is to retain and indeed regain intellectual respect, its limitations as well as its strengths must be acknowledged. It does not provide us with all the answers. It offers a particular synthetic method and an important set of questions and expectations.16 I believe that when it is viewed in this way, and whatever its limitations, it still provides us with the best single framework for understanding the society we live in. This framework, and its associated expectations, inform tjie present study of social reform in Kingston, indicating the need to consider the economic context within which social reform occurred. The framework suggests, more particularly, that class is likely to be a vital element in this context. It also indicates the probable existence of quite narrow limits on the capacity of reformers to bring about significant social change. But such expectations are properly phrased as questions, not answers. The relative importance of other social divi-

29 A Synthetic View sions, such as place of residence and housing tenure, must be determined. So, too, must the reformers' capacity to effect change. In one sense such questions are likely to be of greatest concern to those who are interested in Canada, in urban politics, and in the social-reform movement of the 1960s. To consider such questions, however, is to raise issues of theory and method that are of more general significance. The idea of synthesis is not new, while the theoretical concepts that inform this study have been used many times before. Even in historical research, however, these concepts have rarely been used together, and in an explicit way, to inform an empirical account. Presented here, then, is an interpretation of social reform in a specific period and place within the context of a particular type of synthetic approach.

CHAPTER THREE

The Inheritance

Kingston is incredibly cut off from the real world ... it's so smug and middle class and narrowminded. Janette Turner Hospital, writer Churchill Crescent, Kingston SMUG! ... I don't find Kingston smug at all. David Helwig, writer Montreal Street, Kingston

One of the most remarkable facts about the 1960s is that they followed the 1950s. The two decades are a study in contrasts. In his 1961 inaugural address to City Council, His Worship Mayor W.T. Mills summed up Kingston's progress to date. He declared that "the city of Kingston is a unique blend of past and present. Stately old buildings, many of them reposing in park-like settings, have given it the name of the 'Limestone City'. Well-designed industrial plants, shopping facilities and pleasant new subdivisions mark it as a progressive, modern city as well."1 There was no irony here. Between the lines of the typed minutes, and broken only by the occasional snore, one can almost hear the murmurs of assent. However, within a decade this complacent oligarchy had been shaken by militant opposition. On 31 August 1970, a packed gallery forced council to adjourn after a motion to establish rent controls in Kingston had been rejected. A departing spectator was overheard to ask: "Why don't you adjourn - permanently?"2 To understand what happened in the interim, it is necessary to have in mind the political milieu that local reformers inherited from

31 The Inheritance

the immediate past. This milieu was a curious combination of economic inequality and political consensus. In this situation reform was not impossible, but it was limited to civic paternalism. The most conspicuous example was urban renewal. For this reason, the process of urban renewal offers a prism through which the economic inequalities and political involvement of Kingstonians in this period may be examined.

I Urban renewal was a federal program that had been established by the National Housing Act of 1944, and then revised in 1954.3 Under the provisions of the later Act, money was made available to municipalities for the demolition of deteriorated buildings and the construction of new urban infrastructure, including publicly owned housing. The federal government agreed to pay 75 per cent of the costs, leaving it up to each province to apportion the remainder between itself and the local governments. Ontario took on a greater burden than other provinces; for some types of expenses it took on the entire non-federal component. In general, the Canadian legislation was very similar to that in the United States, with one exception: there was no requirement that a "workable program" of urban renewal should incorporate "citizen participation." It was especially appropriate that Kingston should take advantage of the renewal program. The legislation of 1944 had been inspired by the findings of the Advisory Committee on Reconstruction, and specifically those of a subcommittee on housing and community planning that had been chaired by C.A. Curtis, an economics professor at Queen's University.4 At the end of the war, Curtis initiated a study of housing in Kingston that provided ample and sometimes moving documentation of housing conditions in parts of the inner city and north end.5 It had no immediate political effect, partly because the financial provisions of the 1944 Act were not attractive to the municipality. After the more generous legislation of 1954, however, the city became more receptive to the suggestion that it should initiate a local project. Such a suggestion was made quite eloquently by the Reverend T.H. Good in a speech that he gave to the Kingston Trades and Labour Council in September 1955. "There are parts of this city," he declared, "as depressed as any in the world, and this is to our eternal shame."6 He referred in particular to the shacktown known as Rideau Heights. This area was not a typical urban slum. Indeed, it was scarcely urban at all, for it had been annexed from Kingston Township in 1952 and lay at the northern fringe of the

32 Democracy in Kingston

city. Neither was it a typical suburb, although three-quarters of the homes were owner-occupied. It was rather sparsely settled, most dwellings being self-built shacks of one or two storeys, clustered randomly in the fields. Over one-fifth of the houses had no running water and only one-fifth had inside bathrooms.7 In winter, except around the stove, the earthen floors froze solid. The people who lived there were mostly migrants from rural eastern Ontario. This was, and still is, one of the poorest rural areas in Canada. Attempts had been made to settle there in the nineteenth century, but the soils were thin and sparse. Some descendants of the original settlers stayed on. As Matt Cohen has described in The Sweet Second Summer of Kitty Malone, those still living on the land in the 1960s eked out a bare existence from odd-jobbing and welfare. A steady trickle of people, however, left the country for towns like Kingston, Cornwall and Brockville, looking if not for opportunities then at least for an easier life (figure 1). They brought with them few skills, and their geographic isolation in places like Rideau Heights was a clear-enough indication of their marginality to urban life. In Kingston, however, they were about to be renewed. Reverend Good's appeal found some active support, and a good deal of rather passive sympathy, at the Trades and Labour Council. By the mid 1950s organized labour in Kingston had become entrenched, and in its own way conservative. This, of course, was not a merely local phenomenon. With the rise of large corporations in the twentieth century, and following the great labour struggles of the 1930s and 1940s, the Canadian labour force had become polarized into what some writers have called the "primary" and "secondary" sectors.8 Typically, primary-sector workers were employed by larger, often multinational, companies. They were unionized and most were comparatively well paid. Having won company recognition and basic rights, they saw little reason to rock the boat in the growing economy of the 1950s. The labour movement lost interest in organizing the unorganized; union membership stagnated; and support for Canada's socialist party, the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation (CCF), slowly waned.9 Over two-thirds of all workers, however, remained outside the labour movement. This secondary sector was concentrated in the smaller and often declining industries, and also in white-collar office work, increasingly the preserve of women. In this sector, workers had little control over working conditions or pay, the latter often being very low. The contrasts between primary and secondary sectors were particularly marked in Kingston. Over half the city's industrial labour force was employed by three companies - Alcan, Dupont, and Canadian

33 The Inheritance

Figure I The regional setting of Kingston

34 Democracy in Kingston Industries Ltd (GIL). All were multinationals. Alcan had set up a factory in Kingston in the 1940s, to support the Allied war effort by making components for Lancaster bombers, shell casings, and so forth. In peacetime, Alcan found new markets and by the 1950s was employing about 2,000 workers, most of whom were organized by the United Steelworkers of America. At about the same time, to the west of the city, two chemicals factories had been established. The Dupont plant was organized by the United Mine Workers until 1967, when a company union, the Kingston Independent Nylon Workers, took over. At ciL-Millhaven, a Dupont subsidiary until anti-combines legislation forced it to separate, workers' interests were represented by the Union of Oil, Chemical, and Atomic Workers. The employees at these three plants were well paid not only in comparison with secondary-sector workers in Kingston, but also with their counterparts in the rest of Canada (table 1). For example, in 1961, Kingston mechanics and machinists, most of whom worked at Alcan, earned on the average $4,763 and $4,867, respectively. This was about $1,400 TABLE 1 Imputed Wages in Selected Occupations, Kingston, Ontario, and Canada, 1961 Annual $l

Kingston as per cent of Ontario Canada

Kingston

Ontario

Canada

Sales clerk Offflce clerk3 Typist4 Carpenter Mechanic Machinist

1,810 2,815 2,668 4,721 4,763 4,867

1,919 3,011 2,933 4,666 4,611 4,839

Labourer

3,432

3,321

2,081 2,913 2,793 4,544 4,481 4,740 3,404

94.3 93.5 91.0 101.2 103.3 100.6 103.3

92.2 103.4 105.0 102.7 102.9 102.1 97.6

All hourly paid workers

4,316

4,035

3,806

106.9

113.4

Occupation 2

1

Annual wages have been imputed from weekly and hourly data on the assumption of a forty-hour work week, fifty-two weeks a year. 2 Saleswomen (intermediate — class B) in retail merchandising other than food or motor vehicles. 3 General female office clerk (intermediate). 4 Senior female typist. Source: Canada, Department of Labour, Wage Rates, Salaries and Hours of Labour (Ottawa 1961); Statistics Canada, Employment, Earnings and Hours (Ottawa 1961).

35 The Inheritance more than the average labourer's wage, and about $2,000 more than the typical salary of a female office clerk or senior female typist. Indeed, in general, many unionized workers could expect to earn more in Kingston than in the rest of the country, the wage differentials being over $100 for machinists and almost $300 for mechanics. In contrast, mainly non-unionized workers such as labourers, typists, and office clerks earned no more in Kingston than they did elsewhere, and sometimes less. An annual wage of almost $5,000 could buy a modest but comfortable life in Kingston. At a pinch, home ownership was possible. A guideline often used by real-estate agents suggests that a family should be able to afford a home that costs two and a half times its annual income. On that basis in 1961, the average male mechanic or machinist might have afforded a $12,000 property, even if his wife did not go out to work. Unfortunately, housing in Kingston was not cheap. According to the census, the median price of an owner-occupied home in the city in 1961 was $14,190, almost $2,500 (21 per cent) more than in other Ontario towns of comparable size. A machinist looking for a home in that year would typically have been able to choose from about one-third of the city's housing stock.10 In fact, it seems that by the late 1950s only about half the secondary-sector workers who lived in the city (as opposed to the suburbs) had bought a home. In 1970, after Kingston's tenancy rate had increased in the 1960s, the level of working-class home ownership was still 47 per cent. This was low in comparison with other Canadian towns of similar size, where the working-class ownership rate in 1974 was 68 per cent.11 It seems that, if they wanted to live in the city, many Kingston workers had to work relatively hard to acquire a home. Buying a home and raising a family seem to have become the central concern of most local workers in the 1950s. Work was viewed as a means to this end and wages became the central bargaining issue. Labour representatives were well aware of this situation and adopted an appropriate leadership style. John MacKinnon is a good example. A city fireman, MacKinnon was also an active socialist and union man. For several years the president of the local Labour Council (renamed when the Canadian Congress of Labour merged with the Trades and Labour Congress in 1956), MacKinnon ran for the CCF /NDP in the federal election campaigns of 1958 and 1962. In the course of his first campaign he addressed a meeting of the United Electrical, Radio, and Machine Workers in the Odd Fellows Hall. Speaking for the needs of the worker, as he understood them, he emphasized the need for tax exemptions that would help "the family man to send his children to school, to pay off the mortgage and the

36 Democracy in Kingston

grocery bill."12 Some socialists have expressed the concern that home ownership dulls the worker's perception of the inequities of capitalism, blunting labour radicalism.13 Not MacKinnon. Seeing no necessary contradiction between socialism and home ownership, he wanted both. As a matter of fact, however, in embracing a homecentred life in the 1950s, many Kingston workers simultaneously turned their backs on the unorganized and on an active engagement in social reform. Dan Cross is a rather extreme case in point. By the late 1950s, Cross was a veteran union organizer. When he finally retired in 1970, "the warrior" had a record of twelve years as national president of the Canadian Postal Employees Association (CPEA) (later the Canadian Union of Postal Workers), seven years as president of the Local 8 (Kingston), and had briefly held the presidency of the Kingston Labour Council in the early 1960s. No one was more determined to defend the interests of organized labour. Speaking in 1963 as the previous year's CPEA president, he is reported to have said: "I like to think of the CPEA as the greatest fighting force in the entire Dominion. If it hadn't been for the postal department, the civil service in general wouldn't have got anything."14 On retirement his parting advice to labour was "Don't ever surrender the right to strike. If you do that, you've had the biscuit."15 Cross's sympathies for powerless groups outside the labour movement, however, were limited. His view of immigrants, for example, was that they should be sent home since they took jobs away from Canadians.16 In fact, immigrants posed a relatively small threat to native-born labour in Kingston, which in 1961 was still a very WASP town. In 1961 over 84 per cent of the city's population was Canadian born, and 65 per cent belonged to one or other of the Protestant churches (or had no religious affiliation at all).17 Almost three-quarters of the population were of British descent; in this group even recent immigrants were easily assimilated. Moreover, most non-British immigrants did not compete directly with native-born labour for the plum union jobs. The Italians, one of the more numerous of the minority groups, were concentrated in the construction trades. Some had set up their own businesses in which they provided employment for family and ex-compatriots. A similar pattern was followed by the Portuguese when they began to arrive in some numbers in the 1960s. Other ethnic groups kept a low profile. The small Chinese and Greek communities, for example, had the reputation of looking after their own.18 Many set up businesses, and Kingston had the usual complement of Chinese laundries and restaurants. Altogether, in the late 1950s, ethnic minorities played a small part in Kingston life, and an

37 The Inheritance

even smaller part in the labour movement. Cross also expressed disdain for unorganized workers. In an article entitled "What about the Workers?" that he wrote for Kingston's tercentenary in 1973 Cross observed, reasonably enough, that "the organized get the bread while the unorganized get the crumbs."19 He continued: "It's an unfortunate situation but one that does not evoke the least sympathy from me. The unorganized are in their present predicament simply because it is their choice. They are afraid that if they even mention the word unionism they will be fired." Many of Kingston's blue-collar workers in the late 1950s were either unorganized or were represented by weak company unions. In the city's North End there were quite a number of small factories engaged in metal fabrication, printing, soft-drink bottling, baking, tanning, and the like. Very few were unionized. No data exist for the late 1950s, but even in 1976 less than 30 per cent of the manufacturing plants that employed fewer than fifty people were unionized.20 There can be no question that, as Cross suggested, many workers feared the consequences of trying to organize. They had reason, as the experience of the hundred or so employees at the Davis Tannery could bear witness. The Tannery was an old family business, owned and run by father and son, H.W. and H.P. Davis. Both were members of the Chamber of Commerce (H.P. was once a director) and active Liberals (H.P. was for a while president of the riding association). The Tannery itself was a notorious sweat shop that in a good year employed about 150 people on a seasonal basis. They worked from 7:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. in terrible conditions. The factory was not insulated. The cellar where the leather was shaved was damp, and in winter men had to work in sweaters and overcoats. Some died from pneumonia. The workers were organized as Local 110 of the Amalgamated Meat Cutters and Butcher Workmen of North America, but a number of employees are reported to have observed that the union was "for the company." As Joan Newman was to observe in a study of the company that she prepared in 1970, section 2.05 of the contract then in force spoke for itself.21 It read, in part: The union ... agrees that it will cooperate with the Company and support its efforts to assure a full day's work on the part of its members; that it will actively combat absenteeism and any other practices which restrict production. It further agrees that it will support the Company in its efforts to eliminate waste in production: conserve materials and supplies; improve the quality of workmanship; prevent accidents; strengthen goodwill between the employer, the employee, the customer and the public.

38 Democracy in Kingston

The workers were paid less than the minimum wage. Many had large families and were, as Newman observes, "terrified to fight back." The union never went on strike. In 1969 a union militant was elected as vice-president and soon after, she, along with five other women, were laid off. She was never re-hired. The powerless could not look for much help to the larger unions that controlled the Labour Council. Cross was more outspoken than most but, at least until the mid 1960s, his prejudices did not set him very far apart from many in the local labour movement. The Steelworkers dominated the Labour Council, and indeed most of the council's meetings were held at the Steelworkers' Hall on Concession Street (as they are still). The international leadership of the Steelworkers was not radical, and the same was true of the local organization. From 1959 to 1970 the local president was Lloyd Fell, a CCF man who had once been elected to the provincial legislature.22 By the late 1950s, however, his more active political days were over. There were, of course, some more actively radical voices. In this regard the most notable group were the United Electrical Workers that MacKinnon had addressed in 1958. Communist-led, the UEW was one of the very few unions at the national level that successfully resisted McCarthyism in the early fifties.23 Kingston members strongly favoured labour representation on City Council and Harold Shannon, president of the UEW tile-works local, ran successfully seven times as a ward alderman. The local had also taken an aggressive stand on rent controls. During the Second World War the federal government had imposed a freeze on rents that remained in force until 1951. In that year Ontario passed the Leasehold Regulation Act, which provided for the continuation of controls, and in 1953 An Act Concerning Rent Controls gave municipalities the power to adopt rent controls and to set up review agencies to administer and enforce them. A number of organizations, including the Labour Council and a group of housewives, lobbied City Council to establish rent controls; the most active of these groups were the United Electrical Workers.24 The lobby was unsuccessful and the issue was dropped, apparently for good. The reasonableness of the local labour movement was often noted by local businessmen. The building trades were a case in point. In 1950 a Kingston Builders' Exchange had been formed by local builders and developers who were concerned to consolidate and better express their interests to a wider public. In 1963 the president of the exchange observed that the group was "fortunate ... in having labour groups generally represented by intelligent negotiating committees, who realize that there is a certain limit to [wage]

39 The Inheritance

increases."25 With few exceptions, then, organized labour in Kingston in the late 1950s was neither militant nor a major force for social reform. Only a small minority were prepared to throw their weight behind urban renewal. II

The Reverend Good could expect, and indeed he received, nothing better from the middle class. This was important because Kingston was a distinctly middle-class town (table 2). According to the 1961 TABLE 2 Occupational Composition of the Labour Force, Kingston, 1961 and 1971

Occupation

Per cent distribution 1961 1971

21.8 6.9 5.1 2.0

Manufacturing and construction Machinists Labourers

22.6 1.8 4.1

Total

76

7.4

Managerial Professional and technical Teachers Professors Physicians Clerical Office clerks Typists Sales Sales clerks Service Protective Transport Truck drivers

17.2 2.6 1.1 1.0 14.5 5.3 4.5 7.4 4.6

Kingston as per cent of Canada 1961 1971

3.9 2.2 1.3 1.3 6.2 3.6

150 89 570 262 95 90 113 99 110

1.7

151 193 71 68

0.7

82 154

n.a.

65

3.7

100.1

Source: Dominion Bureau of Statistics, 1961 Census of Canada (Ottawa 1961).

104 635 327

71 129 103 245

61

71

40 Democracy in Kingston

census, over 17 per cent of the labour force were engaged in professional or technical occupations. This was exactly 50 per cent more than the rate for Canada as a whole. There was a particularly high proportion of teachers and doctors. Apart from Alcan, the major employers in the city itself were Queen's University, the Board of Education, and three regional hospitals (Kingston General, Kingston Psychiatric, and Hotel Dieu). In addition, located immediately to the east of the city across the Cataraqui River, was the Royal Military College. The RMC offered a university-level education to military cadets. Both Queen's University and RMC drew students from across the country, while the hospitals served a large hinterland as well as the city itself. Not surprisingly, then, in comparison with the country as a whole, Kingston had over five times its share of professors and school principals, and two and a half times its share of physicians and surgeons. Kingston's reputation as an "institutional" town was also based on the presence of no less than five penitentiaries, one located within city boundaries and the others in the immediate vicinity. Most of the penitentiary guards lived outside the city itself. Even so, and again in comparison with the nation as a whole, Kingston had twice its share of this group. Guards are not normally considered middle class. Indeed their salaries and working conditions were poor. Yet they have powers of supervision and control that set them apart from the working class. On these grounds, a number of writers have argued that they - together with, for example, line foremen and the police - are best understood as middle class.26 Recognizing that the work, education, and way of life of a guard was very different from that of local professionals, it seems reasonable to treat the group as a distinct stratum within the middle class. With or without them, however, it is clear that the latter formed an unusually large part of the city's work force. As the city's educational and medical institutions expanded, the growing middle class settled down to raise families. They pressed westwards, filling up undeveloped land within the city and spilling over into Kingston Township (figure 2). New subdivisions such as Calvin Park were opened up with the assistance of federal loan guarantees. Kingston's first shopping centre — soon known as "the" shopping centre - was open to serve these new suburban communities by the end of the 1950s. The process continued into the 1960s. In the early years of that decade Poison Park was developed as a federal land-assembly project. Subsidized land costs offered a strong encouragement to suburban home ownership, and lots were soon snapped up. With the encouragement of the state, professors at Queen's, like

41 The Inheritance

Figure 2 Wards and neighbourhoods in Kingston

42 Democracy in Kingston

machinists at Alcan, were discovering the pleasures and responsibilities of home and garden. Professionals and their wives have a reputation for getting involved in volunteer work and local reform activity. The most thorough examination of volunteer social work in Canada is David Donnison's case study of Brockville, Ontario. He concluded that in Brockville in the early 1950s most volunteers held "professional, executive or business jobs, or they are the wives of men in such jobs."27 Brockville was in many ways similar to Kingston at that time. Both towns were small, predominantly white, protestant, and conservative. It is not surprising, then, that the style and social base of volunteer work was much the same in the two cities. The only difference, attributable mainly to the presence of the university, was that the middle class played a slightly larger role in Kingston. Groups such as the Elizabeth Fry Society and the Council of Women were supported mainly by middle-class women. In 1963, for example, the executive committee of Elizabeth Fry included the assistant director of Sunnyside Children's Centre, the wife of an industrial designer at Alcan, the wives of two Queen's professors, and a woman chemist who was also associated with Queen's. Such organizations played a modest role in pressing for social and political reform. At the centre of this activity was the Kingston Welfare Council. Established in 1939 (as the Community Council of Social Welfare Agencies), this council coordinated the work of volunteer groups and endeavoured to identify unfulfilled needs within the community. Most voluntary agencies, as well as the Welfare Council itself, were supported by donations made during the annual Community Chest drive. Kingstonians were rather miserly, however, giving a lower amount on a per capita basis than the residents of most other Ontario towns, Brockville included.28 From 1954 onwards, the Community Chest consistently failed to reach its annual fundraising goal, and by the end of the 1950s, the Welfare Council was at "something of a low point."29 Volunteer and reform work among the middle class was alive, but not well. When the Reverend Good charged that Kingston was "dead as far as civil [sic] spirit goes," he was not far wrong. Ill

Although local support for reform was isolated and weak, the provisions of the urban renewal program were too attractive for City Council to resist. On 13 December 1955, Mayor Wright appointed a Committee on Housing to investigate the need for renewal. It was composed of three aldermen and five citizens. The latter included

43 The Inheritance

two representatives from the Trades and Labour Council and one from the Chamber of Commerce. Two ratepayer spokesmen were also chosen, one each from the West End and Rideau Heights. At the first meeting of the committee, held a week later, it was agreed that priority should be given to the clearance and redevelopment of substandard housing and to the construction of low-income (public) housing. When approached, the Welfare Council agreed to carry out a survey of about 300 housing units in the Rideau Heights area, although a preliminary report was not completed until November 1957.30 It was apparent to the committee, however, that substandard housing was not confined to Rideau Heights. The federal program provided money for a more comprehensive survey, and in due course the Committee on Housing and the Planning Board established a Joint Advisory Committee to conduct a thorough survey of the city. The result, a bound, glossy report entitled A Planning Study of Kingston, Ontario, was published in 1961.31 Although the planning study identified a number of deteriorated areas within the city, immediate action focused on Rideau Heights (figure 2). In 1958, to accommodate some of the people that the renewal project was expected to displace, preparations began for the construction of seventy-one public housing units on Riverview Court, in an adjacent part of the city's North End. By the end of 1961, before redevelopment started, these had been occupied. The city was eager to demolish everything in the area, but was pursuaded by federal officials to be more selective. By the mid 1960s the worst structures in the area had been torn down, some people re-housed, and basic water and sewer services put in. Rideau Heights had been cleaned up. There is no question that living conditions for some of the poorest people in the community had been improved, but the process had been paternalistic from first to last. The people affected had little or no say in what happened: that was a matter for the planning experts. Consultation lasted from July to August 1962. In July, the Planning Board presented its plan to the twelve invited people who had gathered at City Hall. The twelve comprised six clerics; two representatives from the Rideau Heights Home and School Association and Ralph Lawson from the ratepayers association; the principal of the local public school; the chairman of the Separate School Board; and Marion Earl, chairman of the Kingston Housing Authority (which managed the public housing at Riverview Court). At a subsequent public meeting held in Rideau Heights Public School on 9 August, George Muirhead, the director on the Planning Board and senior author of the 1961 renewal study, described the planning

44 Democracy in Kingston process in this manner: "The plans as now presented were unveiled to your representatives at that meeting [in City Hall]. It was decided at that time to ask the Planning Board to hold a public meeting to present the plan as shown here and to explain it to the residents of the area. On July 26th, 1962 it was unanimously passed by the Planning Board to hold this meeting"32 (my emphasis). It was clear that local people were to have little chance to challenge, still less to frame, the renewal program for their area. The twelve people who were first consulted by the Planning Board might reasonably have been expected to know about Rideau Heights but, with the exception of Ralph Lawson, could not be considered "representative" in any meaningful political sense. Muirhead makes it clear to his audience that the board was under no obligation to hold a public meeting, the implication being that this was an act for which the audience should be grateful. The purpose of the meeting itself was simply to inform residents of what was going to happen. In the course of the meeting Muirhead answered questions asked by 16 of (about) 130 people present. Most were concerned with the way that the proposals would affect themselves: "We have a piggery around here. Is anything going to be done about it?" "We are in between two houses that are going to be moved. Our lot is 75 feet. If we wanted to sell it how could we go about it?" "Would a barber's shop and corner store be allowed in the area?" The only general issue concerned the appraisal of properties that the renewal authority was planning to purchase. Between 1958 and 1961 the Central Mortgage and Housing Corporation had stopped insuring loans in the area on account of the "undesirable character of the neighborhood."33 This policy had depressed property values and local home owners were naturally concerned that the appraiser should consider relative market values before the area had been designated for renewal. They got no satisfactory answer, and the meeting broke up after only one and a half hours. If the process of renewal was less than democratic, it would not be fair to lay the blame primarily on the Planning Board. The board was not required to encourage the participation of residents, nor was it under much pressure to do so. The public meeting revealed that some residents felt uneasy about what was going to happen, but that was natural enough. No one criticized the general outline of the plan, nor the way that it was being implemented. From all sides, then, urban renewal was viewed as good civic housekeeping, something that the haves, out of charity, were doing for the have nots.

45 The Inheritance IV

There was little question as to who was in control of this process. The Planning Board was accountable to City Council, and council was largely the instrument of local business interests. It has been suggested that, in a number of the larger Canadian cities, local governments had come under the sway of the land-development lobby by the early 1960s.34 This situation had occurred in Kingston Township, where development was proceeding apace, but not in the city itself. Downtown, the 1950s and early 1960s were years of very modest development activity. Some of the older industries, and particularly those associated with the port and waterfront, were clearly ailing. The Dredge and Dock Company changed hands before going out of business in the mid sixties, while the Canadian Locomotive Works also fell into the red. These cramped and (in the age of the truck) inconveniently located sites were unattractive to new industry, while the local growth of office employment was slow. Until the late sixties, then, land developers were not vitally concerned with what happened at Kingston City Hall. The groups that did care and that did make their presence felt were local industries and, above all, merchants and small businessmen. The industry with the biggest stake in the city was Alcan, whose interests were that its taxes be kept low, that its work force be adequately serviced, and that in other respects it be left alone. To these ends, it encouraged its managers and employees to play an active role in the community, both in voluntary service agencies and also in local politics.35 "Bennie" Allmark, a planning superintendant at Alcan, had spent six years on City Council from 1952 to 1958 before running successfully for the Progressive Conservatives in the Diefenbaker sweep of 1958. Like other employees, he was allowed time off to pursue these interests. The company did not seek a high profile; it was enough that its image be that of a responsible citizen and benign giant. Nevertheless, as a large multinational, Alcan was capable of shifting substantial investments (and therefore many jobs) into, and out of, the city. Alcan carried a great deal of clout at City Hall. Often, on the anniversary of Alcan's arrival in the city, council would pass a motion wishing the company many happy returns. More important, any dealings with the company were handled with kid gloves. In 1965, for example, the city sought to acquire from Alcan six acres of land in order to construct a new arterial road, Sir John A. Macdonald Boulevard. The company let it be known that such encroachments were not viewed with favour, and the city hurriedly agreed to build a new perimeter fence and to make "no further

46 Democracy in Kingston

requests for land from the Aluminum [sic] Company of Canada."36 More politically visible than Alcan, and on a day-to-day basis more influential, were small businessmen and merchants. This group was represented by the Chamber of Commerce. The relationship between the Chamber of Commerce and City Council was so close that the interests of the two groups often appeared, to everyone concerned, to be indistinguishable. The chamber promoted local business by encouraging tourism and local conventions. As such, like council itself, it was seen as serving the community as a whole. It was not unusual for council to offer the chamber financial support. In 1964, for example, it donated $6,000, for no apparent reason, "to aid in financing."37 Some idea of how the relationship between these organizations worked in practice may be gained from the way council handled the issue of commercial advertising. In July 1962, Kingston City Council considered a petition of the Retail Merchants of Canada. This petition asked that, if council were at any time to consider a by-law that restrained merchants in the promotion of goods and services, it should first contact the national association and local merchants so that these groups might have the opportunity to make their views known. Council decided not to formally endorse this petition on the grounds that such an action was unnecessary. It already knew the merchants' interests because, as the minutes laconically pointed out, three members of council sat on the Board of Directors of the Chamber of Commerce.38 They might more appropriately have observed that at that time eight members of the Chamber of Commerce sat on council. Together, manufacturers and merchants dominated local government policy. To advise council on an appropriate industrial strategy, an Industrial Commission of five appointees had been established. In the early 1960s, of this five, two were drawn from the Chamber of Commerce, one from the Canadian Manufacturers' Association, one from a ratepayers' group, and only one from the Labour Council. Of course, council did not always accede to the request of any individual businessman, or even of a particular group. In 1965, for example, it proposed to make Princess Street, the main downtown shopping area, into a one-way street. Not knowing what the effects on business would be, but fearing the worst, the Downtown Businessmen's Association strenuously objected. In a petition they set forth their manifold contribution to the wealth and welfare of the city, and opposed council's plan.39 They lost, partly because councillors did not believe that the effects on business would be serious and partly because they were also concerned about the local traffic flow. The interests of business and local government did not perfectly

47 The Inheritance coincide, but neither did they seriously diverge. In contrast, the relationship of council to organized labour was usually strained. It was not uncommon for one or two union men to be elected to council. These representatives would press for the interests of workers, the main recurrent demand being that city employees be paid good wages. In this way, as individuals, the union men were seen by others on council to be expressing a sectional interest in a way that members of the Chamber of Commerce were not. Moreover, any attempt by the Kingston Labour Council to influence local government was viewed with hostility, and not only by City Council itself. It was not unusual for the Labour Council to endorse selected candidates in the biennial civic elections. Sometimes the organization went so far as to draw up its own platform, and then ask candidates whether they were willing to support it. This was deplored by the Kingston Whig-Standard. Owned by A.L. Davies, an active Liberal and member of the Chamber of Commerce, the Whig was by no means a reactionary paper but it opposed any attempt by organized labour to influence local government. In an editorial published just before the 1960 election, for example, it argued that candidates should have complete freedom of action to act as their own consciences dictated.40 This argument was applied equally to political parties. Indeed, as in most Canadian cities at that time, there was a nominal consensus that local government should be non-partisan. In the 1950s and early 1960s no one was elected, per se, as a Progressive Conservative, a Liberal, or a CCF/NDP candidate. Behind the scenes, however, candidates for aldermanic and especially mayoral positions often had the use of party organizations. Many had strong party affiliations that they were quite willing to make public as the occasion demanded. One such occasion occurred in 1962 when, in the course of his national election campaign, Lester Pearson visited Kingston. He spoke to a rally of 3,000 at the Kingston Memorial Centre, being introduced as "the next Prime Minister of Canada" by His Worship W.T. Mills, the current mayor.41 Mills took the opportunity to declare his intention of running for the Liberals in the next provincial election. Chairing the event was Ken Keyes, acting president of Kingston Liberal Association. Keyes himself became an alderman and mayor in the 1970s, kept his party connections, and was elected to the Ontario parliament in 1985. Many city councillors were members of the Chamber of Commerce, then, and most of those who had party connections were either Liberals or Conservatives. An urban historian, John Taylor, has observed42 that "prior to the depression of the 'thirties the mayors of most large Canadian cities appear to have

48 Democracy in Kingston

been drawn from small business or liberal-professional groups, and most had a discreet but widely recognized attachment to the Liberal or Conservative parties."42 Appropriately behind the times, Kingston fit the model. Any organization that spoke for labour, or reform, was branded as "political" or "ideological" and ruled out. Local government was a rather cosy club, with a select membership. Class did not play a very conspicuous role in Kingston politics in the early 1960s, but behind the scenes it was vital. In fairness, however, it should be said that the party affiliations of those on council reflected quite accurately the political inclinations of the local electorate. At the federal level, Kingstonians had elected Conservatives more often than Liberals, the tally prior to the 1958 Diefenbaker sweep being 12—11. On this simple criterion, Kingston had consistently proved itself more conservative than the nation. The most venerable Conservative of them all, the father of Confederation, was the city's favourite son. Sir John A. Macdonald's grave lay just outside the city in Cataraqui cemetery, while his name and statue had been given to the city's largest downtown park. Provincially, Kingstonians were as Tory as the province as a whole, which is to say very Tory indeed. In the post-war years, Ken Keyes was the city's first Liberal to sit at Queen's Park. With such a record it was hardly necessary for "The Chief to visit Kingston on his whistlestop tour of the country in 1958, when he spoke to a rally of 4,000 at Kingston Memorial Centre before returning "directly to a railway car standing at a siding."43 Allmark, billing himself as the "successful executive of proven ability," took every ward in the city, except in the inner North End where he was just edged by the Liberal.44 Some voices of dissent were raised. Shannon criticized Allmark for being no friend to labour, but for these observations he was roundly condemned by others on council and by the press. Running for the CCF in 1958, John MacKinnon waged a brave campaign but in the end was able to command only 2.8 per cent of the city vote, and even less, 2.6 per cent, in the riding as a whole. It was a pitiful showing. In 1961 the CCF reorganized as the New Democratic Party. Little changed, however, and in Kingston it continued to draw its members about equally, and almost exclusively, from the ranks of Queen's professors and Alcan steelworkers.45 They were unable to make much impact. As late as 1964 the mood within the organization was despondent. In November of that year the provincial secretary of the NDP wrote to the director of political education for the Canadian Labour Congress that both Kingston and Brockville were "very, very poor as far as the Party support and organization are concerned."46 Arthur Lower, a distinguished Canadian historian and Kingston resi-

49 The Inheritance dent, has observed that in the 1950s Kingston "was still the sleepy conservative town that had been dozing on the shores of Lake Ontario for nearly a century."47 It is hard to disagree.

CHAPTER

FOUR

Into Unknown Kingston

Faith without works is dead, The Book of James, ii, 20 Community organizing is a way of acting on your ideals, of making them relevant to a living situation, and having them altered and refined by that situation. Dennis McDermott, Director, Kingston Community Project, 1965

The 1960s brought change even to Kingston. Members of a new middleclass generation found it impossible to reconcile what they saw about them with the ideals that they had learned at home and in school. By insisting that society live up to its ideals, and by showing how that might be done, they were a vital force in breaking the paternalistic consensus of the 1950s. I

In Kingston, the Queen's University campus became the seedbed of change. One of the immediate consequences of the Second World War had been a baby boom. Six years of war had delayed some marriages and kept others childless. Many veterans returned in 1945 determined to make up for lost time. The leading edge of the resulting baby boom began to reach university age in the early 1960s. At the same time, the Canadian and Ontario governments were reaching the conclusion that a substantial expansion of the post-secondary educational system was called for. The demographic bulge was only

51 Into Unknown Kingston

one consideration. Technological change seemed to be putting a premium on a skilled and educated labour force; political considerations suggested that making universities more accessible to the working and lower-middle classes would do no harm to the electoral prospects of the governments in power; rising affluence made such a decision possible. The consequence was a growth in university enrolments that had no historical precedent. The administration at Queen's was determined not to be overwhelmed. An established university that had served the central Canadian anglophone elite for generations, it could afford to resist the pressures for wholesale expansion. Nevertheless, undergraduate enrolments increased by 55 per cent between 1960/1 (3,089 students) and 1965/6 (4,784 students), before increasing by a further 55 per cent in the next four years, to 7,378 in 1969/70.1 In a city whose population remained fairly steady at about 60,000 Queen's University loomed larger and larger. The growth of Queen's was to affect local politics because of the changing character of the student body. The late 1950s had seen the emergence of a new, youth-based popular culture. Music was at its centre. Artists like Elvis Presley and the Beatles distilled and shaped the attitudes of a generation. By drawing upon the musical styles of American blacks, these musicians were able to express an aggressive mixture of rebellion and affirmation. By the early 1960s, the note of rebellion was becoming stronger, finding its way into the lyrical content, and well as the stylistic form, of the popular song. Beginning at this time, the Rolling Stones were to make a career out of this rebellion. In 1962 "protest" music began to move out of the coffee houses in which it had been nurtured. It drew not only upon Negro blues but also upon white American folk music, of which Woody Guthrie was the most famous living exponent. In the work of a singer/ composer like Phil Ochs, the element of political criticism in this music was both dominant and specific in its references: the attempted Marine invasion at Santo Domingo; the killing of Medgar Evers; the assassination of John Kennedy. Much more popular, however, was Bob Dylan, whose moving (if vaguely worded) songs soon became the anthems of a generation. They expressed that generation's optimistic belief that the times should, and would, change. Like young people and students everywhere, undergraduates at Queen's listened avidly to this music on the local air-waves. Those with folk interests and more political inclinations could also go to folk clubs, both on campus and in downtown Kingston. In 1963 an advertising salesman opened a coffee club at 71 Brock Street.2 He had got the idea from seeing the popularity of hootenanny sessions held in Macdonald Park. For the next couple of years, weekly folk-

52 Democracy in Kingston

singing and hootenannies at the Caypo club drew many students from Queen's, nurses from the local hospitals, and cadets from the Military College. Although some of the latter might have felt uneasy when "Masters of War" was played, the club was a great success. The interest in popular music reflected a good deal more than youthful enthusiasm. Queen's undergraduates, even more than most Canadian students in these years, were drawn from the homes of the middle and upper classes. This gave the campus a well-deserved reputation for being conservative. Even so, many students found legitimate sources of complaint. Coming from affluent backgrounds, a good number were growing up with the belief that there should be more to life than what their parents had sought: a job, a home, and a family. They did not see these achievements, as their parents did, in the context of depression and war. Their rejection of the sameness of suburban life was nicely expressed in Malvina Reynolds's popular song, "Little Boxes." Brought up to believe that theirs was an affluent, peace-loving and democratic society, students were shocked to discover that poverty still existed, and that the Canadian government was preparing to accept the Bomarc nuclear missile from the United States, popular opposition notwithstanding. Many whitecollar and even professional occupations were being made more routine, and those students who looked ahead could see very little appeal to the work that they would be doing when they left school. With so many others like themselves in school, the university degree itself was being devalued. Middle-class students had been brought up to expect better. Even those who did not think that far ahead found that their experience of university fell short of expectations. In a youthful and more permissive age, the traditionally paternalistic role of the administration, in loco parentis, came to seem at best an anachronism, at worst a form of oppression. Even at a privileged university where the paternalism was relatively benevolent, a minority of students found good reason to be dissatisfied. Because many students had been raised as Christians, some of their dissatisfaction found an overtly religious expression. In Canada there is a long tradition of Christian reform activity, notably in the social gospel movement of the 1930s.3 J.S. Woodsworth himself, the founder of the CCF, had been a cleric. In the early 1960s, this tradition was revived by the Student Christian Movement (SCM), which became a centre of heated discussions about the proper way that Christians should make their beliefs felt in the society of the day. An SCM club had probably been formed on every campus in the country, and the one at Queen's was very active. It helped to organize debates on social, ethical, and political topics, and initiated seminars on the work

53 Into Unknown Kingston

of a wide variety of authors, both religious and secular. In 1964, for example, the latter included Marx, Camus, Freud, C. Wright Mills, and Jean Genet.4 Part of the Christian heritage is a belief that "faith without works is dead," and some students looked for constructive ways of putting their dissatisfactions into practice. A rare opportunity was created in 1965, when the United Church of Canada established an experimental joint ministry in Kingston's North End. As part of the United Church's "home missions abroad" program, the purpose of this ministry was to proclaim the Good News of God and "to minister to the needs of the people, physical, intellectual and spiritual ..."5 These ends were to be achieved through the "normal congregational life of the parish" but also by "a ministry of outreach to the community to offer help and friendship to individuals and families." Services were to include, in addition to Sunday schools and worship, youth groups, coffee houses, dances, counselling, emergency food, clothing, and housing. A $45,000 addition to St Matthew's Church in Rideau Heights was to be used not only for Christian education but also as a community centre. As the Reverend J.A. Davidson, president of the Bay of Quinte Conference of the United Church, is reported to have said: "We skimped for so long in this area [that] we can't fiddle and fool any longer."6 St Martin's was united with the Calvary-Zion parish in the inner North End and made the joint responsibility of the reverends Harry Martin and Brien Thrasher. The choice of ministers was crucial. Thrasher was fresh from Queen's theology school. Active in the SCM, he brought to his first ministry boundless enthusiasm and some innovative ideas. The dances and coffee clubs were his forte. In February 1966 the Knot Hole opened and became a popular hang-out for North End youth. It was less popular with local residents, who objected to amplified guitars. The club closed, and then opened in a new location. In summer 1966, a Knot Hole Review was attempted and proved so successful that another was held, this time at the Grand Theatre, in the following year.7 Thrasher took an active part in all of this effort. He played guitar himself and developed his own "Swinging Service of Worship." He acquired a large following and by 1969 had been invited to strut his stuff at St George's, the Anglican Cathedral downtown. He performed to an audience of 850, including the mayor and several councillors. After the service one of the latter is reported to have observed that he "sincerely" felt that "Brien Thrasher is a modern day St Francis of Assissi."8 Thrasher certainly drew students from Queen's by providing them with the opportunity to perform good works in North Kingston. In November 1965 he spoke to the SCM

54 Democracy in Kingston

club at Queen's, encouraging students to get involved in literacy training in the North End. The response was extraordinary. Four months later the student newspaper, the Queen's Journal, reported that about 400 SCM members had become involved in such work. In addition to language training, Thrasher helped to bring students into the area to provide medical counselling and assistance. Although Kingston contained a wide range of medical facilities, Thrasher observed that only one doctor and one druggist were located in the area north of Princess Street. In theory the hospitals south of Princess were accessible to people in the North End, but in practice were simply unknown to them. By 1969, with the part-time assistance of 120 medical students, a Community Health Agency had been set up to fill the need.10 Thrasher was later to call himself a "socialist," but of the two ministers, Martin was the one who became involved in overtly political activity. He took on the cause of social reform and became active both in the Social Planning Council (which succeeded the Welfare Council in 1966) and also in an advisory capacity to City Council. He expressed his own view most concisely in an address to the 1967 annual meeting of the Social Planning Council. Noting that the church had traditionally been concerned to comfort the afflicted he added, "I feel more and more that we should start afflicting the comfortable."11 II

In the early 1960s an increasing number of students, Christians and otherwise, were coming to agree that social work, however inspired, was not enough. The nucleus of this group was an organization called the Combined Universities Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. When it had been formed in Montreal in 1959, CUCND contained quite a high proportion of experienced political activists, who drew much of their inspiration from the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament in Britain.12 The Canadian movement, however, was not merely derivative. In 1961 Dmitri Roussopoulos, one of the leaders of the Canadian movement, established a magazine, Our Generation Against Nuclear War, that became an important forum of national and international debate on peace issues. It helped sustain CUCND'S opposition to the installation of the Bomarc missile on Canadian soil. In 1961 and 1962, Prime Minister Diefenbaker dithered, initially over the question of whether or not to accept Bomarc missiles, and then on the question of whether the missiles should get nuclear warheads. The issue was settled after the Liberal victory in 1963.

55 Into Unknown Kingston

Reversing Liberal policy, Lester Pearson bowed to us pressure and accepted the Bomarc. Most members of CUCND were frustrated and disillusioned by this volte face, and the organization floundered. A few began to perceive the need to set the peace issue in a broader context and — a nice irony — turned for inspiration to the United States. The immediate source of inspiration to CUCND in 1963/4 were the Students for a Democratic Society (SDS), the main students' organization in the United States.13 By 1963, SDS had developed a quin tessentially "New Left" political perspective. It was very sceptical of party politics in general, and of the Democratic and Republican parties in particular. The latter were seen to be undemocratic in structure and to be implicated in a whole economic system that was viewed as unjust and immoral. Seeing itself as an alternative to party politics, SDS challenged the system by popular (or "mass") organizing. The idea was to create a true "participatory democracy" in which the process of decision making was to be as democratic as the outcome was to be egalitarian. There were many in CUCND who shared these broad political views. The disarmament movement had always stressed mass organization. On the arms question, the party system had not yielded satisfactory results: the Liberals had proven themselves unreliable, while the Tories were beyond hope. Even the NDP was seen to have problems. It was not interested in mass organizing, being content to focus its energies on getting out the vote. It was seen to be in the control of organized labour and middle-class professionals, neither of whose commitment to radical social change appeared firm. In some respects, however, the NDP seemed to be a viable political option. It had consistently opposed the Bomarc, and it was far more critical of "the system" than the Democratic party in the United States. The fact that it had never formed a national or provincial government almost gave it legitimacy. At any rate its image had never been tarnished by the compromises and mistakes of political office. Many of the founders of CUCND had been members of the CCF. Although the composition of CUCND changed slowly after 1959, as it took on an increasing number of students, many of the latter belonged to the New Democratic Youth (NDY), the NDP'S youth wing. As a result, CUCND did not reject the party system in quite so unreserved a fashion as did the SDS. The importance of this difference between SDS and CUCND varie on a regional basis.14 In Saskatchewan, Manitoba, and British Columbia, the CCF/NDP had established a strong presence. Many young people who joined CUCND in these provinces were "red diaper babies": left politics was part of their upbringing. Loyalties to the established

56 Democracy in Kingston

socialist and labour movements were relatively strong. Quebec presented a completely different case: the CCF had never been a major force there, but the emerging New Left was being shaped by a growing movement for independence. In each of these provinces, then, the SDS influence was muted. In Ontario, Alberta, and the Maritimes, however, it appears to have been strong. In 1963, inspired by the "animateurs sociaux" in Quebec, SDS had developed a strategy of "community organizing" as a way of putting its political convictions into practice. The idea, developed by organizers such as Tom Hayden and Todd Gitlin, was to organize the poor to demand an equal voice in society.15 This idea soon gained supporters in English Canada, especially Ontario. In summer 1964, ten CUCND members spent the summer in North Bay, one of the two Bomarc bases in Canada. The purpose was to bring the technique of community organizing to bear on the disarmament issue. Students carried out research on the city, attempted to educate local people on questions of war and peace, and organized a non-violent demonstration at the missile base itself. The result, lightly fictionalized by David Lewis Stein in Scratch One Dreamer (1967), could scarcely be called a success. Local residents, many of whom depended upon the missile base for employment, were sceptical if not hostile. At the demonstration itself, people who had come from across Canada bore witness to their abhorrence of nuclear weapons, and were then carted away. Despite such an inauspicious precedent, at its Regina conference in December 1964 CUCND decided that community organizing should become its main political strategy. Some of the ground had already been prepared in November, when Matt Cohen and Art Pape, the chairman of CUCND, circulated a pamphlet entitled "The Dilemma of Social Action in the Nuclear Age."16 They argued that CUCND needed to broaden its concerns, and to find a new political strategy. This view anticipated the mood of the conference, where the membership renamed itself the Student Union for Peace Action (SUPA) and put domestic issues firmly on its political agenda. If the Canadian New Left had an official birth, then this was it. Drawing upon the ideas and experience of SDS, and above all of the Economic Research and Action Projects (ERAP) that had been set up in a number of inner cities, SUPA decided to throw its energies wholeheartedly into community organizing. That summer, as SUPA membership grew by leaps and bounds, six community projects were set up across the country. One of these was in Kingston. The Kingston project was entirely the creation of a handful of students in the local CUCND/SUPA club. Peggy Morton and Danny Drache were especially important. Morton was the activist. She had

57 Into Unknown Kingston

been one of the ten organizers at North Bay, had attended the Regina Conference and was keen to get to work in Kingston. Drache, a graduate student in history at Queen's, was more theoretically inclined and offered advice from the wings. SUPA had no money of its own to support the summer projects, and the Kingston group set about getting financial support. They met with considerable success. Student societies at Queen's gave almost $3,000 in cash and tuition expenses and personal donations were received from Walter Gordon, Liberal finance minister, and Tommy Douglas, leader of the NDP.17 To direct the project Dennis McDermott, an organizer "with slum experience," was brought in from Toronto.48 In March, McDermott, together with John Meisel (head of the Department of Political Studies at Queen's), Ronald Watts (assistant dean of Arts and Sciences), and Tom Hathaway (Ontario regional chairman of SUPA) interviewed candidates for the ten organizing positions.19 Those chosen were sent to a training session in Toronto, where they received advice from a social worker, Art Pape, and from Tom Hayden himself. After final exams were over, the Kingston Community Project was due to begin on 16 May. The prospects of success were not high. The purpose of the project was to "start an organization of poor people to solve their own problems."20 The poor, however, are notoriously difficult to organize. As a group, they have little sense of personal efficacy, feeling themselves to be at the mercy of events. A letter, written at about this time to the chairman of the committee that supervised the administration of welfare in Kingston, bears eloquent testimony to the feeling of powerlessness among the poor. It reads, in part: Dear Sir: Thank you for trying to help me! I realize that a poor man is no better than a dog when he .gets Sick he gets no mercy ... It So happens I was born in Kingston and Remember the Big Depression 1929-30 etc. then $1.80 a week was suppose to feed a Person. The Big Shot was the only one who could get enough, the Poor Man was looked down upon, the Same goes to-day ... I would like very much to be able to attend a Council Meeting. I could open up a lot of eyes If I had a chance to~speak. I am very discouraged about the whole thing ... I am very bitter. I never had to ask for anything before till a year ago. I was cheated out of my unemployment insurance last year. Thanks for everything.

The experience of this older man was not typical of Kingston's poor, for they were very diverse. Many were young, and many were women with children. In 1970, the publisher of Issues, a local peri-

58 Democracy in Kingston

odical dealing with social problems in Kingston, encouraged Betty Desroches, a single welfare mother, to write about her experience and her views. She responded.21 I get less than $275.00 from the government to support myself and three children. Out of this I have to pay rent, food, hydro, drugs clothing and essentials ... But I'm satisfied ... I thank my lucky stars that we do have something to live on ... I feel a woman's place is in the home. Children in broken homes need their mothers at their side. If the mothers who are running around putting their noses in the government's business stayed home and did their dishes they'd be a lot better off ... There's no use bitching. We are the little guys in the end. I've seen a lot of elections. I haven't seen too much change ... The guy who makes the budget in Ottawa can do something. It's not us at the bottom trying to make a go of it who can do anything. The only way women can better themselves is to get a divorce, get married again and start all over.

Both of these personal statements show that the writers were well aware of being at the bottom of the heap. In the first there is a sense of injustice and of bitterness. In the second a profound disillusionment, amounting to cynicism, about electoral politics. Both speak of resilience. But to reach these feelings an organizer would have to work hard. The man is discouraged, almost despondent, pathetically grateful for the help that he believes might be offered. The woman is resigned to her situation, and indeed critical of those who would try to change it. Both are alienated from the social and political mainstream, feeling powerless to shape their destiny. Organizing people like this would be an uphill battle. Ill

One advantage that organizers could count on was the fact that Kingston's poor were highly segregated, being concentrated in Kingston's North End. To some degree, almost every city is segregated. This is not necessarily a bad thing. To be sure, in some cases segregation has been imposed on a particular group. Historically, the Jewish community in many countries, and more recently black people in the United States and South Africa, have experienced this type of involuntary segregation. More commonly, however, groups choose to be segregated. There are good reasons for this circumstance.22 Being concentrated in a particular area can help a group to maintain a distinctive culture or way of life. It can also help that

59 Into Unknown Kingston

group to organize itself in a political context. For that reason, some black-power activists in the 1960s came to believe that the segregation of the black community was a source of strength as much as it was a sign of oppression. In terms of class — as opposed to ethnicity - the amount of segregation does not usually vary much from city to city. If anything, larger cities tend to be slightly more segregated than smaller. But this was not true of Kingston, where the major classes were at least as segregated as they were in the larger cities of the continent. In an informal way this fact was recognized at the time, even by visitors who did not know the place well. In 1962, for example, the journalist Peter Newman visited the city. He had been asked by Maclean's magazine to cover the local race in the upcoming federal election. In his report, he thought it important to describe the geography of the place. Evidently, he thought it exceptional.23 "Few cities in Canada," he wrote, "have such a clearly marked division between the right and the wrong side of the tracks." Newman's impression may be subjected to a more rigorous statistical test. Social segregation can be measured in many ways. One of the most commonly used statistics is the index of segregation.24 This index has the advantage of being quite readily interpretable. Ranging in value from 0 to 100, it can be interpreted in much the same way as a percentage. For example, if the residential distribution of a particular group was associated with an index value of 50, then that would imply that exactly half of the group would have to move in order for its residential distribution to be the same as that of the rest of the population. To be able to measure social segregation it is necessary, of course, to define quite precisely the social groups that are of concern. Kingstonians, like Canadians, fell into five broad classes of people: owners and managers, the self-employed, the middle class, the working class, and the welfare poor. The middle class was itself divided between professionals and supervisory employees, while the working class contained primary- and secondary-sector blue-collar workers as well as those in white-collar jobs. The line between these groups was often blurred. This was especially the case between secondary-sector workers and welfare recipients, the working and welfare poor. A number of people moved regularly from the welfare rolls into poorly paid employment and then back again. Mr M. was a case in point. Dismissed from the Davis Tannery in 1969 for absenteeism, he successfully applied to the city for welfare. In the next ten years he held at least ten temporary jobs, at the Davis Tannery, a local metal fabricating works, Weston's bakery, an industrial cleaning company, and at Amey's taxi service.25 All were poorly paid.

60 Democracy in Kingston

Between jobs he received unemployment assistance (at least) three times and applied for welfare thirteen times. His experience was surely not typical, but it is indicative of the ease with which some people moved between welfare and low-paid employment. Although such movement was not unusual, it was common for poorly paid workers to make a sharp distinction between themselves and the welfare poor. Kingstonians as a whole viewed the welfare poor with ambivalence, as people who were in need but who were also, in some sense, responsible for their condition. There existed a widespread suspicion that many welfare recipients could have found work if they had really wanted to, that many were simply lazy. Such a view seems to have been especially common among the working poor, who took pride in the fact that they at least worked for a living. The line between the working and welfare poor, then, was clear but frequently crossed. It is difficult to obtain accurate information about where the people in these groups lived. The published census for Kingston reports information for occupational groups, but these do not correspond

TABLE 3 Class Segregation in Kingston, 1970 Distribution of Classes

Group

Index of segregation (tract scale)

Syd. Ward

North End

West End

Total

Owners and Managers

34.1

8

24

68

100

Middle class SupervisorsProfessionals

17.1 28.5

7 13

36 17

57 70

100 100

24.8 33.1 17.2 23.4 22.0

9 11 16 11 23 15

58 70 43 24 37 40

33 19 41 65 40 46

100 100 100

Working class Blue collar (primary) Blue collar (secondary) White collar Self-employed Unknown or not employed Total

-

Source: Might's Kingston City Directory 1971 (sample n = 2,240).

100 100 100

61 Into Unknown Kingston

very well to class distinctions. Much better is Might's Kingston City Directory. The directory for 1970 confirms that in the late 1960s Kingston was indeed a segregated place, not only in absolute terms but also in comparison with other cities.26 Most studies of segregation have been carried out at the scale of the census tract. At this scale in Kingston, every class was segregated to some degree. Index values range from 17 to 34 (table 3). If anything, these are slightly higher than those found in other cities, where values typically range from about 11 up to 33.27 Studies of other cities have found that the leastsegregated groups are those that fall roughly in the middle in terms of their power and class position. This was certainly the case in Kingston. Here the least-segregated group were supervisors (index value of 17), whose class position in the workplace placed them between the employer and the shop-floor worker. In contrast, the most segregated were those at each end of the class spectrum: on the one hand the owners and managers (index value 34), and on the other the unorganized and low-paid blue-collar workers who composed the working poor (33). The poor were highly concentrated within the North End. In general the city was divided into three distinct areas: the North End, the western sector of the city (referred to as the west end), and downtown Sydenham Ward (figure 2). The latter was the only area that could be called mixed (table 4). Bounded by Lake Ontario, Princess Street, and Queen's University, Sydenham Ward contained an almost equal proportion of people in working-class (23 per cent) and middleclass (21 per cent) occupations, with a sprinkling of owners, managers, and the self-employed. The western part included the student ghetto around Queen's, accounting for the very high proportion of people listed without occupation in the directory. The remaining areas are a study in contrasts. The west end lay for the most part between Princess Street and Lake Ontario, extending from (roughly) Barrie Street out to the western limits of the city. The only part to extend north of Princess was Strathcona Park, developed in the 1960s on the upwind side of Alcan at the northwestern fringe of the city. The west end was the middle-class part of town. In the city as a whole, 24 per cent of all adults listed in the city directory were in middleclass occupations. In the west end the proportion was 37 per cent, almost reaching 50 per cent in the more suburban subdivisions, including Strathcona and Poison parks. In contrast the working class, 33 per cent of the city's population, made up only 22 per cent of the adult population of the west end. A paltry 2 per cent of people in this area could be counted as part of the city's working poor. In the 1960s a number of apartment buildings were constructed in this area,

62 Democracy in Kingston TABLE 4 Residential Differentiation in Kingston, 1970 Per cent middle class

Per cent working class Tract Number

Secondary sector Primary

White collar

Supervisors

Per cent

Salaried

Owners and managers

Selfemployed

Misc. and unknown

North End

11

33

5

6

8

2

5

31a

8 9 10 11 12

7 18 12 10 6

28 29 34 34 41

9 4 3

7 2 7 7 8

6 8 4 8 14

1 1 1 4 2

3 4 3 6 9

38 36 36 24 19

West End:

2

7 1

16

4

9

28

5

11

26

14 15

2 6 2 2 2 2 2

12 23 12 15 19 17 12

3 6 2 5 4 4 2

5 8 12 7 6 12 10

21 19 35 34 21 31 34

5 5 3 5 0 5 13

15 9 12 5 8 14 13

38 24 21 28 39 15 14

Sydenham Ward

4

14

5

4

17

2

6

49

4 5

12 16

5 5

4 3

18 15

3 0

7 5

48 51

3 4 5 6

7

1 2 3

All rows sum to 100 per cent (with minor rounding errors). Source: Might's Kingston, City Directory, 1971 (sample: n = 2,240).

particularly along arterials such as Princess Street and Bath Road. These aside, this area might reasonably be described as a middleclass suburb. It also contained most of the "better" addresses in the city, including Alwington Place and Churchill Crescent. The North End was very different. Bisected by busy Montreal Street, it was bounded by Princess Street in the south, the Alcan plant to the west, the Cataraqui river to the east, and by the city limits in the north. Here, the working class was clearly in the majority. Almost 50 per cent of all adults listed in the directory were employed in

63 Into Unknown Kingston

working-class occupations, while many of the 30 per cent who were assigned no occupation would also have been working class. In contrast, only 14 per cent were middle class and 7 per cent were owners, managers, or self-employed. Although the North End was mostly working class, it was not homogeneous. Generally speaking, the newer subdivisions towards the north contained a relatively high proportion of unionized workers, while the older and more deteriorated sections of the inner North End held an unusually high proportion of the working poor. Unionized workers were especially predominant in the neighbourhood known as Kingscourt, located between Alcan and Division Street (figure 2). Kingscourt had been developed as wartime housing for workers at the new Alcan plant in the 1940s. It was an area of modest single-detached homes. Even in 1970, it contained the highest proportion of Alcan workers of any area in the city, while 85 per cent of all blue-collar workers in the area were in the primary sector. To the east and north lay Rideau Heights. After the redevelopment of the early 1960s, this was quite a mixed area. The public housing contained a high proportion of welfare poor, but newer subdivisions such as Marker's Acres were attracting unionized workers, notably those in the local construction trades. Closer in to town, however, the proportion of working poor rose considerably. It reached a peak in tract 9, immediately to the north of Princess Street. The welfare poor were concentrated into much the same area as the working poor. Stephenson and Muirhead's urban-renewal study had shown that in 1958 the welfare poor were heavily concentrated in the inner North End.28 Out of the 109 people handled by the local welfare office in June of that year, no less than 46 per cent lived in tracts 9 and 10, while a further 25 per cent lived in other parts of the North End. By 1970 the pattern of concentration was at least as great, and in December, there were thirteen census enumeration areas in the city that contained more than ten welfare recipients. Twelve of the thirteen were located in the North End, and no less than ten defined a small contiguous cluster in the area immediately to the north of Princess (figure 3). If the North End as a whole was predominantly working class, the inner North End stood out as the particular territory of the working and welfare poor. In this area the proportion of people living in poverty was exceptionally high. Any attempt to define a precise measure of poverty is fraught with difficulty. Income is not the only consideration and, even if it were, there is no agreement as to the precise income level below which a person or family may be said to be poor. One of the most widely used measures of poverty is the Statistics Canada Poverty

64 Democracy in Kingston

Figure 3 People on relief in Kingston, 1970

Line, according to which all households that spend more than 70 per cent of their income on necessities (shelter, food, and clothing) are considered to be poor. On this basis, in Kingston about 10 per cent of all families and 47 per cent of all those living alone were poor in 1970 (table 5). Poverty appeared to be much higher than this in Sydenham Ward, and especially in tract 2. In this area, however, most of the "poor" people were students at Queen's University. Although they undoubtedly subsisted on low incomes, their pros-

65 Into Unknown Kingston TABLE 5 Poverty Rates by Census Tract, Kingston, 1970 Proportion of households below the poverty line Census tract

Families

Non-family persons

North End

14.6 11.0 24.4 13.2 15.1 11.4

54.1 32.3 69.0 75.0 47.6 38.1

11.8 8.0 14.8 6.7 7.7 8.4 6.7 9.4 6.2 5.0 3.2 10.1

47.5 41.3 56.1 41.6 43.6 36.7 32.6 62.7 37.2 38.5 43.8 47.0

8 9 10 11 12 Sydenham 1 2 West End 3 4 5 6 7 14 15 City of Kingston

Source: Estimated by the author from Statistics Canada, 1971 Census of Canada (Ottawa 1971).

pects and outlook were certainly not those of the poor. Elsewhere in the city, the poverty line has more meaning. The level of poverty was much higher in the North End than in the west end. The poverty rate among families in the two areas was 13 per cent and 7 per cent, respectively, while the rates for individuals were 49 per cent and 31 per cent. There was enormous variation within the North End. In areas like Kingscourt (tract 8), the level of poverty was little higher than in the west end. In contrast, however, in the inner North End (tract 9) about one-quarter of all families and over two-thirds of all individuals were poor. The segregation of the poor made it possible for student organizers to concentrate their energies in one area of the city. Kingston's

66 Democracy in Kingston

poor were not organized, and many had no work. To reach them, students had little choice except to go knocking on doors. In May 1965 they moved into two project houses, one for the men and one for the women, both located downtown.29 Having established from research where the poor were concentrated, they adopted the organizing techniques that Hayden had developed in Newark, New Jersey. They split up into twos and threes, each group taking responsibility for a specific group of blocks, and went from house to house. This made sense. A large minority of people in the inner North End were poor, and a high proportion of the city's poor lived in the inner North End. Because of segregation, the students' organizing task was made appreciably easier. Segregation also introduced a complicating factor into the political equation. The residents of different parts of the city had interests and concerns that derived simply from their location. The physical environment and the quantity and quality of commercial and local government services all varied considerably from place to place. The most general contrast, and the one that contemporaries commented on again and again, was that between the north and west ends. The point was eloquently made by Bobbi Spark, a welfare mother and North End resident: The main street of the city, Princess Street, provides a very clear division of the "haves" and "have-nots" residing [in Kingston]. South of Princess one finds the waterfront parks, historic buildings, suburbs, shopping facilities, university grounds, medical facilities, single-family dwellings, private clubs, expensive high rises and cultural activities. North of Princess there is a waterfront cluttered with industrial debris, oil storage tanks, rail lines, coal piles and the city dump. The general area lacks planning, has inadequate parklands, ugly ill-fitting new apartments, sub-standard housing, less than imaginative schools, no concentrated shopping area, strip development, antiquated sewers, and generally speaking a "seedy look."30

Those few professionals who ventured to live north of Princess would thereby acquire a set of interests different from those of their colleagues in Calvin Park. In the same way, the Alcan machinist in Calvin Park had different concerns than those of his co-worker in Kingscourt. Professionals and blue-collar workers might find in their shared place of residence a community of interest. Likewise, the fact that they lived in different places might help to divide members of each class against one another. In Kingston, then, as in other cities, place of residence created important differences of interest that could cut across those defined by class.

67 Into Unknown Kingston

The existence of segregation meant that there had developed a close association between class and place of residence. To most people, the "North End" was virtually synonymous with "the working class and the poor." Indeed, by the early 1960s the language of class had to a considerable extent been reduced to the language of place. Those local politicians who stood for the interests of the working class and the poor tended to emphasize the territorial rather than the class basis of their constituency. Aldermen were elected biennially, two from each of seven wards. Segregation was slightly less obvious at the ward scale than at the tract level. Nevertheless, the working class North-End wards of St Lawrence, Cataraqui, and Frontenac stood out as being quite different from the middle-class wards of Rideau, Victoria, and even Ontario in the west end. In the 1960s the most consistently popular representative of the working class and the poor was Ken Matthews. He first secured election in Cataraqui in 1962. Immediately after the election he attacked previous aldermen for failing to stand up for people in the ward and implied that he would do better.31 He was as good as his word. An accessible and tireless representative, Matthews was always willing to put himself out for the "little guy." But his sympathies did not extend far beyond the boundaries of the ward.32 Invariably, when election time came around, Matthews defended his record in terms of what he had done for Cataraqui (and sometimes the North End). The little guys in other wards, and other cities, were not his concern. This parochialism was well rewarded, for he was elected without interruption in Cataraqui until he voluntarily moved to Frontenac ward in 1978. Eventually he stood for mayor, and lost. IV

The community project tried to challenge this parochial definition of interests. To be sure, students directed their efforts to the North End but that was only because the poor happened to be concentrated there. Their purpose was not to represent the North End but, starting from a North End base, to mobilize the poor. The challenge was not entirely implicit. To the extent that they proved successful, the students would threaten the legitimacy and power of local aldermen. They were setting themselves up as a real alternative to the status quo. But in the summer of 1965 this alternative did not amount to very much. In theory the students recognized the difficulties of organizing the poor. In a prospectus that was distributed to interested parties and potential donors, they describe at some length the nature

68 Democracy in Kingston

and meaning of poverty. To be poor, the prospectus states, is to be economically unproductive, powerless, frustrated, and "without hope."33 This situation can be changed "only if poor people get together to solve their own problems." Whatever the difficulties, students had considerable faith in their ability to help the poor to do this. They thought that, as outsiders, they could bring "a new perspective" including "analytical skills" and "an understanding of the interdepedence of issues." They are the deus ex machina "because they are not part of the existing social structure in the area [and] have the freedom and the flexibility to bring about a more effective response." In the end, actions spoke louder than words. The students found local poor people to be even harder to organize than they had anticipated. They discovered that many were simply afraid to act. On Montreal Street, for example, the threat of eviction prevented most tenants from organizing against John Hewett, a notorious slum landlord.34 Public housing tenants were no different. Public housing was administered by the Kingston Housing Authority under the direction of Mrs Marion Earl. Earl was portrayed in the Whig-Standard as a grandmotherly figure "with her eyes twinkling through her goldrimmed glasses."35 But she ran a tight ship. Her view, stated on many occasions, was that "the business of the Housing Authority is the administration and maintenance of housing on behalf of Government Partnership, no[t] that of social casework agencies."36 She inspected units at least once a year. Any tenant who failed to comply with his or her lease was treated with severity. One tenant observed that "you really get a dressing down if they find something wrong."37 Some got more than a dressing down. In July 1965, a single woman with five children was told to leave Riverview Court after it was discovered that her husband had moved in with her (her lease stated that in the event of even a visit she could be evicted on three days' notice). Alderman Matthews brought this to the attention of the students at a dinner to which he and the Reverend Good had been invited. Although Riverview Court lay outside of the project area, the students decided that this was an issue they should take up. One of them went out to talk to the residents at Riverview and organized a public meeting in the basement of St Matthew's Church. Only three people turned up. Part of the problem was that there was little consciousness of community, and no tradition of co-operative action. Two students had organized a petition to get the city to erect a stop sign at a dangerous intersection on Rideau Street. In the process they discovered that local people lacked "established patterns of identification,

69 Into Unknown Kingston

friendship and co-operation" with their neighbours on matters of common concern.38 Worse still, on several blocks, organizers found residents divided among themselves. On Charles Street they noted a prevalent "dislike and suspicion of neighbours," with home owners apparently feeling superior to tenants.39 In other areas a division was found between the working and welfare poor. This was especially a problem where the two groups lived in close juxtaposition, as they did in Riverview Court; The students were prepared for a certain measure of apathy, but had not reckoned on having to deal with outright mutual hostility. Some of the community projects' difficulties were of the students' own making. They knew little about, and therefore disregarded, most of their potential local allies. To be sure they did look for some support from organized labour. John MacKinnon at the Labour Council, in particular, helped them by printing flyers and by lending some office furniture. They did not make much attempt to enlist the support of the local churches, however, while their dealings with local aldermen were inept. The Rideau Street petition was submitted to the mayor, thereby going over the head of George Webb, the local alderman. He was furious, and was to remain a critic of the project long after the summer's activities were over. Other aldermen, notably Ken Matthews, were more supportive. This is less a tribute to the efforts of the students, however, than it is to their general ineffectiveness. Matthews, sharing the students' concern to help the poor, simply did not see the latter as a threat to his position. Part of the idea behind the project was that it be an "experiment in community living."40 This was part of the New Left's strategy of prefigurative action, fitting means to ends. In this regard the project was a failure. From the beginning, the gender separation of the two student houses broke down and the women ended up doing all the cooking.41 A great deal of time was spent figuring out how to do things, instead of actually doing them. Some of the project members learned from this experience - particularly the women, who were generally the more practical of the group. After they left Kingston, Peggy Morton was to become one of the first women to challenge sexism within the New Left; Bronwen Wallace became a noted feminist poet; while Sarah Spinks became active in the Toronto Community Union Project in Trefann Court.42 The Kingston Project was only one stage in the personal and political development of these women, but it was an important one. The effects of the project on Kingston, however, were modest. The students had persuaded the city to improve traffic safety on a couple of blocks and they helped a small group of mothers to get

70 Democracy in Kingston

the city to create a small "tot lot" on a vacant parcel of land. They had made some useful contacts in the North End. Their activities had been brought to the attention of people in the city as a whole, these being cast in a generally favourable light by the Whig-Standard. They even got coverage in the Toronto Daily Star.43 In this manner they helped to bring the issue of poverty to a broad audience. But these achievements were small and for the most part intangible. Looking back on the summer's activities, a sympathetic observer like John MacKinnon preferred to emphasize the project's potential rather than its achievements. In August the students wrote up a report on their work. At the end of it, MacKinnon added a note "From a Friend."44 Commending the students' diligence and enthusiasm, he expressed the hope that "this project will grow to the benefit of Kingston and its citizens." He seemed to be offering a very frail hostage to fortune. By September, the students had gone back to school or left town. Although it was celebrated as a success at the fall SUPA conference in Ste Calixte, the attempt to organize Kingston's poor seemed to be on the point of becoming history.

CHAPTER FIVE

Rebels with a Cause

If there is a genius in organizing, it is the capacity to sense what it is possible for people to do under given conditions, and to then help them do it. Frances F. Piven and Richard A. Cloward

Lester Pearson helped to keep the Kingston Community Project alive. In the early 1960s he had been greatly impressed by the style of the Kennedy administration, and by the Democratic party's program of domestic reform. In 1965, echoing the words of Kennedy's successor, Pearson declared a Canadian war on poverty. This slogan was really a misnomer. For the most part Pearson's package was a rather conventional combination of regional assistance and welfare reform. One program, however, was more radical: the Company of Young Canadians. The inspiration for CYC appears to have been Kennedy's Peace Corps, although from the beginning it was clear that, unlike the latter, CYC would be active on the domestic front.1 This was almost the only point that was clear. The Throne Speech in April 1965 referred rather vaguely to the "community development work" that CYC would encourage youth to undertake, but this phrase meant different things to different people. The bureaucrats wanted to get young people involved in social-work activity. Many people who were prominent in SUPA, however, especially Art Pape, saw the company as an excellent opportunity to do much more. Accordingly, they argued that grass-roots organizers should have a major say in the running of the organization. At the same time they had to fight a rearguard action against others within the New Left who, fearing co-optation, saw CYC as the thin end of the wedge. Pape won the

72 Democracy in Kingston

battle to get CYC support for community organizing but at the cost of splitting SUPA down the middle. One of the people who eventually came to oppose Pape's strategy was Joan Newman, who had been hired as a research assistant by CYC in spring 1965. Young and politically inexperienced, she had no affiliation to the New Left. As part of her job, however, she was sent to talk with SUPA leaders about the summer projects. She became an enthusiastic advocate of community organizing. The other part of her job was to attend meetings in Ottawa. She soon came to the conclusion that although the bureaucracy might be willing to adopt the rhetoric of community organizing, it could never accept the substance. By the fall she had become thoroughly disillusioned with the direction that the company appeared to be taking. In October she resigned. At the same time, Dennis McDermott was looking around for organizers who might be willing to pick up the pieces in Kingston. He himself was ill and eager to return to Toronto. In September he had managed to bring in Myrna Wood, fresh from a summer working for the Student Non-violent Co-ordinating Committee in Mississippi. In the same month, he met Newman at the SUPA conference in St Calixte. Newman heard good things about the Kingston project. After she had decided to quit CYC, McDermott had little difficulty in persuading her to move to Kingston. The nucleus of a new community project had been formed.

I With two full-time organizers, the new project began to acquire some momentum. Newman and Wood re-established some contacts that the summer students had made. Patt Parker and Gayle Ackley, the two women who had been most active in getting the tot lot, became the core of a mothers' group.2 In the early months of 1966, MUMS (Mothers United for Maximum Safety) pressed the city to improve traffic safety in the North End. Aggressive and militant, they won few friends and had little influence at City Hall. By the summer, the organization had faded away. Another contact proved to have a more lasting significance. In December 1965 a summer student had introduced Newman to Jim Hutchinson, a local blacksmith and selfeducated radical. Through him she got to know his son, Lex, an apprentice welder, together with Lex's friends, including Steve Anderson, Rick Abell, and Dennis Crossfield, all members of a local folk group. Through these contacts, some of whom were to become

73 Rebels with a Cause

good friends, Newman and Wood were introduced to the world of North End youth. North Kingston was a tough place to grow up in. Home life was often unstable. Even when their incomes kept them above the poverty line, many families depended upon the low and irregular income of the male wage-earner. Some industries, notably construction and the dry dock, were seasonal; others, such as the tannery, were very sensitive to fluctuations in trade. Even in the summers, unemployment was higher in the North End than in the rest of the city. In June 1961, for example, when only 1.9 per cent of the west end's male labour force was out of work, the unemployment rate reached 3.1 per cent in the North End and 4.2 per cent in tract 9.3 To help make ends meet, mothers had to look for paid employment. This was becoming increasingly common. In 1962, the manager of the local unemployment office noted that "there have never been so many [mothers] applying for work."4 Among the welfare poor, many of whom were migrants from rural eastern Ontario, a culture of poverty had developed. A number of extended families - notorious to the local welfare and justice administrations — had been on welfare for several .generations. Their way of life, vividly portrayed in Judith Thompson's play The Crackwalker(\Q8\), did not equip children with the capacity to break the poverty cycle. Neither did the local school system. In 1956 a high school was built just to the north of Kingscourt. In theory, Queen Elizabeth Collegiate and Vocational Institute (QECVI) was to provide vocational training from grade 10 for all those in the city who wanted it.5 In practice, however, it became the North End high school. Kids in the west end and Sydenham Ward continued to attend Kingston Collegiate and Vocational Institute (KCVI), which offered some vocational training but in general a much more "academic" program. In the North End many dropped out of school. Even if they had wanted it, however, the graduates of QECVI stood little chance of getting to university and to the middle-class world beyond. With such poor prospects, a significant number of working-class kids in the North End turned to petty crime. The urban renewal study of 1961 showed that the North End had the highest rate of juvenile delinquancy in the city.6 Between 1953 and 1957, almost three-quarters (73 per cent) of those appearing at the city's juvenile court were from the North End, even though (in 1956) this area contained only 45 per cent of the city's population. These youngsters had a resentment against privilege that found a distinctive territorial expression. In the early 1960s it was not uncommon for groups of North End kids to attack students from the Military College or

74 Democracy in Kingston

Queen's, when the latter strayed north of Princess.7 Those who wore a Queen's jacket did so at their peril. The high school also came in for attack: in the eyes of local youth, it was an alien institution in their neighbourhood. In November 1962, for example, one of the aldermen for the area noted that garbage and broken glass had been thrown into the street in front of the school and onto adjacent lawns. Alderman Hunter observed that "these children seem to have no regard for property whatsoever."8 But, as in the ghetto riots south of the border, the anger was often turned inwards. Marge's Lunch, a popular greasy spoon on Montreal Street, was having consistent problems handling local youth, while the gangs fought among themselves.9 Events came to a head in the fall of 1962. It was a tradition in the local area to break loose at Hallowe'en, but in that year things got out of hand. On the evening of 31 October hundreds of youths roamed the streets looking for trouble. Taunting the police, who were outnumbered, they eventually surrounded the police station, which (according to next morning's Whig-Standard) they even attempted to storm. They were eventually dispersed by tear gas.10 The federal attorney general initiated an enquiry, and over the next two months the issue of "youth" came to be widely debated by local service agencies and in the press. Nothing much came of it. The resentment and rebellion of North End youth was not completely disorganized and destructive. The main organizations were the bike gangs, the most notorious of which were the Saints and Satan's Choice. In November 1962 the Saints had a membership of about 100.11 Many of the group had criminal records; only half had some kind of work and nearly all were high school drop-outs. The bike gangs were prepared to co-operate with the police if given the chance to pursue their own interests. Crossfield, an ex-member of the organization, recalls that Satan's Choice used to organize elaborate trips to a local provincial park. The police would cordon off a section of the beach and allow the gang more or less free rein.12 As much as anything else, North End youth wanted a space that they could call their own. Newman and Wood helped them to create it. By February 1966 their apartment became a meeting place for local youth. Realizing the need for a more public space, and committed to the ideal of participatory democracy, they put forward the idea of a coffee house to be run by and for students and North End youth. Money was raised from an Ian and Sylvia benefit concert, from Queen's Alma Mater Society, local churches, and even CYC. Lex Hutchinson and Dennis Crossfield became paid company "volunteers." Space was

75 Rebels with a Cause

rented on downtown Brock Street, and the Needle's Eye opened that summer. Because a rock band took to practising there the coffee house was an immediate success, attracting up to 100 people a night. Coffee was available at cost (free to the poor), and organizational meetings were held "when there was something to discuss."13 It was a place for kids to hang out, and for Newman and Wood to meet, talk, and organize in an informal setting. The Eye created almost immediate opposition. Local merchants became concerned about all the people hanging around, not to mention the bikes parked outside.14 Mothers apparently became worried about their daughters entering the place, although it is not clear whether morality or politics was uppermost in their minds.15 In response to pressure, City Council called a public meeting at the Grand Theatre on 27 July. Five hundred people turned up. Attitudes were beginning to polarize. Alderman Matthews, who had been sympathetic to the community project the previous summer, now led the attack: "As citizens of Kingston, it is our right to know who is leading our young people. We don't want pacifist or communist groups in this city." Wood replied that she was "happy to be called a pacifist" but that she was "definitely not a communist."16 This cut little ice with City Council. The Eye had already been forced to move, on the grounds that 71 Brock Street was a fire trap. After a short stay in the CPR freight sheds, it closed for good. The spirit of the Needle's Eye lived on. That fall, some of the working class youths who had been involved with the coffee house developed the idea for a" new, collectively run club in the North End.17 Early the following year, Club 67 opened, but a split between the working-class "northsiders" and the middle-class "southenders" prevented it from getting off the ground. Much more successful was Murut, conceived in the same democratic spirit as the Needle's Eye, but far more ambitious. By 1967 the international youth movement had developed into a counter-culture. It increasingly put itself forward as not merely a rebellion against the status quo but also as an alternative. In the summer of 1967, Haight Ashbury in San Francisco and Yorkville in Toronto became places where alternative life-styles flourished. For a few months in 1967, Murut was the centre of Kingston's counter-culture. Named after the Hindu for "things that bring change" (lit. "storm clouds"), it became the "place to go if you are a freethinker."18 Attracting drop-outs, high-school, and university students in about equal measure, it was a social centre, used for films, meditation, and the exchange of news and political opinion. Nancy and David Helwig were prominent in organizing poetry and dramatic readings. Murut was a house "outside the world of conformity." Inev-

76 Democracy in Kingston

itably it was closed down. Members were harassed by the police for using marijuana, and fire hazards were again discovered. It closed in December 1967. By this time, the local youth movement had developed a powerful momentum of its own. A group of people at Murut had started an alternative magazine, Plymouth Square. An editorial in the first edition declared rather pompously that it was to be "an independent publication aimed at community involvement in matters of importance."19 These turned out to be issues that concerned local youth: music, drugs, literature, and art. Murut and Plymouth Square helped to bring together high-school students from the North End and middle-class students from Queen's. Much discussion took place over the nature of the educational system, inspiring students to organize both in the high school and the university. In the spring of 1968, HUSK, the High School Union of Students Kingston, was formed by Logan Murray. Murray had grown up in the North End and attended QECVI to grade 8. Transferred to KCVI when his father moved house, he was immediately struck by the superiority of the facilities and program in his new school. Radicalized by this circumstance, and by his involvement in the Needle's Eye and Murut, he formed HUSK in order to secure for students a greater say in the nature of their education.20 For a year or so it attracted a good deal of support, membership reaching a peak of about 150 in fall 1968. A similar movement developed at Queen's. A Free Socialist Movement was formed to pressure the administration into giving students a greater say in the running of the university. An alternative curriculum was developed, with some assistance from faculty, and in 1969 a major controversy developed over the decision of the university to allow the RCMP to investigate the files of a graduate student in the chemistry department. In three short years, assisted by the local New Left, a strong movement had developed among middle-class and working-class youth. II

In 1966, apart from its growing involvement in the youth movement; it was not clear where the community project was going. The organizers were doing little that might have counted, in conventional terms, as political organizing. Wood grew impatient with Newman's lowkey approach and quit early in the fall. Crossfield, one of the summer volunteers, took her place. In November, Don McKelvey, paying Kingston a visit from SUPA head office in Toronto, reported that neither Newman nor Crossfield had much sense of "organizing for social change."21 Helping young people from the North End run a

77 Rebels with a Cause coffee house was fun, and in its own way important, but it left the majority of Kingston's poor untouched. Beginning in fall 1966, Newman and Crossfield slowly began to reach beyond the youth community. Their first attempt involved the welfare poor and specifically those on relief. In Canada, although all three levels of government are involved in the provision of welfare, policy is nominally determined at the federal and provincial levels, while administration is carried out by provincial and local jurisdictions. In Ontario in the 1960s a variety of welfare programs existed. These provided for services such as homemakers and home nurses, but by far the most important were the cash grants made available through Mothers' Allowance and General Welfare Assistance. In 1966, as part of the war on poverty, Pearson's government enacted the Canada Assistance Plan. This rationalized existing welfare programs and, through a 50/50 cost-sharing program, provided incentives for the provinces to increase their level of welfare support. With this encouragement, Ontario passed an act in 1967 replacing the Mothers' Allowance with Family Benefits Assistance (FBA). Needs tested, and administered solely by the province, this program was intended "to provide long-term financial assistance to individuals and persons with families who are not employed full-time and [who] are unable to support themselves."22 In practice, as with the program that it replaced, the great majority of recipients were female single parents. General Welfare Assistance, more commonly known as relief, reached a much wider range of people than family benefits. In principle anyone, working or not, was eligible. Need, the main criteria of assistance, was determined by weighing assets and incomes against living costs. Among assets, the ownership of a home was "generally" not counted, but savings might be.23 Unlike the FBA program the day-to-day administration of relief was exclusively a local responsibility. In Kingston the Social Services Committee of City Council, comprising three council members and the welfare administrator, decided how policy would be administered. Although welfare policy was a provincial matter, in practice the local administrators had a good deal of discretion in defining what constituted income or assets. More important was the considerable latitude in the treatment of potentially "employable" applicants. All applicants for relief were categorized as "employable" or "unemployable." The latter might include single parents on short-term assistance, the disabled, and the sick. The employable included those who lacked employment, who were thought to be able to work, but who had never (or no longer) qualified for unemployment assistance. In theory it was possible for

78 Democracy in Kingston

an employed person in need to get relief. In practice this rarely happened. As the Ontario Department of Social and Family Services made clear in its brief to the Croll commission on poverty, no "employable" person could apply for relief if that person was in "remunerative employment."24 The department added, however, that there was no administrative definition of "remunerative employment." By default, the term had to be defined locally. Even where an employable person was unemployed, without income, and devoid of assets, the granting of relief was not automatic. Two additional criteria had to be met. The first was that the person be independent of family or guardians, generally considered to occur at age seventeen, although this, too, was open to debate. Second, the potential recipient had to "satisf[y] the local welfare administrator that he is willing to undertake full-time regular empoyment for which he is capable, and is making efforts to secure employment." Again, the final and sometimes arbitrary decision as to whether a particular applicant was capable and willing to work lay with the local administrator. Even in the 1950s, the ambiguities in welfare guidelines had invited local debate. As attitudes towards work and youth began to change, outright conflicts became inevitable. The erosion of the work ethic called into question the requirement that employable recipients actively look for jobs. The youth movement was pushing back the age at which young people might consider themselves to be independent of family. By the mid 1960s the administration of relief was becoming the target of increasing criticism in the United States, and to a lesser extent in Canada.25 It made sense that Kingston should be in the forefront of such a movement. The city had an unusually high rate of welfare dependency. In 1965, recipients of relief (including dependants) accounted for 1.4 per cent of Ontario's population.26 The equivalent rate of welfare dependency in Kingston was 1.6 per cent (figure 4). Moreover, the local welfare rolls were growing rapidly. The dependency rate in Kingston jumped to 2 per cent in 1966, a year in which the provincial rate fell slightly to 1.3 per cent. In that year almost 40 per cent of all recipients were single individuals living alone, and most of this group were young people in their teens or early twenties. The growth in the welfare rolls was viewed with some concern by the Social Services Committee of City Council. In part this reflected the attitudes of Stella Buck, the local welfare administrator. She believed firmly in the work ethic. As early as 1961 she had noticed that more and more welfare recipients were viewing relief as a right, "leading one to the conclusion that the welfare program in Ontario

79 Rebels with a Cause

Figure 4 Beneficiaries of general welfare assistance, Kingston and Ontario, 1961-76 does have a tendency to kill initiative."27 She deplored this situation. City Council, and the other members of the Social Services Committee, agreed. Several times in the early 1960s, City Council, at the recommendation of Buck and the Social Services Committee, endorsed motions that called upon the province to force welfare recipients to work for their money.28 In large part this was a matter of self-interest. The City of Kingston had to pay 10 per cent of relief expenditures from its own funds, and by 1965 relief accounted for 4.4 per cent of the city's total budget, up from 3.4 per cent in 1961.29 Council was also under pressure from local employers not to allow welfare to threaten the employers' ability to recruit cheap labour. In 1965 the province proposed to increase the maximum level of welfare payments. In Kingston, hospital officials immediately expressed "dismay." They noted that welfare recipients stood to get about $600 a year more than local hospital attendants, who received the minimum wage.30 Although the local welfare administration was under pressure, it was willing to innovate. Early in 1966 Kingston became the first city in Ontario to adopt a homemakers' service. This helped mothers to organize family budgets and provided them with the proper "tools" of their trade: fridges, stoves, and the like. Even so,

80 Democracy in Kingston

as Buck was quick to observe, "we do not give [recipients] everything they want because that ruins their initiative."31 The work ethic was alive and well in Kingston. In fall 1966, Crossfield attempted to challenge the local welfare administration. Together with a young friend who was on welfare, he submitted a brief on welfare to the Social Welfare Council.32 The brief criticized the fact that welfare recipients were under constant surveillance from the welfare bureaucracy; that recipients did not understand the procedures by which their claims for assistance were evaluated; and that welfare was viewed by the local administration as a charity, not a right. To rectify these matters, the authors proposed that the city establish a "union" (effectively an ombudsman's office) to hear complaints and to carry out independent investigations. The latter suggestion was naive, for there was no obvious way of guaranteeing the independence of the ombudsman from the fiscal and political pressures that swayed City Council. It is not surprising that Crossfield's subsequent attempts to organize local welfare recipients around this demand met with little success. Although he made some useful contacts, the issue was dropped. Ill

Meeting with little immediate success on the welfare issue, Newman turned to the question of housing. This had been a problem in Kingston for decades. Professor Curtis in 1946, the Reverend Good in 1955, and the community project workers in 1965 had all discovered that there were many people in the city who could not afford what most people would have considered to be decent accommodation. The fact that homes were quite expensive had helped to keep the home ownership rate low. In 1961 barely half of all Kingston's households lived in owner-occupied homes. This compared very unfavourably with the situation in towns of comparable size in the rest of Ontario, where, according to the census, the rate of owneroccupancy was 69 per cent. Moreover, in Kingston it declined steadily in the 1960s, falling to barely 43 per cent in 1971. Some home owners had undoubtedly extended themselves to the limit in order to buy a home, while others, especially the elderly, found their income insufficient to cover the costs of maintenance and repairs. These were years when interests rates remained quite low, however, and owners were in general relatively well off in comparison with tenants. Within the rental sector a housing crisis was in the making. For many years rents had been very high in Kingston. In 1961, tenants paid an average of $76 a month in rent - 19 per cent more than

81 Rebels with a Cause

Figure 5 The location of properties owned by John Hewett, Kingston, 1969

82 Democracy in Kingston

their counterparts in other Ontario towns of comparable size.33 In many cases the quality of the accommodation that they received was inferior. In the same year the census reports that almost 5 per cent of all dwellings in the city were in need of major repair, compared to a proportion of 3.7 per cent in urban Ontario. The majority of these inadequate dwellings were rental properties concentrated in the inner city. In tract 9, where the tenancy rate was 72 per cent, the proportion of houses in need of major repair reached 12 per cent. Many more properties were inadequate in some other respect. The renewal study had surveyed this area to determine how many buildings were inadequate in terms of their internal conditions, a factor that census enumerators were unable to consider. In tract 9 the majority of dwellings on a majority of all city blocks were defined to be inadequate in this regard.34 The problem was that inner-city tenants were geographically immobile and the rental stock was controlled by a small group of landlords. Most of the tenants living downtown were students (on the south side of Princess) or the working and welfare poor (on the north side). These people typically did not own cars and got to work on foot, bicycle, or by public transit. Kingston transit did not provide adequate bus service to large parts of the north and west ends, and of necessity many were prepared to pay a premium for a central location. Tenants were forced to pay this premium because a handful of absentee landlords owned a high proportion of the inner-city rental stock. In 1965 the largest landlord was the Abramsky family, which controlled 47 housing units.35 Others with substantial holdings included the Marcus family (30 units), Magistrate Garvin (19 units), and the Anglin Company (26 units). The most visible of the landlords was John Hewett, whose 37 housing units were concentrated almost exclusively in the inner North End (figure 5). Hewitt had been challenged by the project students in the summer of 1965 for trying to impose exorbitant rent increases on some of his tenants. Outspoken and impervious to criticism, he is reported to have said that "as far as tenants are concerned, I'm conditioned to their complaints. It's water off a duck's back."36 He attempted to intimidate his tenants by serving illegal eviction orders and achieved notoriety by agreeing to meet with tenants to discuss their concerns only on the condition that they pay him for his time.37 His properties were among the worst in the city, as he himself would cheerfully admit. His defence was that there was nothing wrong with turning a profit by filling a social need. It was the immobility of their tenants that allowed landlords like Hewitt to get away with charging high rents and, at the same time, to skimp on repairs.

83 Rebels with a Cause

The city could do little about this situation. There was no by-law that compelled landlords to maintain their properties to a minimum standard. Even when one eventually came into force in 1968, it was at first only weakly enforced. This made sense. Under the terms of a non-compliance order, the city could force a tenant to vacate a deteriorated property but was unable to prevent the landlord from leasing the unit to someone else. Furthermore, even if it was able to cajole a landlord into making improvements, the city had no powers to prevent him from raising the rent. In neither case was it obvious that the interests of low-income tenants were being served. The geographical and economic organization of the rental market, then, made it difficult for the city to improve the situation of low-income tenants. New construction was needed to accommodate growing demand, while by-law enforcement would only make sense if, in some way, rents could be regulated. The housing situation, bad enough in the early 1960s, deteriorated steadily as the decade progressed. The demand for inner-city rental accommodation increased. One way or another the baby boom was the major cause. In the North End, an increasing number of workingclass young people were leaving home, looking for the freedom of their own apartment, however modest. Even more important was the expansion of Queen's. Some of the increase in full-time university enrolment was accommodated in new campus residences, but most was not. Between 1960/1 and 1965/6, the number of students who could not be accommodated in residence increased from 2,090 to 2,952.38 Then, in the next four years, it rose sharply to 4,907. Few of these students came from Kingston and had the option of living at home. Almost all required rental accommodation and put growing pressure on the downtown market. Public housing was meeting hardly any of the demand for low-cost rentals. Apart from the 71 units at Riverview Court, two further developments, amounting to a total of 60 units had been completed by the end of 1967. Neither were in the downtown area. In the summer of that year, 132 households were on the waiting list for public housing; by September 1968 the number had doubled to 269; a year later it had almost doubled again, to 469 (table 6). It is likely that many more households could have qualified for the waiting list if they had chosen to apply. By 1969 the situation was becoming desperate. In June that year, a Central Mortgage and Housing Corporation (CMHC) survey revealed an overall vacancy rate in the city of 0.3 per cent.39 Among the 774 bachelor and one-bedroom apartments surveyed, only one was vacant. This was especially remarkable because June was generally considered to be a good month, when a number of students would have left town.

84 Democracy in Kingston TABLE 6 The Waiting List for Public Housing in Kingston, 1967—76 Number of applications on file at the Kingston Housing Authority 2

-

-

-

132

72 81 128 265 255 143 85 67 46 28 20

23 15 44 75 89 66 45 15 27 12

191 269 385 469 655 620 333 232 211 178 161 124

February September

1967 1968 1968

February September

1969 1969

September April September

1970 1971 1971

86 173 213 315 276 124

September September September September September

1972 1973 1974 1975 1976

102 129 103 109 82

June

Number of bedrooms 3 4 Total

7

Sources: "Needed Immediately: 191 Homes," KWS, 12 March 1968; Housing Subcommittee of the City of Kingston, Minutes 1 (7 January 1969) and Agenda of Minutes, 1973-76; "Committee's letter to Mr. Randall," KWS, 2 December 1969; Fire, Legislation and Housing Committee of the City of Kingston, Minutes, 1971-3.

Altogether, housing was an obvious issue around which to organize. The New Left's first concerted effort to address the housing issue was taken in April 1967. A group formed themselves into an unofficial housing committee.40 Apart from Newman, this group comprised Don Kuyek (a law student), Joy Brierley and Janet Mills (housewives), Marie McCann (a hospital union organizer and member of the Labour Council), and Roy Baumgart (a theology student). Having little expertise about housing, they asked Sarah Spinks to come and speak to them about her organizing experience in Toronto. Spinks had been one of the Kingston projects' summer students in 1965. After spending a year at the University of Toronto, she- along with John Sewell and Wolf Ehrlichman- had been hired as an organizer for the Toronto Community Union Project (TCUP) in Trefann Court. With Marjaleena Repo, TCUP helped to organize one of the first, and certainly the most notorious, challenges to bulldozer renewal

85 Rebels with a Cause

in Canada.41 It was in Trefann Court that Sewell, who later became Toronto's mayor, first cut his political teeth. Even by the spring of 1967, the activities of this group were becoming quite well known on the left. Spinks spoke to the housing committee on the subject of urban renewal. She explained the nature of the federal legislation and then criticized it. The argument that she made in Kingston, and in a subsequent article published in Our Generation, was that the nature of urban renewal should be determined by residents of the area in question. The role of the organizer was to encourage and assist people in demanding this right. Speaking as a socialist and member of the New Left, she offered no reason for organizers to select the issue of urban renewal except that of sheer pragmatism: in Toronto, renewal was already a political issue. She conceded that organizing people on this issue "won't overturn this city," and concluded simply that "it needs to be done and we're doing it."42 The information and arguments that Spinks presented were "a real eye-opener" to the housing committee. Two days later, the group met and decided to press for public housing in the downtown area as part of a "resident-planned urban redevelopment scheme" (original emphasis).43 Recognizing that for local purposes people identified with particular neighbourhoods, the group split up and set about organizing two residents' associations, one for the North End and one for Sydenham Ward. The attempt to organize residents in Sydenham Ward was an immediate, although rather ambiguous success. In this area the official process of urban renewal was already under way. The planning report of 1961 had recommended that steps be taken to preserve the character of Sydenham Ward. Large parts of the area were indeed very desirable. Most of the housing stock had been constructed in the nineteenth century, in many cases to house Kingston's merchant and professional elite. In 1967 the ward still contained a number of fine brick and stone homes, along with City Hall itself, built for the Parliament of Canada in the late 1840s. Mixed in with this stock, however, were a number of deteriorating labourers' and dockworkers' cottages, while the waterfront itself was a mess. Old docks lay derelict. The two main employers on the waterfront, the Locomotive Works and Kingston Dry Dock, were on the point of going bankrupt. It was becoming urgent that something be done, and in 1967 the city hired a consulting firm to conduct a study and offer its recommendations to the Planning Board. Urging residents to demand a say in the planning process, the housing committee organized a public meeting on 26 June. Fifteen people came and a work-

86 Democracy in Kingston

ing committee was set up. On 5 July a second meeting was held in St George's Cathedral hall. Chaired by Lin Elliott, an ex-alderwoman, this meeting attracted fifty residents, together with ten aldermen and Planning Board members. A steering committee for a Sydenham Ward Residents' Association was nominated. From this point the association was taken over by middle-class home owners. At a meeting on 17 July a renewal advisory committee of twelve was elected. Not one of the members of this committee were tenants, although the latter made up four-fifths of the households in the area; most committee members were middle-class professionals, although the ward was socially mixed. From the beginning, this committee, and the association as a whole, played a more modest role than the unofficial housing committee had envisaged. The committee's purpose was to meet with the consultants hired by council and to lobby for greater local input into the planning process. The idea of "residentplanned" renewal was never to be taken seriously. The housing committee met with even less success in the North End. The group went from door to door in tract 9 distributing a flyer entitled "Let's stop our neighborhood from becoming a slum." The flyer asked people to attend a meeting on 7 June at Calvary United Church. Forty-five people showed up.44 From the very beginning disagreements developed between home owners and tenants. These were compounded by the fact that most of the housing committee's contacts in the area were with low-income tenants. The home owners, who soon took over the group, were rather suspicious of this connection. Again, the housing committee was left out in the cold. This time, however, the organization itself failed to get off the ground. There was no pressing issue that could unite the area's residents. The city had no renewal plans for the area. The idea of a cross-town expressway had been put forward by the Planning Board. The road would have bisected the North End and entailed the demolition of many homes. Almost certainly it would have aroused strong opposition. The need for it was limited, however, and the idea never came to anything. The growing problems of rental housing affected most people in the area, but the problem was not unique to the inner North End. If the tenant constituency had already been organized, a North End residents' association that included a majority of tenants might have been able to deal with the issue. As it was, a residents' association run by owners clearly was not. At this point, a neighbourhood-based organization was not an effective way to mobilize tenants.

87 Rebels with a Cause IV

By the end of 1967 the attempts of the Kingston New Left to organize the powerless had met with very mixed success. It had correctly identified poverty, welfare, and housing tenancy as issues that affected a large number of people, particularly within the North End. It had made a number of contacts, and its persistence had given the New Left a measure of credibility in the North End that the summer project students had never had. But the group had little to show for it. Part of the problem was that it had not completely come to terms with local circumstances. Welfare and the price and quality of rental accommodation were the key issues among Kingston's poor, not urban renewal. The organizers' only clear success had been in the youth community, which at least had developed a coherence and momentum of its own. Crucial to this success had been creation of self-run coffee houses and clubs, places that young people could call their own. To organize welfare recipients and tenants, the New Left needed to create something similar. It was with this idea that, in December 1967, Joan Newman approached the local riding association of the NDP.

CHAPTER SIX

The Triumph of Hope over Experience

[Trudeau] seemed to be saying that ... our lives did not have to be at the mercy of forces we did not understand and ... men we could not control. Paul Stevens and John Saywell

The New Left was in the vanguard of a broader movement for social reform. Lagging behind was a much larger body of people whose ideological and party commitments were weak. The early 1960s have been described as "a period of transition [in Canadian politics] in which optimism mingled with uncertainty, and social liberalism accompanied middle class conformism."1 Slowly, however, a movement for social reform made itself felt at the ballot box. Election results, of course, are open to many interpretations. Typically elections are fought on a perplexing mixture of issues and personalities. The 1962 and 1963 campaigns were no exception.2 In both years the leadership of the Tory prime minister was a major issue. Diefenbaker's indecisiveness helped Pearson to cut the Tory lead to twelve seats, and then to secure a minority government for the Liberals. But issues, and broader shifts in attitudes, were also involved. In the 1930s and 1940s, Mackenzie King had staked the Liberals' claim to be the party of reform. This reform tradition was perpetuated by St Laurent and Pearson. In September 1960 it was strongly reaffirmed at a Liberal policy conference held, coincidentally, in Kingston. McCall-Newman, in her history of the party, has observed that in Kingston the Liberals "seemed to be promising a kind of Camelot of the North at a time when the Western world was excited by John F. Kennedy's promise of a reinvigorated and ennobled United States."3 In this context, Liberal gains in 1962 and 1963 signalled

89 The Triumph of Hope over Experience

that Canadians were attracted by, or at the very least willing to live with, a party with a progressive image. I

In Kingston the progressive forces began to gather strength at a rapid pace. In 1962 a new Liberal candidate, Edgar Benson, easily unseated the Tory, Bennie Allmark. The Whig-Standard, which had carefully equivocated throughout the campaign, was taken by surprise.4 The next year Benson won re-election by the largest margin in Kingston's history. His ability, coupled with a high profile, counted for a good deal. On a visit to Kingston during the 1962 campaign Pearson had hinted that, given the opportunity, he would appoint the local candidate to a cabinet post.5 He was as good as his word. Benson was made minister of national revenue in 1964, and elevated to minister of finance by Pearson's successor in 1968. It is also significant, however, that Benson, a commerce professor at Queen's, had a reputation for being on the left of the Liberal party. McCallNewman, for example, describes him as one of the "well-educated, progressively inclined, upwardly mobile professionals" who had been attracted to the party in the late 1950s and early 1960s.6 A vote for Benson was a vote for moderate, liberal-democratic reform. The fact that such a candidate was able to attract so much support shows that in Kingston the times were changing. Indeed, an increasing number of people were becoming dissatisfied with the rather stately pace of reform that the Liberals promised. Members of the CCF/NDP have been described as "Liberals in a hurry." Certainly there was a greater sense of urgency in the policies of socialists and social democrats, a sense that more and more people were coming to share. After being humiliated in the 1958 election, the CCF reorganized itself. By avoiding some socialist rhetoric, the new party picked up more votes than it lost.7 Even so, the immediate electoral pay-offs in 1962 and 1963 were rather disappointing at the federal level. In Kingston, however, they were much more promising. The party's share of the Kingston vote rose to 7 per cent in 1963 and then to 11 per cent in 1965 (table 7). At the end of the 1950s Kingston had been an unusually conservative place. In the early 1960s, however, support for both liberal- and socialdemocratic reform increased with unusual rapidity so that by the middle of the decade the political complexion of the city had become more typical of the country as a whole. The city's new reform constituency was broadly based, but was growing most rapidly among the middle class. The NDP picked up

90 Democracy in Kingston TABLE 7 Federal Election Results, Kingston and the Islands, 1958—74 Party share of vote (per cent) PC Liberal

Year

1958 1962 1963 1965 1968 1972 1974

52 43 38 41 37 55 47

CCF/NDP

4 5 7 11 14 14 18

45 53 55 48 50 33 37

Ballots cast Liberal CCF/NDP

Majority

Party Representative

Year

PC

1958

16 ,989

14 ,862

883

2127

PC

1962 1963 1965 1968

13 ,599 12 ,879 12 ,720 11 ,799

16 ,828 18,425 16 ,031 16 ,234

1,468 2 ,400 3,567 4 ,636

3229 5546 3311 4435

Lib Lib Lib Lib

1972 1974

22 ,788 17 ,844

14 ,126 13 ,943

5,808 6,871

8745 3901

PC F. MacDonald PC F. MacDonald

W. Allmark E. E. E. E.

Benson Benson Benson Benson

Source: P.G. Normandin, The Canadian Parliamentary Guide (Ottawa, various years).

votes in all parts of the city, from the inner North End slums to the affluent west-end suburbs (table 8). The same was not true, however, of the Liberals. In the North End polls, the Liberals' share of the popular vote increased by barely 3 percentage points between 1958 and 1965. In Frontenac Ward, the area with the highest proportion of blue-collar workers in the city, they made no gains at all (appendix B-2). In Sydenham Ward and the west end, however, their share of the popular vote rose by almost 10 percentage points. These aggregate data for geographical areas must be treated with caution. There is no way of knowing for certain that it was the middle class of Sydenham Ward and the west end that boosted the Liberal vote in these areas. But this interpretation is highly probable, indicating that social attitudes were changing most rapidly among the professional middle class. Among those whose attitudes were changing, a growing number were coming to believe that, if the New Left went too far, voting

91 The Triumph of Hope over Experience

alone was not enough. This group helped to give local religious and voluntary organizations a new lease on life. In many respects members of the United Church led the way, but other congregations were not slow to follow. Attendances were dropping and a more active involvement in parish work might be expected to help stem the decline. By 1969 the Reverend Hofstelter, speaking as the acting president of the Kingston Ministerial Conference, was able to reflect upon the recent resurgence of a social conscience within local Protestant congregations.8 Indeed, he compared it to the social gospel movement of the early decades of the century. The Catholic church moved in a similar direction, mainly through the agency of the St Vincent de Paul Society. Between August 1966 and July 1967, for example, this society distributed over $4,500 towards the food, rent, clothing,

TABLE 8 The Geography of Party Support in Selected Federal Elections, Kingston, 1958-74 Per cent of ballots cast 1965 1968 1972

District/Party

1958

North End

100

100

CCF/NDP

49 47 3

Sydenham

100

100 57 40 2

38 50 12 100 34 53 12 100 39 49 11

100 53 43 3

100 38 50 12

PC

Liberals

PC

Liberals CCF/NDP

West End PC

Liberals CCF/NDP

City of Kingston PC

Liberals CCF/NDP

52 44 4

100 34 46 19 100

100

47 35 17 100

32 56 11 100 36 50 12

52 34 14 100

100

100

35 49 15

52 33 14

55 32 13

1974

100

42 37 21 100 47 34 19 100 47 36 17 100 45 36 19

Source: Canada, Report of the Chief Electoral Officer (Ottawa: Supply and Services, various years).

92 Democracy in Kingston

and transportation expenses of the destitute.9 The latter could also turn to the Salvation Army, which found its services to be in increasing demand as the housing crisis worsened in the late sixties. The churches tried to co-operate in order to deal with this crisis. In the late 1960s the (Protestant) Canadian Council of Churches and the Canadian Catholic Conference commissioned a study intended to identify a "practical strategy ... for all Christian churches in their present programs of social action, in particular concerning poverty."10 An inter-church organization, the Canadian Coalition of Development, was set up to co-ordinate church programs. A Kingston Coalition was formed in February 1970 at a meeting attended by 200 people. The Reverend Martin was its first chairman, and discussion soon focused on the housing question. In 1971 the group formed "Kingcole," a non-profit group dedicated to providing rental accommodation to the poor. By the mid 1970s Kingcole had built two apartment units, housing a total of about fifty families, in the inner North End. The churches, then, responded in a practical way to the issues of poverty and housing. Social agencies were also revived by an influx of mainly middleclass volunteers. In 1963 the Red Cross was able to begin a homemakers' service to provide assistance to families hit by illness or personal crisis. In four years it had acquired fifteen full-time volunteers.11 In 1964 the Community Chest, which had failed to meet its fund-raising goal in each of the previous ten years, hoped to revive a flagging community spirit by reorganizing its annual campaign as the United Fund. Its directors turned to the Kingston Welfare Council for help in defining spending priorities for the new organization. The Welfare Council itself was trying to create a new image, and changed its name to the Social Planning Council of Kingston and District in 1965. The SPG set up a special advisory committee with a mandate to identify unmet social needs within the area, and also to suggest what types of social resources should be developed to meet those needs. Alderman Keyes, a school principal, was appointed as chairman. Almost all of the nineteen remaining committee members were middle-class professionals (including three professors, four clerics, and a doctor), businessmen, or housewives. The committee invited, and received, briefs from a wide variety of local volunteer and interest groups. Crossfield's report on welfare was the most radical of these (only the Chamber of Commerce felt itself able to express complete satisfaction with the existing state of affairs).12 All other briefs recognized the existence of unmet social needs, and particularly those associated with the growing rate of family breakdown and juvenile delinquancy. Stella Buck, head of the city's welfare admin-

93 The Triumph of Hope over Experience

istration, noted that family breakdown accounted for some of the increase in the welfare case load. She reported that in 1964 only 19 per cent of welfare cases were directly attributable to desertions and separations, but that in only two years this figure had risen to 34 per cent. Hoping to save taxpayers' money, she recommended that a family and credit counselling service be set up. This proposal, echoed in several other briefs, was incorporated into the advisory committee's final report.13 A family counselling service had been one of the top priorities of the Welfare Council for thirty years, but it was a surge of volunteer support in the mid sixties that finally brought the idea to fruition. Between 1966 and 1967 the number of organizations affiliated with the Social Planning Council increased from twenty-eight to thirtynine, while individual memberships almost tripled.14 Annual revenues, which had stagnated or fallen since the mid fifties, began to rise. Indeed they more than doubled between 1967 and 1968 alone, rising from $2,991 to $8,678. These financial resources, together with volunteer labour, made it possible to set up a family counselling agency. Run by a director and ten part-time volunteers, the agency opened in January 1968. It was declared to be an "instant success."15 Because most family problems involved debt, a credit counselling service was soon added. By 1970 the latter was helping to manage the repayment of almost $100,000 each year, out of a total personal debt among the agency's clientele of about six times that amount.16 Among local businessmen, too, there was a revival of civic spirit. In January 1965 Kingston's two Kiwanis clubs met to discuss social problems, and in particular the issue of housing. Responding to their concern, Mayor Fray set up an advisory committee on housing with Alderman Hare, a Kiwanian, as its chairman. The committee's prospects of success were never great. It was given no powers, and its mandate remained unclear. Moreover, its members had little or no experience of poverty. One of the group's first tasks, then, was to educate itself on the subject. To this end, in February it heard from the students who were setting up the Community Project, while in June it asked John Eleen, researcher for the Ontario Federation of Labour, to give a public talk on welfare and housing. These meetings were instructive, but committee members also felt it necessary that they should see poverty for themselves. To do so they literally had to explore unfamiliar territory. Most of them lived in the west end, where poverty was rare. Accordingly, Alderman Hare proposed a bus tour of the "blighted areas" so that members could get some first-hand experience.17 The mayor must have been absent because several months later he concluded a well-publicized perambulation

94 Democracy in Kingston

in the vicinity of City Hall with the comment that "he hadn't imagined conditions like that[,] even though he knew poverty and squalor existed in Kingston."18 The refrain was familiar. Class segregation can promote mutual ignorance, as was pointed out by Engels about Manchester, England, in the 1840s; the observation was echoed by the reformer Herbert Ames, writing about Montreal at the turn of the century.19 As recently as 1963, in an influential book on poverty in the United States, Michael Harrington observed that "the very development of the American city has removed poverty from the living, emotional experience of millions upon millions of middle-class Americans. Living out in the suburbs, it is easy to assume that ours is, indeed, an affluent society."20 The same was true in Kingston. Enconced in the west-end suburbs, the city's businessmen, middle class, and politicians were largely ignorant of the plight of the poor. The committee's effect on this ignorance was small. Only twenty people, for example, had bothered to turn up to hear Eleen. Through the media, however, the message reached a much wider audience. The Whig-Standard carefully reported the committee's activities. After reading its coverage of Eleen's talk, the Reverend Good was inspired to take a walk to see whether housing conditions had improved since his expose of 1955. His discovery, reported by the paper the next day, was that nothing had changed: a few people had moved out of slum accommodation into public housing, but their places had been taken by others who were just as poor.21 Like so many observers of urban renewal in other cities, he concluded that "we've simply rotated the problem." This theme, and the issues associated with housing and poverty, were picked up quite aggressively by the Whig. A staff writer was assigned to the subject. Late in June, the first of his five articles was prefaced by a note from the editor: "Dickie probes beneath Kingston's veneer of culture and finds festering pockets of poverty."22 The articles, containing case studies and statistics, attracted a good deal of discussion on the letters-to-the-editor page. From interviews, Dickie found widespread concern about housing and poverty, together with the growing popular feeling that "a bolder, more concerted and, most important, more immediate attack is necessary."23 This was certainly the line that the Whig took. In three editorials, the paper discussed the problems of, and possible solutions to, poverty. The second editorial addressed the crucial and sensitive topic of why Kingston's mortgaged middle class should help to subsidize the housing costs of the poor renter. The Whig's cynical but shrewd answer was "self-interest."24 "Bad housing can lead to many evils that cost

95 The Triumph of Hope over Experience

the community money. They can lead to loss of life through fires of through epidemics. They can lead to vice and crime. They can depress property values." This might well have been a persuasive argument to those who remembered the Hallowe'en riot of 1962. In making such an issue out of poverty, however, it is not clear whether the Whig was leading or reflecting public opinion. Probably both. In any event, it is clear that by the fall of 1965, middle-class Kingston had discovered poverty in its midst and, perhaps for mixed motives, was increasingly willing to consider measures to deal with the problem. II

The most obvious solution was public housing. Kingston already had some encouraging experience in this area: the small Riverview townhouse development was considered a modest success. Since that project had been completed, the federal government had made public housing more financially attractive to local governments. Beginning with the formation of the Ontario Housing Corporation (OHC) in 1965, the province began to move quite aggressively into the field.25 Locally, public housing received the support of the Labour and Social Planning councils. Indeed no group opposed it. The costs to the city were minimal, while there were potential pay-offs for incumbent aldermen in the next civic election. It is not surprising, then, that in 1965 the city invited OHC to conduct a survey of housing need. In 1966, along with the development of a housing by-law that would allow council to force landlords to fix up deteriorated properties, public housing was put at the top of the local political agenda. In his address to council at the beginning of the year, Mayor Fray identified housing as the key issue to be dealt with by what he hoped would turn out to be the new "council of action."26 Anticipating that the OHC report would show the need for many public-housing units, he declared that the latter "should not be built in the area which has 100 units already, but rather spread in different parts of the city." These were brave but, as events were to prove, empty words. The OHC report, released early in 1966, confirmed what informed observers already knew: over 100 family units were needed to meet current needs. The city did not have a great deal of choice about where to put them. Growth in the 1950s and early 1960s had not left much vacant land within the city. Large tracts were owned by Alcan, which was more interested in retaining land for possible future expansion than for profitable short-run development. Much of the remaining vacant land lay in the North End, especially Rideau Heights, but the mayor had publicly committed himself to look elsewhere. Casting

96 Democracy in Kingston

around for a likely alternative site, Council settled upon Block "S" in Calvin Park. Local residents and the Kingston Planning Board had been involved in discussions about an appropriate use for this site for a number of years. By the beginning of 1966 its fate had still not been settled. Located on a major thoroughfare, and therefore unattractive for the development of single-family homes, Block "S" was a plausible choice for public housing. Accordingly, and with the Planning Board's encouragement, OHC submitted a proposal for 112 family units, including a 70-unit high-rise building. In the early 1970s, provincial and federal governments were to abandon the public-housing program mainly because of the kind of opposition it aroused in areas like Calvin Park. As soon as the OHC plans were made public, a large and militant residents' association sprang up. In an attempt to make the proposed redevelopment a little less unattractive to local home owners, OHC eventually amended its proposal to include 30 relatively uncontroversial units for senior citizens, in addition to 100 units for families. It was this proposal that formed the basis of discussion at a public meeting held in Calvin Park Public School on 30 August 1966. Approximately 300 residents were present. Overwhelmingly, they condemned the proposals.27 Their concerns were predictable. Some expressed doubts about the capacity of local roads to handle the traffic that such a development would generate. (This was a red herring, for the area was well served in that regard.) Others claimed to be afraid of possible "overcrowding" in the local schools. It is more likely, however, that the social type, rather than the sheer number, of children was a more significant issue in many minds. It was probably the latter that lay behind the issue most commonly raised: the effect on property values. Calvin Park was a new subdivision where the great majority of properties were quite heavily mortgaged. Most residents, especially those who expected to move within the foreseeable future, viewed any threat to their equity with great concern. While no one knew exactly what the effect of a public-housing development might be, most were in no mood to take risks. One resident declared: "We are willing to pay higher taxes to build low rental houses but we are not prepared to accept the devaluation of our own properties."28 It was the old story: a great idea, but not in my back yard. Faced with this opposition, the planners and politicians backed off. Mayor Fray concluded the public meeting with an appeal to the better instincts of local home owners. He asked them to consider the needs of those persons "not so fortunate as ourselves." He might have known that this appeal to altruism would fall on deaf ears, however, and the OHC proposals were quietly dropped. Throughout

97 The Triumph of Hope over Experience TABLE 9 Voter Turnout in Kingston Civic Elections, 1962—70

Ward

North End St Lawrence Cataraqui Frontenac Sydenham West End Ontario Rideau Victoria Total

1962

Proportion of registered electors who voted 1964 1966 1968

1970

51

46

49

48

36

48

44

43

45

37

51 54

45 47

48 53

46 50

37 35

39

39

45

42

38

56

52

56

53

39

49 61 58

48 55 54

52 60 57

48 57 51

36 45 34

51

48

53

50

38

Source: T.J. McKibbin, Clerk-Comptroller of the City of Kingston, Report on Municipal Elections, Kingston, 9 December 1970.

1966 the housing situation continued to worsen, helping to make the civic election in December one of the more lively in recent memory. Voter turnout was high, reaching a maximum of 60 per cent in Rideau, the ward that contained Calvin Park (table 9). Public housing was the key issue in many minds. Fray was returned for another term as mayor. At the beginning of 1967 he again identified housing as "the most important issue facing us today."29 In particular he acknowledged that it was "imperative that we find locations for ... 100 OHC homes." For a while nothing happened. Aldermen from the North End remained adament that more public housing should not be built in their area, and council was understandably reluctant to renew the battle in the west end. By 1968, however, events and public pressure forced the issue. The waiting list for public housing doubled between the summer of 1967 and September 1968 (table 6). Church leaders and voluntary agencies were putting pressure on council to act. Acknowledging that something had to be done, in January 1968 Mayor Fray again set up an advisory committee on housing. No doubt with some trepidation, the city encouraged OHC to bring forward new proposals for the construction of 100 units on blocks "W" and "R," again in Calvin Park.

98 Democracy in Kingston

The response was predictable. Local residents drew up a petition with 655 signatures that was submitted to OHC and to City Council. In an attempt to meet some of the local residents' concerns, the plans were changed by replacing fifty of the family units with thirty for seniors. These revisions were immediately rejected by the ratepayer group, but were brought to a public meeting at Centennial Public School on 20 February 1969.30 No new arguments were advanced, but tempers ran high. In the heat of the moment, one irate resident dismissed the proposals on the grounds that they implied "substandard houses for substandard people."31 Although such views might not have been widely held - and were certainly not widely voiced the local opposition to public housing held firm. On the question of public housing, the mayor and council were willing to try persuasion, but they were not prepared to override the wishes of a large and determination group of middle-class home owners. Another location had to be found. Because other sites within the west end were scarce, and in any case likely to arouse similar opposition> council turned to the only feasible alternative, Rideau Heights. The earlier renewal project had eliminated much of the worst housing in this area. By the mid 1960s some small suburban developments, such as Markers' Acres, had been initiated. The Heights was still isolated from the centre of the city, however, and its name continued to carry a social stigma. Such considerations deterred most middle-class people who were interested in buying a new suburban home. For the most part, then, the new single-household, detached homes being built in this area were sold to relatively prosperous working-class families, notably those in the construction trades. These people were only a little more willing than the residents of Calvin Park to receive public-housing tenants into their midst. Planners and politicians knew that they could expect another battle. Their first hurdle was to get land rezoned from singlefamily to apartment use. This proved to be difficult. A Markers' Acres Ratepayers' Association soon emerged to oppose the change. Initially, planners simply ignored it. However, the ratepayers submitted an appeal to the Ontario Municipal Board, a quasi-judicial provincial body that has the authority to reverse local planning decisions. In this case it did so, on the grounds that the proposed rezoning was not consistent with the character of the area, and that no provision had been made for commercial facilities that would be needed to service an apartment development on the site. In a stiffly worded judgment, the board concluded that the application represented "spot rezoning in its derogatory meaning."32 This placed planners in a quandary, for political pressure was

99 The Triumph of Hope over Experience

continuing to build up. In the fall of 1968 the Social Planning Council set up a Housing Committee under the direction of Lily Inglis, a local architect. Inglis had plenty of energy and ideas. She initiated a study of housing conditions in the city, and in the spring of 1969 presented a brief on the subject to council.33 With the waiting list at the Kingston Housing Authority growing month by month, Inglis argued forcefully that something had to be done. Her appeals were backed by church leaders such as the Reverend Martin. Holding their noses, planners encouraged Headway Corporation to submit a tender for an apartment complex on an industrial site in Rideau Heights. Residents had good reason to be concerned, for this proposal called for almost 300 public-housing units concentrated on a single site. The great majority of units were to be in high-rise apartments deisgned for families. Unlike the situation in Calvin Park, these plans implied the creation of a public-housing ghetto, something which even the planners agreed was undesirable. A public meeting was eventually held on 3 February 1970.34 Over 100 people turned up. Almost everyone who spoke opposed the plans. In comparison with the response in Calvin Park, there appeared to be a greater willingness to accept some public-housing units. But local residents were united in the view that their area already had its share, while several added that, in any location, 300 units was too many. Others pointed out that the site was isolated and lacked the services (including transit) that public-housing tenants would surely need. At this meeting, and on numerous occasions over the next few months, Alderman Matthews, as the senior ward alderman for the area, repeated these arguments to anyone who would listen - to little effect. Aldermen from the west end wards were only too glad not to be in the hot seat. Church leaders such as the Reverend Martin, and middle-class reformers such as Inglis, conceded that the plans were less than ideal but were persuaded that no viable alternatives existed. In an ideal world, the suburban jurisdictions of Pittsburgh and Kingston townships, where vacant land was abundant, might have agreed to shoulder some of the responsibility for what was a metropolitan (indeed regional) problem. But of course this did not happen. The City of Kingston went through the motions of approaching Kingston Township, but no one was surprised when its overtures were ignored. The political options had been narrowed to one. Planners and local residents began a war of attrition that dragged on for over a year. Through 1970 the issue was exhaustively debated in the press, on council, and in various council subcommittees. In January 1971 another public meeting was held. Planners kept 130 residents at bay for four hours. By the end, frustrated and sensing

100 Democracy in Kingston

defeat, the chairman of the Rideau Heights Ratepayers' Association declared "I would suggest that the Rideau Heights Project be done in Siberia ... There are too many [units] ... Spread them throughout the city and give us a rest."35 By this time, however, it was too late. Construction was completed within two years. In the end, about 600 units, most intended for families, were built in the area. The publichousing waiting list was cut by an almost equivalent amount, but at a considerable cost. The worst fears of opponents to the housing were realised.36 The construction work was shoddy. The development was isolated from the main commercial centres of the city, and very few services were provided. The residents were ghettoized and stigmatized. To Kingston residents in the mid 1950s the name of Rideau Heights had conjured up the picture of a semi-rural slum. By the mid 1970s it evoked the image of a public-housing ghetto, in the derogatory sense. In one respect the story of public housing in Kingston in the late 1960s shows how far the effects of social reform can fall short of intentions. To be sure, the motives of the planners and politicians were mixed. To keep their jobs they had to respond to public pressure by building housing. But most of them sincerely thought that they were acting in the best interests of the poor. They can be criticized, however, for some failures of judgment. By the early 1970s public housing had accumulated a very mixed record, both in Canada and in the United States; for those prepared to listen there was abundant evidence that large projects did not work. Perhaps more seriously, reformers and politicians can also be accused of bias. The developments that were proposed for Calvin Park made more sense in many ways than those that were eventually realized in the Heights. Smaller in scale, and better serviced, they were more likely to succeed. As events unfolded, however, it was clear that decisions were being made on political, rather than what might be called rational planning, criteria. In terms of numbers, the opposition to public housing was not much greater in Calvin Park, while in terms of militancy it is impossible to say which neighbourhood had the edge. What mattered most was political influence. Calvin Park contained many welleducated and articulate residents who expected their voices to be heard, and who knew how to make political trouble. By contrast, most residents in Rideau Heights had less experience in public speaking, and had lower expectations about their ability to get their way. In the long run they, and other working-class home owners in the North End, were less likely to punish aldermen through the media and at the ballot box. In the 1960s, voter turnout in Cataraqui Ward was generally below the city average (table 9). Many middle-class

101 The Triumph of Hope over Experience

reformers exploited the situation for what they perceived to be a greater good. In doing so they revealed their class bias. In this respect, then, the local history of public housing reveals that reformers' intentions were not as innocent as many liked to believe. Public-housing construction and an increase in support for voluntary work show a new concern for social inequality. The former prompted an increase in popular participation, both in its support and in opposition. In themselves, however, these activities did not mark a significant break with the politics of the previous decade. A paternalism that was not always enlightened still dominated the planning process. There was only a little more consultation about the location of public housing than there had been about urban redevelopment, and the result was not demonstrably better. Among the new initiatives in the voluntary sector, the creation of a family counselling and credit counselling service was certainly valuable to those who were in financial trouble. The agency's purpose and effect, however, was to help people accommodate themselves to their present situation. In making poverty more bearable it posed no threat to the status quo. On the contrary, it helped to keep things as they were. Moreover, it helped creditors just as much as debtors. The credit manager of Simpson-Sears, for example, observed that his store benefited "because some of its accounts handled by the [credit] counselling service would have ended up as straight losses."37 Not surprisingly, although the service received some money from charitable contributions disbursed by the United Fund and local churches, it also relied heavily on local trust and finance agencies, together with two of the larger downtown department stores.38 Counselling, like public housing, was a worthy endeavour that helped those in need. It was also quite firmly in the professional service tradition. Ill

In the mid 1960s, a growing number of reformers were coming to the conclusion that service work was not enough. These were years when a more democratic spirit was gaining ground in Canada. Such a spirit was at best latent in the actions of the Pearson government, rising to the surface very briefly with the formation of the Company of Young Canadians in 1965. It found a much clearer and more popular expression in 1968 in the course of the nomination and election campaigns of Pierre Trudeau. Adopting a New Left slogan, Trudeau called for the creation of a more participatory democracy in Canada. One of the Liberal party's central goals was, in the words of its 1968 election manifesto, "to make government more accessible

102 Democracy in Kingston

to people, to give our citizens a sense of full participation in the affairs of government."39 This seemed to touch a chord. The Liberals won their first majority government since 1957- Locally, Benson capitalized on this success and secured re-election with a fairly comfortable majority of 4,435 (out of the 32,669 votes cast). But he did not do as well as he might have expected. Bucking the rational trend, the local NDP picked up votes from the Liberals. Between 1965 and 1968 the NDP'S share of the popular vote declined by one percentage point in Ontario and in Canada as a whole. In the City of Kingston, however, its share rose by three points from twelve to fifteen per cent (table 8). The ability of the Kingston NDP to attract votes from the Liberals stemmed from a revitalization of the party organization and a new commitment to grass-roots democracy. The turning point came in the mid 1960s mainly as a result of the efforts of a handful of people at Queen's University. In 1965 the campus NDP club began to revive under the influence of two graduate students, James Laxer and Krista Maeots. At the beginning there was considerable overlap between this club and the campus branch of SUPA. Several people, including Maeots and Joan Newman, belonged to both organizations. By the beginning of the 1966-7 academic year, however, the NDP had taken over SUPA'S role as the major left-wing political organization on campus. Laxer was the key figure. His early sympathies with the New Left gave way steadily to a more critical position. He came to see the New Left as an essentially American phenomenon.40 In his view the movements' strategy of organizing the inner-city poor made sense in the United States, where poverty was compounded with race to create a real community of interest, but the same was not true north of border. He argued that SDS'S rejection of party politics had less relevance to Canada, where the socialist and social-democratic party tradition was stronger. Indeed he thought that such a rejection was positively dangerous, for it sapped Canada's ability to resist us imperialism. He came to see the NDP as an anti-capitalist bastion of Canadian nationalism. These ideas were developed over a period of several years in association with a group of students and junior faculty at Queen's. This group included Lome and Carolyn Brown, George and Rosemary Warskett, Pat and John Smart, and George Rawlyk, as well as Krista Maeots. In 1967 Maeots took over as editor of the Queen's Journal, and for a year made the student newspaper into a forum of debate on a wide variety of social and political issues. The campus club held discussions on us imperialism and university reform, while helping to organize demonstrations against American involvement in Vietnam.

103 The Triumph of Hope over Experience

This group soon turned its attention from the campus to the community. Smart had taken over as campaign organizer for John Meister in the federal election campaign of 1965. A shop steward at ciL-Millhaven, Meister was one of the many who soon came to regret voting for Diefenbaker.41 Rejoined the NDP in 1964 and, running with Smart's help, boosted the NDP vote by 50 per cent. He stood again in the privincial campaign of 1967. In that year, all six of the full-time campaign workers (except for himself), were in the politics or history departments at Queen's.42 Under Smart's direction they more than doubled the NDP'S share of the provincial vote. In less than three years the campus group had transformed the riding association. There was even some extravagant talk of the NDP'S new electoral "machine."43 Better organization certainly helped, but it was a subtle change in political strategy that enabled the Kingston NDP to take so many votes from the Liberals in 1968. Among socialists and social democrats there is a long-standing debate as to whether the main concern of a political party should be to get out the vote at election time or whether the party should also provide political education and attempt to organize its constituency on a continuing basis. These strategies are not necessarily exclusive of one another. Indeed, some degree of education and continuity is an essential part of any electoral strategy. Within that context, however, there is room for considerable differences of emphasis. Through the 1950s and early 1960s the CCF / NDP had come to focus almost exclusively on elections. In this it was typical of many other left-wing parties in the advanced capitalist countries, including the labour party in Britain.44 In part it was this lack of interest in grass-roots organizing that the New Left had reacted against, this political vacuum that the movement was attempting to fill. The New Left's successes were beginning to cause the party some concern.45 It would be wrong to interpret this in a purely cynical fashion, for there were some who, as a matter of principle, were convinced that community organizing had a place in the NDP'S political strategy. But pragmatic considerations were also at work. Getting into community organizing might help the party win votes. For both reasons, then, extra-parliamentary activity could make sense. In the sixties, the Kingston NDP was probably one of the first riding associations in Canada to arrive at such a conclusion. By the end of 1967 it had assimilated a number of ex-New Left students who had been left high and dry by the disintegration of SUPA. Most of the campus group that had come to control the riding association were relatively young and willing to consider an experiment. As a result, the riding executive listened sympathetically to Joan Newman when

104 Democracy in Kingston

she approached them with the idea that the NDP should support an information centre to serve poor tenants in Kingston's inner North End.46 She argued that such a centre would increase party "identification" among the working class, as well as making the party itself more genuinely humanitarian.47 Her idea received unanimous support, and on 19 January 1968 the Community Information Service (cis) opened at 2 Victoria Terrace on Montreal Street. The success of the information centre took everyone by surprise. With Newman as its first director, CIS was maintained by volunteer labour that included law students from Queen's, notably Don Kuyek and Robin Ryan; local working-class people such as Betty Hornbeek and Ralph Power; and local youth, notably Logan Murray. Open six afternoons and five mornings a week, it offered free advice on consumer issues, workmen's compensation, tenant and welfare rights, and general legal concerns. It soon began a newsletter. The volunteers showed a great deal of sympathy for the people that came in for advice, and were quite willing to become advocates if they thought the situation justified it. This set CIS apart from the Social Planning Council, which always tried to maintain a more professional and detached public image. It also accounted for the centre's success. Within three months CIS had become a "focus for dissent" for local youth and also for the working and welfare poor.48 For the first time the latter group had a social centre where information and ideas could be traded and political strategies worked out. Both the New Left and the NDP had begun to mobilize a substantial, and new, political constituency. This was turned to immediate electoral advantage by the NDP. The riding exective had never intended that CIS should be a store-front for the party, but it was careful to ensure that the connection between the two organizations was generally known. In February, Meister was interviewed by the Whig-Standard and is reported as saying that cis "is the sort of thing the party should be doing. We try to convince everyone that we are the only party concerned with the little people, and this is our way of putting this philosophy into practise."49 In the federal campaign the cis connection was not emphasized, but there is no question that it served the party well. The number of campaign workers that the NDP was able to draw from the North End became quite significant: three zone captains, innumerable canvassers and half of a four-person research committee. When the ballots were counted after the June election, the NDP'S share of the vote rose by only one percentage point in the west end, while actually falling by the same amount in Sydenham Ward. In the North End, however, it jumped by seven points to 19 per cent (table 8). Part of the reason

105 The Triumph of Hope over Experience

was the NDP'S ability to persuade normally apathetic electors to vote. Voter turnout increased by two percentage points in the west end and actually fell by the same amount in Sydenham Ward.50 In the North End, however, it increased by five points. There could be no clearer demonstration that even a modest involvement in community politics could have an electoral pay-off. Through CIS, the NDP was able to tap, and channel, a significant part of the growing current of social reform. More significantly, the success of CIS precipitated a new phase of local reform activity. Up to now, reformers and radicals had worked separately and to limited effect. Through CIS, the New Left had at last begun to organize the working and welfare poor, while the NDP created a new base of support among those who were usually alienated from parliamentary politics. These complementary achievements suggested that, through co-operative action, the two groups might reasonably hope to have a significant impact on the bastions of power.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Two Types of People

Two kinds of people are interested in housing. Those who live in it [and] those who live off it. ATAK flyer, 1969

In politics, organizers can never escape the question of what to do next. The answer is rarely obvious. Political ideologies offer only the broadest of guidelines, for they are usually defined in terms of ends rather than of means. The New Left deliberately blurred this distinction. A participatory democracy, they believed, could only be achieved by a popular, democratic movement. This provided some tactical guidance to local organizers. But it did not obviate the need for them to have a practical understanding of what, in a specific context, they could reasonably hope to achieve: of the compromises and alliances that must and might be made. I

By the summer of 1968 the Kingston New Left, and socialists and social democrats in the NDP, had learned enough about their situation to be able to formulate a political strategy that had a reasonable chance of success. The information centre had convinced many in the local NDP that some involvement in extra-parliamentary action made sense. Housing was the obvious focus: it had been the overriding local issue for several years and indeed the housing situation was continuing to worsen while proposed public projects were stalled by neighbourhood opposition. The failed attempt to organize radical residents' associations in 1967 had shown the New Left that owners and tenants had significantly different interests, and that the two

107 Two Types of People

groups could not easily be combined within a single organization. On grounds of need and strategy, then, the obvious political course was to organize tenants. The idea of a "tenants' union" was first put forward by Joan Newman, in a grant application that she and Dennis Crossfield submitted to the Company of Young Canadians in the spring of 1968.1 The purpose of such an organization would be radical: to challenge the rights associated with property ownership. Newman and Crossfield argued to CYC that a group of this kind could best be formed by focusing the energies of organizers on a door-to-door campaign in the inner North End; middle-class tenants in the suburbs might be contacted later "when a base was formed." If things turned out well, the union could be an effective pressure group in the civic election that fall, and might even run candidates. They stressed that "eager and capable volunteers existed." All they asked for was money. Their chances of getting CYC support, however, were not good. To be sure, the proposal fit exactly into the company's mandate. Art Pape and others associated with the New Left had managed to define a fairly radical strategy for the organization. Struggles between career bureaucrats and local activists continued, but by 1968 most of the latter were trying to do much the same kinds of things as the Kingston New Left: to organize the powerless.2 Relations between CYC and the Kingston group, however, were poor. Newman was known to be highly sceptical of the organization. She never sought CYC money for herself. At one time or another several people in Kingston, including Crossfield, had been placed on the Ottawa payroll. These arrangements were temporary, however, and often strained.3 The Kingston New Left had never relied on CYC money, and was proud of the fact. It could not have surprised them when their application for funds was turned down. The lack of financial support from CYC made little difference, however, for there were plenty of people willing to work for no pay. Things went ahead more or less as Newman and Crossfield had outlined. In July a group of twenty tenants met in Calvary United Church hall to discuss the housing problem. They included students and low-income tenants from the North End, most of whom had been involved at the information centre. They debated strategy, and agreed that they should keep their distance from elected ward representatives. The minutes of the meeting report their conclusion: "no incorporation."4 They formed themselves as the interim executive of a tenants' association and called a public meeting for the 10th of August. At this meeting the Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston (ATAK) was set up. An executive, along with research and

108 Democracy in Kingston

membership committees, was elected. A constitution was adopted that dedicated the association to the defence and extension of tenants' rights. These rights included security of tenure, decent living conditions, no discrimination (on the basis of race or religion), adequate provision for children in all parts of the city, and representation on local municipal bodies.5 Beyond this, as Newman declared, "ATAK wants to get at... the sacredness of property."6 With a core of twentyfive canvassers a supporters drive was begun. This campaign was both a membership drive and, in a sense, a petition. The most committed could join the organization, but others were simply encouraged to indicate their support for the association's goals. By the 6 September, 827 people had done so.7 One of the most significant aspects about ATAK'S organizing drive is that it drew support from a broad social spectrum. This is apparent TABLE 10 Class and Tenancy in Kingston

Class composition of ATAK (1968) Group Owners and managers Middle class Supervisors Professionals Working class Blue collar White collar Self-employed Other (mainly students) Total Unknown

Numbers

Per cent

Tenants as a per cent of all households (estimates) Canada (1979)

Kingston (1970)

29

29

36

51 56 49 54 55 57

0

0

2 8

3 13

22 7 1 20

37 12

50 54 44

2

36

36

33

53

64

60 51

100

45

56

Sources: List of members, Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston, fall 1968; estimates derived by the author from the 1979 "Survey of Social Change in Canada," Institute for Behavioural Research, York University, Toronto; estimates obtained from Might's Kingston City Directory 1971.

109 Two Types of People

from the class composition of its membership early that fall (table 10).8 Among those members whose occupation was reported in Might's Kingston City Directory, one-third were students. A slightly higher proportion were blue-collar workers and a slightly lower proportion were employed in white-collar, supervisory, and professional work. The only major class that was not represented in the association were owners and managers including, not surprisingly, landlords. In fact the class composition of ATAK was probably less mixed than these numbers suggest. It has been said that city directories are biased against low-income people and transients.9 This was almost certainly true in Kingston. It is likely, then, that a relatively high proportion of those for whom no occupation was recorded would have been students and low-income tenants. Students alone might have made up two-fifths of the association's membership. But this would not have been at all extraordinary. During the school year, students composed about one-quarter of the city's adult population. Since very few owned their own homes, students must have made up a considerably higher proportion of the tenant population. As a reflection of the community, ATAK would inevitably contain a large number of students. Taking this into account, and except for owners and managers, the organization could claim to represent a broad cross-section of the local population. That it was able to do so was partly attributable to the rather unusual social composition of Kingston's tenant population. In Canadian urban areas as a whole, levels of tenancy varied quite considerably from one social class to another (table 10). National figures are not available for 1970, but in 1979 the proportion of households that were tenants ranged from a low of 29 per cent among the selfemployed to a high of 50 per cent among the working class. Given that the overall tenancy rate in Kingston in 1970 was ten percentage points higher than in Canada in 1979, the level of tenancy among the Kingston working class was relatively low (table 10). At 54 per cent it was only four points higher than in the country as a whole. In contrast, the tenancy rate among the city's middle class was very high, fourteen points higher than in the nation.10 Indeed, in the city (as opposed to the suburbs), a middle-class household was almost as likely to be renting as its working-class counterpart. It made sense that a tenant organization in Kingston would attract members from among the middle class. ATAK was also able to count on the support of a variety of political and interest groups. One of the most important of these was the NDP. The tenants' association was not a project of the NDP in the same way that the information centre had been. This was because the NDP, and

110 Democracy in Kingston

the leadership of ATAK, sensed that their respective groups stood more to gain from loose co-operation than from a formal union.11 Indeed, in September, by mutual agreement, the NDP even dissolved its official association with CIS. But many people were active in both the party and the tenants' group. In a sense Newman was the most visible of these, since she had been chosen as ATAK'S "president." Her primary commitment had always been to community organizing, however, and she was soon to let her party membership lapse. Others divided their loyalties more evenly between the two groups. Among the most active of these were John Meister, Rosemary Warskett, and Roy Flint, chairman of ATAK'S membership committee, but many others held membership in both organizations. Ties with the NDP went even further: in September ATAK approached the provincial party caucus with the suggestion that it start a filibuster in an attempt to force the Tory government to take action on the housing question.12 Mrs Renwick, wife of the national party president, agreed to liaise between ATAK and the provincial party. Altogether, though informal, the relationship between the party and the tenants' group were very close. In the fall of 1968 several other groups proved willing to give their support — moral, political, and financial - to ATAK. Several unions, including locals of the Canadian Union of Public Employees and the United, Electrical, Radio and Machine Workers, gave their backing to the campaign for greater tenants' rights.13 Jack Thomas, himself active in ATAK, helped to persuade his fellow unionists at the Labour Council to put pressure on the city to implement rent controls.14 Student groups, including the Queen's Alma Mater Society, also threw in their lot with ATAK.15 These endorsements were reported in the daily press, and indeed by the beginning of October scarcely a day went by without some reference being made to the plight of tenants and, in particular, to the demands of ATAK. Feeling successful, and with a civic campaign beginning to warm up, the tenants' executive made the fateful decision to try its luck at electoral politics. The tenants' group put up three candidates: George Warskett, Joan Newman, and John Meister, the latter running on a joint ticket with the NDP. There was not much question as to which wards the candidates should run in. The summer supporters' drive had deliberately been concentrated downtown. Out of the thirteen "ward captains" who directed the canvassing campaign, six had been allocated to Sydenham Ward and St Lawrence; four of the remaining seven were assigned to Ontario Ward.16 These wards not only had the highest tenancy rates but also the highest concentrations of the needy. A

I l l Two Types of People

Figure 6 The geography of support for the Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston, 1968

112 Democracy in Kingston

membership booth had been set up in the market place behind City Hall, but no attempt was made to work the suburban shopping centre. The results were predictable. That fall the organization drew most of its membership from the downtown area and the student ghetto, with significant but relatively isolated pockets of support in apartment buildings in the west end (figure 6). The tenants' executive knew where its support lay. Newman ran in St Lawrence, Warskett in Sydenham, and Meister stood for re-election in Ontario. Particular effort was devoted to St Lawrence, where the chances for success were greatest. ATAK'S participation enlivened the campaign, although on election day they were unable to maintain voter turnout at the unusually high level attained in 1966, when the public-housing issue had boosted the suburban vote. In the city as a whole the 1968 turnout was down by three points, a general decline that Meister and Warskett were unable to stem in Ontario and Sydenham wards. Meister, who had already proved himself to be a conscientious alderman, was easily re-elected, but Warskett went down to defeat. In St Lawrence, however, ATAK was able to boost turnout by two points, securing the election of its president to City Council. II

With two representatives on council, ATAK was now able to press its demands more effectively. For the past two years Meister had been fighting a lonely battle. There had been some successes. Partly at his instigation, the city had agreed to provide day-care assistance to lowincome, "multiple-problem" families. Kingston Day Care was set up in October 1967 with a capacity of fifty and by the beginning of 1969 almost half of these places were being subsidized by the city. Meister had also pressed the city to implement rent controls, but with no success. As a lone rookie he carried little weight. With the formation of ATAK and the election of Newman, however, prospects seemed better. Even so, the tenants' group faced an uphill battle. In principle the case for rent controls is not straightforward.17 In the short run, controls hold down rents and therefore benefit the low-income (and indeed any) tenant. The benefits are clearest where excess profits are being made by large, and unscrupulous, landlords. To some extent this was the situation in Kingston, where landlords like Hewitt were milking inner-city properties for whatever the market would bear. In the long run, however, there was a danger that controls might bring down the rate of return in the property market substantially below those associated with other types of investment. Developers might stop building rental accommodation, thereby precipa-

113 Two Types of People

tating an even worse housing shortage than already existed. This problem could be anticipated and even avoided through an aggressive program of publicly subsidized construction. This process was essentially what ATAK proposed, and as part of its campaign for rent controls it actively supported the proposed developments in Calvin Park and Rideau Heights. ATAK made a plausible case. The idea of public intervention on any substantial scale, however, was one that City Council did not view with equanimity. In part councillors were concerned about the possible cost to the city. More important, however, they saw a combination of rent controls and large investments in public housing as a threat to the type of small-scale private enterprise upon which, as individuals, their livelihoods typically depended. In most cases the threat was not immediate, because only a few earned money directly from the real-estate market. But they feared that rent controls and public housing might prove to be the thin end of the wedge. It did not take long for their concerns to surface. During a debate on rent controls in the Fire, Legislation and Housing Committee, Alderman Timmins, a draughtsman who had no direct economic interests in the matter, was to make his views clear as early as February 1969. Claiming to agree with the intent of controls, he added the important rider, "but not to the extent that free enterprise was being hindered."18 Aside from these matters of principle, the proponents of controls had to face further difficulty. There was uncertainty about whether the city had the legal authority to control rents even if it chose to do so. The provincial enabling legislation of 1953 was still on the books, but it was not clear whether the city had forfeited its legal right to impose controls by failing to pick up the option at the time. Don Kuyek and other law students working for ATAK argued that the city did have this power, and they got weightier legal opinion to back them up. At the very least, they suggested, Kingston could be made a test case. The city's own solicitor was less sanguine. Describing the legal situation as a "sea of uncertainty," he offered a more cautious counsel of inaction.19 After all, that way the city could save itself unnecessary legal fees. The debate dragged on. Once again, responding to the continuing housing crisis and also to the pressure from ATAK, the mayor set up a subcommittee on housing at the beginning of 1969. Previous committees had been temporary, reporting in a purely advisory capacity directly to the mayor. The new one was made a semipermanent part of council's structure. Its purpose was to debate housing issues and to make recommendations to its parent committee on fire, legislation and housing, which in turn could make recom-

114 Democracy in Kingston

mendations to council. This byzantine arrangement guaranteed that controversial issues like rent controls would be debated many times. In 1969, in addition to Alderman Newman, the mayor had appointed Rosemary Warskett to the housing subcommittee. Indeed the majority of this group was sympathetic to tenants' concerns. They passed a variety of resolutions that called for the establishment of rent controls and for a rental review board, which would hear complaints and mediate in landlord-tenant disputes. One of the favourite tactics of the parent committee, and of council if a resolution got that far, was to refer the issue back for clarification. In the end the issue of rent controls came to a vote in council, where it was firmly turned down. Because of a procedural rule, this meant that the issue could not be discussed again until the following year. Altogether a great deal of energy was expended with little to show for it. If rent control was ATAK'S main demand, there were still many others. Apart from supporting public housing, the tenants' group threw its weight behind the campaign to get a limited-dividend housing project built in the west end, at the corner of Portsmouth and Bath Road. Under federal legislation "Limited Dividend" housing projects could receive financial assistance from CMHC if investors could be found who were willing to accept a rate of return that was lower than prevailing market expectations.20 The idea was to provide subsidized accommodation to moderate- rather than low-income households. Meister persuaded council to put up $150,000 to get the "City of Kingston Housing Limited" off the ground. The city's six-member finance committee were appointed as directors. While tenders were being received, there was a good deal of debate as to what constituted "moderate income."21 Since there were so many low-income people in need, the tenants' organization tried to get the city to bend CMHC income guidelines downwards. Ward aldermen from the west end were wary, however, for they did not wish their constituents to think that they were bringing in public housing under another name. Moreover, CMHC remained adamant that putting lowincome tenants into the project would destroy its financial viability. In the end, CMHC rules were followed. When it opened in 1971, Eldon Hall accommodated seventy-six households in three- and fourbedroom apartments. The former rented for almost $178 a month. Judging from the census that was conducted in the same year, this was almost 50 per cent more than the average cash rent of apartments in the city as a whole. Eldon Hall was a useful addition to the city's rental housing stock, especially for larger families, but it would never reach those in greatest need. It was with the latter in mind that ATAK, supported by the Social

115 Two Types of People

Planning Council, began to put pressure on council to provide emergency housing. The housing subcommittee recommended that emergency housing be made available either to those whose homes had been rendered uninhabitable, for example by an act of God, or to to those whose difficulties had a social cause. The latter might include eviction or rent increases beyond the household's ability to pay. Although Meister and Newman spoke forcefully in favour of these proposals, the Fire, Legislation and Housing Committee neutered them by excising the latter provisions.22 Again councillors had proved themselves to be unwilling to interfere with the housing market, and specifically with the relationship between landlords and tenants. Emergency accommodation was provided, but it did not address the needs of the great majority of Kingston's low-income tenants. While engaged in these local battles, ATAK also took its case to the province and beyond. It submitted briefs not only to the provincial NDP but also to the Tory government and the Liberal opposition.23 Letters were written to Paul Hellyer and to Senator Croll, asking that these federal politicians bring their respective inquiries into housing and poverty to the City of Kingston. They declined to do so. ATAK also tried to build up a province-wide tenants' organization. Early in 1969 letters were sent to tenants' groups across southern Ontario, and a provincial conference was set for June 1969. Representatives from seven cities, including Toronto and Ottawa, attended and helped ATAK to form the Ontario Tenants' Association. The idea was that the latter should co-ordinate the efforts of local groups and put pressure on the provincial government.24 Unfortunately, the provincial organization never emancipated itself from its Kingston roots. In its first year, Bobbi Spark became the group's treasurer and another Kingstonian took charge of publicity.25 That October, a demonstration in favour of rent controls was held in Toronto. About 350 people attended, as many as 60 coming from Kingston.26 The following year Newman took over as president. It is clear that housing costs and conditions were major issues to tenants in many cities at the time. Respondents to a national survey in 1968 ranked housing second, after inflation, as a key issue that government should do something about. In Ontario, housing ranked first. The problems associated with rental accommodation in particular were soon to be explored in the Hellyer Report, and also in the interim and final reports of the Ontario Law Reform Commission, which in 1969 made recommendations concerning changes to provincial landlord/tenant legislation.27 In most cities, however, tenants' groups did not have the popular support that ATAK was able to command. It is hard to say whether this was because conditions were particularly bad in Kings-

116 Democracy in Kingston

ton, or whether tenant leaders in other cities were less effective. There is probably something to both explanations. At any rate, despite continued encouragement from Kingston, the provincial association slowly petered out. Ill

Housing was the main concern of ATAK, and specifically of the tenants' representatives on council, but other issues were not ignored. After all, housing is never a problem sui generis. The conditions that people live in, and their prospects of obtaining affordable accommodation, depend on their overall standard of living and the distribution of wealth and income.28 In Kingston housing reflected, and in the minds of community organizers it increasingly came to symbolize, the specific class inequalities of local society. The truth of this was dramatized by the struggles of the Hewett's Tenants' Union. For many years Hewett had been known to tenants, and to the local housing inspector, as a slum landlord. In summer 1969, trying to take advantage of the housing shortage, he increased his rents by an average of over 12 per cent, and in some cases by as much as $50 a month.29 Five years previously such an action would probably have been met with apathy and dismay. The success of ATAK however, encouraged tenants to resist. A union was formed and its membership soon grew to seventy-six. The tenants prepared an "open letter to John Hewett" in which they called upon their landlord to reduce rents and to bring his properties up to the standards of the housing by-law that had finally come into force the previous year. They made it clear that they were not political radicals30: "We are not against landlords (there are many decent landlords in Kingston) but are vigorously opposed to the flagrant exploitation by a landlord who is intent upon taking advantage of a critical housing shortage by reaping ever greater profits from dwellings that are unfit for human habitation" (original emphasis). Not surprisingly they met with little success. Hewett claimed that he was doing nothing wrong: "It's not me, its the system ... If the system says I have to make money then I must do it."31 He charged that Newman and her ilk were "smart-talking axe-grinders" who should mind their own business.32 In an attempt to enlist public support for their demands, the union offered their open letter to the Whig as a paid advertisement, but the paper declined the tenants' business. Instead, with financial assistance from ATAK, 5,000 copies of the letter were printed and distributed as a flyer. In addition, a petition signed by 210 taxpayers called upon the city to enforce the housing by-law against Hewett.

117 Two Types of People

There is no question that Hewitt's properties were in an appalling condition. The union distributed questionnaires among its members in order to document its case. One tenant reported "rats, bed bugs, walls and ceiling falling apart, floor covering worn through, floor boards rotten"; another referred to "frozen pipes in the winter, leaky basement, cracks in the walls, no built-in cupboards, unsafe locks, bathroom utilities leak ... no furnace."33 In February 1969 the city's housing standards officer had reported that of the 310 properties in the city that were known to be failing by-law standards, one-tenth were owned by Hewett.34 (For this observation he had been dismissed by the landlord as a "tin-pot God".) A further inspection in August confirmed the union's claim that nothing had improved. In one house the chimney was falling off, in another the "kitchen [was] falling away from the main house."35 The housing officer had re-checked twenty of Hewett's buildings and found that only two were in full compliance with the housing standards by-law.36 But the city was reluctant to act. As Alderman Matthews observed, "Strict enforcement would probably result in a lot of people being evicted."37 The union had to think of other ways of putting pressure on Hewett. In a futile attempt to shame him it picketed his house. It also demonstrated outside the "imperialist" Bank of Commerce, which had recently given him a mortgage loan.38 The most effective tool at their disposal, however, was a rent strike and it was the latter that widened the scope of the struggle. A significant minority of Hewett's tenants were on welfare. At the time, the union claimed that the proportion reached almost 50 per cent, and that the welfare administration was effectively giving Hewett about $10,000 a year in rent payments. This was almost certainly exaggerated. The survey in August showed that of the nineteen respondents who identified the source of their income, only seven were on welfare. The welfare administrator claimed that out of 150 Hewett tenants only 20 received welfare payments from her agency, although others were probably receiving Family Benefits.39 These claims and counter-claims became important because the administrator required that, in order to qualify for relief, recipients had to show a rent receipt. Strikers arranged to pay rent into an escrow account, for which they did receive receipts, but for Stella Buck this was not good enough. She threatened to withhold payment of part of the tenants' relief cheques, or to pay rents directly to the landlord.40 The tenants asked to appeal this decision in person to the city's Social Services Committee, which supervised the local welfare administration. The committee, under the chairmanship of "King" Enright, a local real-estate agent, denied the request. Its excuse was that the

118 Democracy in Kingston

relationship between welfare recipients and the administration were individual, not collective, while committee meetings were held in camera because of the committee's occasional need to discuss individual cases. The main rationale for the latter practice was that it protected the recipient from unwelcome publicity; it made little sense in the present context. Newman took up the case and, with her mediation, a rough agreement was reached. Welfare payments were not cut. Moreover, with pressure from the city, Hewett began to make minor repairs to some of his properties. These did not amount to very much, but the rent strike was called off. The disagreement between the Hewett's Tenants' Union and the welfare administration was part of a wider struggle over the democratic accountability of the local state. In the tenants' case, the issue at stake was the right of a group of citizens to make direct representation to a committee whose decisions affected them. This issue came up on other occasions, most notably on the question of rent controls. Rules of procedure prevented ATAK from making direct representation on this (or any other) issue to council. Tenants could only appear before one or other of council's committees (Social Services Committee excepted). The tenants' representatives fought to get this policy changed. A motion to this effect, however, was narrowly defeated in 1970.41 Part of the tenants' problem was that they were defined and treated by council as second-class citizens. In 1969 the city donated $2,000 to defray some of the expenses of a conference of landlords but turned down Newman's request for a similar sum for tenants.42 As late as 1970 tenants (as opposed to property owners) could only vote if they had been city residents for more than twelve months, while landlords could vote in every ward where they owned property, that is to say, to a maximum of seven times. There were many on council who thought that this was entirely right and proper, on the basis that property owners were the ones who paid taxes. Even Alderman Matthews, the self-proclaimed champion of the "litde guy," was willing to make this argument. In a literal sense it was correct: property owners, not tenants, write tax cheques. In substance, however, the argument was specious, for tenants pay landlords' taxes indirectly through their rent. ATAK attempted to challenge the right of landlords to multiple votes. Indeed, they went further by arguing that absentee landlords, who owned property but who did not live in a ward, deserved to be criticized rather than rewarded. As Newman observed in the course of a debate with Matthews in the Fire, Legislation and Housing Commitee, "there were two types of people in a ward - those who live in the ward and those who live off the people in the ward."43 The implication, that absentee landlords were by

119 Two Types of People

definition parasites and should lose their vote, went beyond the claims of Hewett's tenants. There was no hope that council would accept the argument. Indeed in 1970, with only Newman, Meister, and Mayor Swain dissenting, council was to affirm its opposition to the principle of one person, one vote.44 The formation of ATAK was a source of inspiration even to the tenants of the Kingston Housing Authority. The Community Project's abortive organizing effort in 1965 had demonstrated that most public-housing tenants were afraid of their landlord. In four years, however, attitudes had changed. A group of public-housing tenants formed an association in the spring of 1969. The main organizer, Bobbi Spark, disavowed the "tactical militancy" of ATAK, and the association's president emphasized that it was essentially "nonpolitical" in purpose.45 In the narrow sense this was true, but viewed in a larger perspective it was not. The main demand was that tenants should have their own representative on the board of the Housing Authority: they wanted to have a greater say in their lives. Unfortunately, the new director of the Housing Authority, R. Quenneville, was a much less sympathetic person than his predecessor, Marion Earl. A tenant relations officer was hired but tenants did not win any representation. The battles within City Council took up the greater part of organizers' energies. Nevertheless, ATAK attempted to sustain its involvement in extra-parliamentary activity. The information centre was maintained by volunteer labour after NDP support had been withdrawn, although it increasingly became a store-front for ATAK. Pickets were organized outside City Hall in favour of rent controls and against John Hewett. Tenant representatives also joined union pickets in spring 1969 when the electrical workers struck the locomotive factory on the city's waterfront.46 (The factory eventually closed.) An effective boycott of California grapes — picked by poorly paid migrant labourers who were being intimidated to prevent them from unionizing — also helped to bring together tenants, students, and unionists. Some organizers turned to the issue of women's rights. In Canada the women's movement had developed rapidly after 1967. At the SUPA conference in that year, women challenged the sexism that they had had to put up with for years in the New Left. Four women prepared a declaration of rights in which they stated bluntly: "We are going to be the typers of letters and distributors of leaflets ... no longer."47 Two of the four, Peggy Morton and Myrna Wood, had been active in the Kingston Community Project. It was appropriate, then, that as the women's movement began to gain momentum, Kingston became one of its more active centres. Several women's

120 Democracy in Kingston

groups were formed, on and off Queen's campus. At a major proabortion rally in Ottawa, a Kingston contingent played an important role, distracting the police while other women chained themselves to the railings outside Parliament.48 In a variety of ways, then, Kingston organizers kept the dissenting, extra-parliamentary culture of the New Left very much alive. This culture of dissent was reflected in, and sustained by, This Paper Belongs to the People. The late 1960s saw a flowering of alternative newspapers like Kingston's Plymouth Square. Voices of the youth counter-culture, they were typically preoccupied with drugs and music. Their political content was usually implicit, or couched in vaguely rhetorical terms. In Kingston, however, the coming together of the youth counter-culture, the New Left, and low-income tenants in CIS and ATAK created the opportunity to found an alternative newspaper with broader and more specifically political concerns. In 1969, the last in a long line of coffee houses/social centres was opened at 132 Queen Street in the inner North End. "The Place" was intended primarily, but not exclusively, for young people, and it appears that "many older people" also got involved.49 A group of people, all of whom had been associated with the "Needle's Eye," Plymouth Square, or ATAK, decided to use The Place as the base for a new type of alternative newspaper. In the first edition of This Paper, published that July, this group made its statement of editorial policy.50 Asserting that "objectivity is a myth," it argued that the paper would be one "with a point of view." The nature of this point of view was not made explicit. It soon became clear, however, that it was firmly in the New Left mould. The paper was published about once a month, initially being distributed free on the street, and then for a nominal sum of 5 cents. Contributors espoused a variety of political views on the left of the political spectrum. These ranged from anarchism to socialism, while the more novel feminist position was developed by Peggy Morton and by Bronwen Wallace.51 The most distinctive features of the paper were its range of coverage and its relevance to the local political scene. Articles dealt with local workplaces — for example, the Davis family's tannery "sweatshop"; with the strategies employed by supermarkets to boost sales; with issues such as rent controls, the battles of Hewett's tenants; and with organizations such as ATAK and cis. The intent was always serious but the paper was carried off with some flair and humour. Dan Cross wrote about the grape boycott under the headline "Grapes of Wrath"; Wallace discussed women's issues in a-section entitled "Me Jane"; for a time the paper highlighted a "Landlord of the Month."52 The paper reflected the activities and perspectives of the local New Left, and

121 Two Types of People

presented them to a broad audience: its print run reached a peak of 5,000 in 1970. The paper also acted as a forum, giving the movement a shape and coherence, helping organizers to see their particular activities as part of a wider local and international struggle.53 IV

With their own newspaper, organisations, and representatives, the New Left, supported by the NDP, was eventually able to polarize local politics. On the issue of rent controls and a rental advisory bureau, it attracted support from the Kingston Labour Council, the Social Planning Council, the Kingston Branch of the Ontario Association of Professional Social Workers, and the middle-class Sydenham Ward Tenants' and Ratepayers' Association, as well as from student organizations at Queen's, including the Alma Mater Society and the Free Socialist Movement. The opposition was goaded into organizing. As early as the fall of 1968, landlords formed the Kingston Rental Property Owners' Association to defend themselves against ATAK.54 They matched the tenants' group step for step. On their behalf Howard Sly, a local builder, submitted a brief on housing in which the group tempered its support for public and co-operative housing with the suggestion that the city should relax zoning laws while upper levels of government should bring in new tax incentives for developers and landlords.55 As a challenge to CIS, the organization opened a phone-in centre to provide information about landlord/tenant law. Ostensibly, the idea was to "creatfe] more harmony."56 In fact, both sides were gathering their forces. Landlords had maintained steady pressure on council during the debate on rent controls in 1969 and continued to do so in 1970, when council's rules of procedure permitted the issue to be raised anew. By then, the Ontario Law Reform Commission had recommended that local governments be allowed to form advisory bureaus to provide information to tenants and landlords and to conciliate in landlord/tenant disputes. This circumstance gave further ammunition to ATAK, so that the landlords' spokesmen that had been appointed to the housing subcommittee in 1970 were forced to twist and turn in all directions in an effort to fend off the challenge. Howard Mayo, a general contractor who had been made vicechairman of the subcommittee, attempted to argue that discussion of an advisory bureau lay beyond the terms of reference of the housing committee.57 He was supported by Robert Clark, a salesman for a local real-estate company, who owned at least one property that had been singled out by ATAK because of the high rent he was charg-

122 Democracy in Kingston

ing. Both were overruled by the chair. At the next meeting of the parent committee, chairman "King" Enright raised the same issue but was voted down.58 Clark tried another tack, arguing that landlord/ tenant relations were a private matter, and that "there is no other area in which the government interferes in private business."59 The patent absurdity of the argument was pointed out. In an effort to sway council, ATAK submitted a giant petition in favour of rent controls that comprised over 5,000 signatures. Clark attempted to discredit it on the grounds that these signatures "were more of an emotional nature than based on clear thought."60 Such insults were ignored by the majority of the subcommittee, which, in 1970, included Professor Kalin, George Warskett, and the Reverend Martin, all of whom supported the tenants' cause. Tenants' representatives also laid themselves open to criticism on the charge of bias. In public they took the view that there were "two types of people" in each ward and in the city as a whole. There were those who lived in the ward and those who lived off the ward; those who lived in housing and those who lived off housing; the powerless and the powerful. Newman made it clear that she saw herself as the representative of one against the other. In short, "it is not possible to be an alderman for everyone."61 This attracted criticism. Alderman Matthews put the point as clearly as anyone when he declared, in an aggrieved tone, that "the point is, Alderman Newman, you're one-sided ... This is what aggravates everyone."62 Such criticisms were reminiscent of those made against the representatives of labour in the late 1950s and early 1960s. But the situation had changed. Increasingly, landlords, and even councillors, were willing to concede that the tenants' interests were no more sectional than those of any other group. Incognito, one landlord had attended the provincial tenants' conference in June 1969. When questioned by the Whig-Standard afterwards, he said that he could understand why tenants would wish to organize. After all, he observed impartially, "landlords aren't going to go around telling tenants what their rights are ... it's not the nature of the beast."63 Increasingly, the conflict between landlords and tenants was coming to be viewed as structural, as a relationship of power that could not be wished away. Both Hewett and his tenants talked of "the system." Indeed, conflicts within the housing market came to be seen as symbolic of an even broader, class division. In the corridors and offices at City Hall aldermen began to make references to "creeping socialism." Early in 1970, Mayo sent a memo to the other members of the housing subcommittee in which he hinted darkly that "properly fostered by political groups or governments, [housing] could be the prime

123 Two Types of People

thing to swing this country to socialism."64 Viewing the matter from the other side, many members of ATAK would probably have agreed. In March, the Whig observed that "though not all landlords and not all tenants' associations are politically aligned[,] the old socialism versus free enterprise theme ... colours the rhetoric."65 By spring 1970, then, the political and ideological lines had become sharply drawn. On the one side, tenants, students, the working and welfare poor, and many middle-class professionals had combined in the cause of reform. On the other, landlords, small businessmen, and the lessliberal fractions of the middle class had come to define themselves quite explicitly as the defenders of free enterprise and the status quo. While these groups were preparing for a final showdown on the issue of rent controls, Teron Corporation put forward redevelopment proposals for the waterfront in Sydenham Ward. The waterfront had deteriorated further since the early sixties. Some changes had been made. In 1962 an apartment building had been proposed for a site at the western end of the disused waterfront property. There were few objections and the project had gone ahead. In 1966 the CPR freight yards had been removed from in front of City Hall, and a small public park had been created as an Expo project in the following year. The closure of the Dry Dock and Locomotive Works, however, had recently added to the air of dereliction and there was increasing pressure for something to be done. The urban-renewal consultants employed by the city suggested a marina. Sydenham Ward residents wanted the city to acquire the land for public use, mainly as parkland.66 They had also proposed that their area would be a good place for the city to build low-rise public housing, and that part of the waterfront might be devoted to this project. None of these ideas were incorporated into the proposals that William Teron, a developer who was soon to be made head of the CMHC, placed before the Planning Board in spring 1970. His idea was to capitalize on the waterfront site by building high-rise apartments. On this issue he was not willing to compromise. The Planning Board was told that "he would like the City's approval; if not... he would 'pull away.' "67 Planners and politicians, scenting tax revenues, fell over themselves to comply. John Smart, who as an area resident had been appointed to the Planning Board's Sydenham Ward Urban Renewal Committee, resigned in disgust. The local tenants' and ratepayers' association took the lead in opposing Teron's plans but, led by Smart, the NDP also became very active. The Labour Council, however, was divided. Most members opposed Teron's plans but, with an eye on possible jobs, the construction unions favoured them. A special edition of

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This Paper presented the case against Teron's plans to the public at large.68 The Planning Board eventually arranged a public meeting for the 16th of June.69 About 200 people turned up. Planners wanted to raise several issues, and the Teron scheme had been scheduled last. Smart, and others present, argued that since it was the most important item on the agenda it should be discussed first. They asked for a vote. The chairman of the Planning Board pointed out that votes were not taken at public meetings, to which Smart replied that the chairman should be willing to accept "guidance" from the people. Each remained adament. Because the majority of the people who were present agreed with Smart, confusion descended and the meeting had to be abandoned. The minutes record that the chairman expressed surprised dismay, to which Mayo replied that this must have been the first time that the chairman had "run into the NDP organization." Mayo's worst suspicions about socialists had been vindicated. The issue of Teron's proposals was never to be resolved. Probably because he foresaw too many political difficulties, Teron withdrew. The city did not accept the idea of public ownership of the waterfront, but no other developer came forward with an alternative. The question lapsed. V

The largest battle remained. Under Enright's chairmanship, the Fire, Legislation and Housing Committee had already rejected the idea of an advisory bureau for landlords and tenants, thereby preventing the idea from going to a vote in council.70 The question of rent controls, however, dragged on. The housing subcommittee eventually forwarded a recommendation that controls be adopted. The parent committee heard presentations from both landlords and tenants. Eventually, on the 27 August 1970, a motion to adopt the subcommittee's recommendation was defeated.71 The issue came before council itself three days later. As Newman saw the issue, "what this Council has to decide is whether it's going to support the people, or vested interests, some of which are on this Council," to which Mayor Swain replied, "Let us deal with the real issue — socialism. If you're going to control one segment of the economy, you've got to control them all."72 Either way, Newman and Meister could not have expected to find much support from other councillors, and indeed their motion in favour of controls was dismissed by a vote of thirteen to three. They walked out. Breaking procedural rules, a tenants' representative from the packed gallery then read out a prepared

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statement charging that council served only business and real-estate interests. The mayor and remaining councillors attempted to continue with other business, but they were unable to do so. As the WhigStandard was to observe in its headline article the next day, this was the first time in Kingston's history that council had been forced to adjourn.73

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Dummies Get Smart

The City is as impotent as ever it was to control its own destiny. Susan Fish

The disruption of public meetings by tenants and their political allies was a sign of desperation rather than of strength. A movement that had gained force steadily since 1965 had begun to falter by the summer of 1970, and indeed was soon to disintegrate. This was not for want of trying. Even after the second defeat of rent controls, ATAK did not give up. With the support of the NDP, tenants fielded three candidates in the civic election that fall: Meister looked for reelection in Ontario Ward; Bobbi Spark stood in Cataraqui; and Sandra Aunger, a Queen's student, tried to take over Newman's mantle in St Lawrence. In Sydenham, John Smart ran, in all but name, for the NDP. Not one of the four candidates came close to success, and the election was viewed by people on both sides as a clear defeat for the left. At the same time, the level of involvement in housing and community issues fell away quite dramatically among the working and welfare poor. ATAK barely struggled into 1971, and a few months after the civic-election defeats, it was dead. This Paper did not survive even that long. The group that had formed at The Place drifted apart, and the paper's last edition was published in September 1970. The following year the NDP attempted to revive the idea of an alternative paper. The editors billed Insight as "in some ways ... a successor to This Paper."1 Community interest was lacking, however, and after four issues the experiment was abandoned. Two years later, the association of public-housing tenants was revived. As the new president conceded, however, tenants were "afraid to speak out," and not much

127 The Dummies Get Smart

came of it.2 As pressure from tenants dissipated, debates within council became much less heated. The Housing Sub-Committee lost most of its impetus, and within a year it was having difficulty in getting a quorum. With less to discuss, it began to meet less often. The number of meetings fell from twenty-two in 1969 to eleven in 1973 and eventually to six in 1976, when it was finally abolished. I

The only community organization formed in the late 1960s that proved durable was the Sydenham Ward Tenants' and Ratepayers' Association. In Sydenham Ward, popular interest in the urbanrenewal scheme remained high throughout the early 1970s. In civic elections the residents' group consistently put forward its own candidates and at least one was usually elected to council. In some respects the group continued the reform tradition of the late sixties. Some of the people who had been active in ATAK and the Waffle faction of the NDP transferred their energies into the residents' association. Lois Miller, an alderwoman for Sydenham Ward in the mid seventies, was one of the most notable of these. There was also some continuity in terms of issues. Many local residents were serious about encouraging public housing, and eventually a low-rise building for seniors was built in the centre of the ward. The residents' association, however, had always been one of the more conservative elements of the reform movement. Its main concern was to maintain and enhance the area's historic character. Although representatives insisted that this was in the interest of all Kingston residents, the roots of this concern were essentially parochial. Moreover, and to an increasing extent, the group was middle class. By the mid and late seventies, a process of gentrification was beginning to affect the inner areas of a number of Canadian cities, such as Toronto's Cabbagetown.3 The creation of many professional and white-collar positions in downtown offices, coupled with changes in the demographic composition of urban families, made central locations more attractive to a growing middle class. Such a trend did not gather real momentum in Kingston until after the construction of the head office of the provincial health-insurance program in the early 1980s. But, even so, Sydenham Ward underwent progressive change after 1970. Low-income tenants moved out as more professionals, employed at Queen's University and the local hospitals, moved in. As a result, the residents' association became increasingly middle class throughout the seventies. Indeed, by the end of the decade it had come to be seen by a number of politicians in the city as the instrument of an articulate and privileged group.4

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As it evolved, then, the Sydenham Ward ratepayers quickly shed the influence of the original reform movement, with its characteristic concern of organizing the powerless. Such organizing was not something that an association of Sydenham Ward residents was in a position to do, even in the unlikely event that it had chosen to do so. Those few organizers who did try to keep the reform movement alive after 1970 came to focus their energies on the information centre. After the demise of ATAK, CIS managed to regain some of its former role as an advocacy centre for the working and welfare poor. Increasingly, its main concern shifted from housing to welfare. Several unsuccessful attempts had been made to develop welfare as a political issue. It had been raised, and then dropped, by the original community project. Then, early in 1968, a controversy had developed over the welfare administration's decision to refuse assistance to "Mr T." A married man with two children, Mr T had been fired from his job in the winter of 1967/8. Taking into account his "poor work record" the welfare department denied him assistance. With no other recourse, he had eventually been forced to turn to the Salvation Army.5 This was exactly the type of case that the information centre was suppose to take up, and they did so with vigour. Almost immediately, however, Mr T found a job and the issue lapsed. Much the same happened in the following year. When Hewett's tenants called an end to their rent strike, the issue as to whether welfare recipients should be able to make their case in person to the Social Services Committee was put aside. It was eventually left to Bobbi Spark to raise the welfare issue in a more consistent way. Herself a welfare mother of five, Spark had many contacts and friends who were on family benefits or relief. She was therefore able to speak with some authority about the experiences and views of the welfare poor. By June 1970, as she observed to the Kingston local of the Ontario Association of Professional Social Workers, she detected that a relatively "calm surface" hid "growing frustration" among recipients with the way welfare was being administered.6 Claims were sometimes delayed, and benefits decisions almost invariably made, in inscrutable ways. The system fostered suspicion and resentment. In other cities such feelings had already begun to find political expression. South of the border, where welfare and race made a powerful compound, a national welfare-rights movement had developed in the early 1960s. In Canada, local movements did not get under way until the late sixties, and it was only in January 1971, with government assistance, that a provincial group of "poor people," composed mainly of welfare recipients, had been set up.8 Spark became the organizer and chairperson of the Kingston chap-

129 The Dummies Get Smart

ter. In this capacity, and as director of CIS, she lobbied vigorously for reform in the local administration. To drum up publicity at the formation of the provincial group, Spark helped stage a picket of Benson's Kingston office.9 Students, housewives, and three members of the executive committee of the Labour Council took part. Spark took up a number of individual welfare cases, and in June 1972 appealed to the minister of Community and Social Services about the insensitivity of some of the case officers working out of Stella Buck's office. Almost every initiative on the welfare issue came from her. By 1973, however, the provincial and local welfare-rights campaigns had lost momentum. In Kingston, the information centre had changed considerably from the heady days of 1968. Virtually a one-woman show, it did little advocacy and community organizing. Its finances had always been shaky and were now desperate. It was ripe for a take-over. In the spring a group of people who represented a variety of social agencies in the area formed a North Kingston Development Committee. On 13 April the committee held a seminar at St Lawrence, the local community college. At this meeting the needs of the North Kingston "community" were identified, and an attempt made "to seek co-operation and organize a co-ordinate group process of how we can best serve the community, and how the community can best serve itself and begin to cope with the problems."10 The confused statement of goals reflected quite substantial differences of personal and political opinion within the group. Members wanted to help people but they were not agreed about how to do it. Some social workers espoused the cause of advocacy. Others saw a North Kingston centre as a unique type of service organization, one that was committed to a geographical area rather than to a particular clientele. A number also realized that a successful community project could do no harm to their own professional advancement. In the end none got their way. The development committee took over CIS with $6,000 and a new Board of Directors. Further meetings were held, but no local enthusiasm was generated. In November the committee was still trying "to determine one priority, one issue which the task force can begin to work on."11 They never succeeded. The group fell apart, and cis drifted. While Spark helped to make welfare the major concern at cis, she did not ignore other issues. She complained that the police were offering inadequate protection to those women who were involved in domestic assaults in the North End; in 1971 she was very prominent in a committee that attempted, with little success, to prevent transit cut-backs; she offered to speak to the joint Senate and House

130 Democracy in Kingston

Committee on the Canadian Constitution on behalf of "the voiceless people."12 She was perpetually active, making phone calls, presenting briefs, writing letters, picketing offices. But she, too, failed to drum up much interest in these causes. The local chapter of the poor people's group seems never to have attracted more than about thirty members, and by 1973 it had dissolved. Indeed, on many occasions Spark ended up acting on her own. A typical example was her demonstration in June 1971, against what she called the "total failure" of the Croll commission on poverty. She cut a brave but lonely figure, standing under an umbrella on Parliament Hill.13 In part Spark's isolation reflected her personal style. She did not work well with groups in general and organized labour in particular. In 1968 she had picketed CUPW striking postal workers because they were holding up the delivery of welfare cheques. Four years later many people in the Labour Council still viewed her, rather unfairly, as a strike-breaker.14 But Spark's isolation was not mainly a question of style. A lonely fate also awaited Irene Mooney. A local housewife, Mooney had become involved in politics in 1967, when the idea of an east-west expressway had first been bruited. Her political views were similar to those of Alderman Matthews. Although concerned for the "little people," she did not go along with the militant tactics and radical ideals of ATAK. With the demise of the latter, however, she perceived that a political vacuum had developed in the North End. Her primary concern as a North Ender was that "we are just not getting the things we should be in this part of the city."15 So, in the fall of 1972, she organized a Cataraqui, Frontenac and St Lawrence Ratepayers' Association. Like Spark, she singled out the quality of police protection as one of the most important local issues. By June 1973 several invited speakers had addressed the group on this topic. Turnout, however, was poor. Mooney continued to lobby for better services, making a respectable niche for herself as "watchdog" at City Hall.16 Without her, the ratepayers' association would surely have fallen apart. Taken together, the experiences of Mooney and Spark are significant. The two women had different political views and sought to organize people in different ways. Spark was a maverick radical who claimed not to believe in any specific political ideology. She had been politicized by the New Left, however, and claimed to speak on behalf of the working and welfare poor. Mooney was more conservative. Addressing herself to much the same constituency, she spoke of "doing something for the community," rather than of winning rights for the powerless. Neither they, nor the professionals who took over cis, were able to attract much support. The conclusion is inescapable

131 The Dummies Get Smart

that, among the working and welfare poor of Kingston's North End, popular participation in community organizing was over. II

In general, movements go into decline when their aims are achieved, when their leadership makes mistakes, or when external circumstances change. It cannot be said that social reform in Kingston achieved its aims. A few stop signs had been erected to make streets safer in the North End. The planning process had become a little more democratic. High-rise redevelopment proposals for the waterfront had been held at bay. Some publicly subsidized day care had been provided. A housing by-law had been passed, and occasionally enforced. A few hundred public-housing units had either been built or were on stream. Perhaps most important of all, organizers had polarized local politics, thereby revealing some of the structural conflicts that existed in the locality. These achievements were not negligible. Seen in the context of the traditional conservatism of Kingston's government, they could be referred to by organizers with some pride. Except for public housing, however, none of these achievements changed very much the daily lives of Kingston's poor. Even public housing was to prove a very mixed blessing for those who ended up in Rideau Heights. Set against the ambitions of the movement, such a record was modest indeed. Organizers themselves must bear some of the responsibility for the movement's limited success. The Kingston NDP'S political commitments were divided between local, provincial, and federal politics. If anything, the group was more concerned about local and community-based issues than most riding associations in Canada. At the provincial convention in fall 1968, the Kingston group urged that other riding associations should get more involved in municipal politics, in part by setting up information centres like CIS.17 This suggestion was explicitly linked to a political strategy of extraparliamentary action, and became part of the platform of the provincial Waffle group that emerged in 1969. The Waffle was a nationalistic, left caucus of the party that developed initially in southern Ontario. Several of the people who were most active in the group, particularly Jim Laxer, were based for a while in Kingston. From the fall of 1969, when its "manifesto" was published, until 1971, when Laxer challenged David Lewis for leadership of the national party, the Waffle's energies were devoted almost exclusively to party reform at the provincial and federal levels.18 A number of NDP members in Kingston inevitably became caught up in this process. This fact helps

132 Democracy in Kingston

to explain the paradox that, although the Kingston NDP was theoretically committed to municipal politics and community organizing, in practice it channelled a great deal of its energies elsewhere. It is difficult to say that this decision was wrong. As the leadership of ATAK had recognized, local struggles were likely to have little effect unless linked to a wider movement. Part of the problem was that municipalities themselves had no constitutional status. Under the terms of the British North America Act, local governments had no powers except those that the provinces chose to delegate. (It was an ambiguity in this delegation of powers upon which the case for rent controls hinged.) Moreover, cities themselves were in competition for jobs and investment, and for that reason rarely willing to act against the interests of large employers like Alcan. The point was made nicely by Mel Watkins, the main author of the Waffle manifesto, in one of several visits that he made to Kingston in the early 1970s. At a public talk sponsored by the NDP, he pointed out that "power doesn't reside in Sydenham ward; it doesn't even lie in Canada."19 It followed that involvement in municipal politics should be tied to a national, and in Canada a specifically nationalistic, political strategy. In the broader perspective a commitment to provincial and federal party politics made sense. In the short run, however, it diverted organizers from municipal politics and reduced the momentum behind local reform. The New Left, too, might have been more effective at the local level. Problems began as soon as ATAK got people elected to council. Even in a democratic organization, it is very difficult for representatives to maintain close contact with the grass roots. In most Canadian cities, the election of reform councillors was soon followed by the demise of the movement itself. In Toronto, for example, this happened very soon after the election of a reform council for the 1973/4 term.20 Organizers in Kingston were aware of the danger. Some concern had been registered at the provincial tenants' conference in the summer of 1969. In a report presented to the other tenants' groups, ATAK observed that its leaders had been having problems with an "inactive membership."21 Attempts to decentralize the group had failed because "the presently active members who would have the time and inclination to do this are already overworked." Organizers felt themselves to be in a double bind. This meant that ATAK was poorly equipped to survive any loss, or discredit to, its leadership. This was not to matter a great deal until fall 1970, when Newman announced that, for personal reasons, she was moving to Sudbury. There was no one equipped to take her place, and the organization floundered. In October it desperately regrouped. The

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executive again tried to decentralize the organization by eliminating some executive positions and by shifting more work onto committees.22 But by then it was too late. To some extent the problem of centralization is inherent in any group that seeks to enter parliamentary politics. The elected representative inevitably becomes a centre of attention, while the larger movement fades into the background. Such a tendency is exaggerated by the media, which typically fasten upon personalities rather than issues.23 Newman attracted this type of coverage because she was a rarity: a political representative who was articulate, young, female, single, and attractive. Out-of-town papers like the Toronto Star and the Weekend Magazine, and to a lesser extent the Kingston Whig-Standard played up these attributes.24 This type of coverage almost certainly hurt the organization. Newman was an outsider. She had worked hard to win the trust of North End residents and lowincome tenants, and had succeeded where the SUPA students had failed. But there must have been many who remained suspicious of her motives. In that context, any publicity that focused on her, rather than on the constituency for whom she claimed to speak, could only do harm. There was not much that Newman or ATAK could have done about this difficulty. Even refusing to give interviews could have had only a marginal effect. It was partly for this reason that Newman eventually came to the conclusion that standing for election had been a mistake.25 But she is not necessarily correct in this assessment. In Kingston the great majority of people saw electoral politics as the proper means of achieving political ends. This attitude was obviously true of those who voted for the Liberals' version of moderate reform. It was also true, however, of those who supported the NDP: in their view community organizing was at most a valuable adjunct to electoral politics. By 1968 the achievements of the New Left had confirmed such a view, but they had not demonstrated that community organizing was a viable alternative to party politics. As a result, an outright rejection of the electoral strategy could not have hoped to gain the support of any more than a small minority of the city's population. Moreover, its chances of precipitating the kind of class polarization that occurred in 1970 would have been small. ATAK'S real failure was to concentrate too heavily on fighting battles in committee, while putting too little effort into maintaining popular involvement and democracy within the organization. A more democratic group might have been able to attract greater popular commitment, while offering more opportunities for new leaders to emerge when given the opportunity to do so.

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Democracy in Kingston

It has been suggested that the New Left made a more profound mistake in trying to organize the working and welfare poor rather than the working class. This is a charge that is usually made by Marxist socialists, whose emphasis on class conflicts within the workplace contrasts with the New Left's preferred strategy of organizing around community issues. As such, community organizing is the focus of a continuing, international debate. In Canada the Marxist case was to be made most eloquently by Myrna Wood and Peggy Morton, both of whom had the Kingston experience in mind. In an article that they published in the New Left Committee Bulletin in 1967, Wood and Morton begin with the premise that Canadian society is based on class relations that are defined within the workplace.26 It follows, they argued, that community organizing of almost any kind is a distraction from more important tasks: "traffic problems, better schools, and the housing situation, as organizing issues [entail] only bickering with the party politicians."27 Although their premise was reasonable, their argument was overstated and in one respect irrelevant to Kingston. Locally, tenants and welfare recipients had legitimate concerns and proved themselves to be a progressive force. Through boycotts and strike support they gave assistance to organized labour, showing that community and labour organizing could be complementary rather than alternative strategies. As with the question of extra-parliamentary politics, the issue of community versus workplace politics could not be settled solely by reference to a theoretical principle. The correct political strategy was the one that worked best in the particular place and time. The approach advocated by Morton and Wood in 1967 could not have worked in Kingston. The local labour movement was quite conservative, as were its leaders. To change this circumstance would have taken outside organizers years. Only by working in industry could they have hoped to get grass-roots support. Given the rather vague political perspective and middle-class background that most organizers brought to Kingston in the 1960s, this possibility was not a choice that many could make. Because she had a working-class background and was older than many of the people she worked with, Wood was untypical in this regard. Altogether, union organizing was not an option for the Kingston New Left. Some of those who accept local organizing as a legitimate goal have suggested that too many activists allowed themselves to be bought off by the government. The issue of co-optation was raised by the formation of the Company of Young Canadians in 1965/6. It continued into the 1970s, when the federal government initiated a number of programs that were intended to provide (mainly) summer work

135 The Dummies Get Smart

for students. The most important of these were the Local Initiatives Program (LIP) and Opportunities for Youth (OFY). Loney has argued that these programs, and especially the latter, were part of a "strategy for social control and the incorporation of dissenting youth into the great liberal pluralist framework."28 In short, they were supposed to buy off dissent. Whether they actually did so is more questionable. In most cities their initiation coincided with a decline in student and community activism, but a cause and effect relationship has never been clearly established. In Kingston, such a relation does not appear to have been significant. With her resignation from the company in 1965, Newman established a local tradition of suspicion towards CYC. Government funds played no significant part in the evolution of the movement up to 1971. Thereafter, Kingston received its share of LIP and OFY funds, and the types of projects seem to have been fairly typical. In 1972, for example, $118,000 of federal OFY money supported a dropin and day-care centre in the inner North End and a free maintenance service for low-income property owners.29 Money also went to support a group of students based at cis who repaired appliances and did odd jobs. Over 100 students were employed in a full- or part-time capacity. In keeping students busy doing good works, it is quite possible that the LIP and OFY programs did nip some radicalism in the bud. In other cities this might have been significant, but in Kingston it was not. The movement was effectively over by the summer of 1971, when the first OFY funds reached the city. In Kingston, at any rate, co-optation of the youth community by the state was not a significant issue. The same is true of the state's relationship to the working and welfare poor in Kingston's North End. In the early 1970s the federal government initiated a Neighbourhood Improvement Program (NIP), largely as an alternative to bulldozer urban renewal and public housing.30 At one level, the idea was to upgrade public services in innercity neighbourhoods. Rather than leaving to planners the decisions about which services were needed, those who framed the program insisted that these decisions be made largely by local residents, with planners acting as advisers and co-ordinators. Many NIP areas also received additional funds from the Residential Rehabilitation Assistance Program (RRAP), which offered grants and loans to low- and moderate-income families so that they could carry out repairs that they could otherwise not afford. In part this was seen as a way of maintaining decent, inexpensive housing in the inner city. In part, however, it was a political move. The type of incumbent upgrading that NIP funds was intended to facilitate would not arouse political

136 Democracy in Kingston

passions in the way that urban renewal and public housing had. Indeed, such funds must also have been viewed by the federal government as a way of buying support from those communities that had been the most vocal bases of community organizing in the 1960s. In such a fashion NIP, like LIP and OFY, lends itself to criticism by those who view the state in conspiratorial terms. The origins of the NIP program in Kingston provides some support for such an interpretation. The idea for a Kingston NIP project came from a group of planning students at Queen's. The students considered several areas in the city, but singled out the inner North End on the basis of its need for assistance. In a report prepared for their master's degree in planning, the students noted that local residents had had "encounters" with community organizers, but the students suggested that co-operation rather than confrontation was a more appropriate project style.31 The focus of such co-operation, they suggested, would be the residents "surroundings, their children, and in many instances their own economic stake in the area through property ownership."32 It is not surprising that these ideas were received with enthusiasm by a group of local residents and aldermen in November 1973. Property owners stood to gain in economic terms, while aldermen from the North End found the "co-operative" political style very amenable. A NIP project would help them to secure their political base. When more specific plans were put to a large public meeting in February 1974, Mayor Speal claimed that the project offered residents the opportunity "to decide the type of neighbourhood they want to live in."33 Although this was a gross exaggeration, residents were indeed encouraged to participate. In March a "motivation training evening" was attended by about 100 residents. Block committees in five zones were formed and by April, Professor Fyfe, a member of the steering committee, observed that "astonishing progress" had been made in the identification of NIP area priorities.34 At the end of this reasonably democratic process, NIP money went into public facilities such as better park facilities and street lighting. Larger amounts of RRAP funds helped landlords and home owners to carry out basic repairs. Fyfe believes that the project was a success, both in terms of its democratic character and also in the effects that it had upon the inner North End. It appears to have encouraged renewed, if modest, private investment in the area. It is not clear, however, how much low-income tenants were able to benefit. Certainly they played little part in the planning of the project. Although the majority of the area's residents were tenants, over three-quarters of those who spoke at the first public meeting were property owners.35

137 The Dummies Get Smart This set a pattern for the block meetings and subsequent planning process. Moreover, tenants' living conditions were improved at a high cost. When landlords upgraded properties there was no effective way of preventing them from raising rents. Given that the inner-city rental market remained tight, rents increased steadily to match the better conditions.36 The result was that fewer tenants lived in slums but more were faced with the problem of affordability. In Kingston, federal programs such as NIP, OFY, and LIP surely directed some people's energies away from radical politics. Instead of protesting and demanding rights, inner-city residents were encouraged to participate in a well-designed but quite limited government program. It may be that in the early 1970s the potential base of support for more radical activities was thereby undercut. But this can easily be overstated. The NIP project did not come into effect until long after the local reform movement had collapsed. There is nothing to indicate the existence of much latent radicalism in the North End in the early seventies. The NIP project itself proceeded without major controversy while CIS floundered. In other cities federal grants may have channelled the energies of potential activists. In Kingston, however, state co-optation cannot account for the demise of the reform movement. Ill

Of far greater importance was the emergence of a strong movement of opposition, which had been heralded by the formation of the rental property owners' association in 1968, and then carried forward by representatives of real-estate interests on council in 1969 and 1970. It became a factor in the elections that fall. John Smart, who managed Meister's campaign in Ontario Ward as well as his own in Sydenham, concedes that the left could have done a better job. He recalls that he and Meister were simply "not very good as politicians" in that they failed to mobilize the constituency that existed.37 Their hope was that Meister's excellent track record as alderman would alone be sufficient. In that sense over-optimism and burn-out were factors. Even more important, however, was a well-organized opposition campaign to elect Lome MacDougall, an opinionated and conservative professor who had recently retired from Queen's. The opposition was able to capitalize on what the Whig-Standard described as a conservative "backlash" and it was this, rather than organizational failures or co-optation, that proved decisive.38 After the civic election in 1970, the main objective of the conservatives on council was to cut back on welfare expenditures. From the

138 Democracy in Kingston

point of view of the city, the welfare situation had been getting worse since the mid sixties. The numbers of people who qualified for relief had increased every year from 1965 to 1969, when 2.5 per cent of all people in the city depended upon city welfare payments (figure 4). In 1969 and 1970, the situation deteriorated much more rapidly. In those two years the proportion of city residents dependent on welfare increased by almost 75 per cent. This upward trend in welfare claims was typical of many other cities. By the end of 1971 the situation in Ontario had developed to the point that, in the words of the provincial minister of social and family services, "the welfare system [was] under the greatest strain since the depression."39 Kingston suffered more than other cities, however, because welfare rates had always been among the highest in the province. Rising welfare costs placed an unusually heavy burden on municipal finances. Back in 1961, relief had accounted for only 3.4 per cent of the city's annual operating expenditures (table 11). It increased steadily to 6.5 per cent in 1969, and then jumped to 11.7 per cent in 1971. Such a surge in welfare costs threatened to overwhelm the budget in the fall of 1971, raising the spectre of deficit financing. Part of the problem was the steady increase in unemployment. In 1961 Kingston's unemployment rate was two points below that for the province as a whole. As late as 1965 the Whig was able to describe TABLE 11 General Welfare Assistance: Types of Recipients and Expenditure Levels in Kingston, 1961—76

Year

1961 1966 1967 1968 1969 1970 1971 1972 1976

Proportion of relief recipients who were Employable Single

— 42 47 57 57 63 63 65 54

37 — 45 48 51 57 60 53

Relief as a per cent of all expenditures: City of Kingston

3.4 4.4 4.6 5.6 6.5 9.5 11.7 10.8 7.3

Sources: Compiled by the author from City of Kingston, Minutes of the Social Services Committee, and Financial Statement and Auditor's Report, various years.

139 The Dummies Get Smart

the local job picture as "excellent."40 In the late sixties, however, several companies, including the Locomotive Works and the Kingston Dry Dock, went out of business. Even Alcan laid off workers. By 1968 the Whig conceded that the employment scene was not bright and in another two years the prospects for blue-collar workers had become bleak indeed.41 The 1971 census revealed that the city's unemployment rate had risen to 8 per cent, more than two points above the provincial average. When workers' unemploymentinsurance benefits ran out, they had to turn to welfare. As a result, the proportion of "employable" people on the welfare rolls increased steadily from 42 per cent in 1966 to 64 per cent in 1971 (table 11). The baby-boom generation was worst off. Young people, most of whom were single, lacked the experience and skills that could help them to secure jobs. When they left home, they turned to welfare as an alternative to the jobs they could not get. As a result, the proportion of single people in the welfare caseload increased by twenty percentage points between 1966 and 1971. By October 1971, twothirds of all welfare recipients were under thirty and more than onethird were under twenty-one. At first, the city was willing to absorb the costs. In the mid sixties the welfare department had been relatively liberal in its interpretation of provincial welfare legislation. It had been one of the first in the province to set up a home-makers' service. As Stella Buck stated in her brief to the Social Planning Council in 1966, "We feel strongly that welfare is a right and should be granted to anyone who qualifies."43 As costs rose, however, a more parsimonious attitude developed. By 1969 Buck reported to the Social Services Committee that the department was "encouraging people to take part-time work and also encouraging a change of attitude to the work available."44 This attempt to clamp down met with only limited success. Public opinion was not yet behind such an administrative initiative, and further attempts to save money were discouraged in 1970 by the appointment of Alderman Meister to the chair of the Social Services Committee. After Meister's defeat, however, Alderman MacDougall joined this committee and at his prompting a systematic attempt to cut back on welfare costs was begun. The Social Services Committee tried to save money in a variety of ways. It had long been known that Kingston's welfare problem was as bad as it was because of the reluctance of adjacent municipalities to provide adequate levels of assistance. In 1969 Alderman Enright had observed to the Housing Sub-Committee that the welfare administration received about one application a week from people coming from adjacent townships.45 It was agreed that this was the time to

140 Democracy in Kingston

take a stand but, as with public housing, there was really nothing that the city could do. Moral suasion was all that it had at its disposal, and this counted for little in the minds of township reeves. The latter were quite happy to export their problems, and did nothing to help the city in its financial plight. An obvious alternative was to lobby the province for help. In 1971 and 1972, at the suggestion of the Social Services Committee, council endorsed and passed many recommendations that, if accepted by the province, would have eased the city's financial position. The most sweeping of these asked the province to give more discretionary powers to local administrators so that the latter could cut off those who were not really in need.46 The main target was the young, and early in 1971 the city called upon the province to force all those under twenty-one who had applied for welfare to return to their family, if the latter was willing and suitable.47 In part this was because young people were numerically the largest and most rapidly growing group on the rolls, but the involvement of so many young people students and North Enders - in the radical tenants' associations must also have been a factor. Attitudes towards the young had begun to harden. A special report prepared by the administration late in 1970 argued that the main reason so many young people were on welfare was that they were simply too lazy to work: "It is impossible to overstate the degree to which this problem is one of motivation as well as one of making employment available."48 The current levels of welfare assistance were labelled as "unduly generous," and it was emphasized that "what these young people need, above all else, is to be guided, if need be, prodded into some kind of productive activity."49 Publicly, Buck insisted that work was available to those who were prepared to look for it. Returning from a recent conference held by the Canadian Council on Social Development, she reported that she had had to listen to young people who objected to being forced into "meaningless, unfulfilling" work.50 She was impatient of such complaints, observing that "what we need here is another depression." That would teach them. Although the city met with only limited success in persuading the province to change welfare policy, it was eventually able to cut down its costs. In 1972 the increase in the welfare rolls was halted and then reversed (figure 4). By December of 1972, the Whig-Standard suggested that, from the city's point of view, the welfare "nightmare" was over.51 In part this had been achieved at the expense of the provincial and federal governments. A considerable number of single parents had been transferred to the provincial rolls, 138 in 1971 alone.52 Not surprisingly, the numbers of people on family benefits

141 The Dummies Get Smart

Figure 7 Beneficiaries of family benefits assistance, Kingston and Ontario, 1961-76 continued to rise (figure 7). In 1971 changes to the unemploymentinsurance program had made it easier for people to qualify for assistance. The federal government's LIP grants also helped to reduce the demand for welfare. In December 1972 it was noted that no fewer than 125 people who had received LIP grants in 1971 had been able to qualify for unemployment-insurance benefits, thereby taking strain off the relief program. The single most important change, however, came at the local level. The administration made it very difficult for young people to claim welfare. The latter were expected to return "home" or to take work. Buck stood for no nonsense. She refused money to those who would not cut their hair in order to get a job. "If the man who has a job for you, who has the power, wants your hair cut, and your beard off, then you should get it cut. It's simple."53 Rules were interpreted in the strictest possible fashion, and on many occasions were bent to suit the new, more conservative mood of the times. Buck was proud of this effect. In summer 1971, for example, she readily admitted to the Whig's reporter that a recent applicant for welfare had been "stalled" because he had quit his job.54 She

142 Democracy in Kingston

made an implicit appeal for support to the public: "If he comes back I have no choice under the act ... I have to give him assistance." Changing circumstances encouraged her to take on a new role as defender of the taxpayer against the irrational welfare system. By 1973 the change in opinion was well under way. In February of that year, when Alderman Hagerman observed to the Social Services Committee that "it's getting to the point that the dummies who go out and get a job are the ones that have to suffer for the ones who won't," Alderman MacDougall was able to interject "well, I believe a lot of dummies are getting smarter."55 On the welfare question, a strong counter-reaction had turned back the tide of reform. The shift in opinion was apparent not only on council but also in the voluntary sector. Under pressure from Lily Inglis, the Social Planning Council had flirted with the idea of taking an actively political position in 1969 and 1970. This idea was dropped with the defeat of the tenants' representatives in 1970. A more dramatic change occurred in the United Church. Through the late 1960s, under the direction of Thrasher and Martin, the North Kingston ministry of the United Church had effectively combined social-service work with thoughtful and progressive political engagement. The joint ministry had been an innovation and came up for review, by coincidence, in the fall of 1970. The review was very favourable. It was observed that "innovative approaches ... have drawn leadership and attracted participation from outside as well as inside the parish's boundaries. Permeating all its contacts is a quality of concern about people not normally encountered in non-church activities."56 The research officer who prepared the report observed that the congregations "would appear to be stronger than they were"; he argued that by maintaining the present structure of the joint ministry it should be possible to enhance all these features, warning that if it were decided to revert to the past system "then all, or almost all, of the distinctive approaches listed above would likely be lost ... or eroded." This was, to say the least, a strong vote of confidence, but it was to be ignored. In December 1970, the Kingston Presbytery of the Bay of Quinte Conference of the United Church relieved both Thrasher and Martin of their duties. The only reason ever given was that, although the ministers had done good work as individuals, they had not been able to work effectively together.57 There would appear to have been some truth in this. The styles of the two men were different, and perhaps only a few ministers of Martin's age would have felt entirely comfortable with Thrasher's coffee clubs and swinging services of praise. (After setting up a shelter house for vagrants and young people, Thrasher was eventually to become an entertainer, working under the name

143 The Dummies Get Smart

of Rick Fondell.) But such differences were not perceived to be important by the parish congregation. On 10 December, at a meeting of 150 people, strong objections were raised to the presbytery's decision. "The trend of questioning returned to a point [of] principles -has a superior court (the presbytery) the right to act in the removal of clergy at the parish level without hearing the wishes of the people (congregation)?"58 The next day, the Calvary-Zion session agreed unanimously to appeal the decision. Although local feeling continued to run high, the decision stood and Thrasher was out of a job. It seems that from the point of view of the United Church hierarchy, Thrasher and Martin had simply gone too far. The time had come to restore the status quo ante. The counter-reaction was strong because popular. The shift away from reform, indicated by the defeat of ATAK and NDP candidates in the 1970 civic elections, was also apparent in the federal election of 1972. In Kingston, the Liberals' share of the popular vote fell by seventeen percentage points between 1968 and 1972 (table 7). Part of their problem was that Benson had stepped down while his replacement, John Hazlett, was not a very effective or politically visible candidate. But more was at stake than personalities. Even with a good candidate, in the riding as a whole the NDP was barely able to maintain its level of support at 14 per cent of the vote. Indeed in the North End, which has swung markedly in the party's favour in 1968, the party lost votes (table 8). The "CIS effect" was evidently waning. In contrast, the new Tory candidate, Flora MacDonald, was able to win a higher proportion of the Kingston vote than Allmark had managed even in the Diefenbaker sweep of 1958. MacDonald was at that time considered to be roughly in the centre of the Tories' political spectrum.59 The strong vote in her favour therefore indicated a marked popular shift to the right in Kingston in the early 1970s. IV

To some extent this shift reflected a national trend. After the euphoria of 1968, the Trudeau government had alienated supporters by its arrogance and its inability to live up to its democratic promises. At the same time the reform movement as a whole had begun to provoke opposition. The FLQ crisis in fall 1970 was to be a turning point. This crisis had been precipitated by the Front de Liberation Quebecois (FLQ), an extreme separatist group that, on 5 October 1970, abducted the British Trade Commissioner in Montreal and then, five days later, the Quebec labour minister. The government's decision to

144 Democracy in Kingston

declare a state of national emergency gained widespread support, indicating that the FLQ crisis polarized opinion in such a way as to give radicals a bad name among their erstwhile liberal supporters. In that respect it marked the end of the New Left in Canada, just as ATAK'S defeat in council marked the demise of reform in Kingston.60 In the process the FLQ crisis also made many liberals more cautious. The resulting shift away from reform was reflected at the national level in 1972 when the Liberals barely held on to the government. Altogether, although organizers in Kingston might reproach themselves for some missed opportunities, there was little they could have done to keep the reform movement alive. By the "fall of 1970, in Kingston and in Canada, the tide of counter-reaction had set in.

CHAPTER NINE

A Democratic Vision

The sixties were an enormously creative period which have been too easily dismissed. Sheila Rowbotham

The significance of the reform movement in Kingston is that it embodied a new type of democratic politics. In Canada, as in most capitalist nations, democracy is strictly limited. It is confined to a distinctively "political" arena within which people make their views known mainly by electing representatives to govern. The reform movement of the 1960s tried to push back these limits; in the process, it began to redefine the very nature of political democracy itself. I

The process of redefinition found its purest expression within the New Left, which viewed politics as truly pervasive and inherent in any social situation. Accordingly, in Kingston it organized clubs, street theatre, union-support pickets, demonstrations, rent strikes, an alternative newspaper, and, later, women's groups, as well as election campaigns and petitions to local government. All of these were seen as political actions. Such a view was not entirely original, for it drew on anarchist and certain socialist traditions. But in at least one respect it was novel. Socialists had always tended to emphasize the importance of organizing the working class, whose social position is defined in the workplace. In contrast, the New Left was reluctant to dismiss any social arena as politically unimportant or secondary. In Kingston, organizers welcomed the opportunity to take up the cause of any disadvantaged group, including the working and welfare poor,

146 Democracy in Kingston

tenants, students, and women. In the process, they supplemented the traditional left's emphasis on workplace relations with a new concern for all aspects of personal and community life. It was not only the breadth and quality of the New Left's political vision that was novel but also its political strategy. For the movement, a truly participatory democracy could only be built and maintained through the continuous involvement of many people. This was consistent. If politics was implied in every social act, the idea of switching political involvement on and off became nonsensical. Of course, no one in Kingston quite lived up to the demands that this view entailed. Even the full-time organizers struggled with contradictions and sometimes took time off. But within the local New Left, continuous personal commitment was recognized to be the ideal, the measure against which each person judged his or her own life. Moreoever, this was true for everyone, not merely the leaders. After all, if politics was pervasive, it was illogical to try to delegate "political" responsibility to any particular person or group. Everyone was responsible. This moral individualism had Protestant roots that were similar to those of English socialism and also of the Canadian Social Gospel movement of the early twentieth century.1 Transmuted into a secular context, it provided the Canadian reform movement of the sixties with a powerful moral impetus. The democratic character of the New Left encouraged it to be pragmatic. This may seem an odd way to describe a movement that, to critics and sympathizers alike, has often appeared to be too idealistic.2 The movement wanted to change the world — and thought that it really might. In retrospect, it is clear that its reach exceeded its grasp by a very considerable margin. The optimism of the New Left was naive. But the label of idealism is thoroughly misleading if it is taken to mean "impractical." The New Left made a virtue out of organizing around the issues that people in general, and not just political leaders, felt to be important. Indeed, the story of the Kingston New Left from 1965 to 1968 is that of a group of organizers looking for the issue and the political organization that would most effectively unite the powerless. Lacking experience, they made mistakes. But they had few preconceptions and, guided by broad democratic principles, they were willing to learn. This was what they believed should happen. Thus one of the European social philosophers of the New Left, Cornelius Castoriadis, wrote at this time that "the organization has to learn about people in the street as much as they have to learn about it."3 And indeed this is what happened in Kingston. Joan Newman has said that she learned her politics on the street.4 It was the combination of democratic idealism and populist

147 A Democratic Vision

pragmatism that made the New Left into a significant political force. The New Left, of course, did not perfectly embody any of its ideals. Perhaps its greatest failure was over the issue of leadership. Many of those in the movement were unable to reconcile themselves to the idea that one person (or group) might know better than another what should be done in a given political context. They were even less comfortable with the idea that such a group might actually lead the group as a whole. This smacked of vanguardism, something that Soviet communism had made anathema to them. Indeed, some came to believe that group decisions must not only be made by everyone but also by consensus. Anything less was viewed as a form of coercion. In practice, of course, even with the Needle's Eye, and certainly in organizations like CIS and ATAK, these principles were not followed. There were leaders who educated, defined priorities, and, on council, claimed to represent a particular constituency. Over half a century ago Robert Michels came to the conclusion that, in politics as in social life as a whole, "leadership is a necessary phenomenon."5 It was a weakness of the movement that it never quite came to terms with that fact. The leaders came to feel guilty and some members came to feel resentful at the failure of the movement to embody its ideals. If the movement had had a more realistic conception of political leadership, some of its internal problems might never have arisen. In promoting its democratic vision, the New Left was remarkably influential. In Kingston, it set the tone of the overall reform movement. Of course, its views were not wholly shared by the more traditional reform elements. The local NDP was divided over the virtues and relative importance of extra-parliamentary action. The Social Planning Council was divided on the question as to whether it should be playing a political role at all. The majority of people who voted for the NDP or Trudeau's Liberals in 1968 probably had no intention of becoming any more involved in politics than that. Nor, in voting, did they think that were they giving their chosen representative a mandate to make society thoroughly democratic or equal. But by the late 1960s the actions of many people outside the New Left began to show the influence of the ideal of participatory democracy. The Liberals thought it worthwhile to adopt the new rhetoric, and in electoral terms they were correct. It was significant that new types of political debate were taking place within organizations like the NDP, the United Church, the Social Planning Council, and in local government itself. City aldermen were forced to concede that local government was indeed political, that tenants, for example, had legitimate concerns and that the interests of the city were not coterminous with those of the Chamber of Commerce. The success of ATAK, and

148 Democracy in Kingston

for that matter of the Sydenham Ward association, showed that the idea of popular participation in local government had gained considerable ground by 1970. The planning process for the NIP project was quite different from that of renewal in the 1950s, or even public housing in the 1960s. People were coming to take for granted their right to have a say. Perhaps this is the most significant commentary on the influence of the new democratic ideals that were being promoted most vigorously by the New Left. It is true that those ideals were shared by only a minority. But they attracted and influenced many more. The immediate effect was to polarize local politics in such a way as to reveal class divisions that had previously lain hidden. Class does not usually play as large a role on the political surface, as it does within the economic structure, of Canadian society. In day-to-day life its importance is often obscured by, or expressed through, geographical divisions between regions, cities, or neighbourhoods. To some extent regionalism and relative affluence, together with the actions of political parties and the state, take the edge off class conflict in all the advanced capitalist societies. This is particularly true in Canada. Here, ethnic divisions have always been prominent, while (since 1867) the discontinuous pattern of settlement has combined with a federated political structure to encourage to an unusual degree the politics of regionalism.6 As social observers have often pointed out, however, class differences typically come to the surface in times of social and political crisis. These crises are often periods of rapid change; it is at such moments that the full significance of class is most clearly revealed. There have been a number of such moments, or periods, in Canadian history. In the twentieth century, the years of social adjustment immediately after the two world wars and the depression of the 1930s stand out in that regard. On each occasion, political crises reflected class divisions and, at the same time, helped to bring such divisions to the forefront of popular consciousness and political debate. Much the same happened in Kingston in the late 1960s. Over the previous decade, class had not been a particularly visible factor on the local scene. To a considerable extent it was expressed geographically, through the distinction between the North End and the rest of the city. People identified themselves in terms of place rather than of class. This was both reflected in, and reinforced by, the actions of ward politicians such as Ken Matthews. The reform movement changed this view. The New Left tried to organize people primarily on the basis of their social position, notably class and tenure, rather than on the basis of their place of residence. When elected in partic-

149 A Democratic Vision

ular neighbourhoods, organizers denied that they could represent everyone in their ward. Other reformers were reluctant to go that far, but in practice they supported, and challenged, much the same groups as did the New Left. By 1970, on the issues of waterfront development and rent controls, the result was striking. On the one hand were ranged the working and welfare poor, organized labour, many students, and a substantial proportion of the professionial middle class. On the other were landlords, small businessmen, and those professionals and tradesmen who were associated with the realestate and construction industries. To a considerable extent, then, the politics of place had become supplanted by the politics of class. The class polarization of 1970 was not wholly inclusive. One major group was absent: corporate capital, represented by Alcan, the city's largest employer. This absence was not surprising, for Alcan had never shown much interest in the way the city was run. It was content to be serviced and left alone. Because the reform movement was never strong enough to threaten this situation, Alcan remained aloof. In addition, the polarization did not break down simply on class lines. Some groups of professionals and construction unions had local realestate interests that encouraged them to support development and civic boosterism. These groups thought that they stood to gain more from working to expand the civic pie than from dividing it more equally and, consequently, they cast a cold eye on the reformers' demands for restraint. But with these exceptions, local politics by 1970 was polarized along class lines. Not everyone was conscious of that fact. No doubt there were many people on each side who took a stand based on what they perceived to be purely personal interests or principles. But on each side the major classes had their own organizations, in some cases only recently formed. The terms of the local debate had come to be defined by broad principles of socialism and democracy versus free enterprise. It is clear that, in precipitating a minor political crisis, the reform movement in Kingston not only revealed the objective significance of class in local politics, but also helped to bring this fact into local political discourse. In themselves, these events in Kingston are not particularly important. It is true that they have continued to be a source of inspiration to those who were involved. Fifteen years later, none of the more active organizers were cynical about the ideals that had inspired them at that time. Indeed, many still hold those ideals and have found new ways to put them into practice, notably in the union and women's movements. As well, reform activity in Kingston had some impact outside the city itself at the time. The original Community Project of 1965 was considered by the New Left to be something of a success.

150 Democracy in Kingston

It was held up as an example of the kind of political work that the New Left should be doing elsewhere; so, too, was ATAK.7 Two of the women who worked as community organizers in Kingston, Peggy Morton and Myrna Wood, were in the forefront of the national women's movement that emerged in about 1967.8 The Kingston NDP was one of the more active centres of Waffle activity in the country. As such it had a disproportionate influence upon debates within the national party concerning the appropriate role of extra-parliamentary action. Kingston was actually the base from which a provincial tenants' group was launched in 1969. But the fact remains that the city was small. On the national, or even the provincial, political stage it did not loom large. II

In a larger context, the significance of reform in Kingston does not lie in the effects that it had, but in what it can reveal about the nature of the reform movement as a whole. Of course, since every place is unique, none is "typical," and this was certainly true of Kingston. At the beginning of the 1960s, Kingston was still largely run as a club by an oligarchy of small businessmen. At best their actions reflected a belief in noblesse oblige, rather than a commitment to open government. This was probably not unusual for a city of Kingston's size, but in larger places the sources of influence on city government were probably more diverse. They probably included the professional middle class as well as the developers. Against the background of small-city politics, then, any suggestion of reform would stand out in a particularly sharp relief. In fact, however, local circumstances were unusually propitious for the development of a reform movement in Kingston. Because of the hospitals and Queen's University, middle-class professionals made up a relatively large proportion of the population. So, too, did students. Internationally, these groups were the most active in the reform movement of the sixties, and their presence in large numbers in Kingston virtually guaranteed that the local oligarchy would be challenged. Kingston also contained a high proportion of tenants, many of whom were the working and welfare poor. In general, these were the people that reformers, and especially the New Left, were concerned to organize. Organizers were also blessed with a particularly visible and important issue. In the late 1960s, housing became a political issue right across the country. Indeed, it has remained so to this day. But conditions were especially bad in Kingston. The relative size and rapid growth of Queen's played an important part in this regard. It also provided students and the

151 A Democratic Vision

poor with a common interest and a basis for joint action. Many of the worst buildings were owned by a handful of slum landlords, one of the worst offenders also being the most outspoken. Here, then, was both an issue and a political target around which reformers could quite easily rally support. In that context, the geography of the city made it relatively easy for a reform movement to arise. Kingston was perhaps the ideal size: large enough to provide reform with a critical mass, yet small enough so that factional divisions were discouraged from developing. Certainly, it does appear that in smaller towns, reform movements had more difficulty in developing momentum; while in larger cities, the greater number and variety of reform organizations made it difficult to achieve effective co-operation. This was apparent, for example, both in Montreal and in Toronto.9 Even the high degree of social segregation probably did more to help reformers than it did to hinder them. In the early sixties, the marked contrasts between the north and west ends seem to have encouraged people to identify themselves more in terms of their nighbourhood of residence than of their class position. In the latter half of the decade, however, segregation made it easier for organizers to mobilize the poor, and also for that group to get representation on council. Geographical circumstances, then, gave reformers in Kingston a slight edge over their counterparts elsewhere. The local movement was, of course, part of a national reform trend, and it surely gained special impetus from the fact that its rise and fall happened to coincide almost exactly with the broader course of events. Nationally, enthusiasm for citizen participation and democratic reform probably peaked in 1968 and soon went into decline. In only two years it was badly discredited by the failures and arrogance of the Trudeau government, and then by the October crisis in Quebec. In every city, reform was affected by these developments, but their local influence was often cross-cut, and even obscured, by local issues. The Spadina controversy in Toronto, for example, helped to generate local involvement in city politics after popular interest in participation at the national level had waned. In Kingston, however, housing conditions and welfare rates were worsening from the midto-late sixties at just the same time as the new nationalist sentiment and a popular desire for change were sweeping the country. Reformers were able to take advantage of this coincidence just as surely as they were able to exploit the local circumstances that favoured their cause. Altogether, Kingston offered a rare opportunity for reformers to challenge entrenched power. That they did so is in part a tribute to their perseverance and

152 Democracy in Kingston

ability. Social movements are not created by economic conditions but by people, including leaders. It happened that, for its size, Kingston attracted a significant number of committed organizers. One way or another, the presence of Queen's University proved to be vital. It drew to the city the students who established the Kingston Community Project of 1965. Indirectly, then, it was responsible for the subsequent arrival of Myrna Wood and Joan Newman. It also brought in those students and faculty who took control of the NDP riding association in the late sixties, making the NDP into an important force on the local political scene. Being outsiders, these organizers faced some scepticism from the local community. Persistence, however, paid off. Newman worked as a more-or-less full-time organizer for five years; the NDP group were scarcely less active for almost as long. By the late sixties, several leaders had emerged from the indigenous working class. These included unionists like Meister, young people from the North End, such as Dennis Crossfield and Logan Murray, and a welfare mother, Bobbi Spark. There were, then, a considerable number of people in Kingston who threw themselves wholeheartedly into the reform cause. It is difficult to say whether these people were more committed, or capable, than organizers in other cities. If they were, it might have been the support they received in 1968 and 1969 that made them so, for social movements make leaders as much as leaders make movements. In so far as it is possible to judge, however, it does seem that people, as well as circumstances, worked to create an unusually active reform movement in Kingston. Outside Quebec, urban reform was largely a creation of the middle class. It is true that, during the 1960s, some working-class communities did become mobilized. In Toronto, Trefann Court was a prime example. But in general, lawyers, academics, and social-welfare professionals dominated the movement in most centres. In this context, Kingston was rather unusual. It is true that locally it was middle-class organizers that got the movement off the ground; it is also true that within the reform coalition this was the only class able to maintain any effective local organization into the 1970s. Between 1967 and 1970, however, the working and welfare poor of Kingston's North End came to play a role in reform politics that rivalled that of any other group. It does not seem that the same happened in other cities. If only for a few years, then, reformers in Kingston were able to bring together an unusually broad and balanced class coalition. The reformers were also able to develop what seems to have been an unusually strong sense of unity. In other Canadian cities, urban reformers came from a wide variety of ideological and party political backgrounds, Tories not excluded.10 Indeed, some observers have

153 A Democratic Vision

not thought it important to distinguish between the New Left radicals, who viewed community organizing as part of a broader stategy of social change, and the civic conservatives, who simply wanted to preserve and defend their neighbourhoods against all comers, including the poor. This surely goes too far, for reform was not an undifferentiated whole. But it is clear that, at the local level, radicals and more moderate reformers were often able to co-operate. This was, if anything, even more true in Kingston. By 1968, the New Left and the local NDP had come to realize that joint action was to their mutual advantage. On several issues they were soon joined by the Social Planning Council and later the Sydenham Ward association. Official co-operation between the New Left and NDP, in form of the information centre, was replaced by an even closer working relationship within ATAK over the issues of rent control and waterfront redevelopment. Cross-membership and reciprocal friendships blurred the lines of ideological distinction to the point that one can only talk of a reform continuum. This ranged from committed New Left organizers such as Joan Newman, through social democrats such as John Smart, to maverick liberals such as Bobbi Spark. It seems that the closeness of this relationship was exceptional, helping to give the Kingston reform movement a high degree of unity. In most English-Canadian cities, reform politics was dominated by people who were firmly committed to electoral politics, but in Kingston the New Left set the pace.11 It helped to draw the NDP into extraparliamentary activity; it defined the character of ATAK, the main reform organization; and it established the tone of reform debates on City Council. Beyond the direct influence of the New Left, it appears that the reform movement in Kingston generally leaned to the left. In 1968, the Kingston NDP was able to pick up a few votes from the Liberals, principally in the North End. This countered the provincial and national trend. The local NDP riding association itself was one of only a minority where the Waffle group gained control. Too much should not be made of these facts. Some of the support for radical reform did not run very deep, and the electoral realignment, particulary in the North End, did not last very long. But altogether, the class base, unity, and political complexion of the Kingston movement, as well as its high level of activity, sets it apart. These local peculiarities might seem to disqualify any attempt to generalize from Kingston to the experience of other cities. Certainly, it would be wrong to make any literal extrapolation. But the very peculiarities of the local situation may be used to advantage. Consistently, they conspired to exaggerate, rather than to distort, the features that characterized urban reform in English Canada as a whole. In

154 Democracy in Kingston

Kingston the local movement coincided almost precisely with the national one, but (as Higgins has already shown) it would be quite wrong to imply that this was the rule. It does, however, serve to underline the fact that urban reform was part of a broader movement for change. Similarly, it would be incorrect to infer that the urban reform movement in other cities was as active as it was in Kingston. That the local movement was so active, however, serves the useful purpose of highlighting its significance as the embodiment of a new type of politics. So also (in different ways) does the political unity of the movement and its relatively broad class base. Again, it would be absurd to infer from Kingston that New Left organizers in English Canada always played a leading role in the reform movement as a whole. Because reformers everywhere were being drawn to the new type of democratic politics that was most clearly embodied in the New Left, however, the particular political complexion of the Kingston movement does help to show off this feature to its best effect. In general, a study of Kingston reveals with particular clarity the essential characteristics of reform in the 1960s. This study also confirms the value of taking a synthetic, materialist viewpoint. The social movement of the sixties in Kingston was shaped by a variety of circumstances. At the local level these included the inertia of small-town conservatism, the concentration of an educated baby-boom generation, the city's polarized geography, and its high tenancy rate. None of these factors, and indeed no theory, can alone explain what happened. That said, it is clear that class was the decisive factor. This was true even in the early sixties, but it only became apparent towardsthe end of the decade. Weighed against the importance of other social divisions, the materialist emphasis on class interests is justified by what happened in Kingston. Ill

The evidence from Kingston might also provide support for the view that people have little power to change the circumstances of their lives. After all, not much seems to have been achieved. This view would fit the prevailing fashion, which is to be cynical about the 1960s. To our jaded eyes, the people whose actions gave that era its particular character seem to have been hopelessly naive. They thought that they could change the world! The ideals for which they stood no longer seem to be inspiring. A new conservatism has swept aside liberal and social-democratic parties in many Western countries, including (rather belatedly) Canada. This conservatism is, at best, indifferent to most of the issues raised in the sixties, and in particular

155 A Democratic Vision

to the problem of achieving greater social equality. Some social observers say that the erstwhile radicals have sold out, that they have become ambitious, a willing new generation of professional consumers in a society increasingly dominated by the large corporation. True cynics have wondered aloud whether there was really anything to sell in the first place, suggesting that sixties radicalism was shallow and gratuitous, if not downright opportunistic. I believe that such a pessimistic conclusion would be quite wrong. The social movement of the sixties has changed our political assumptions and circumstances in many ways. Its most obvious legacy is the women's movement.12 In Canada this movement grew out of the New Left. In the process, many of the ideals of participatory democracy were passed on: the belief that change must be made in a democratic way by organizing large numbers of people; a belief in equality; and perhaps above all a conviction that politics pervades everything, even the home. Many of the same ideals were inherited by ecology groups and by a new anti-war movement. Indeed, in one respect, these have actually extended the New Left's vision to include, as well as society, the whole natural environment. In a more attenuated form, some of the same attitudes and organizational techniques have inspired "grey power." These movements continue to play a significant role in contemporary politics. More intangibly, some elements of the new democratic ideal have been incorporated into what radicals once dismissed as "the system." At the local level it has become widely accepted that residents have the right to a say in planning, urban development, and renewal. At the provincial and national levels, participation has taken a different form. Here, the growth of political-action committees, opinion polls, and lobbyists have created many problems. While they have not always helped to make government more efficient or democratic, these developments do reflect the now widespread belief that governments should consult with the people more often than they have in the past. Corporations have begun to play with the idea of giving some autonomy to the worker. These recent developments do not go very far towards economic and political democracy. They can be ambiguous in their effects: greater participation is not an unqualified good, if only because popular forces are not always democratic in their inspiration. But taken as a whole, these developments do suggest that the democratic impulse is very much alive. It may be that participatory democracy is an unworkable, Utopian vision. But that is no reason to discard it. As an ideal, it provides us with a measure of what has been won as well as the inspiration to achieve more. As long as it continues to inspire those who are rela-

156 Democracy in Kingston

lively powerless, then we can reasonably expect to preserve the freedoms we have. With commitment and good judgment, we way even enlarge those freedoms. This idea does not sound glamorous. The impatient optimists of the 1960s might have viewed with some dismay the notion that the struggle has no end. But we do not live in glamorous times. The traditional vehicles for democratic change — socialism, social-democracy, and liberalism - are all on the defensive. Today, we must take heart from the fact that the struggle does continue, sometimes in strange ways, and on the wide field of action that the sixties helped to define.

APPENDIX A

The City Directory and the Measurement of Social Class

In order to document class differences in housing tenure and patterns of residential segregation, a random sample of households was drawn from Might's Kingston City Directory for 1971. The directory was preferred to other sources because, uniquely, it contained information about the occupation, street address, and tenure position of specific household heads. Even so, this source was not ideal. Class had to be inferred mainly from the available information on occupation, while the reported data are not free from error and bias. This appendix briefly describes the sampling procedure used for this study and outlines the peculiar strengths and limitations of the Kingston City Directory as a source of information about class differences in tenure and residential location. THE SAMPLING PROCEDURE

Like most modern city directories, the Kingston City Directory contains information about the occupation, tenure position, street address, and sometimes the employers' name of all household heads. Usually the head is defined as the man of the household, regardless of the employment status or income of any woman in the household. The residential section of the directory is divided into two parts, both of which are organized alphabetically: the first by the last name of the household head, the second by street name. Within the latter, addresses on each street are listed in numerical order and each major street intersection is clearly marked. Using these street listings, it is easy to construct a geographically stratified random sample. A geographically stratified random sampling procedure was followed that made it possible to infer from the sample to the city population as a whole. It also ensured an adequate representation of households from all parts of the city, an essential ingredient for the measurement of residential segregation. Accordingly, the 120 enumeration areas (EAS) defined in the 1971

158 Appendix A census were taken as the basic sample units. Of these, 8 proved to contain fewer than 20 households. These were dropped from the analysis. Twenty household heads were drawn from each of the remaining 112 EAS, yielding a total sample of 2,240 households. Within each EA, households were selected at random by taking every fifth household from the street-alphabetical section of the directory until the quota for each EA had been filled. The resulting data base made it possible to estimate class and tenure composition, and residential segregation, at the scale of the census tract and also of the city ward. THE STRENGTHS AND LIMITATIONS OF THE CITY DIRECTORY

The great advantage of the directory was that it contained information about specific households. The census reported data only for aggregates, making it impossible to cross-tabulate (for example) occupation against tenure for specific households. City assessent records also contained household data but, at least in Kingston during the 1970s, these records did not contain any data that would make it possible to infer the class position of any household member. For present purposes, then, the directories were invaluable. It is generally known that city directories can be unreliable. They are commercial ventures, being sold mainly to businessmen interested in local markets. As a result, those who compile them are likely to be more concerned to locate the stable and affluent rather than the transient poor.1 Studies have shown that directories are likely to underrepresent tenants (as opposed to home owners) and also occupations containing a high proportion of women. For these reasons, directories should be used with caution. Fortunately, such biases do not affect the usefulness of the directory as a source of comparative information about the tenure composition of major class groupings: the level of home ownership is likely to be overestimated in all groups, but to the same extent. Nor do such biases seriously affect the measurement of class segregation: a particular group may be underrepresented but presumably to the same extent in all areas of the city. For this study, then, the directory was considered to be a reliable source. In Kingston, a major exception to reliability concerned the directory's inadequate coverage of the working and welfare poor. As low-income tenants, the working poor were likely to be underrepresented. Worse still, the unemployed and the welfare poor could not be identified. Since the latter were a politically important group in the period of study, it was desirable to supplement the directory with other information. Fortunately, from an exchairman of the Social Services Committee of City Council, I was able to obtain the names and addresses all those in receipt of relief in December 1970. For purposes of comparison, information relating to the same year

159

Appendix A

was drawn from the city directory published in 1971. By coincidence, 1970 also happened to be the year when local political activity reached a peak. Using the directory and relief statistics in a complementary fashion, then, it was possible to document the nature of class segregation at a politically sensitive moment. PROBLEMS OF I D E N T I F Y I N G S O C I A L CLASS

The class position of the household head was inferred from published information on occupation and employers' name. Class was defined in terms of ownership and control of the means of production. More specifically an attempt was made to use the approach developed by Carchedi (1977), in which the middle class is distinguished from the working class mainly in terms of whether or not the employee is performing any of the supervisory or ideological functions of capital. In most cases, the inference of class from occupation was relatively straightforward. A "labourer," for example, was clearly working class, just as a Queen's "professor" or a "supervisor" at Alcan was middle class. Other cases, however, presented more difficulty, the most important type of which concerned the identification of the self-employed. A man identified as a "carpenter" was probably working class and a "lawyer" could well have been middle class; but either might have been self-employed. To a considerable extent, this ambiguity could be resolved by using the reported information on employer's name (table A.I). Where such information was unavailable, the class position of the person in question was coded as "unknown." It also proved difficult to distinguish primary- from secondary-sector workers. The relevant criteria were union status and income. Neither were available in the directory. Using the occupation and employer information, however, an attempt was made to identify a core group whose work experience, with little ambiguity, might be designated as secondary. These included occupations such as "labourer," "janitor," and "watchman," where incomes and prevailing levels of unionization were typically very low (table A.I). By following this procedure, it is certain that some secondary-sector workers were mis-classified as primary. For this reason, the reported statistics blur the distinction between the two groups. Specifically, they understate the size of the secondary-sector group, and underestimate the true magnitude of the differences between unionized and non-unionized workers, notably in terms of residential location. The information on employers' names also made possible some rather simple analyses of commuting patterns. The residential location of each household was already known, while the employers' addresses were determined from a separate directory of industries. From these paired data, broad

160 Appendix A patterns of commuting between the major residential areas of the city could readily be inferred. Quite apart from the technical difficulties of using directory data, this objective, statistical approach to the identification of class had an inherent limitation. It could not tell us whether the resultant class groupings had any political or sociological significance. To appreciate the significance of class it is necessary to obtain evidence relating to the state of mind and political activities of local people. For this study, such information was obtained from interviews, newspapers, letters, minutes, and reports. In combination with the directory data, these sources provide a firm basis for an understanding of the nature and meaning of class in Kingston.

TABLE A.I The Classification of Occupations from the Kingston City Directory, 1970 Where occupations are listed under more than one class category, the class position of individuals was determined by the use of information on employer OWNERS AND MANAGERS

Director; executive; manufacturer; manager/assistant manager; master; owner; president/vice-president. SELF-EMPLOYED

Architect; attorney; barrister; builder; chemist; confectioner; contractor; dealer; dentist; electrician; grocer; hairdresser; interior decorator; jeweller; landlord; lawyer; master mariner; optician; optometrist; pharmacist; photographer; physician; printer; publisher; sales representative; small businessman; solicitor M I D D L E CLASS: PROFESSIONALS AND RELATED

Accountant; agent; announcer; architect; assessor/appraiser; attorney; auditor; barrister; bookkeeper; chemist; collector; commissioner; consultant; counsellor; dentist; detective; dietician; draftsman; engineer; examiner; geologist; inspector; interior decorator; lawyer; librarian; management trainee; meteorologist; mortician; musician; nurse; officer (e.g.loan); opti-

161

Appendix A

cian; optometrist; osteopath; pharmacist; photographer; physician; physiotherapist; psychiatrist; pilot; principal; professor; reporter; reverend (i.e. minister); social worker; solicitor; statistician; surgeon; teacher; technician; treasurer; underwriter. M I D D L E CLASS: SUPERVISORY POSITIONS

Constable; custodian; dispatcher; foreman/-woman; guard; housekeeper; keeper; officer; policeman/-woman; superintendent; supervisor; yardmaster. W O R K I N G CLASS: B L U E C O L L A R , P R I M A R Y SECTOR

Apprentice; assembler; baker; barber; blacksmith; boilermaker; bookbinder; brakeman; bricklayer; buffer; butcher; cabinet-maker; carpenter; carrier; checker; chef; compositor; conductor; cook; cutter; dressmaker; driller; driver; electrician; electrotyper; employee; engineer; engraver; finisher; firefighter; fitter; frameman; maintenanceman; mechanic; millwright; motorman; operator; packer; painter; pipe insulator; plasterer; plumber; polisher; printer; press-feeder; pressman; presser; pattern-maker; parts man; receiver; repairman; seamstress; sheet-metal worker; sorter; spinner; stationary engineer; steamfitter; stereotyper; setter; tester; tinsmith; trainman; trimmer; upholsterer. W O R K I N G CLASS: BLUE COLLAR, S E C O N D A R Y SECTOR

Assistant; attendant, baggageman; cleaner; domestic; commissionaire; caretaker; helper; janitor; labourer; messenger; waiter/waitress; watchman. W O R K I N G CLASS: W H I T E C O L L A R

Bartender; cashier; chauffeur; clerk; meter reader; proofreader; receptionist; sales clerk; salesman; secretary; stenographer; switchboard operator; typist. MISCELLANEOUS Student; unknown (no occupation listed)

APPENDIX

B

Patterns of Ward Voting in Federal Elections, Kingston and the Islands, 1958-74 TABLE B.I Patterns of Ward Voting in Kingston, i: The Progressive Conservative Party

Ward

1958

Per cent of all ballots cast for PCs 1965 1968 1972

1974

North End St Lawrence Cataraqui Frontenac

48 47 51

35 36 42

32 33 36

44 48 48

41 42 44

Sydenham

52

34

32

52

47

West End Ontario Rideau Victoria

54 57 58

39 40 39

37 36 37

56 55 54

48 46 47

163 Appendix B TABLE B.2 Patterns of Ward Voting in Kingston, n: The Liberal Party

1958

Per cent of all ballots cast for Liberals 1965 1968 1972

1974

North End St Lawrence Cataraqui Frontenac

49

54

50

49 44

51 44

46 43

39 33 33

41 37 34

Sydenham

44

53

56

34

34

West End Ontario Rideau Victoria

42 39 40

49 46 50

48 51 51

31 32 32

35 37 36

TABLE B.3 Patterns of Ward Voting in Kingston, in : The CCF/NDP

1958 North End St Lawrence Cataraqui Frontenac

Per cent of all ballots cast for CCF/NDP 1965 1968 1972

1974

3.4 3.3

10.2 12.4 12.4

16.2 20.2 19.5

14.6 17.2 17.6

18.2 21.0 22.0

Sydenham

3.5

12.3

11.2

13.7

18.9

West End Ontario Rideau Victoria

2.1 3.4 1.7

10.5 13.2 10.3

13.3 12.5 11.8

12.5 12.2 12.7

17.4 16.8 16.5

2.6

Source: Canada, Report of the Chief Electoral Officer (Ottawa: Supply and Services, various years).

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Notes

CHAPTER ONE

1 For seminal statements of the pluralist argument, see Robert A. Dahl, Who Governs? Democracy and Power in an American City (New Haven: Yale University Press 1961); and Nelson Polsby, Community Power and Political Theory (New Haven: Yale University Press 1963). Pluralism emerged as the dominant political ideology in the United States in the 1950s. For discussion of how this happened, see D.W. Noble, The End of American History: Democracy, Capitalism and the Metaphor of Two Worlds in AngloAmerican Historical Writing, 1880—1980 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press 1985), 105—14; and R.L. Hanson, The Democratic Imagination in America (Princeton: Princeton University Press 1985), 257—92. 2 Among those who have criticized the empirical validity of pluralism see, for example, G. W. Domhoff, Who Really Rules? New Haven and Community PowerReexamined (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Press 1978); and E.G. Hayes, Power Structure and Urban Policy. Who Rules in Oakland1? (New York: McGraw-Hill 1972). For theoretical criticism, see P. Bachrach and M. Baratz, Power and Poverty: Theory and Practice. (New York: Oxford University Press 1970); Stephen Lukes, Power: A Radical View (London: Macmillan 1974); C.B. Macpherson, The Life and Times of Liberal Democracy (Toronto: Oxford University Press 1977); G. Wall, "The Concept of Interest in Politics," Politics and Society 5, 6 (1975): 487-510; R.R. Alford and R. Friedland Powers of Theory: Capitalism, the State and Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1985). 3 For analyses of the nature and causes of social movements I have found Louise A. and Charles Tilly, Class Conflict and Collective Action (Beverley Hills: Sage 1981) and R. Heberle, Social Movements (New York: AppletonCentury-Crofts 1951) to be especially useful. Frances F. Piven and Richard A. Cloward, in Poor People's Movements: Why They Succeed, How They Fail (New York: Random House 1977), have offered a more particular discussion of movements among the socially marginal. For other discus-

166 Notes to pages 5—7

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

sions, see N.J. Smelser, Theory of Collective Behavior (New York: Free Press of Glencoe 1963), and J.C.Jenkins, "Resource Mobilization Theory and the Study of Social Movements," Annual Review of Sociology 9 (1983): 527— 53. This conviction is described as "subjective political competence" by Gabriel A. Almond and Sidney Verba in their influential work The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five Nations (Princeton: Princeton University Press 1963). There is a substantial literature on the New Left, especially in the United States. The clearest statement, and one of the most perceptive evaluations of the American New Left's perspective, is to be found in Hanson, The Democratic Imagination in America, 293—337. Hanson sets the ideology of the New Left in the context of the American democratic tradition. For an international perspective, which includes a valuable treatment of the Canadian movement, see Cyril Levitt, Children of Privilege: Student Revolt in the Sixties (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1984). The general point has been made by Levitt in Children of Privilege. An exemplary study of the social roots of the New Left is Frank Parkin's analysis of the anti-war movement in Britain in the late 1950s, Middle Class Radicalism (New York: Praeger 1968). For Canada this point has been made by John Meisel in "The Decline of Party in Canada," published as chapter 11 in H.G. Thorburn's Party Politics in Canada, 4th ed. (Scarborough: Prentice-Hall 1979). For the Canadian New Left's view of party politics see Student Union for Peace Action, "Ping Pong Politics, or a Critique of Parliamentary Democracy," SUPA, Research, Information, and Publications Project, Toronto 1965. This pamphlet was written by Dimitrios Roussopoulos, Stanley Gray, and James Harding. This is conceded even by sympathetic observers. See, for example, Bryan Palmer's discussion of the Canadian labour movement since the Second World War in Working-Class Experience. The Rise and Reconstitution of Canadian Labour, 1800-1980 (Toronto: Butterworth 1983), 185-228. Some believe that radical movements, such as socialist parties and labour organizations, inevitably ossify and become conservative. For the seminal statement, see R. Michels, Political Parties: A Sociological Study of the Oligarchical Tendencies of Modern Democracy (New York: The Free Press 1962). That local New Left groups developed to fill the political vacuum left by established political parties is very effectively demonstrated by Jan O'Malley in The Politics of Community Action (Nottingham: Spokesman 1977). The best-known and best-documented Canadian case was Toronto's Trefann Court. For different accounts see Graham Fraser, Fighting Back. Urban Renewal in Trefann Court (Toronto: Hakkert 1972); Marja-

167 Notes to pages 8-10

11

12 13 14 15

16

17 18

leena Repo, "Organising the Poor — Against the Working Class," in John Cowley, A. Kay, M. Mayo and M. Thompson (eds), Community or Class Struggle? (London: Stage 1 1977), 65-90; John Sewell, Up against City Hall (Toronto: Lorimer 1972), 15—40; Sarah Spinks, "Urban Renewal in Canadian Cities," Our Generation 5, 2 (1967): 102-5. Alternative media are discussed in A. Peck, Uncovering the Sixties: The Life and Times of the Underground Press (New York: Pantheon 1985). Most of the early attempts to define the sphere of reproduction were made in France and Italy. For influential statements see Andre Gorz, A Strategy for Labor (Boston: Beacon Press 1967); and Mario Tronti, "Social Capital," Telos 17 (1973): 113-21. The Italian debates are reviewed in H.M. Cleaver's Reading Capital Politically (Hassocks: Harvester 1979). For discussion of the importance of demand-led consumption to the development of capitalism since the Second World War, see M. Aglietta, A Theory of Capitalist Regulation (London: New Left Books 1979). The specific case for organizing the poor was most effectively made by Todd Gitlin in his "On Organizing the Poor in America," Our Generation 4, no. 4 (1967): 22—9. For a retrospective discussion of the significance of community organizing to the New Left, see Wini Breines, Community and Organization in the New Left 1962-1968 (New York: Praeger 1982), and Hanson, The Democratic Imagination, 302—5. Robert A. Hackett, "The Waffle Conflict in the NDP," in H.G. Thorburn, ed., Party Politics in Canada. Richard Gwyn, The Northern Magus (Markham: McClelland and Stewart Paperjacks 1981), 101. R. Inglehart, The Silent Revolution (Princeton: Princeton University Press 1977). Myrna Kostash, Long Way from Home: The Story of the Sixties Generation in Canada (Toronto: Lorimer 1980); Levitt, Children of Privilege. See also Keith Westhues, "Inter-generational Conflict in the Sixties," in Samuel D. Clark, J.P. Grayson and L.M. Grayson (eds), Prophecy and Protest: Social Movements in Twentieth-Century Canada (Toronto: Gage 1975), 387^408. See, for example, Gwyn, Northern Magus, 100—1; Dennis Morton, NDP: The Dream of Power (Toronto: Hakkert 1974), 210-11; Christina McCallNewman, Grits: An Intimate Portrait of the Liberal Party (Toronto: Macmillan 1982), 117, 120, 122. Alan J. Matusow, The Unravelling of America: A History of Liberalism in the 1960s (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart 1984). For a general discussion of the relationship between ideology and party politics in Canada, see Gad Horowitz's "Conservatism, Liberalism and Socialism in Canada: An Interpretation," Canadian Journal of Economics and Political Science 32 (1966): 143—71 (reprinted in his Canadian Labour in Politics [Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1968], 3—57).

168 Notes to pages 11-14 19 Hackett, "The Waffle Conflict." 20 Margaret Daly, The Revolution Game (Toronto: New Press 1970). The issue was still alive in the 1970s. See Martin Loney, "A Political Economy of Citizen Participation," in Leo Panitch (ed.), The Canadian State: Political Economy and Political Power(Toronto: Drivers of Toronto Press 1977), 446— 72. 21 Matusow, The Unravelling of America. 22 For a perceptive analysis of the effects of the media on the public image and course of development of the New Left, see Todd Gitlin, The Whole World Is Watching: Mass Media in the Making and Unmaking of the New Left (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press 1980). 23 The theme of dependency has been one of the major themes in Canadian historiography. See Carl Berger, The Writing of Canadian History: Aspects of Canadian Historical Writing 1900—1970 (Toronto: Oxford University Press 1970). For a contemporary analysis of the issue, see Leo Panitch, "Dependency and Class in Canadian Political Economy," Studies in Political Economy 6 (1981): 7—35. Daniel Drache and Wallace Clement's The New Practical Guide to Canadian Political Economy (Toronto: Lorimer 1985) contains a comprehensive and up-to-date bibliography. 24 For a brief discussion and bibliography see Daniel Drache, "EnglishCanadian Nationalism" in Drache and Clement, The New Practical Guide, 162—9. For an analysis of the social basis of the new nationalism, see Philip Resnick, The Land of Cain: Class and Nationalism in English Canada 1945-1975 (Vancouver: New Star Books 1977). 25 Richard Gwyn, personal comunication. The general mood is described by Robert Bothwell, Ian Drummond, and John English in Canada since 1945: Power, Politics, and Provincialism (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1981), 332-7. 26 George Grant, Lament for a Nation: The Defeat of Canadian Nationalism (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart 1967). For a discussion of "Red Toryism," see Horowitz, "Conservatism, Liberalism ..." 27 Other things are not always equal. See the discussion by Craig Calhoun, The Question of Class Struggle: Social Foundations of Popular Radicalism during the Industrial Revolution (Chicago: University of Chicago Press 1982), chapter 6; Harold Chorney, "A Critical Theory of Urban Public Policy," paper presented to the annual meetings of the Canadian Political Science Association (Vancouver, June 1983). 28 The theoretical basis of this argument has been most comprehensively developed by Shoukry Roweis and Allen Scott in "The Urban Question," published in Kevin Cox (ed.), Urbanization and Conflict in Market Societies (Chicago: Maaroufa 1978), 38—75; and in "Urban Planning in Early and Late Capitalist Societies: Outline of a Theoretical Perspective," in Michael Dear and Allen Scott (eds), Urbanization and Urban Planning in Capitalist

169 Notes to pages 15—16

29

30

31

32 33

34

35

36

Society (London: Methuen 1981), 159—78. Roweis no longer takes this view, but much the same argument has recently been developed with specific reference to Canada by Andrew Sancton in the conclusion to Warren Magnusson and Andrew Sancton, eds, City Politics in Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto 1983), 291-317. The Canadian and us censuses use different definitions of "urban" areas. The quoted statistics are based on the adjusted figures reported in Maurice Yeates and Barry Garner, The North American City, 3rd ed. (New York: Harper and Row 1980), 21. For a review of urban trends in Canada to 1961, see Leroy O. Stone, Urban Development in Canada (Ottawa: Dominion Bureau of Statistics, 1961 Census Monograph 1967). I have followed Magnusson in distinguishing "local government" in this manner from the "local state." The latter comprises all elements of the state that have a local presence, including those which are branches of provincial or federal government. See Warren Magnusson, "Urban Politics and the Local State," Studies in Political Economy 16 (1985): 111-42. Thomas J. Plunkett, Urban Canada and Its Government: A Study of Municipal Organization (Toronto: Macmillan 1968); Donald J.H. Higgins, Local and Urban Politics in Canada (Toronto: Gage 1977), 66-120. James Lorimer, The Developers (Toronto: Lorimer 1978). Manuel Castells, The Urban Question (London: Edward Arnold 1977) and The City and the Grassroots (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press 1983). See also Patrick Dunleavy, Urban Political Analysis (London: Macmillan 1980). Castells is Spanish by birth but for the greater part of his career has taught in Paris and written in French. For criticism of Castells, see Peter Saunders, Social Theory and the Urban Question (London: Hutchinson 1981); and Magnusson, "Urban Politics and the Local State." A more general critique has been outlined by Philip Abrams. Drawing upon both Marx and Weber, Abrams suggests that any attempt to characterize a specifically urban sphere within modern capitalism is fundamentally misguided. See his "Towns and Economic Growth: Some Theories and Problems," in Philip Abrams and E. A. Wrigley (eds), Towns in Societies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1978). An analogous criticism has been made of parallel attempts to define "the urban" in terms of spatial accessibility. See Richard Harris, "The Spatial Approach to the Urban Question: A Comment," Environment and Planning: D. Society and Space 2, no. 1 (1984): 101-5. Lorimer, The Developers; idem, "Citizens and the Corporate Development of the Contemporary Canadian City," Urban History Review 12, 1 (1983): 3-10. Warren Magnusson, "Introduction: The Development of Canadian Urban Government," in Magnusson and Sancton, City Politics in Canada, 33. See also Magnusson, "Metropolitan Reform in the Capitalist City," Canadian

170 Notes to pages 17-18 Journal of Political Science 14 (1981): 557—85. For a more general exposition of the argument that the modern city reflects and sustains the growth of corporate capitalism, see David Harvey, The Urbanization of Capital (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press 1985), 1—31, 185226. 37 Robert H. Wiebe, The Search for Order 1877-1920 (New York: Hill and Wang 1967). The same point is made by Hanson in The Democratic Imagination in America, 237—45. For Canada, Paul Rutherford has said that "urban reform was only one of many phenomena ... which together constitute the progressive tradition." See his article, "Tomorrow's Metropolis: The Urban Reform Movement in Canada, 1880-1920," 36892 in Gilbert A. Stelter and Alan F.J. Artibise (eds), The Canadian City (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart 1977). 38 Henry Milner, "City Politics: Some Possibilities," in Dimitrios Roussopoulos (ed.), The City and Radical Social Change (Montreal: Black Rose Books 1982), 143; Marc Raboy, "The Future of Montreal and the MCM," in Roussopoulos, The City, 237. For a general discussion see Jacques Godbout and Jean-Pierre Collin, Les organismes populaires en milieu urbain: contre-pouvoir ou nouvelle pratique professionnelle? (Montreal: iNRS-Urbanization 1977). 39 Dimitrios Roussopoulos, "Introduction: From Then to Now," in Roussopoulos, The City, 25. 40 Donald J.H. Higgins, "Progressive City Politics and the Citizen Movement: A Status Report," City Magazine Annual (1981): 84-95. 41 This analysis can be overstated. Although it might appear that the Toronto reform movement won its greatest victory with the election of John Sewell as mayor in 1978, the popular democratic elements of the movement had faded by 1974. See Michael Goldrick, "The Anatomy of Urban Reform in Toronto," City Magazine 3 (1978): 29-39. Bill Freeman has argued that Sewell's politics changed significantly, and quite rapidly, after he first gained election to council in 1969. See his "John Sewell and the New Urban Reformers Come to Power," in Roussopoulos, The City, 283-300. 42 For evidence and discussion of the economic and political differences between owners and tenants, see John Agnew, "Homeownership and the capitalist social order," in Cox, Urbanization and Conflict, 128—43; Kevin Cox, "Housing Tenure and Neighborhood Activism," Urban Affairs Quarterly 18, 1 (1982): 107-28; Patrick Dunleavy, "The Urban Basis of Political Alignment: Social Class, Domestic Property Ownership and State Intervention in Consumption Processes," British Journal of Political Science 9 (1979): 409-43; Fred Gray, "Owner-occupation and Social Relations," in Stephen Merrett, Owner Occupation in Britain (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul 1982), 267-91.

171 Notes to page 19 43 For a general discussion of this issue see Richard Harris, "Residential Segregation and Class Formation in the Capitalist City: A Review and Directions for Research," Progress in Human Geography 8, no. 1 (1984): 26—49; for Canadian evidence, see Harris, "Residential Segregation and Class Formation in Canadian Cities: A Critical Review," The Canadian Geographer 2%, no. 2 (1984): 186-96. Cox has argued that neighbourhood "turf politics became important for the first time in the 1960s. See Kevin Cox, "Social Change, Turf Politics and Concepts of Turf Politics," in A.M. Kirby, P.L. Knox, and S.P. Pinch (eds), Public Service Provision and Urban Development (London: Groom Helm 1984). 44 This is obvious from any survey of the subject. See, for example, R. Crompton and J. Gubbay, Economy and Class Structure (London: Macmillan 1977), or Anthony Giddens and Gavin MacKenzie (eds) Social Class and the Division of Labour (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1982). Writing in 1985, James Curtis has claimed that among social scientists in Canada, the Weberian and Marxist traditions are the strongest. See Curtis's entry under "Social Class" in The Canadian Encyclopedia (Edmonton: Hurtig 1985), 1714-15. 45 For objective, economic definitions of class within the Marxist tradition, see Guglielmo Carchedi, On the Economic Identification of Social Classes (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul 1977) and Eric O. Wright, Class, Crisis and the State (London: New Left Books 1978). For historical approaches that place more emphasis on the issues of class consciousness and collective action, see Calhoun, The Question of Class Struggle; Edward P. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class (Harmondsworth: Penguin 1968); and G. Stedman Jones, Languages of Class: Studies in English Working Class History, 1832-1982 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1983), 1-24, 90-178. For an attempt to reconcile these, see Adam Przeworksi, "Proletariat into Class: The Process of Class Formation from Karl Kautsky's The Class Struggle to Recent Controversies," Politics and Society 7 (1977): 343-401. 46 Max Weber, "Types of Class Struggle," in H.H. Gerth and C.W. Mills, eds, From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology (New York: Oxford University Press 1968), 184-6. 47 John Porter, The Vertical Mosaic: An Analysis of Social Class and Power in Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1965). For a general review of the role of class in Canadian life, see A.A. Hunter, Class Tells: On Social Inequality in Canada (Toronto: Butterworth 1981). The general neglect of class within Canadian historiography, and its recent resurgence, have been noted by several observers. See, for example, Berger, The Writing of Canadian History, 263—4. For a recent bibliography, see Paul and Erin Phillips, "Class Formation," in Drache and Clement (eds), The New Practical Guide, 16-22.

172 Notes to pages 20-5 48 See, for example, the case studies contained in the recent collection edited by Magnusson and Sancton, City Politics in Canada. 49 Pluralists have tried to generalize from the local study to the nationstate. They have been criticized by many writers, including Paul E. Peterson in City Limits (Chicago: University of Chicago Press 1981), 3—6. The most notable attempt by a Marxist to theorize the nature of the local state is that of Cynthia Cockburn in The Local State (London: Pluto 1977). She has been criticized for simply applying the Marxist theory of the national state to the local situation. See Dunleavy in Urban Political Analysis, 102, and Magnusson's "Urban Politics and the Local State."

CHAPTER TWO

1 For a more extended discussion of the synthetic point of view, see Cole Harris, "Theory and Synthesis in Historical Geography," The Canadian Geographer 15, 3 (1971): 157-72. 2 The limited scope of pluralism has been noted many times. See, for example, Robert Alford and Roger Friedland, The Powers of Theory: Capitalism, the State and Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1985). 3 For synthetic works or statements by these writers, see Eric Hobsbawm, Industry and Empire (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1969); David Harvey, "On the History and Present Condition of Geography: An Historical Materialist Manifesto," The Professional Geographer 36, 1 (1984): 1-11; C.B. MacPherson, Democracy in Alberta (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1953); Harold Innis, The Fur Trade in Canada: An Introduction to Canadian Economic History, rev. ed. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1956); C. Wright Mills, The Sociological Imagination (Harmondsworth: Penguin 1970); John Kenneth Galbraith, The Affluent Society (New York: Houghton Mifflin 1958). 4 For presentations and discussion of the Marxist method, see Eric J. Hobsbawm, "Karl Marx's Contribution to Historiography," in Robin Blackburn (ed.), Ideology in Social Science (London: Panther 1972); M.C. Howard and J.E. King, The Political Economy of Marx (London: Longman 1975); Martin Nicolaus, "Foreword" to Karl Marx, Grundrisse (London: Penguin 1973); Jean-Paul Sartre, Search for a Method (New York: Vintage 1968); Edward P. Thompson The Poverty of Theory and Other Essays (New York: Monthly Review Press 1978), 84-8. On the theory of capitalism and the state, see David Harvey, The Limits to Capital (Oxford: Blackwell 1983); John Hollo way and Sol Piccioto (eds), The State and Capital: A Marxist Debate (London: Edward Arnold 1978); Ralph Miliband, Marxism and Politics (London: Oxford University Press 1977).

173 Notes to pages 26-7 5 See Frank Parkin, Marxism and Class Theory: A Bourgeois Critique (New York: Columbia University Press 1979). For a critical discussion of Marxist approaches to urban politics, see Brian Elliott and David McCrone, The City: Patterns of Domination and Conflict (London: Macmillan 1982). 6 There is nothing especially remarkable, or even original, in this formulation. See the discussion by Edward P. Thompson in The Poverty of Theory and Other Essays, 84-8. 7 On urban social movements, see Chris G. Pickvance, "On the Study of Urban Social Movements," in C.G. Pickvance (ed.), Urban Sociology: Critical Essays (London: Tavistock 1976) and "From 'Social Base' to 'Social Force': Some Analytical Issues in the Study of Urban Protest," in Michael Harloe (ed.), Captive Cities (London: Wiley 1977). There are, of course, some studies that examine the impact of contemporary social movements. For a notable example, see Frances Fox Piven and Richard A. Cloward, Poor People's Movements: Why They Succeed, How They Fail (New York: Vintage 1977). 8 Giuglielmo Carchedi, On the Economic Identification of Social Classes (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul 1977); Nicos Poulantzas, Political Power and Social Classes (London: New Left Books 1973); Eric 0. Wright, Class, Crisis and the State (London: New Left Books 1978). Cf. Ira Katznelson, City Trenches: Urban Politics and the Patterning of Class in the United States (New York: Pantheon 1981), 194-209; Adam Przeworksi, "Proletariat into Class: The Process of Class Formation from Karl Kautsky's The Class Struggle to Recent Controversies," Politics and Society 7 (1977): 343-402. 9 It is invidious to pick out examples because statistical analyses are valuable. The significant point is that they are insufficent. In Canada, a rare attempt to use social-scientific methods to support a contemporary interpretation of class formation is Philip Resnick's, The Land of Cain: Class and Nationalism in English Canada 1945-1975 (Vancouver: New Star 1978). 10 Edward P. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class (Harmondsworth: Penguin 1969). For other historical treatments of class from a Marxist perspective, see John Foster, Class Struggle and the Industrial Revolution: Early Industrial Capitalism in Three English Towns (London: Wiedenfeld and Nelson 1974); G. Stedman Jones, Outcast London: A Study in the Relationship between Classes in Victorian Society (London: Oxford University Press 1971), and his Languages of Class: Studies in English Working Class History, 1832-1982 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1983). For notable Canadian studies, see Gregory Kealey, Toronto Workers Respond to Industrial Capitalism, 1867-1892 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1980); Bryan Palmer, A Culture in Conflict: Skilled Workers and Industrial Capitalism in

174 Notes to pages 28-32 Hamilton, Ontario, 1860-1914 (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen's University Press), and his Working-Class Experience: The Rise and Reconstitition of Canadian Labour, 1800-1980 (Toronto: Butterworth 1983). 11 A. Sayer, "Explanation in Economic Geography: Abstraction versus Generalisation," Progress in Human Geography 6 (1982): 68-88. 12 Ira Katznelson, City Trenches, 209-15. 13 See, for example, Frank Parkin, Marxism and Class Theory; and Alvin Gouldner, The Two Marxisms (New York: Seabury 1980). 14 Anthony Giddens, Central Problems in Social Theory (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press 1979). 15 The views expressed in this and the following paragraph follow closely those which Thompson has developed at greater length in The Poverty of Theory and Other Essays. 16 "Historical materialism employs concepts [like] ... class struggle ... as expectations rather than as rules," ibid., 46. C H A P T E R

T H R E E

1 cc Minutes 1 (4 January 1961). 2 "ATAK Rent Controls Protest Causes Countil to Adjourn," KWS, Tuesday, 1 September 1970 (headline). 3 For a summary and discussion of urban renewal legislation, see Albert Rose, Regent Park: A Study in Slum Clearance (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1958), 24-45. 4 Government of Canada, Advisory Committee on Reconstruction, iv: Housing and Community Planning, Final Report of the Subcommittee, March 1944 (Ottawa: King's Printer 1946). 5 C.A. Curtis, Special Survey of Housing in the City of Kingston (Kingston 1947). 6 "Bad as Worst in Canada, Rev. T.H. Good Declares," KWS, Thursday, 15 September 1955. 7 City of Kingston Special Committee on Housing, Preliminary Report on Housing Conditions in Rideau Heights, "Social Survey" (mimeo, Kingston, November 1957). 8 Richard C. Edwards, M. Reich, and D.M. Gordon (eds), Labor Market Segmentation (Lexington, MA: D.C. Heath 1975); B.C. Smith, "The Dual Labour Market Theory: A Canadian Perspective, Research and Current Issues Series No. 32 (Kingston: Industrial Relations Centre, Queen's University 1976). 9 Bryan D. Palmer, Working-Class Experience: The Rise and Reconstitution of Canadian Labour 1800-1980 (Toronto: Butterworth 1983), 2527, 285-8.

175 Notes to pages 33-42 10 Estimate based on reported census data on the price distribution of homes in the City of Kingston from Dominion Bureau of Statistics, 1961 Census of Canada, vol. 2, part 2, table 62. 11 Estimate based on a sample drawn from Might's Kingston City Directory for 1971. For details see appendix A. The estimate for small Canadian urban centres is reported in Richard Harris, "The Geography of Class and Urban Home Ownership in Canada, 1974-1982," MS, Department of Geography, University of Toronto. Rates of home ownership were higher in Kingston Township. 12 "Henderson, MacKinnon at Meetings," KWS, Friday, 28 March 1958. 13 For a discussion, see Matthew Edel, "Home Ownership and Working Class Unity," International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 6, no. 2 (1982): 205-22. 14 "Dan Cross still Bucking for Workers after 25 Years in Post Office Here," KWS, Friday, 20 December 1963. 15 " The Warrior' Goes out Fighting," KWS, 30 November 1970. 16 "Cross Mellows Slightly: Doesn't Blame Immigrants," KWS, Friday, 24 February 1961. 17 Dominion Bureau of Statistics, 1961 Census of Canada Census Tracts: Kingston, table 1. 18 "The Silent Community," KWS, Thursday, 26 August 1971; "Polish Have Made Many Contributions to Canada, Kingston," KWS, Friday, 23 February 1973. 19 Dan C. Cross, "What About the Workers?" in Kingstonians, Kingston 300 - A Social Snapshot (Kingston: Hanson and Edgar 1973). 20 Calculated from information reported in Province of Ontario, Municipal Profile: Kingston, May 1977. 21 John Newman, "Power in Kingston: An Analysis," MS, Kingston, September 1970. 22 For the constituency of Toronto Parkdale between 1949 and 1951. 23 Palmer, Working-Class Experience, 248-9. 24 Brief on the Continuance of Rent Control, submitted by Kingston Labour Council CCL, 1953; Petition to Kingston City Council, submitted by a group of housewives, 1953; Michelle Meyer, "A History of the United Electrical Workers' Union in Kingston, 1940-1956," MS, Kingston 1979. 25 "KBE Head Points out His Remarks on Tendency Not Aimed at B of E," KWS, Friday, 18 January 1963. 26 See, for example, the discussion in Giuglielmo Carchedi, On the Economic Identification of Social Classes (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul 1977). 27 David V. Donnison, Welfare Services in a Canadian Community: A Study of Brockville, Ontario (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1958), 1523. 28 Social Planning Council of Kingston and District, Needs and Resources

176 Notes to pages 43-9

29 30 31 32

33 34

35

36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47

Committee, Health, Welfare and Recreation Needs in Kingston (Kingston 1967), tables 9, 12. Ibid., 12-13; Social Planning Council of Kingston and District, "History of the Social Planning Council of Kingston and District" (Kingston c. 1973). City of Kingston, Preliminary Report on Housing Conditions, 1957. George Stephenson and G.G. Muirhead, A Planning Study of Kingston, Ontario (Kingston: City of Kingston 1961). "Proceedings of a Public Meeting... to Discuss the Proposed Plan of Redevelopment for Rideau Heights," PB Minutes, Thursday, 9 August 1962, 2. "Redevelopment of Rideau Heights to Cost Estimated $700,000," KWS, Monday, 30 December 1963. Such a view is invariably implied by those who have written about the emergence of citizen opposition to the development lobby in the mid 1960s. See, for example, Donald Gutstein, Vancouver Ltd. (Toronto: Lorimer 1975); James Lorimer, "Citizens and the Corporate Development of the Contemporary Canadian City," Urban History Review 12,1 (1983): 3-10. In fact we know very little about patterns of local political influence in the 1950s. Since downtown redevelopment did not get under way on a major scale until the 1960s, it is quite possible that developers had little interest in, or effect upon, city politics in the previous decade. This was a major theme of an in-house paper published to commemorate the thirtieth anniversary of Alcan's arrival in Kingston. See especially "Employees Active in Community Projects," The Press, 1970, 7. cc Minutes, 13 (28 June 1965), 240. Ibid., 5 (2 March 1964), 63. Ibid., 15 (23 July 1962), 211. Ibid., 8 (12 April 1965), 132. "The Labour Council and the Election" (editorial), KWS, Friday, 2 December 1960. "Mills Seeks Nomination," KWS, Thursday, 14 June 1962. John H. Taylor, "Mayors a la Mancha: An Aspect of Depression Leadership in Canadian Cities," Urban History Review 9, 3 (1983): 3. "PM Arriving this Evening for Big Rally," KWS, Friday, 21 March 1958. Appendix B, tables 1 and 2. Membership records, constituency files 1960-2, Kingston, CCF/NDP of Ontario records (box 15), Douglas Library Archives, Queen's University. Letter from J. Bury to G. Home, Constituency Files 1964, CCF/NDP of Ontario records (box 21). A.R.M. Lower, "The Kingstonian," in Kingstonians, Kingston 300 - A Social Snapshot (Kingston: Hanson and Edgar 1973), 52.

177 Notes to pages 50-7 CHAPTER FOUR

1 David McLay, "Survey of Enrollment and Student Housing at Queen's University," reported in M. J. Goldsmith, Housing Demands and Housing Policy (Kingston: Institute of Local Government, Queen's University 1972). 2 " 'Caypo Coffee Club' is Catching On," KWS, Friday, 15 November 1963. 3 Richard Allen, The Social Passion: Religion and Social Reform in Canada, 1914-1928 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1971). 4 "Revolution and Non-Violence," Qj, Tuesday, 6 October 1964. 5 North Kingston Parish of the United Church, Brief to the Needs and Resources Committee of the Social Planning Council of Kingston and District, Kingston 1966. 6 "New Church Hall Dedicated," KWS, Monday, 13 June 1966. 7 "Knot Hole Review Tonight," KWS, Friday, 2 June 1967. 8 "The Man Sang Hallelujah!" KWS, Monday, 3 February 1969. 9 "SCM: The Benevolent," QJ, Friday, 4 March 1966. 10 "Good Health Is the Aim," KWS, Monday, 27 October 1969. 11 "Public Housing Needed," KWS, Wednesday, 18 January 1967. 12 On CUCND and the early New Left, see Cyril Levitt, Children of Privilege: Student Revolt in the Sixties (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1984), 42-3, 158-66; Myrna Kostash, Long Way from Home: The Story of the Sixties Generation in Canada (Toronto: Lorimer 1980), 3-30; Kenneth Westhues, "Inter-Generational Conflict in the Sixties," in S.D. Clark, J.P. Grayson, and L.M. Grayson (eds), Prophecy and Protest: Social Movements in Twentieth-Century Canada (Toronto: Gage 1975), 397-408; James Laxer, "The Americanization of the Canadian Student Movement," in I. Lumsden (ed.), Close the 49th Parallel etc. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1970), 275-86. 13 For an account of SDS that emphasizes the community organizing projects, see Wini Breines, Community and Organization in the New Left 19621968 (New York: Praeger 1982), Levitt puts SDS into an international context in Children of Privilege. 14 Westhues, "Inter-Generational Conflict," 391-2; Laxer, "Americanization," 285. 15 Todd Gitlin, "On Organizing the Poor in America," Our Generation 4, 4 (1967): 22-9. 16 Levitt, Children of Privilege, 162-3. 17 "Students Win where Others Lost," Toronto Daily Star, Tuesday, 17 August 1965. 18 Interview with Dennis McDermott, Kingston, Sunday, 6 January 1980. 19 KCP, Prospectus (Kingston 1965), 3. 20 Ibid., 1.

178 Notes to pages 58-69 21 Betty Desroches, "The Single-Parent Family - One View," Issues 1, 7 (1970): 10. 22 For a discussion of the social and political effects of class segregation, see Richard Harris, "Residential Segregation and Class Formation in the Capitalist City," Progress in Human Geography 8, 1 (1984): 26-49. On ethnic segregation, see A. Gordon Darroch and W.G. Marston, "Patterns of Urban Ethnicity: Toward a Revised Ecological Model," in N. Iverson (ed.), Urbanism and Urbanization (Leiden: Brill 1984). 23 Peter C. Newman, "The Sweaty Fight for a Single Seat," Maclean's, Sunday, 16 June 1962, 56. 24 For a discussion of this, and alternative, indices see K.E. Taeuber and A.F. Taeuber, Negroes in Cities: Residential Segregation and Neighborhood Change (Chicago: Aldine 1965), appendix A. 25 Case record, Unemployment Help Centre, Kingston, August 1979. 26 For details of how the directory sample was obtained, see appendix A. 27 See, for example, Otis D. Duncan and Beverly Duncan, "Residential Distribution and Occupational Stratification," American Journal of Sociology 60 (1955): 493-503. 28 George Stephenson and G.G. Muirhead, A Planning Study of Kingston, Ontario (Kingston: City of Kingston 1961), 43. 29 KCP, Prospectus, 3. 30 Bobbi Spark, "Kingston - and Her Less Fortunate Citizens," in Kingstonians, Kingston 300 - A Social Snapshot (Kingston: Hanson and Edgar 1973), 142. 31 "Should Work Together Says Alderman-elect," KWS, Friday, 28 December 1962. 32 "Kenneth Matthews - The 'Little Guy's' Alderman," KWS, Saturday, 19 July 1980. 33 KCP, Prospectus, 1. 34 KCP, Kingston Community Project, Special Report, Meeting Poverty Series, Special Planning Secretariat of the Department of State (Ottawa 1965), 14. 35 "Public Housing - Behind It Are People," KWS, Wednesday, 26 October 1966. 36 Kingston Housing Authority, Brief of the Needs and Resources Committee of the Social Planning Council of Kingston and District, Kingston, 1966. 37 " 'I Lived in a Shack before so This is a Lot Better,' " KWS, Wednesday, 26 October 1966. 38 KCP, Kingston Community Project, 9. 39 Ibid., 18. 40 Interview with Dennis McDermott. 41 "Students Win where Others Lost"; see also Bronwen Wallace's (unattributed) observations reported by Kostash in Long Way from Home, 18.

179 Notes to pages 70-5 42 J. Bernstein, P. Morton, S. Seese, and M. Wood, "Sisters, Brothers, Lovers ... Listen ...," in Women Unite! (Toronto: Canadian Women's Educational Press 1972), 31-9. Mary de Michele, Bread and Chocolate, and Bronwen Wallace, Marrying into the Family (Toronto: Oberon 1980). For a general account of community organizing in Trefann Court, see Graham Fraser, Fighting Back: Urban Renewal in Trefann Court (Toronto: Hakkert 1972). For Spinks's view, see her article "Urban Renewal in Canadian Cities," Our Generation 5, 2 (1967): 102-5. 43 "Students Win where Others Lost." 44 KCP, Kingston Community Project, 47. CHAPTER FIVE

1 This account of the early days of CYC relies heavily on Margaret Daly, The Revolution Game (Toronto: New Press 1970), 6-50. 2 This paragraph relies on the historical account of the activity of the community project that is contained in Joan Newman and Dennis Crossfield, Grant Application to the Company of Young Canadians, Kingston, March 1968. 3 Dominion Bureau of Statistics, Census of Canada, Census Tracts, Kingston, 1961. For the 1971 census, tract 5 was subdivided. As a result, tract 8 from the 1961 census became the tract that, for convenience, is referred to here and elsewhere in the text as tract 9. 4 "Action of Children Partly Fault of Parents," KWS, Friday, 9 November 1962. 5 Interview with Don Hall, principal, Kingston Collegiate Vocational Institute, July 1979. 6 George Stephenson and G.G. Muirhead, A Planning Study of Kingston, Ontario (Kingston: City of Kingston 1961), 45. 7 See, for example, "Students Attacked on Kingston Streets," QJ, Friday, 4 March 1966. 8 cc Minutes, 24 (13 November 1962), 340. 9 "Hooliganism in Kingston Borne out by Court Records," KWS, Wednesday, 7 November 1962. 10 "Charge Eleven Following Riot. Mob of 400 Storms Police Station. Attorney General to Investigate." KWS, Thursday, 1 November 1962 (frontpage headline). 11 "Saints Seek Own Recreation Program," KWS, Monday, 19 November 1962. 12 Interview with Dennis Crossfield, Kingston, Monday, 11 June 1984. 13 Newman and Crossfield, Grant Application. 14 "Shopkeepers Losing Patience," KWS, Wednesday, 6 July 1966. 15 "Mothers Worried about Daughters," KWS, Monday, 11 July 1966. 16 "Fray, Matthews Tangle with Project Teenagers," KWS, Thursday, 28 July 1966.

180 Notes to pages 76-83 17 Newman and Crossfield, Grant Application. 18 " 'Narcotics' believed Marijuana," KWS, Monday, 4 December 1967. See also Ken Fisher, "Report on the Kingston Scene," New Left Committee Bulletin 1, no. 1 (October 1967), 6d. 19 Plymouth Square 1 (1967), 2. 20 Interview with Logan Murray, Kingston, 21 January 1980. "HUSK: What the Movement Is All About," KWS, Monday, 23 September 1968. 21 Don McKelvey, report on discussions with present and former staff of the Kingston Community Project, during late November 1966 trip to Kingston, CUCND/SUPA correspondence, box 17, branches: Queens (Russell Archives, McMaster University Library, Hamilton). 22 Ontario Welfare Council, The Province of Ontario: Its Social Services (Toronto: owe 1968), 18-20. 23 Ibid. 24 Ontario, Department of Social and Family Services, Brief to the Special Senate Committee on Poverty, Proceedings of the Special Senate Committee on Poverty (Ottawa: Queen's Printer 1970). 25 Frances Fox Piven and R.A. Cloward, Poor People's Movements (New York: Random House 1979), 264-361. 26 Ontario, Department of Social and Family Services, Annual Report, 196667 (Toronto 1967). 27 "City's Share of $187,8841 Works out to $36,156 Amount," KWS, Saturday, 29 April 1961. 28 cc Minutes, 4 (12 February 1962), 70; cc Minutes 15 (23 July 1962), 214. 29 Estimated from City of Kingston, Financial Statements and Auditor's Report, Kingston 1961 and 1965. 30 "Hospitals Feeling Labor Pinch," KWS, Monday, 7 June 1965. 31 "Homemakers -17 Months of Success," KWS, Wednesday, 9 August 1967. 32 Dennis Crossfield and Mike Tuepoh, Brief on Welfare to the Needs and Resources Committee of the Social Planning Council of Kingston and District, Kingston 1966. 33 Dominion Bureau of Statistics, 1961 Census of Canada, Census Tracts, Kingston, table 2; vol. 2, part 2, table 70. 34 Stephenson and Muirhead, A Planning Study, 57. 35 Data collected from the assessment rolls for the City of Kingston and reported in a letter sent by Joan Newman to June Marks, alderman in the City of Toronto, Tuesday, 25 April 1967. 36 " 'It Doesn't Bother Me' - Hewett," KWS, Friday, 23 July 1965. 37 "A Landlord Tells His Side of the Story," KWS, Friday, 23 July 1965. 38 David McLay, "Survey of Enrollment and Student Housing at Queen's University," reported in M.J. Goldsmith, Housing Demands and Housing Policy (Kingston: Institute of Local Government, Queen's University 1972). 39 Central Mortgage and Housing Corporation, Kingston Housing Survey (Kingston: CMHC 1969).

181 Notes to pages 84-93 40 Newman and Crossfield, Grant Application. 41 For a general account of community organizing in Trefann Court, see Graham Fraser, Fighting Back: Urban Renewal in Trefann Court (Toronto: Hakkert 1972). 42 Sarah Spinks, "Urban Renewal in Canadian Cities," Our Generation 5, no. 2 (1967): 102-5. 43 This, and the following paragraph are based on Newman and Crossfield, Grant Application. 44 "North End Residents Organize Association," KWS, Friday, 9 June 1967. CHAPTER

SIX

1 Robert Bothwell, Ian Drummond, and John English, Canada since 1945: Power, Politics, and Provincialism (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1981), 261. 2 Ibid., 227-8, 248-51, 263-6. 3 Christina McCall-Newman, Grits: An Intimate Portrait of the Liberal Party (Toronto: Macmillan 1982), 37. 4 "Allmark Minority over 2000," KWS, Tuesday, 15 June 1962. 5 "This Is the Team" (advertisement), KWS, Friday, 15 June 1962. 6 McCall-Newman, Grits, 268. 7 Dennis Morton has discussed the consequences of the reorganization of the party in NDP: The Dream of Power (Toronto: Hakkert 1974), chapters 3 and 4. 8 "This Decade ... and the Next: Protestant Churches," KWS, Saturday, 20 December 1969. 9 "St. Vincent de Paul Society Offers Aid Fast," KWS, Wednesday, 11 October 1967. 10 M. Hale, "A History of the Kingston Committee, Canadian Coalition for Development, Feb. 8, 1970 - Feb. 8, 1971," MS, Kingston, 1971. 11 "Red Cross Homemaker Service - Help Is Just Minutes Away," KWS, Wednesday, 16 August 1967. 12 Kingston Chamber of Commerce, Brief to the Needs and Resources Committee of the Social Planning Council of Kingston and District, Kingston 1967. 13 Social Planning Council of Kingston and District, Needs and Resources Committee, Health, Welfare and Recreation Needs in Kingston (Kingston 1967), 15. 14 Social Planning Council of Kingston and District, Minutes of annual meeting and records, various years. 15 "Instant Success," KWS, Saturday, 15 June 1968. 16 Credit Counselling Service of Kingston, Financial Records, Kingston 1970. 17 "McKinnon Calls for Action," KWS, Tuesday, 1 June 1965.

182 Notes to pages 94-102 18 "Ontario Street Is Waiting," KWS, Friday, 31 December 1965. 19 Friedrich Engels, The Condition of the Working Class in England (St Albans: Panther 1969; orig. pub. in German 1845), 78-9; Herbert Ames, The City below the Hill (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1972; orig. pub. 1897). For a discussion of the political significance or segregation, see Richard Harris, "Residential Segregation and Class Formation in the Capitalist City," Progress in Human Geography 8, no. 1 (1984): 26-49. 20 Michael Harrington, The Other America (New York: Macmillan 1963), 12. 21 "Low Rental Housing Not Answer: Minister," KWS Wednesday, 16 June 1965. 22 "Poverty and Its Companions; They Walk the Streets of Kingston, KWS, Tuesday, 29 June 1965. 23 "An Attack on Poverty Is Needed Now," KWS, Friday, 2 July 1965. 24 "Kingson's Slums n" (editorial), KWS, Friday, 2 July 1965. 25 Michael Dennis and Susan Fish, Problems in Search of a Policy (Toronto: Hakkert 1972), 173-80; Albert Rose, Canadian Housing Policies (19351980) (Toronto: Butterworth 1980), 101-6. 26 cc Minutes, 1 (3 January 1966), 1. 27 "Minutes of a Public Meeting - Calvin Park School," PB Minutes, Tuesday, 30 August 1966. 28 "Calvin Park: A Public Housing Battleground," KWS, Saturday, 14 September 1968. 29 cc Minutes, 1 (2 January 1967), 1. 30 "Minutes of a Public Meeting Held at Centennial Public School", PB Minutes, Thursday, 20 February 1969. 31 Ibid., 3. 32 Ontario Municipal Board, Decision "In the Matter of Section 30 of the Planning Act (RSO 1960 c. 296) and In the Matter of the Application by the Corporation of the City of Kingston for Approval of Its Restricted Area By-Law 6589" passed the 25th day of May 1970. 33 Housing Sub-committee of the Social Planning Council of Kingston and District, Brief on Kingston Housing, Wednesday, 24 September 1969. 34 "Proceedings of a Public Meeting held ... in Simcoe Public School," PB Minutes, Tuesday, 3 February 1970. 35 "Proceedings of a Public Meeting," PB Minutes, Thursday, 28 January 1971, 14. 36 For a fuller description of the public-housing project, see Jeff Piker, "The community - a Socio-Economic Analysis of the Rideau Heights Area," manuscript prepared for the Council on Community Education, St Lawrence College, Kingston, 1977. 37 "Helping Clear Debts in Least Painful Way," KWS, Tuesday, 4 May 1971. 38 Credit Counselling Service of Kingston, Records, Kingston, 1972. 39 Reported by Richard Gwyn in The Northern Magus (Toronto: McClelland and Steward 1980), 100-1.

183 Notes to pages 103-7 40 Laxer's fullest, and most influential statement on the New Left was published as "Americanization of the Canadian Student Movement" in Cloi,e the 49thParallel etc., edited by Ian Lumsden (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1970), 275-86. 41 Interview with John Meister, Kingston, 19 October 1979. 42 Ontario NDP Provincial Election Questionnaire, constituency files, 19661969, Kingston, CCF/NDP of Ontario records (box 42), Douglas Library Archives, Queen's University. 43 I etter from Bill Hunt to John Harney (provincial secretary of the NDP), 'riday, 2 June 1967, constituency correspondence, 1966 CCF/NDP of Ontarioo records, additions (box 42), Douglas Library Archives, Queen's University. 44 See, for example, Barry Hindess's case study of Liverpool, The Decline of Working-Class Politics (St Albans: Paladin 1971). 45 This concern was brought to the surface by the "Waffle" group in 1969/ 70. For discussion see Morton, NDP: The Dream of Power, and Ivan Avakumovic, Socialism in Canada (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart 1978). By the early 1970s it prompted the Ontario NDP to fund a study of community organizing in Trefann Court in order to find out what was going on. See Donald MacDonald's "Note from the NDP" that introduced Graham Fraser's Fighting Back: Urban Renewal in Trefann Court (Toronto: Hakkert 1972), xix-xx. 46 Interview with Joan Newman, Sudbury, Wednesday, 12 March 1980; interview with George Rawlyk, Kingston, Monday, 11 June 1984. 47 Joan Newman, [untitled submission to the Kingston NDP riding association], mimeo, Kingston, December 1967. 48 Joan Newman, Report of the Community Information Service to the General Meeting of the NDP Riding Association, Kingston, Friday, 20 September, 1968. 49 "Trouble Clinic in Operation," KWS, Tuesday, 6 February 1968. 50 Canada, Report of the Chief Electoral Officer (Ottawa: Queen's Printer 1965 and 1968). CHAPTER

SEVEN

1 Joan Newman and Dennis Crossfield, Grant Application to the Company of Young Canadians, Kingston, March 1968. 2 For an example, see Margaret Daly's account of CYC organizing in Calgary, published as chapter 4 of The Revolution Game (Toronto: New Press 1970), 76-100. 3 An apocryphal story is told of Logan Murray. For a short time in the fall of 1969 Murray was made chairman of the field association (of CYC volunteers) for English Canada. He had difficulties with the company bureaucracy, which could not decide whether to approve Murray's request for

184 Notes to pages 108-10 money to buy a typewriter. Taking matters into his own hands, Murray rode up to Ottawa, walked into the head office, unplugged the first IBM he saw, strapped it to the back of his bike, and returned to Kingston in triumph. The story is recorded by Daly in The Revolution Game (177), and is alluded to in Don Brittain's documentary, The Children's Crusade, broadcast on CBC television in 1984. Crossfield's recollection is that the sortie indeed took place, but that Steve Anderson, another local volunteer, was responsible. At one point Crossfield himself threatened to expose company misdeeds to the media. Interview with Dennis Crossfield, Kingston, Monday, 11 June 1984. 4 ATAK, Minutes of first public meeting, Saturday, 10 August 1968. 5 "ATAK Is Formed: Tenants Fight Back," KWS Saturday, 10 August 1968. 6 "ATAK Seeks Rent Control," KWS, Saturday, 24 August 1968. 7 "ATAK Asks for NDP filibuster to Get Housing Action," KWS, Friday, 6 September 1968. 8 Joan Newman Kuyek possesses an undated list of ATAK members that appears to pertain to September 1968. The class position of these members was inferred by the author from occupational data reported in the Kingston City Directory for 1969. For a discussion of the problems of inferring class from occupation see appendix A. 9 For discussion, and the presentation of recent evidence pertaining to Vancouver, see Richard Harris and Ben Moffat, "How Reliable Is the Modern City Directory?" The Canadian Geographer 30, no. 2 (1986): 1548. 10 This contrast may be overstated because of changes that occurred between 1970 and 1979. It seems that in Canada in the 1970s, home ownership levels increased more rapidly among the middle class than the working class. The implication is that in 1970, in terms of the relative ownership position of these two groups, Kingston was not as exceptional as the data presented here would imply. For further discussion of the national picture see Richard Harris, "Class and Housing Tenure in Modern Canada," International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 10, no. 1 (1986): 6786, and "Class Differences in Home Ownership: An Analysis of Recent Canadian Trends," Housing Studies 1, no. 3 (1986): 133-46. 11 Interview with John Smart, Ottawa, Thursday, 4 December 1980; interview with Joan Newman Kuyek, Sudbury, 12-14 March 1980; interview with George Rawlyk, Kingston, Monday, 11 June 1984. 12 "ATAK Asks for NDP Filibuster ..." 13 See, for example, "CUPE backs ATAK move," KWS, Thursday, 12 September 1968; "Union Executive Supports ATAK," KWS, Tuesday, 22 October 1968. 14 "Labour Council to support ATAK," KWS, Wednesday, 18 September 1968. 15 "To Support Low-income Tenants if They Are Evicted," KWS Wednesday, 16 October 1968.

185 Notes to pages 112-16 16 ATAK Minutes, 10 August 1968. 17 ATAK was eventually to make its case most fully in a brief entitled "Rent Control in the City of Kingston," Kingston 1970. For discussion of the issues involved in rent controls, see John R. Miron and J.B. Cullingworth, Rent Control: Impacts on Income Distribution, Affordability and Security of Tenure (Toronto: University of Toronto, Centre for Urban and Community Studies 1983). 18 FLH Minutes 4 (6 February 1969). 19 Ibid. 20 Albert Rose, Canadian Housing Policies (1935-1980) (Toronto: Butterworth 1980), 38. 21 FLH Minutes 22 and 23 (30 June and 2 July 1969); HS Minutes 12 and 13 (8 and 22 July 1969). 22 FLH Minutes 25 (29 July 1969). 23 "ATAK Brief Going to Robert Nixon," KWS, Thursday, 31 October 1968; "Brief Urges Tenants Be Allowed to Bargain," KWS Wednesday, 10 December 1969. 24 Ontario Tenants' Association, "Ontario Tenants' Conference, Kingston, Ontario, June 27, 28, 29" (mimeo), 1968. 25 "New Tenants' Union Drafts Series of Resolutions," KWS, Monday, 30 June 1969. 26 "Queen's Park Marchers Demand New Legislation," KWS, Monday, 6 October 1969. 27 Ontario Law Reform Commission, Interim Report and Report (Toronto: Queen's Printer 1969). For a report and discussion of the 1968 survey, see John Meisel, "Some Bases of Party Support in the 1968 Election," chapter 1 in his Working Papers on Canadian Politics, 2nd ed. (Montreal: McGill-Queen's Press 1975). 28 See, for example, Larry Bourne's observation that "housing is... so firmly embedded in the social, economic and political fabric ... that it cannot be studied in isolation," The Geography of Housing (Toronto: Edward Arnold 1981), 2. I have argued, more specifically, for the need to view housing in the context of the major social divisions of Canadian society, notably those defined by class, ethnicity, and gender. See Richard Harris, "Housing in Canadian Cities: An Agenda and Review of Sources," Urban History Review 14, 3 (1986): 259-66. 29 Letter from six members of the Hewett's Tenants' Union, received by the Social Services Committee of the City of Kingston, Monday, 8 September 1969. 30 Hewett's Tenants' Union, "An Open Letter to John G. Hewett," flyer, Kingston 1969. 31 "Calling Landlord's Bluff," KWS, Saturday, 4 October 1969. 32 "Hewett to Tenants: If You Don't Like It, Move," KWS, Saturday, 30 August 1969.

186 Notes to pages 117-22 33 Observations made by tenants on questionnaires distributed by the Hewett's Tenants' Union, August 1969. 34 FLH Minutes 5 (20 February 1969). 35 FLH Minutes 29 (28 August 1969). 36 "Hewett's repairmen Are Busy, Busy, Busy," KWS, Friday, 10 October 1969. 37 FLH Minutes 29 (28 August 1969). 38 "He's not disturbed," KWS, Tuesday, 2 September 1969. 39 ss Minutes 14 (21 October 1969). 40 Ibid. 11 (8 September 1969). 41 cc Minutes 5 (20 February 1970). 42 cc Minutes 37 (23 October 1969). 43 FLH Minutes 27 (21 August 1969). 44 cc Minutes 13 (22 June 1970). 45 "Second Tenants' Union Formed in Kingston," KWS, Wednesday, 30 April 1969; "New Tenants' Group Names Interim Slate," KWS, Thursday, 15 May 1969. 46 United Electrical Workers-Fairbanks Morse Strike Committee, "Strike Bulletin," flyer, Kingston, Monday 21 April 1969. 47 J. Bernstein, P. Morton, S. Seese and M. Wood, "Sisters, Brothers, Lovers ... Listen ...," in Women Unite! (Toronto: Women's Educational Press 1972), 39. 48 Interview with Bronwen Wallace, Kingston, 12 June 1984. 49 "Understanding the Place," This Paper 1 (July 1969). 50 "Editorial," This Paper 1, 1 (July 1969). 51 For a feminist statement that was in advance of its time, see Peggy Morton's "You Have Nothing to Lose but Your Chains," This Paper 1,6 (September 1969). 52 See This Paper 1, 1 (July 1969) and 1, 9 (November 1969). 53 For a discussion of the role of media in community organizing see John Hannigan, "Mass Media and Community Development - The Canadian Experience," in D.A. ChekW (ed.), Participatory Democracy in Action: International Profiles of Community Development (New Delhi: Vikas Press 1979). 54 "Landlords Are Organising," KWS, Monday, 26 August 1968. 55 HS Minutes 9 (12 May 1970). 56 "Tenant Forum Active," KWS, Monday, 17 August 1970. 57 HS Minutes 2 (27 January 1970). 58 FLH Minutes 14 (21 May 1970). 59 HS Minutes 2 (27 January 1970). 60 Ibid. 11 (23 June 1970). 61 "Replacement Not Likely for Rest of Term," KWS, Thursday, 17 September 1970.

187 Notes to pages 123-9 62 "Portions of Interim Report Unfair, Says Mayor Swain," KWS, Friday, 6 June 1969. 63 "Landlord-Tenant Was Less than a Hit," KWS, Monday, 30 June 1969. 64 HS Minutes 4 (24 February 1970). 65 "Battle Continues: The Landlord versus the Tenant," KWS, Tuesday, 24 March 1970. 66 Letter from Robert Gordon, chairman of the Sydenham Ward Tenants' and Ratepayers' Association to the City of Kingston Planning Board, Kingston, Tuesday, 16 June 1970. 67 PB Minutes of special meeting (19 May 1970), 2. 68 "On the Water front" (special issue) This Paper, 8 May 1970. 69 "Proceedings of a Public Meeting held ... in Sydenham Public School," PB Minutes (16 June 1970). 70 FLH Minutes 6 (12 February 1970). 71 Ibid., 18 (27 August 1970). 72 "Quiet Council Meeting - Then the Roof Fell in," KWS, Tuesday, 1 September 1970. 73 "ATAK Rent Control Protest Causes Council to Adjourn" (front-page headline), KWS, Tuesday, 1 September 1970. CHAPTER

EIGHT

1 "A Statement from the Editors," Insight 1, 1 (August 1971). 2 " 'Tenants afraid,' spokesmen charge," KWS, Wednesday, 6 November 1974. 3 For a review of the extent to which gentrification had proceeded in Canadian metropolitan areas by the early 1980s, see David Ley, "Gentrification in Canadian Inner Cities: Patterns, Analysis, Impacts and Policy," Department of Geography, University of British Columbia (mimeo). 4 "Sydenham Ward. The Power or the Glory: A Neighbourhood at War," KWS Magazine, Saturday, 20 October 1979, 7-10. 5 "Mr. T. now has a job," KWS, Saturday, 20 April 1968. 6 "Welfare Warning Given by Panelist," KWS, Wednesday, June 1970. 7 Richard A. Cloward and Frances Fox Piven, Regulating the Poor (New York: Vintage 1971) and their Poor People's Movements (New York: Random House 1979), 264-361. 8 D.C. Walker, "The Poor People's Conference: A Study of the Relationship between the Federal Government and Low Income Interest Groups in Canada," MA thesis, Department of Political Studies, Queen's University. 9 "Unemployed Picket E.J. Benson's Office," KWS, Monday, 25 January 1971. 10 North Kingston Development Committee, Annual Report, Kingston 1973, 1. 11 Idem, Minutes of meeting, Thursday, 15 November 1973. 12 "Survey of Police Protection Termed 'roundhouse swing,' " KWS, Friday, 23 October 1970; "Bus Users Air Complaints," KWS, Friday, 26 February

188 Notes to pages 130-5 1971; "Bobbi Speaks Out," KWS, Tuesday, 16 February 1971. 13 "Lone Kingston Mother Ignores Rain to Protest Poverty Committee Work," London Free Press, Saturday, 26 June 1971. 14 "Union Members Oppose Request," KWS, Wednesday, 19 April 1972. 15 "Ratepayers to Form Association," KWS, Tuesday, 5 September 1972. 16 "Irene Mooney - the Public's Watchdog at City Hall," KWS, Thursday, 11 October 1979. 17 "Area NDP Motions Approved," KWS, Monday, 18 November 1968. 18 For a history of the Ontario Waffle, see Robert A. Hackett, "Pie in the Sky: A History of the Ontario Waffle," Canadian Dimension (special Waffle edition) 15, 1 and 2 (October/November 1980). 19 " Tower to the People/ Says Watkins," KWS, Thursday, 12 November 1970. 20 Michael Goldrick, "The Anatomy of Urban Reform in Toronto," City Magazine 3 (1978), 37; Bill Freeman, "John Sewell and the New Urban Reformers Come to Power," in Dimitrios Roussopoulos (ed.), The City and Radical Social Change (Montreal: Black Rose Books 1982), 287. 21 ATAK, "Tenants' Unions: The Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston," Kingston, June 1968, 3. 22 Idem, Newsletter, Sunday, 27 October 1968. 23 For a discussion of the effects of the media upon the New Left, see Todd Gitlin, The Whole World is Watching: Mass Media in the Making and Unmaking of the New Left (Berkeley: University of California Press 1980); M. Raboy, Movements and Messages: Media and Radical Politics in Quebec (Toronto: Between the Lines 1984). 24 See, for example, "Joan Newman Gives a Damn," Weekend Magazine 19, no. 12 (22 March 1969), 12-5; "Jean [sic], 26, is Alderman of Kingston's Poor," Toronto Daily Star Saturday, 22 February 1969. The Star's reporter described Newman as "the youngest, prettiest and only single member of Kingston city council." 25 Interview with Joan Newman Kuyek, Sudbury, 12-14 March 1980. 26 Peggy Morton and Myrna Wood, "1848 and All That, or Whatever Happened to the Working Class" and "Addenda - Analysis of Kingston and the KCP," New Left Committee Bulletin 1, 1 (November 1967), 9-12, 15-17. 27 Ibid., 16. 28 Martin Loney, "A Political Economy of Citizen Participation," in The Canadian State, ed. by Leo Panitch (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1977), 461. See also Lome Huston, "The Flowers of Power: A Critique of OFY and LIP Programs," Our Generation 8, no. 4 (1972). 29 "Opportunities for Youth Program in Kingston," KWS, Friday, 16 June 1972.

189 Notes to pages 136-41 30 See CMHC, "Evaluation of the Neighbourhood Improvement Program," report, Ottawa 1977; Albert Rose, Canadian Housing Policies (19351980) (Toronto: Butterworth 1980), 57-8. 31 M.E. Johnson and D.E. Baxter, "Citizen Participation in Urban Renewal," MA report, School of Urban and Regional Planning, Queen's University 1974, 73. 32 Ibid., 98-9. 33 Minutes of a public meeting held at Central Public School, PB Minutes (18 February 1974), 12. 34 PB Minutes (7 May 1974). Fyfe expressed his views of the NIP project in "They Said It Couldn't Be Done: The Neighbourhood Improvement Program in Kingston," Housing and People 8, no. 1 (1977): 21-23. For a less positive view, see C. Lewis and J. Parr, "Kingston - Rehab and Slow Growth Form an Uneasy Partnership," Impact 3, no. 4 (1980): 14-15. 35 Based on names reported in the minutes of a public meeting, Monday, 18 February 1974, and on tenure information reported in Might's Kingston City Directory, Kingston 1975. 36 Rent inflation was an unusual effect of REAP. See "Rehabilitation: The Implications of REAP," Impact 6, no. 1 (1983): 7-10. 37 Interview with John Smart, Ottawa, Thursday, 4 December 1980. 38 "Expressway, "The Left" Took a Beating," KWS, Tuesday, 8 December 1970. 39 "City May Submit Brief to Provincial Group," KWS, Thursday, 11 November 1971. 40 "Job Picture Is Excellent," KWS, Friday, 16 July 1965. 41 "Employment Picture Not Bright," KWS, Thursday, 4 January 1968; "Employment Picture Bleak," KWS, Thursday, 12 November 1970, p. 1. 42 City of Kingston Social Services Department, [Report on General Welfare Assistance], 1970, table 2, 2. 43 Stella Buck, Brief to the Needs and Resources Committee of the Social Planning Council of Kingston and District, Kingston 1966. 44 ss Minutes 5 (18 March 1969). 45 HS Minutes 5 (4 March 1969). 46 cc Minutes 8 (29 March 1971). 47 cc Minutes 5 (22 February 1971). 48 City of Kingston Social Services Department, [Report], 1970, 3. 49 Ibid., 4. 50 "Do Young People Want to Work?" KWS, Saturday, 2 October 1971. 51 "Welfare Assistance: The Nightmare May Be over," KWS, Wednesday, 13 December 1972. 52 "How a 'Saving' Costs You Money," KWS, Wednesday, 13 December 1972. 53 "Do Young People ...?"

190 Notes to pages 142-8 54 "Welfare Costs are 'Out of Control' Says City Alderman," KWS, Friday, 18 June 1971. 55 "Welfare Numbers Drop; Spending Down a Little," KWS, Wednesday, 14 February 1973. 56 "Report Started Controversy," KWS 4 December 1970. 57 " 'The Mind Can Absorb Only What the Seat Can Endure,' " KWS, Friday, 8 January 1971. 58 "People to Back Session," KWS, Thursday, 10 December 1970. 59 When the party moved to the right in the 1980s, she came to be seen as more "progressive" than "conservative." 60 For an interpretation of the significance of the FLQ crisis to the Canadian New Left see Myrna Kostash, Long Way from Home: The Story of the Sixties Generation in Canada (Toronto: Lorimer 1980), 191-239. It had a particularly significant effect in Montreal. See Dimitrios Roussopoulos, "Introduction: From Then to Now," in his The City, 24. C H A P T E R

N I N E

1 For discussion of the role of Protestantism, and especially Methodism, in the English working-class movements of the nineteenth century, see Edward P. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1968), 385-440. On the Canadian social gospel, see Richard Allen, The Social Passion: Religion and Social Reform in Canada, 1914-1928 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1981). 2 Russell Hanson, The Democratic Imagination in America (Princeton: Princeton University Press 1985), 293-328. 3 Translation. Dick Howard, "An Interview with C. Castoriadis" Telos 23 (1975): 131-55. 4 Interview with Joan Newman Kuyek, Sudbury, 12-14 March 1980. 5 Robert Michels, Political Parties: A Sociological Study of the Oligarchical Tendencies of Modern Democracy (New York: Macmillan 1968), 364. Michels' general thesis, the "iron law of oligarchy," has been the subject of considerable debate. See, for example, the discussion by Seymour M. Lipset in his introduction to the above edition. The specific point that some type of leadership is indispensable in large organizations is, however, quite generally conceded. See, for example, C.B. MacPherso, The Life and Times of Liberal Democracy (Toronto: Oxford University Press 1977), 94-8, and Hanson's critique of the New Left in The Democratic Imagination in America, 305-9. 6 For a brief but penetrating discussion of the relationship between regionalism and class in Canadian politics, see Jane Jenson's "Class and Politics," in The Canadian Encyclopedia (Edmonton: Hurtig 1984), 351. The devel-

191 Notes to pages 149-58 opment and character of Canadian regionalism is elucidated by R. Cole Harris in "Regionalism and the Canadian Archipeligo," in L. McCann (ed.) Heartland and Hinterland: A Geography of Canada (Scarborough: Prentice-Hall 1982). 7 Interview with Tony Hyde, secretary of the Student Union for Peace Action, 1965-6, Ottawa, 13 June 1984. The summer project of 1965 was given favourable mention in the New Left's political manifesto, "Ping Pong Politics or a Critique of Parliamentary Politics," SUPA, Research, Information and Publications Project, Toronto 1965, 6. It also received a great deal of coverage in the SUPA Newsletter between 1965 and 1967. ATAK is mentioned favourably by M. Kostash in Long Way from Home: The Story of the Sixties Generation in Canada (Toronto: Lorimer 1980), 19. 8 See J. Bernstein, P. Morton, S. Seese, and M. Wood, "Sisters, Brothers, Lovers... Listen," in Women Unite! (Toronto: Canadian Women's Educational Press 1972), 31-9. 9 On Toronto, see Michael Goldrick, "The Anatomy of Urban Reform in Toronto," City Magazine 3 (1978), 29-39; and Warren Magnusson, "Toronto," in Magnusson and Andrew Sancton (eds), City Politics in Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1983), 94-139. On Montreal, see the articles by Roussopolous, Milner, Schecter, and Raboy collected in Dimitrious Roussopoulos (ed.), The City and Radical Social Change (Montreal: Black Rose 1982). 10 In Toronto, a notable example of an urban reformer turned Tory politician was David Crombie. Most reformers, of course, came from the left side of the political spectrum. See, for example, Donald J.H. Higgins, "Progressive City Politics and the Citizen Movement: A Status Report," City Magazine Annual (1981), 85. Within that context, quite broad alliances were made. 11 In some respects Vancouver was another exception. See Donald Gutstein, "Vancouver," in Magnusson and Sancton, City Politics in Canada. 12 See Bernstein, et al., "Sister, Brothers ..." For an analysis of the American situation, see S. Evans, Personal Politics: The Roots of Women's Liberation in the Civil Rights Movement and the New Left (New York: A. A. Knopf 1978). A P P E N D I X

A

1 For a review, and presentation of evidence, see Richard Harris and Ben Moffatt, "How Reliable Is the Modern City Directory?" The Canadian Geographer 30, no. 2 (1986): 154-8.

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Index

Ackley, Gayle, 72 Alcan, in Kingston, 32, 34, 61, 62, 95, 139; location of plant, 41; relation to local government, 45—6, 132, 149; where workers live, 63 Allmark, "Bennie": on city council, 45; as MP, 48, 89, 90 Alma Mater Society, Queen's University, 74, 110, 121 Ames, Herbert, 94 anarchism, 5, 145 anti-war movements, 52; Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, 7, 54; Combined Universities Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, 54-6; Vietnam, 13 Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston, 120; formation, 107-8; social base, 108-10; runs candidates, 110— 12; and rent controls, 112-14, 121-3; and provincial parties, 115; and Hewett's Tenants' Union, 116; and Community

Canada, compared with other countries: social movement of 1960s, 10; national identity, 12; political tradition, 12; New Left, 54 Canadian Commonwealth Federation: in Canada, baby boom, 6, 50, 83 32, 52, 55, 89; in Benson, Edgar: electoral Kingston, 35, 48, 89support for, 89, 90, 91. See also New 102, 143 Democratic Party; blacks: music of, 51; socialism segregation of, 58—9 Canadian Industries Brockville, 32, 42, 48; Limited (GIL), location in relation to Millhaven, 32-3 Kingston, 33 Canadian Locomotive Brown, Carolyn, 102 Works, 45, 85, 119, Brown, Lome, 102 123, 139 Buck, Stella, 78-80, 92-3, Canadian Union of Public 129, 139, 140, 141-2. Employees, Kingston See also Kingston local, 110 Housing Authority bureaucracy, 6, 9. See also Capital, 26 Castells, Manuel, 16 Kingston Housing Castoriadis, Cornelius, Authority; Kingston 146 Planning Board Cataraqui Ward: location, 41; social composition, Calvin Park, 66; 67; voter turnout, 97, settlement, 40; location, 100. See Also North End 41; public housing in, Catholic Church, in 96, 98, 100-1; Kingston: community ratepayers' association, work, 91 96-101. See also west The Caypo, 52 end Information Service, 119; in decline, 126; political strategy, 1323;leadership, 147; effects, 150 Aunger, Sandra, 126

194 Index Chamber of Commerce, in Kingston: relation to local government, 43, 46, 47, 147; attitude to poor, 92. See also small businesses churches, in Kingston: in local politics, 97; community involvement, 101. See alo Catholic Church; Salvation Army; United Church Churchill Crescent, 30, 62 City Directory, as source of data, 60, 61, 109, 15761 City Magazine, 16 Central Mortgage and Housing Corporation, in Kingston, 123; action, 44; survey, 83; programs, 114 Clark, R, 121-2 class: in Canada, 16-20, 59, 152-4; in Kingston: class composition, compared with other cities, 21, 39; amount and pattern of segregation, 59-66. See also corporate interests; interests; middle class; poor; residential segregation; small businesses; working class class consciousness, 19, 160 class theory: relation to social movements, 3; defined, 18-19, 26-7, 28; relation to urban reform, 18-20, 148-50; measurement of, 157— 60 Cohen, Matt, 32, 56 Cold War, 5, 7, 17 Combined Universities Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CUCND),

54—6; origins, 54; in Kingston 56—7 Communists, 6, 8; and Kingston, 38, 75, 147 Community Information Service, 106, 119, 120, 143; formation, 104-5; in decline, 128-33 community organizing, by the New Left: theory, arguments for, 8—9; 55—6, 134; relation to political parties, 103; in Canada, 56—7; relation to CYC, 71-2, 107; in Kingston, as a political strategy, 134. See also Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston; extraparliamentary action; Kingston Community Project; New Democratic Party; New Left; participatory democracy Company of Young Canadians, 10-11, 101; and community organizing, 71-2; and Kingston organizers, 107, 134, 135. See also New Left co-optation. See state corporate interests: and the state, 4, 9; in Kingston, 85 The Crackwalker, 73 crime, in Kingston: in the North End, 73-4; domestic assaults, 129 Croll Commission (on Poverty): and Kingston, 78, 115, 130 Cross, Dan, 36, 120 Crossfield, Dennis, 72, 74, 76-7, 78, 92, 107, 152 Curtis, C.A., 31, 80 Davis tannery, 37-8, 59, 120

day care, 112 democracy: theories of, 4-5; nature of, 3-5, 26, 145. See also local government; participation; participatory democracy; state democratic ideal, 4-5, 145 passim; in Canada, 101 Democratic party (United States), 6, 9-10; and SDS, 55; and Liberal party in Canada, 71 developers: relation to local government, 15— 16, 45, 150; in Canada, 15—17; in Kingston, 45; in Kingston Township, 45 Diefenbaker, John: in Canadian politics, 45, 54, 88; in Kingston, 48 Donnison, David, 42 Downtown Businessmen's Association, in Kingston, 46 Douglas, Tommy, 57 Drache, Danny, in Kingston New Left, 56, 57 Dredge and Dock Company, Kingston, 45, 85, 123, 139 Dupont, 32, 33 Earl, Marion, 43, 68 eastern Ontario, 32, 73 ecology movement, 155 elections: federal, in Canada (1968), 9; federal, in Kingston, 48, 90-1; results in 1958, 45, 48; in 1962 and 1963, 88-9; in 1965, 89; in 1968, 143; in 1972, 143; results by neighbourhood, 89—91, 162-3; civic turnout, in Kingston, 97; results in 1966, 97; in 1968, 112;

195 Index in 1970, 126. See also political parties; social movements Eleen, John, 93, 94 Elizabeth Fry Society, 42 Elliott, Lin, 86 employers: multinationals, 32—3; small industries, 37—8, 45,85, 119, 123, 139. See also Davis Tannery; hospitals; penitentiaries; Queen's University Engels, F, 26; on Manchester, 94 Enright, "King," 117-18, 121, 124, 139 ethnic groups: in Marxist theory, 27; in urban politics, 18; attitudes of organized labour towards, 36; in Kingston, 36; in Canada, 148 Expo '67, 12 extra-parliamentary action: in theory, 103; and NDP, 103-5, 106, 131-2, 147, 153; and ATAK, 119-20; in Kingston, 133. See also Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston; community organizing; New Democratic Party; New Left; participatory democracy family: problems of, in North End, 73; counselling service, 93, 101 Fell, Lloyd, 38 Flint, Roy, 110 Foster, John, 28 Fray (Mayor), 93-4, 95, 96,97 Free Socialist Movement, 76, 121

Front de Liberation de Quebec (FLQ), 11, 1434 Frontenac Ward: location, 41; social composition, 67; politics of, 90; voter turnout, 97. See also North End Fyfe, Stuart, 136 Galbraith, John Kenneth, 25 gender roles, within New Left, 69 gentrification, 127 geography, as a factor in politics, 4, 20, 22, 25. See also interests; neighbourhood; synthesis Giddens, Anthony, 28 Gitlin, Todd, 56 Good, T.H.: in 1955,31, 42; in 1965, 68, 94 Gordon, Walter, 57 "Grey Power," 155 Gwyn, Richard, 10, 12 Hagerman (Alderman), 142 Hare (Alderman), 93 Harrington, Michael, 94 Harvey, David, 24, 25 Hathaway, Tom, 57 Hayden, Tom: and community oranizing, 57; associated with KCP, 57,66 Hazlett, John, 143 Headway Corporation, 99 Hellyer, Paul, 115 Helwig, David, 30, 75 Hewett, John: properties owned by, 81, 82, 113; opposition to, 68, 11618; response of, 82, 116, 117, 122. See also Hewett's Tenants' Union Hewett's Tenants' Union, 116-18, 120, 128

Higgins, Donald, 18 High School Union of Students Kingston, 76 Hobsbawm, E.J., 25 Hofstelter, Reverend, 91 home owners: interests of, 14, 95; in Kingston: numbers of, 32, 35; cost of homes, 35; political activity of, 44, 86, 96 passim; appeal to interests of, 94—5. See also Calvin Park; Marker's Acres; North End; Rideau Heights; Sydenham Ward homemaking training 79 Hornbeek, Betty, 104 Hospital, Janette Turner, 30 hospitals, in Kingston, 40, 54, 78, 150 housing, in Kingston: conditions, 32, 82, 87, 97; costs, 35; vacancies, 83; emerging crisis of, 21,94-5,97, 122-3; and community organizing, 84, 106; emergency, 114—15. See also housing committees; housing tenure; public housing; rents; tenants housing by-laws, 83, 117 housing committees: of City Council in 1955, 42; in 1965, 93; in 1968, 113-14; in 1969, 121-2; after 1970, 127; of New Left, 84; of Social Planning Council, 99 housing tenure: economic and political significance, 18, 20, 29, 36; in Kingston, 21, 36; tenure composition, 80, 108-9; political effects, 69, 86, 106-7 passim, 122-3, 136-7. See also

196 Index Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston; home owners; tenants Hutchinson, Jim, 72 Hutchinson, Lex, 72, 74 immigrants, and organized labour, 36—7 incomes. See working class industries. See employers Inglis, Lily: in Social Planning Council, 99, 142 Innis, Harold, 25 insight, 126 interests: defined by place versus class, 67, 85, 86, 122, 148-9; defined by place versus tenure, 86; defined by class versus tenure, 19, 122-3 Issues, 57-8 Kalin (Professor), 122 Katznelson, Ira, 24, 28 Kennedy, John, 9, 51, 71, 88 Keyes, Ken, 47, 48; in Social Planning Council, 92; in provincial politics, 48 Kingscourt, 66; location, 41; social composition of, 63, 65 Kingston: regional setting, 33; compared with other cities: incomes, 34; housing, 35, 150; ethnic composition, 36; class structure, 39-40; voluntary work, 42; urban redevelopment, 45; party politics, 48, 89, 153; residential segregation, 59-61, 151, 154; housingtenure composition, 80; rents, 80-1; welfare levels, 78-9, 138-9, 141; NDP-Waffle

support, 103-4, 150, 153; tenant organizing, 115—16; community organizing, 149—50, 152; size, as a political factor, 151; significance of events in, 149—56 Kingston Builders Exchange, 38-9. See small businesses Kingston Coalition for Development, 92 Kingston Collegiate and Vocational Institute, 73, 76 Kingston Community Project (KCP): origins, 56-7; actions in 1965, 65—9; actions in 1966, 74-6; effects, 69-70, 119, 149-50; and local government, 69; and Labour Council, 69. See also New Left Kingston Housing Authority: units managed by, 43; management practices under Marion Earl, R. Quenneville, 68, 119; challenged, 119. See also public housing Kingston Labour Council, 31, 32, 35, 69; political orientation of, 38; in local politics, 43, 47; policy toward public housing, 95; and rent controls, 121; and urban renewal, 123; and welfare poor, 129, 130. See also working class Kingston Planning Board: involved in urban renewal in Rideau Heights, 43, 45; and in Sydenham Ward, 85—6, 123^1; involved in Rideau Heights public housing, 98-100; and in Calvin Park, 96-8.

See also participation; public housing; urban renewal Kingston Rental Property Owners' Association, 121 Kingston Township, 31, 40; location, 41; politics of, 45; relations with City of Kingston, 99 Kingston Whig-Standard, politics of, 47, 70, 89, 94-5, 116 Kiwanis, 93 Knot Hole, 53 Kostash, Myrna, 10 Kuyek, Don, 84, 104, 113 Kuyek, Joan. See Newman, Joan labour movement, 4, 7-8, 9, 10. See also Kingston Labour Council; working class Labour party (Britain), 6, 9 landlords: relation to local governments in Canada, 20; relation to Kingston City Council, 83, 118, 122-3; geographic concentration of large landlords, 82; attacked, 118-19, 120; organize, 121; in local political coalition, 123, 149. See also Hewett, John; small businesses land-use conflict, 14—15. See also public housing; urban renewal Laxer, James: ideas, 102; activity in Kingston, 102, 131-2; and Waffle, 131-2 leadership, role in New Left of, 76, 84-5, 110, 131-3, 146, 147, 152 Levitt, Cyril, 10 Liberal party: in Britain, 9; in Canada, 9, 54-5,

197 Index 101-2, 143-4; and the social movement of the 1960s, 10; in Kingston, 147; compared with Canada, 22; in local politics, 47; electoral support for, 48, 88-91, 102, 103, 143. See also Benson, Edgar; Keyes, Ken; Pearson, Lester; Trudeau, Pierre liberalism, 3, 6, 9, 11, 13, 56. See also Liberal party Limited Dividend Housing, 114 local government: as local state, 169n30; in Canada, 15—16; relation to class interests, 19— 20; relation to housing tenure and residential segregation in Kingston: structure and accountability of, 113— 14, 118-19; relation to class interests, 113, 118, 123-5, 150; challenged by New Left, 118-19; 124-5; relation to suburbs, 139-40; relation to province, 132, 140. See also Kingston Planning Board; participation; welfare programs Local Initiatives Program (LIP): political effects of, 135, 141 local state, 169n30. See also local government Lorimer, James, 16, 17 Lower, Arthur, 48 McCall-Newman, Christina, 88 McCann, Marie, 84 McDermott, Dennis: involvement in KCP, 50, 57,72 MacDonald, Flora, 90, 143

Macdonald, Sir John A. 48; boulevard, 45; park, 48, 51 MacDougall, J. Lorne, 137, 139, 142 McKelvey, Don, 76 MacKinnon, John, 35, 48; and KCP, 69, 70 Maclean's, 59 MacPherson, C.B., 3, 25 Maeots, Krista, 102 Magnusson, Warren, 17 Marker's Acres: location, 41; social composition of, 63, 98; public housing in, 98; ratepayer association, 98. See also Rideau Heights Martin, Harry: as minister, 53, 54, 142-3; in Social Planning Council, 54; in community, 92, 99; in local politics, 54, 122 Marx, Karl, 26; read by Student Christian Movement, 53 Marxism: theory of class, 18-19, 26, 27, 28; and synthetic method, 25, 26, 28; strengths and weaknesses 22, 26-8; in Kingston, 53 Matthews, Ken, 68, 117, 148; political views, 67, 118, 122; and Kingston Community Project, 69, 75; and public housing, 99 Matusow, Alan, 10, 11 Mayo, Howard, 121, 122, 124 media, and the New Left, 11, 120-1, 133. See also newspapers Meisel,John, 122 Meister, John, 110, 152; as NDP candidate, 103, 104; as alderman, 11, 112, 114, 115, 119, 126, 137, 139

Michels, Robert, 147 middle class, theory of: in Canada, involvement in New Left, 6, 8, 50; involvement in city politics, 19-20, 47-8; in Kingston: composition of, 39, 40, 52, 59; numbers of, 39-40; way of life, 40-1, 52; political attitudes of, 50, 52, 89-91, 94-5, 100-1; segregation of, 60—1; neighbourhoods of settlement, 61-5; involvement in local politics, 86, 127-8, 150; in voluntary work, 91— 2; interests of, 94, 101; and tenants' organization, 108; tenure composition of, 108, 109; in political coalition, 123, 149. See also Calvin Park; students; Sydenham Ward; west end Miller, Lois, 127 Mills, C. Wright, 25; read by Student Christian Movement, 53 Mills, W.T. (Mayor), 30, 47 Montreal: location in relation to Kingston, 33; urban reform in, 17, 151 Montreal street, 30, 62, 68, 74, 104 Mooney, Irene, 130-1 Morton, Peggy: in KCP, 56-7, 69, 120; in women's movement, 119, 120, 150; views on community organizing in 1967,134 Mothers United for Maximum Safety, 72 Muirhead, George, 43-4 Murray, Logan, 76, 104, 152 Murut. 75

198 Index music: role in youth movement, 51-2, 72 nationalism, its relation to reform: in Canada, 12— 13, 17; in Quebec, 12, 17 Needle's Eye, 75, 76, 120, 147 neighbourhood: and Marxist theory, 27; political significance, 18, 29; as a basis of political interests, 67, 86. See also geography; interests; neighbourhoods in Kingston; residential segregation Neighbourhood Improvement Programme, 135-7 neighbourhoods in Kingston, 61—5. See also under North End; Sydenham Ward; west end New Democratic Party: in Canada, 9; and social movement of 1960s, 10; nature of, 12; national electoral support for, 89, 153; in Kingston, 21, 35, 152; electoral support for, 48, 89, 102, 103, 1045, 143, 153; resurgence in late 1960s, 102-5; and New Left, 102-5, 110; and extraparliamentary activity, 103-5, 106, 131-2, 147; and Community Information Service, 104-5, 110; and tenants' organizations, 109-10; and urban renewal, 124, 127; political strategy, 1312; in local politics, 1312. See also Canadian

Commonwealth Federation, Douglas, Tommy; extraparliamentary action; Fell, Lloyd; Meister, John; Waffle New Democratic Youth, 55 New Left: in general, 5, 56—8, 88; social origins, 6; ideology, 6—7; organizations, 7; strategy, 7-8; influence, 9; as part of social movement of 1960s, 913; in Canada, 10-13, 56-8, 88, 71-2, 144, 145, 146; and the Waffle, 10; and the state, 10-11; regional variations, 55—6; in Kingston, 21; social origins, 22, 56-7; community organizing, 56-7, 65-70, 74-6, 845, 104-5, 107, 119-20; political strategy, 69, 132-7, 146, 155; leadership, 76, 84-5, 110, 131-3, 146, 147, 152; and CYC, 107; and NDP, 109-10; effects: by 1965, 76; by 1967, 87; by 1968, 104, 105; by 1970, 131, 147-56; role of alternative media, 120-1. See also Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston; Community Information Service; extra-parliamentary action; Kingston Community Project New Left Committee Bulletin, 134 New Left (and Universities) Review, 7 Newman, Joan, 37, 80, 132; political views: in 1965, 72; in 1968, 107, 110; in 1969, 122, 146;

in Kingston Community Project, 72-5, 76-7; and housing committee, 84— 5; and NDP, 87, 103-4; and Community Information Service, 104—5; and Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston, 107, 110, 112; as alderwoman, 110, 112, 114, 115, 118, 119, 122, 124; and Ontario Tenants' Association, 115; as leader, 133, 152, 153. Newman, Peter, 59 newspapers, political views of in Kingston: Kingston WhigStandard, 47, 70, 89, 94-5, 116; Plymouth Square, 76; Queen's Quarterly, 102; This Paper Belongs to the People, 120 North Bay, community organizing in, 56, 57 North End: industries, 37, 66, 73; activity of churches, 53-4, 92; urban renewal in, 42^4 passim; politics of, 48, 67, 90-1, 104-5, 130, 136, 153; social composition, 58, 60, 61-5, 66, 73, 136; community organizing in, 66-70, 86, 104-5, 107, 129, 130, 136; young people of, 76, 83; ratepayer associations, 85, 86, 130; civic electoral turnout, 97; neighbourhoodimprovement project, 136-7. See also Cataraqui Ward; Frontenac Ward; Kingscourt; Riverview

199 Index Court; Rideau Heights; St Lawrence Ward North Kingston Development Committee, 129 Ontario Housing Corporation, 95, 96, 97 Ontario Law Reform Commission, 115, 121 Ontario Municipal Board, 15; settles Kingston issue, 98 Ontario Tenants' Association: formed in Kingston, 115—16 Ontario Ward: location, 41; social composition, 67; voter turnout, 97; civic elections in, 112, 137. See also west end Opportunities for Youth: political effect of, 135 optimism, political significance of, 5 Our Generation (Against Nuclear War), 7, 54, 85 pacifism, 5. See also antiwar movement Pape, Art: in SUPA, 56; associated with Kingston, 57; and Company of Young Canadians, 71-2, 107 Parker, Patt, 72 participation in planning, 148, 155; in 1950s, 31, 43-5; in 1960s: role of New Left, 85-6; public housing, 101; in 1970s: neighbourhood improvement project, 135—6. See also public housing; urban reform participatory democracy, 3, 9, 146, 147-8, 1546. See also extraparliamentary action; New Left parties. See political parties

Pearson, Lester, 71, 77; visits Kingston, 47, 89 penitentiaries, in Kingston, 40 Piven, Frances F., 71 The Place, 120, 126 planning. See Kingston Planning Board; participation; public housing; urban renewal; zoning Plymouth Square, 76, 120 pluralism, 4, 22, 25 political parties: perceived failures of, 6-7, 55, 103; in Canada versus United States, 102; in local government, 47; role of, 103. See also elections; extraparliamentary action; New Democratic Party; Democratic party; Labour party; Liberal party; Progressive Conservative party political strategy, 106 politics, nature of, 3-4, 25, 76, 145, 155; political strategy, 106. See also community organizing; extraparliamentary action; participatory democracy Poison Park, 40, 61; location, 41 poor people: in politics, 3, 7-8, 19; in Canada: changing composition of, 7-8; in Kingston: attitudes of, 57-8; segregation of, 58, 60, 61-2, 63-5; attitudes towards, 60. See also poverty; tenants; welfare recipients; working class populism, 3, 5, 146-7, 155 poverty: definition of, 63-5, 77-8; in

Kingston, 70, 94-5; as a political issue, 87, 94— 5. See also poor people Power, Ralph, 104 Princess Street, 46, 62; location, 41; as social divide, 54, 61, 63, 66, 82 Progressive Conservative party: in Canada, 13, 55; and social movement of the 1960s, 10, 13; in Kingston: in local politics, 47; electoral support for, 48, 88-91, 143. See also Allmark, "Bennie"; Diefenbaker, John; MacDonald, Flora property. See developers; housing tenure; landlords Protestantism, 146 public housing, in Canada: politics of, 17; in Kingston, 43; location, 63; numbers of units, 64; need for, 84, 95, 99; support for, 95, 114; opposition to, 95-101; tenants organize, 119, 126-7. See also Kingston Housing Authority; Limited Dividend Housing; Ontario Housing Corporation; Riverview Court; Rideau Heights Quebec, 17, 56 Queen Elizabeth Collegiate and Vocational Institute, 73, 74, 76 Queen's University, 40, 61; size, 50—1; impact on Kingston, 40, 51, 127, 150-1, 152; professors: numbers of, 39, 40; home life, 40-1;

200 support for NDP, 42, 48, 102-3; in voluntary agencies, 42, 92; support for Liberals, 89; conservatives, 137; students: 52, 135, 136; numbers, 51, 83, 150; background, 52; attitudes, 53; voluntary work of, 53-4; community organizing, 56-7, 65-7, 68, 104, 108-9, 113, 118-19; student ghetto, 61, 645, 83; poverty of, 64; Alma Mater Society, 74, 110, 121; in political coalition, 149 Radicals. See New Left; social movements; urban reform Ratepayer and Residents Associations. See Calvin Park; Marker's Acres; North End; Rideau Heights; Sydenham Ward Rawlyk, George, 102 Red Cross, 92 "Red Tories," 13 reformers. See liberalism; social movements; urban reform religion: role in Canadian politics, 52; role in Kingston politics, 52 passim, 91-2, 146. See also Catholic church, Martin, Harry; Salvation Army; Student Christian Movement; Thrasher, Brien; United Church rent controls: arguments for and against, 11213; Ontario legislation, 38, 113; politics of, in Kingston, 38, 112-14, 124-5 rents, in Kingston, 80

Index

Repo, Marjaleena, 84, 166nlO reproduction, 8—9; defined, 8; relation to city politics, 16; relation to politics, 145-6, 155 residential segregation, effects of in Canada, 18, 20, 94; amount, effects, and patterns of in Kingston, 21, 59-67, 94. See also neighbourhood; neighbourhoods in Kingston Rideau Heights: location, 41; condition in 1950s, 31-2; urban renewal, 31, 43; churches in, 53; social composition of, 63; public housing in, 95, 98-101; ratepayer association (1968-70), 99-100 Rideau Ward: location, 41; social composition, 67; voter turnout, 97. See also west end Riverview Court, 43, 68, 69,83 Roussopoulos, Dmitri, 54 Royal Military College, 40; student cadets, 52, 73-4 Ryan, Robin, 104 St Lawrence Ward 67; location, 41; social composition, 61—5, 67, 110; voter turnout, 97; 1968 election, 110-12. See also North End St Vincent de Paul Society, 91 Ste Calixte, SUPA conference in, 70, 72 The Saints, 74 Salvation Army, 92 Sancton, Andrew, 3 Satan's Choice, 74 Scratch One Dreamer, 56

segregation. See residential segregation self-employed. See small businesses Sewell, John, 84, 85 Shacks, 32 Shannon, Harold (Alderman) 38, 48 Simpson-Sears, 101 small businesses: interests, 20, 75, 113; relation to local government in Canada, 20, 47-8; and Kingston City Council, 46-7,48, 113, 150; composition of, 59; attitudes of, 75, 113, 121, 122; involuntary agencies, 92, 93; neighbourhoods of residence, 93; tenure composition of, 108; in political coalition, 123, 149. See also Chamber of Commerce; Kiwanis; Kingston Builders' Exchange; landlords Smart, John, 102, 103, 123, 124, 126, 137, 153 Smart, Pat, 102 social democracy, 7, 9-12, 154, 156; debates about, 103; in Canada, 6, 154; in Kingston, 106. See also New Democratic Party; socialism social movements, in general: causes of, 4, 152; nature of 4-5; "urban" movements, 16-17; decline of, 131; leadership, 152; of the 1960s: nature of, 5; New Left element, 5-8; traditional reform element, 9-13; concentration in cities, 13-20, 151; significance, 21, 131, 147-56; reflected in

201 Index elections, 88-90; counter-reaction in Kingston, 137-44. See also anti-war movements; ecology movement; labour movement; New Left; socialism; urban reform; women's movement Social Planning Council of Kingston and District: as Kingston Welfare Council, 42, 43, 54, 92; survey of social welfare needs, 80, 92-3; support for, 93; policy towards housing, 95, 99, 11415; as a service agency, 104, 142, 147; and rent controls, 121 Social Services Committee of the City of Kingston. See welfare programs social workers, 19; in Kingston, 121, 128 socialism: as a movement, 3, 5, 145, 156; strategy of, 8; parties, 9; in Canada, 6; in Kingston, 54, 122-3, 124, 149. See also extra-parliamentary action; New Democratic Party; social democracy; Waffle Spark, Bobbi, 66, 126, 129-31, 152, 153; in Ontario Tenants' Association, 115; and public housing tenants, 119; and welfare recipients, 128-9 Speal (Mayor) 136 Spinks, Sarah, 166nlO; in Kingston Community Project, speaks in Kingston (1967), 84-5 state: nature of, 4, 9, 26; power of, 4; undemocratic character

of, 6, 9; co-optation by, 10-11, 134-7. See also local government steelworkers. See United Steelworkers of America Stein, David L., 56 Strathcona Park, 61; location, 41 Student Christian Movement: at Queen's University, 52-3, 54 Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee, 72 Student Union for Peace Action, in Canada: origins, 56; and Company of Young Canadians, 71-2; in Kingston: and the Kingston Community Project, 56-7; and the New Democratic Party, 102, 103. See also Combined Universities Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament; community organizing; New Left students, of the 1960s, 6. See also Queen's University Students for a Democratic Society: politics of, 55; influence in Canada, 55-6, 57, 66 suburbs: way of life, 8; in Canada, 14; in Kingston, 35, 40-1, 90 The Sweet Second Summer of Kitty Malone, 32 Swain (Mayor), 119, 124 Sydenham Ward: location, 41; social composition of, 60, 61— 5; 110; residents' association, 85—6; politics of, 90-1, 104-5; civic electoral turnout; tenants and ratepayers

association, 121, 123, 124, 127-8; urban renewal in, 123-4 synthesis: as research method, 21, 24-9; and Marxism, 26, 28 Taylor, John, 47 tenants, in Kingston: numbers, 80, 150; attitudes of owners towards, 69; attempts to organize, 104, 107; political activity of, 107 passim, 119, 122, 1245, 126-7; and Kingston City Council, 108, 118; social composition, 108, 118; in political coalition, 123. See also Association for Tenants' Action, Kingston; Hewett's Tenants' Union; housing tenure Teron, William, 123-4 theory, and empirical research, 27-8 This Paper Belongs to the People, 120, 123-4, 126 Thomas, Jack, 110 Thompson, Judith, 73 Thrasher, Brien: as minister, 53, 142-3; community activities of, 53-4, 142 Toronto: location in relation to Kingston, 33; urban reform in, 18, 132, 151, 152. See also Trefann Court Trefann Court, 18, 152, 166nlO; relation to Kingston Community Project, 69, 84-5 Trudeau, Pierre, 9, 10, 88; in 1968, 9,101-2; by 1970,143 unemployment, in Kingston, 73, 138-9

202 Index unions, 34, 35, 37, 38, 40-1,48, 110. See also Kingston Labour Council; working class; and listings under specific unions United Church: in Kingston, 91, 147; North End ministry, 53-4, 86, 142-3. See also Martin, Harry; religion; Thrasher, Brien United Electrical Workers, 35, 37 United Fund, 101; support for, 42, 92 United Steelworkers of America, in Kingston, 38, 40-1, 48 urban reform: in Canada, 14-20; relation to social movement of 1960s, 16-18, 21, 151; relation to class interests, 18-20, 152-4; in Kingston, compared with other cities, 21-2, 150-4; relation to class interests, 21, 152-4; chronology, 22-3, 126, 150; reasons for limited success, 131-44, 150-1; reaction against, 137— 44; effects, 100-1, 131. See also social movements; New Left urban milieu, 13—14; in Canada, 14-18; local variations, 18-20 urban politics. See local government; urban reform urban renewal, 155; in Canada, 15, 16, 31; in Kingston, 1950s, 16, 31,42, 94; 1960s, 85, 123-4; 1970s, 127-8 urbanization, in Canada, 12, 13, 14

Victoria Ward, 67; location, 41; social composition of, 67; voter turnout, 97. See also west end voluntary agencies: support for, 42, 91-2, 93, 101; in public housing, 97. See also Social Planning Council of Kingston and District Waffle: in Canada, 9, 12, 150, 153; and the New Left, 10; in Kingston, 127, 131-2, 150, 157. See also New Democratic Party Wallace, Bronwen: in Kingston Community Project, 69, 120 Warskett, George, 102, 110, 112, 113 Warskett, Rosemary, 102, 110, 114 wartime housing, 63 waterfront: decline of, 123; redevelopment proposals, 123-4 Watkins, Mel, 132 Watts, Ronald: involvement with Kingston Community Project, 57 Weathermen, 11 Webb, George, 69 welfare programs, in North America: origins, 8; politics of, 8, 78, 128; in Canada and Ontario, 15, 19, 77-8; General Welfare Assistance, 77—8; Family Benefits, 77; in Kingston: General Welfare Assistance policy to 1970, 77-80, 117-18, 128-9, 139; after 1970, 137-42; Family Benefits

Assistance, 41-2; local expenditures, 138. See also welfare recipients welfare recipients, 8; political interests of, 20; in Canada, 129; in Kingston, 59; numbers, 78-9, 138-41, 150; neighbourhoods of settlement, 63-5; political activity, 20, 123, 130-1, 149; character of, 93, 138-9; attempts to organize, 80, 104, 128-30; challenge welfare administration, 117—18 west end: social composition, 60, 61—6, 94; politics of, 90-1, 104—5; civic electoral turnout, 97. See also Calvin Park; Ontario Ward; Poison Park; Rideau Ward; Strathcona Park; Victoria Ward women, in Kingston: housewives in politics, 38, 84, 129, 130; mothers in politics, 6970, 72, 75; unionist, 84; on City Council, 86; community organizing, 69; volunteer work, 42, 93; on welfare, 58; working outside home, 73. See also Ackley, Gayle; Earl, Marion; Elliott, Lin; Inglis, Lily; MacDonald, Flora; Maeots, Krista; Miller, Lois; Mooney, Irene; Morton, Peggy; Newman, Joan; Parker, Patt; Smart, Pat; Spark, Bobbi; Spinks, Sarah; Wallace, Bronwen; Warskett, Rosemary; Wood, Myrna women's movement, 4,

203 69, 119-20, 150, 155; in Kingston, 119-20, 149, 150 Wood, Myrna, 72; and Kingston Community Project, 72-3, 75, 76, 152; in women's movement, 119, 150; views on community organizing, 134 Woodsworth.J.S., 52 working class, in general: in politics, 3; in Canada: composition of, 32; politics of, 7, 19, 20; in Kingston: composition, 37, 38, 59—60, 69; numbers of, 32-4, 39; incomes, 346; housing, 35, 108-9; segregation, 60-1; neighbourhoods of settlement, 61—6; politics, 32, 35-9, 48; relation to Kingston City Council, 47, 123; in Rideau Heights, 98101; and tenants' organizations, 108, 110, 119; as constituency for socialists, 134, 145. See also class; North End; poor people; welfare recipients Wright (Mayor), 42 young people, 19; in Kingston's North End, 73-4, 83. See also students youth movement, 75—6, 78, 87, 120 zoning, 15

Index