By Alvina Siddiqui

It was cold and drizzling — the worst kind of rain — and my new cowboy boots weren't ready for the mud that enveloped St. James Park. 

As I walked down Church Street, all I could think of was who and how the protesters would be.

Would they all be dirty and tired? Would they all be rude to me, seeing as I'm considered media? Are they all really crackheads and drug addicts? Are they all poor?

By Alvina Siddiqui

It was cold and drizzling — the worst kind of rain — and my new cowboy boots weren't ready for the mud that enveloped St. James Park. 

As I walked down Church Street, all I could think of was who and how the protesters would be.

Would they all be dirty and tired? Would they all be rude to me, seeing as I'm considered media? Are they all really crackheads and drug addicts? Are they all poor?

But as I arrived at the site, I was shocked to see the number of Starbucks coffee cups in protestors hands and the smiles they wore, as if they were at a party. 

I came with a mind that what these people are doing is wrong and — excuse the blunt language — stupid. I had pretty much created an image of them before ever setting foot in St. James Park. 

Then they shattered it. 

Almost everyone, except maybe one or two, were friendly and open to all my questions. Their reasons for being there all differed variedly but one thing everyone seemed to have in common was that sense of creating unity and bringing these different issues together. 

While they preferred not to have media attend their small outreach meetings, they were open to me and invited me in. 

While my perspective on the protestors had completely changed, my outlook on the protest itself hadn't altered much. 

But the unique agenda everyone personally held made them somewhat of a beautiful mosaic. 

In their general meetings, as one person spoke and the rest yelled out their words, protestors now acting as microphones, I was amused and found it smart and entertaining. 

As my 3-hour trip to St. James Park came to an end, I had left with a completely different perspective and a smile on my face, despite the fact that the rocks and mud had ruined my new boots. 

But when I later returned to the site, I was even more surprised than the first time.

People were still joyous and friendly but the intensity and the passion seemed to have left the air. It began to seem that they really did come for a party, and not to protest. People's reasons for being there began to differ even more, now to a fault, and less people were acting as microphones now. 

But the amount of Starbucks coffee cups remained. 

The grass had almost vanished and now only dirt remained on the ground. Individually everyone felt confident, but collectively things weren't the same. 

And less people were now open to talk and discuss the matter. Most of those that did talk, were either careful with that they said or didn't have much to say at all.

They had finally started acting and being the very image that outsiders had created and they had resented. 

Alvina Siddiqui is a journalism student at Ryerson.