Boyce Richardson, one of Canada’s greatest anti-establishment journalists, passed away in March. He despised inequality, sided with workers against newspaper barons, ghostwrote for the ANC, and amplified Indigenous struggles for decades. I wrote about him: findingthecracks.substack.com/p/the-socialis…
Police ransacked his home and looted his footage of the Cree fight vs the James Bay mega-dam in 1970s. Pierre Trudeau tried to shut down another documentary of his. It was only when he was no longer active that it became safe for the government to award him the Order of Canada.
It’s revealing about the perspective and priorities of Canada’s journalist class that while they universally feted Christie Blatchford, they’ve scarcely said a word about a man who always sided with the downtrodden and dispossessed that she made a living attacking.
Boyce was wry, self-effacing, could drink a gallon of wine, had a fantastic love of life. This was the two of us at one of our annual dinners with @RussDiabo. It feels intensely heavy to think that eulogizing our friends and elders is about to become much more frequent. 
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