This week, the National Post’s Adrian Humphreys published a feature about Canada’s growing problem with “crime tourism.”
Every fall, burglary teams from Chile and Eastern Europe enter Canada on false pretences, police say, and then proceed to steal as much as they possibly can before the onset of spring. The teams mostly operate during the winter to benefit from the longer hours of darkness.
This is happening not only because it’s easier to ransack the average Canadian home, but because apparently word has gotten out that the Canadian justice system rarely imposes any meaningful consequences on the people caught doing it.
In Dear Diary, the National Post satirically re-imagines a week in the life of a newsmaker. This week, Tristin Hopper takes a journey inside the thoughts of a crime tourist.
Monday
Why do people steal? It’s arguably one of humanity’s oldest philosophical questions, and there are multiple schools of thought. You’ve got your rational choice theory; the notion that criminality is rooted in a cost-benefit analysis similar to any other financial action. You’ve got your conflict theory, which sees theft as a manifestation of wider class divisions. And there’s also strain theory; the idea that one turns to crime only as an act of desperation against the structural barriers imposed by society.
As we ransacked the one-bedroom apartment of an immigrant widower who was in the hospital for a stroke, it got me to thinking whether social circumstances had led me to this, or whether I just enjoyed taking things from people I don’t know. In hindsight we didn’t need to upend her husband’s ashes all over her bed, but you never know when one of those urns are going to be hiding some gold jewellery.
Tuesday
When I first got into the crime tourism business, I approached it like my own personal Ocean’s Eleven: Fake IDs, disguises, rehearsed backstories. I’d even switch addresses every few days so law enforcement couldn’t track my movements.
Oh, what a waste of time that all was. Now, I freely load up my checked luggage with crowbars and balaclavas, and if the border guard gives me any lip at the airport I just claim asylum.
Wednesday
When we’re blocking out our financials for the season, it’s always important to factor in the risk of an encounter with law enforcement. Arrests, while rare, can impose a productivity loss of as much as two weeks. And in the extremely rare case of deportation, one must also consider the incidental costs of obtaining another false passport by which to re-enter the country if it leads to deportation. By my rough estimates, a single arrest can translate into thousands of dollars of lost revenue.
But while I would never admit to it my colleagues, I sort of like the break that an arrest offers: When you’ve been burglarizing four homes a night for two weeks straight — in deep snow, no less –—there’s nothing quite like kicking back with a hot meal and a good night’s sleep in police cells. Plus, whenever they inevitably tack on a curfew as one of the bail conditions, I always pretend not to understand the English word for “curfew” and we all have a good laugh.
Thursday
I obviously didn’t get into robbery for the public acclaim, but there are times I feel that we don’t get sufficient credit for the strictly non-violent nature of our activities. Any oaf can bash a senior citizen over the head and take her purse. But it takes true skills to wait until that same senior citizen is attending her sister’s funeral before kicking down her patio door and stealing her late father’s wedding ring and military medals.
Before Canadians vilify us, I’d like them to consider how far we go to avoid violence. One of my personal innovations in this field is to only target homeowners with mobility issues; I don’t give the green light until I see a walker, a wheelchair ramp or a car in the driveway with a handicapped placard. There’s always going to be reduced risk of an unexpected violent altercation when you can just push over a surprised homeowner.
Friday
It’s less than two weeks until the spring clock change, which means the bittersweet end of the crime tourism season is approaching.
People always ask me if this is the last time I’ll be making the trip. But, truth be told, I’ve really come to love this country. The quiet neighbourhoods filled with unlocked doors. The peaceful and unarmed citizenry. Canadians are truly the most welcoming and tolerant people I’ve ever met. I can board a transit bus at 10 p.m. wearing a ski mask and carrying a pillow case full of heirloom silver and nobody bats an eye.
My hope is that I’ll one day be able to steal enough to buy a home here and slip into a comfortable retirement of recreational shoplifting, contract fraud and light money laundering. Ah, the Canadian dream.