IS THIS THE PRICE OF PROGRESS?

Can someone explain to me why urban growth necessarily brings with it
an increase in crime and the numbers of druggies and their ilk on the
streets?

These people certainly aren't in a position to buy a $500,000 home, so
why would they migrate to Maple Ridge?

Is it the services we offer -- food bank, homeless shelter, drug and
alcohol addiction counselling, the shorter lines at the welfare
office, the quality and quantity of accessible greenspace for their
makeshift campgrounds?

Assuming this correlation exists, that as Maple Ridge gets
progressively larger, crime and its constituents also increase in
size. Isn't this something the movers and shakers should take into
account when they're engaging in the great Green vs. Greed debate
known as the OCP, in addition to the other problems that come with
growth -- traffic, water, sewer, and all that other infrastructure
crap, along with the loss of green space.

We don't seem to have enough police now to keep pace with the
perps.

Fer instance, our crystal meth use rivals that of the downtown east
side, according to one expert, which certainly spells trouble for
homes and business near the centre of town.

Imagine working your ass off 16 hours day, six days a week to
establish a business, then being forced to close because you've been
robbed repeatedly by some scumbag looking for his next hit. Is this
the price of progress?

Maybe it's a stretch, linking development to crime -- grow-ops in
half-million dollar homes notwithstanding -- but it certainly seems
worthy of consideration as we discuss urban expansion into Thornhill
once the population exceeds 100,000, which will probably be sometime
next month, won't it?

I can already see the roofs of the new homes up there as I fill my
barrels with water by the Jackson Farm, itself under threat from the
Vinyl Monster.

I suppose if I live that long I will eventually be forced to start
attending these OCP meetings to argue for the preservation of land in
Ruskin, a doddering old fart with oxygen stuck up his nose railing
against the development of Twin Maples or Ruskin Park.

Because you know these guys aren't going to stop until they smack up
against the border and all those Genstar homes in West Mission.

There just doesn't seem to be enough money to sate the appetites of
developers and realtors and that money, along with organization and
lobbying, puts the little green guys and gals at a disadvantage in
their fight to save some space for hikes and horses and corn and the
view.

I recall our merry band of Utopian socialists, in their incredible
naivete, 20 years ago protesting against the sale of a property on
96th Avenue that was intended by the former owner as a gymkhana-style
park.

We collected names on a petition, we spoke at municipal hall, we had
media coverage. We lost.

I can still see Roman Evancic grinning at the futility of our
efforts.

The place was sold, a house was built and some years later someone was
killed there. Bad karma

You can yell and scream and wave your homemade signs around all you
want, chances are, despite the Geoff Claytons, Craig Speirs, Dave
Smiths of the world and others, we may not overcome and/or subdue this
insatiable beast they call progress.

We may just have to move, give up the fight, let the criminals on both
sides of the law have their way.

This particular phase of the process seems to have generated some
significant opposition, though, judging from the letters to the editor.

This may very well be, as I have said before, a watershed moment in
the great debate between the environmentalists and the
developmentalists.

I have yet to make a meeting, unfortunately. Too busy, you know. The
Wife is home, post surgery, and understandably a little morose at her
state of affairs.

I am now the haus frau, ferrying the kiddies around to their work and
play, doing dishes, laundry, watching Oprah, playing poker with the
other gals on the street.

I am managing up to a certain standard -- hey, the spiders have to
live somewhere, OK.

But eventually I will break and have to start washing the Valium down
with the vodka and maybe take a lover.