23 Sep, 2007
Our day at Westboro Beach – Part two
Posted by andrea tomkins in: - Westboro|Misc. life|Ottawa|Yaktivism
Sorry to leave you hanging (part one of this post is here). The girls and I took a trip out to my mother’s (more on that later) and I didn’t have enough time to finish what I started to write.
I’m not sure if you saw the comments in that post, but someone was offended by my description of the three men as being paunchy and middle-aged. I’m not sure what to make of that comment, because I assumed everyone would have understood that I was only trying to give you a visual picture.
(This is why, if you’ve ever read a book or a magazine article, men and women aren’t just described as “men” and “women” but often entire strings of adjectives are used in their detailed descriptions. I think we’re all used to that by now.)
Anway, as I had mentioned, I was sitting on the sand at Westboro Beach, near the water. Emma and Sarah were playing with their sand toys a few metres away. Part way up the beach behind me is this giant tree, with several trunks growing out of the same place near the ground. The tree is a little over halfway to the beachside restaurant. There was a gaggle of teenage girls hanging out under the tree. There were four of five of them, two of them took their clothes off to reveal bikinis underneath. One of them was a very tall athletic-looking black girl, the other was a short Latino (?) girl with long hair. (Remember, I’m DESCRIBING, not offending.) As teenagers (aged 15 or 16? I find it really difficult to peg the ages of kids nowadays) were typically giggly and loud. They were definitely attracting attention to themselves. I had nothing to do so I watched them from under cover of my sunglasses. I found their behaviour utterly fascinating … it was like I was Jane Goodall or something, in the wild, and here I was, observing social rituals of non-human species… that’s how foreign it seemed to me. Plus, I had my own two daughters in mind. Was I ever like this? And would my daughters ever be like this?
They were goofing around, as teenagers are wont to do. One of the girls had a digital camera, and the ones wearing the bathing suits took turns posing for pictures a la America’s Next Top Model. Before long, they decided that the photos would be much better if they climbed the tree. And so they did, sprawling themselves on the tree trunks, pouting for the camera.
They didn’t just attract my own attention, the three men on the patio were watching them too. I saw them raise their cellphones towards them. I don’t have a cellphone myself, but I knew they weren’t raising them high over their heads to check to see who was calling. They were taking photos of the bikini-clad girls.
Ew. Ew. Ew.
And so I watched.
The girls soon realized their photos were being taken. They seemed to joke about it, but also made loud comments directed at the men. With typical teenage bravado they said things like: “I’m gonna throw this rock at you if you don’t stop it” and whatever is the 2007-version of “you guys are so lame” … stuff like that. Then they ignored them. Their reaction seemed to be “tee hee – look at me – don’t look at me.” I couldn’t quite figure it out. I’m no shrink, but the Jane Goodall in me felt they didn’t seem equipped to deal with the situation, at all, hence the “be-demanding-but-without-follow-up” kind of reaction. What did I expect them to do anyway, saunter over to these thee big guys and demand the photos be deleted?
The men (did I mention they were paunchy and middle aged?) just kept on taking photos. Once in awhile one of them would lean over and show the other one their photo, and laugh.
Did I mention they were drinking? The patio at Westboro Beach is licensed.
I stopped hiding behind my sunglasses. I was furious. So I stared at those three men, no holds barred.
The teen girls got bored of the tree pose and moved towards the shoreline. They walked past where I was sitting. I had to say something.
“Do you know those guys were taking photos of you?” I asked.
They all started talking at once. One of piped up and said “YEAH, we told them we were going to throw that rock if they didn’t stop!”
“Um, well, they kept taking photos of you, even after you said that. Doesn’t that bother youl?”
Common consensus was yes, they were bothered, and then I thought to myself, but you girls didn’t DO anything about it.
“I have two daughters,” I said, motioning to the girls. “And as their mother, I know I wouldn’t want creepy men taking photos of them.”
Bravado returned. “YEAH, I know! And I bet they wouldn’t like someone looking at their wives like that either. But I bet they’re not married.”
Frankly, their lack of awareness and naiveté was kind of alarming.
We talked about the legality of it. They asked what they could do about it. I suggested they talk to someone at the restaurant.
As we talked I saw the men, once again, raise their cellphones towards us. There was no denying it. This time, I was going to be in the photo too. I felt gross. The words came rushing out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying.
“HEY. STOP. TAKING. PHOTOS,” I yelled. I pointed at them, each word accompanied by its own pointing motion. I was in a rage. “YOU DON’T HAVE PERMISSION TO BE TAKING PHOTOS, SO STOP IT RIGHT NOW.”
I yelled clear across the beach. I am pretty sure everyone heard me.
They chuckled ”har har” and stopped. I suggested the girls to get out of camera range. They did – more or less – and later on, when they walked back up the beach, I overheard the short girl say she was going to give them guys her worst “cut eye.”
*sigh*
I was – and still am – utterly disgusted by this whole situation. It is legal to take photos of people in a public area, but this kind of photography is morally WRONG. In these digital days, what with Facebook, MySpace, email … it’s impossible to predict where those photos might end up.
My friend and her two children eventually joined us, and Mark finally arrived on his bike. I was extremely happy to see him.
We ordered our dinner, ate it on the beach, and left around 6 p.m. I watched as the men ordered round after round of beer. They were still there when we left.
I still feel angry about this all. I’ve written a letter about this to Christine Leadman (our local councilor) and the Ottawa Citizen.
What do you think?
