Uncover - S15: "The Village 3" E1: La Vie en Rose

Episode Date: June 7, 2022

Joe Rose, a queer activist living with AIDS, is murdered in cold blood on a city bus. So public, so brutal – the city is shocked. The killing becomes a catalyst for ACT UP’s takeover of the 1989 Montreal AIDS conference. For transcripts of this series, please visit: https://www.cbc.ca/radio/podcastnews/the-village-the-montreal-murders-transcripts-listen-1.6479960

My name is John Cullen and I want to tell you a story. It's a story about a scandal, broken relationships, gossip, rumors, money, corporate rivalry, and curling. It's the story of Broomgate. How a single broom, yes, a broom, turned friends into foes and almost killed the 500-year-old sport of curling. It was a year I'd like to forget. Broomgate, available now. This is a CBC Podcast. I'm in the village on, I think it's a Saturday afternoon,

and I see all these guys that are obviously queer, but don't look like Montreal queers. Like they've got a different vibe. They're wearing different types of clothes and they're cute and they're all going somewhere. So I decided I'm going to follow them, you know, because gay men did that back then. We followed each other. We stalked each other down streets and in parks and we didn't have Grindr, you know. But back then we actually met, like face to face.

That's Puello Deer, a long time queer activist sharing with me what happened on that day in early June of 1989. So Puello joins the stream of men heading to the Palais des Congrès, the conference center here in Montreal.

And outside of Palais des Congrès, there's all those steps, and there's all these community groups set up. And I meet this older Jewish man, and he's like, are you going inside? You got to go. There's something going to be really happening in there. You need to be there.

I'm like, okay, where? He's like, just follow the escalator. I'm like, Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz, just go down the yellow brick road. So I'm like, yeah, but I have my bike. And he's like, I'll take care of your bike. Just don't dilly dally after it's all done. And I go in and I follow these guys. Puello is about to witness a major moment

in the fight against HIV AIDS. At this point, the disease is affecting millions, mostly gay men. And then I realize that they're going to storm the stage. Because the reason that they are there is because they want a seat at the table for people who have HIV. Reagan hadn't talked about AIDS. It was Mulroney had done very little about AIDS.

And now they're giving the speech to Mulroney. Brian Mulroney was Canada's prime minister at the time. It's just like I'm being swept away by this tidal wave of activism. And realizing then in that moment that like in thinking that I might be HIV positive and that I might develop AIDS or I'm certainly going to develop AIDS that it's not the government that's going to take care of me that was eye-opening you know in this moment realizing they don't give a fuck about us, really.

When a group of young, angry activists stormed a stage on the first night of the World AIDS Conference in Montreal in June 1989, no one could look away anymore. Politicians, scientists, could look away anymore. Politicians, scientists, policymakers could no longer ignore the sick and die, and were forced to see the patient first, that AIDS was not just a disease, but a battleground for human rights. We belong here! We belong here!

We belong here! We belong here! We belong here! We belong here! We belong here! My name is Francis Plourde. I'm a journalist, and I've covered a number of stories over the years, always as a detached observer. But this story, it feels closer. Because I'm gay, and because I'm from Quebec. So yeah, this is my community, my province. And what happened here in Montreal in the early 90s,

it transformed the way we talk about violence, about AIDS, about homophobia, and what it means to be queer. For the people who lived it, it was an era they're still talking about, more than 30 years later. So I sought them out, those that remain, anyway. I wanted to know, how did homophobia play out in the time of AIDS? So I went back to the beginning, and an activist named Joe Rose.

Welcome to Season 3 of The Village. This is Episode 1, La Vie en Rose. I remember once the gay and lesbian youth group was having a potluck supper at somebody's house in the East End. There was a whole group of us on the bus, holding our dishes on our laps like warm kittens, talking, laughing, being ourselves. A rather disconcerted non-gay man found himself sitting among us at the back of the bus, and he began to comment loudly on what he thought of us. Joe turned to the man, his face, his voice straight as an arrow, and said, Honey, if you can't stand the fruits, get out of the orchard. The man left us alone.

That was Joe's approach. Why would I be intimidated by you? Like, it wasn't that it didn't affect him, because it did. You know, homophobia hurts. But he never let others see that it affected him. He had this persona of the snappy comeback to every homophobic remark, which was very much a reason

why he was such a great role model. You know, it was like... That's Peter Bulata, one of Joe Rose's closest friends. My first impression was that he was a little bit like a bolt of lightning. He just sparkled somehow. He had energy. He was vivacious. He couldn't stand still and would, you know, kind of throw out ideas and like,

what are we doing tonight? Or where are we going? That friendship began at the end of a corridor at the college newspaper office where he and Joe were writing about queer issues. The first time Peter met him, Joe was wearing a Depeche Mode t-shirt and chewing gum. Peter remembers his high Ukrainian cheekbones, his fair hair. And like Joe, Peter was a suburban kid. Quickly, they hit it off. And he was the only one who would, you know, show up at the student council and say, we're starting a gay club and we want the student union to fund it. He was not afraid to be identified as gay at a time when it was a brave thing to do. And so Joe was a kind of powerful gay man in my life. Powerful in the sense of like

his, his being out, him living his life was a powerful image for me in my own coming out. his life was a powerful image for me in my own coming out. And I feel like my own coming out experience would have been very different without Joe Rose in my life. Joe took his pleasures seriously, and he was not embarrassed by them or ashamed of them, and he promoted that. Pleasure is a good thing, and that was part of his queerness. Being gay and having the confidence to buck against the system was a rare combination in those days. For Joe, nothing seemed impossible. I remember Joe talking about marrying this boyfriend at a time when the idea of same-sex couples being legally married was crazy. It was a crazy idea. Crazy people had that idea. And Joe went down to City Hall and asked for a marriage license

so that he and his boyfriend could be legally married. And he was refused. And he decided he was going to file a complaint with the Quebec Human Rights Commission. Joe could do that because in 1977, Quebec had amended its Charter of Rights to prohibit discrimination based on sexual orientation. It was a first in Canada, a great thing in theory, but in practice, it would take years

for people to come around. And same-sex marriage wasn't legalized across Canada until 2005. And, you know, the fact that so many people surrounding him, I mean, human rights lawyers,

civil rights lawyers, you know, gay activists, were saying to him, the right, human rights lawyers, civil rights lawyers, you know, gay activists were saying to him, the right to marry will never be extended to same-sex couples in our lifetime. So, like, you need to find another cause. And the fact that he took that so seriously and was like, no, this isn't right.

We can do something about this, was very typical of Joe's approach. this was very typical of Joe's approach. Joe's life changed forever in 1985. The Red Cross had set up a blood drive at his college, and Joe came out the front door holding a balloon and smiling widely. He wanted to do his civic duty, he told me, and gave blood. Joe found out that his donation had tested positive for HIV. He got a letter from the Red Cross that informed him of this

and kind of brusquely told him he should speak with his family physician. He was 19 years old. Learning you got HIV in 1985 was like being handed a death sentence. 80% of those infected died within two years. It's time to stop loving dangerously. AIDS is a killer. Nearly 2,000 of us will be dead. AIDS is a killer. Protect yourself. Scientists were only starting to understand the virus, how it spread, how it affected the body. So there was a part of me that was just scared for Joe. Joe's response to that prognosis was, well, I'll show them.

I'll show them that they're wrong. I will be a long-term survivor of HIV AIDS and I'll beat it. Or I will live for a very long time and show them that it's not a death sentence. Hello? Oh, hi Laura, it's Francis. I'm downstairs. Okay, I'm coming to let you in. Hang on. Perfect, thank you. While Joe was learning to live with AIDS,

his friend Peter headed off to university. So they lost touch for a while. And Joe found a new friend in Laura Gregane. Are you vaccinated? I'm double vaccinated. Wonderful. Okay, so we're not going to worry about masks. Okay, so I can take it off? Yeah.

Laura is retired now. She takes care of her husband and her mom. I hope you love dogs. I love dogs. Laura first met Joe and Peter together care of her husband and her mom. I hope you love dogs. I love dogs. Laura first met Joe and Peter together at the Unitarian Church here in Montreal. There would be the

bouncy Joe and the quiet Peter, right? You know, they kind of stood out compared to the, you know, liberal-minded but more conservatively attired folks at church. Yeah. Laura says she was protective of Joe. She had his back, as she did for many others,

as a volunteer with AIDS support groups. When he got sick, I think somebody knew that we knew each other, and they said, OK, well, we'll assign you. And I said, sure, great. For Joe, particularly, they needed more than one volunteer because he was such a character. And I said I would be a phone volunteer with him. But I had to put limits on him because he would phone at 2 o'clock in the morning.

He would be enthusiastic about something and he would want to talk. Once he started, you know, there was no off switch. And it was not mobile phone. Like it was a landline. That's right. Not like you could, could you know take the phone into the car and keep talking you couldn't you know you had to stay so it was attached to a gourd still you know you were taking hostage yes yes yes what was he talking about with you? He was talking about what was happening in the world. He was talking about

which bars he was going to. He was talking about new friends he met, occasionally about some minor drug use, you know, just anything and everything that was happening in his life. And sometimes, Joe would talk about his family. His father did not accept the fact that he was gay. I think they asked him not to come home after he had AIDS. I know at some point they asked him not to come home because they had other kids. And I guess the misconceptions about how it was transmitted were alive and well, you know. Yeah, at some point they said to him, don't come home.

That's a tough thing to tell your kids. Oh, yeah. Terrible. Terrible. Terrible. We covered a lot of ground over two seasons, but there are still so many more stories to tell. I'm Jeff Turner, and I'm back with season three of On Drugs. And this time, it's going to get personal. I don't know who Sober Jeff is. I don't even know if I like that guy. On Drugs is available now wherever you get your podcasts. wherever you get your podcasts. The village where I'm heading was the obvious place to meet people.

This is very legendary. It was called Cox. Cox? Yeah, the Cox. It was here for years and years. Louis-Alain Robitaille worked in the village for years. He'd just moved to Montreal when he showed up at Cox. I was 21, and this is where I met Joe Rose, actually. Anybody walking by could never have found out there was a barn there. There was no sign, anything.

It was completely hidden. For Louis-Alain and many others, the village was not only a playground. It was also a sanctuary. For me, it was amazing. In the village, you could do whatever you want, but you had to get out of it to go back home. And unfortunately, it was not a safe city for gay people back then. July of 1988, it was almost in the middle of the AIDS crisis.

They were sad years for the gay community. I was afraid of having any sexual interaction with anyone. I was so careful that I had none, almost. We were really, really scared. And a lot of people who were positive were not out in the community as positive person. Most people were hiding it because there was so much stigma related to it that even inside the gay community,

gay guys wouldn't tell their friends. There was so much fear and shame around being HIV positive. And that's why Joe Rose stood out. He didn't hide anything. And everybody knows Joe is positive. Right there, I was impressed. He's not afraid of talk about it. He's not afraid he's got pink hair.

He's not afraid of anything. That's He's not afraid he's got pink hair. He's not afraid of anything. That's when I learned that there were gay activists, you know. I remember that I got convinced that it's all about not being afraid, you know. And he kind of convinced me about that. Oh, yeah, you can have pink hair and not... I was always afraid to be bullied or even attacked, you know. And he convinced me that it's all about you. It's all like if you have courage and you don't show fear, you're going to be fine.

And unfortunately, history proved otherwise. More than two years after Joe learned he was HIV positive, he and Peter reconnected. Already, Joe had defied the odds. We had like a candlelight vigil for World AIDS Day in December 1988. And Joe was there. And so we walked together in that vigil. It was exciting to see Joe there.

And it was exciting to see him as outspoken as ever. He was wearing this T-shirt over his winter coat, like a white T-shirt with the words printed on it, person living with AIDS. And on the back, living, surviving, thriving, something like that. There's a photo from that night of Joe in that T-shirt. The lettering is scrawled across it in red and black marker,

and Joe's face is gone, and his eyes are hollow. It's a night out to throw what little weight he has left behind his cause. But his show of strength is not fooling anyone. By this point, Joe is living in a hospice for people with AIDS.

He had that kind of world-weary, haggard air about him that he had been fighting. His life had changed. He had changed. He had a couple of bouts of the pneumonia, and he realized the fight was going to be difficult. Did you get to see him when he was in the hospital? A couple of times. I do remember Joe in the hospital kind of looking dismally around the room and saying, a hospital is no place for a sick person. a hospital is no place for a sick person.

He still had his humor and he was still bringing that like sassy comeback to everything, including being in the hospital. It was hard to see him though. You know, like woozy and, you know, having a visit with me for five minutes and then saying, look, Peter, I need to take a nap. I'm sorry. Sorry. You know, like it was kind of hard. Like my energetic lightning bolt of a friend

was, was really laid low. And that, that was hard to see. That was hard to see. From the hospice, Joe was parceling out his energy between his nursing studies and starting a local chapter of ACT UP, the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power. I remember he had all this ACT UP materials, like silence equals death stickers and buttons. And he had these stickers that said, touched by a person living with AIDS. stickers that said, touched by a person living with AIDS. And we would just be talking. We'd be like sitting in a coffee shop talking and he would pull one out and like stick it on the sugar dispenser in the, you know, like whatever.

And he put one on me and I wore it. You know, I'm touched by a person living with AIDS. ACT UP suited Joe well. Their events were fun, theatrical, energetic, and they were loud. No lies, no care, no misery, we're a great party. Release the drugs! Release the drugs! Release the drugs! We want action! We are happy! We want action! We are happy! We want action! ACT UP had started in the U.S. as President Ronald Reagan remained silent in the face of the growing dread.

The group had recently made a splash, occupying Wall Street and demanding access to experimental drugs. It was like, we need to be doing something because people are dying and nobody cares. We connected over that lively sense of possibility that, you know, Montreal was going to get an AIDS activist group. It was very exciting. Montreal was going to get an AIDS activist group. It was very exciting. Exciting, especially when they got word that the most powerful leaders in the world

were coming to Montreal to discuss the AIDS crisis, including politicians and policymakers. But those most affected, people living with HIV, were not invited. Joe and Peter and their growing army were about to make themselves impossible to ignore. And that felt like Joe and I had something to do together again. Like we were involved in this group of activists, queer people, people with HIV, people with AIDS,

to do something at the Montreal AIDS Conference. We weren't sure what yet, but we were going to do something. We are angry, we want action! Peter's memories of Joe in those days are so clear. He wrote a lot of them down, and he brought out his old notebooks to share with us. I never published this. I don't know what I was... I don't know what it was for. It was for this. what it was for. It was for this. The last time Peter saw Joe was at Cox.

We said goodbye at the corner and he called out, see you at the ACT UP meeting. He rides the all-night bus home one night, wearing his leather jacket with the silence equals death button on the collar, black leather pants. His hair is pink now, and some kids who get on the bus start taunting him about it,

about the leather, the earrings. There are lots of them, and Joe is alone with a friend at the back of the bus. And of course he can't keep silent. No, not Joe. He talks back. He always talks back. He's been pushing this way for a long time. Faggot is what they're calling him now, what they've been calling him. Queer. Faggot. And the bus driver is flashing her police 911 sign and speeding toward Frontenac Metro Station. They're punching him now, hitting him, hitting his friend, and Joe's fighting back. Joe always fights back. He's a survivor. But he's outnumbered this time.

The bus driver is outnumbered and oh God, they've got knives and everybody's off the bus and the driver tries to keep the kids on the bus until the police arrive, but they shove her. They're kicking Joe, punching him, stabbing him once, twice, five times until Joe has fallen, bleeding and bleeding and bleeding to death. A group of teenagers on the bus started taunting the 23-year-old man because he's... Joseph Rose was punched a knife to death in front of four witnesses, including the bus driver. When they said a young man with pink hair who had been killed on the bus, I thought, oh, my God, it's Joe.

Right? I mean, like, right away. I mean, he only had such a little time left anyway, you know, to take that little time away. It just seemed so unnecessarily cruel, you know. That's an awful thing. When I found out that Joe had HIV, as adamant as he was that he was going to live with it for a long time and be a survivor, there was a part of me that started getting ready for him to die. Sorry. Sorry.

I think when I, on whatever level, was preparing for my friend to die, you know, it was like, he'll be in his hospice room. We will gather around him. We will, you know, like that was what I was prepared for. I wasn't prepared for this brutal murder on a city bus. I was getting ready to lose him. I just didn't think it was going to be quite like that. You said something profound. It was homophobia that killed him in the end. A life-threatening disease called homophobia killed Joe Rose. life-threatening disease called homophobia killed Joe Rose. I think the way that homosexuality was treated as an illness and then we were kind of re-medicalized

by the HIV-AIDS crisis, that somehow we were sick, right? But really it's homophobia that is the sickness. We were sick, right? But really, it's homophobia that is the sickness. And I think it was that sickness that killed Joe Rose. Police and media looked for other causes to explain the murder. They discussed bus safety.

The attackers turned out to be Black, which led to speculations about gang violence. But that racist stereotype distracted from what this violence was really about. There was a reluctance to name it for what it was, which was a hate crime, a homophobic hate crime, which was infuriating because it was another way in which we were being, gay men, the queer community was being rendered invisible and that we were not allowed to narrate our own lives in day to day and we certainly weren't gonna be able to tell the story of our

deaths. You know, that's kind of what it felt like, that the truth about what happened to Joe wasn't being told. These kids were not a gang. They weren't members of the gang. They attacked Joe because he was gay. And so we can use what happened out of this and come together, talk about issues of violence that we are faced with, issues of homophobia which led to this kind of violence, and try to rally around it to do something about it. Journalist David Shannon saw that Joe's murder was actually a hate crime. It's the first time anything like this has happened in broadcasting history in Canada.

He brought Joe's story from community radio to mainstream media and relentlessly insisted that Joe's death be remembered. It rises out of Joe Rose's death. It rises out of the fact that the media was reticent about why Joe was killed. It was a homophobic attack but they called it racist, they called it gangland, and they wouldn't come around and collect against the nasty thing that happened through homophobia. Silence! Remember Joe Rose! We won't be silent! Remember Joe Rose! The community had no time to mourn. They had to take that anger they felt after Joe's murder. had no time to mourn.

They had to take that anger they felt after Joe's murder, they had to channel it into putting HIV-positive people at the center of that AIDS conference. One day, it just hit me. If all of these researchers and people are going to be here, then a whole bunch of activists are going to come here too. And so I was like, OK, we've got to do something. Karen Herland, a young lesbian activist, had to throw her hat in the ring. And the meetings were held in the upstairs of the Anarchist Bookstore space on Saint Laurent.

Tell me about that first meeting. It was packed. And then as we sort of are going around the room trying to talk about what we want to do and how we want to do it, Joe Rose, Joe Rose, Joe Rose comes up over and over again. And at first, I remember like really clearly, I remember sitting there and being really frustrated. Like, we called this meeting about AIDS and there's a conference and why are we talking about Joe Rose? And it kind of took me a few minutes to like, A, stop being a control freak, and B, just be like, no, this is good.

They were mobilized by what had happened to Joe. More than 10,000 delegates from all around the world are arriving in Montreal for a conference on AIDS that gets underway there tomorrow. The whole thing was so professional and elite from our perspectives that we didn't believe they were focusing on what was important. And that was frustrating to us. It was almost entirely medical experts, doctors, researchers, epidemiologists, maybe some like public health policy people, but no people with AIDS. And certainly no like community-based AIDS groups, activist groups, like none of those people were at the table. So maybe they don't have a seat at the table, but on that week in June 1989,

they start showing up in Montreal. The sex workers, the drug users, and people living with AIDS from as far away as Australia. And best of all, the convoy of bosses of activists from ACT UP New York. They were saying one thing and the truth was another thing.

So we wanted to expose the lies and deceptions that were being delivered. That's Blaine Charles, a New Yorker who had come to Montreal with a plan to shake up the scene. And like many at ACT UP, Blaine had no problem getting in people's faces. If you were there in the 80s, you would know that it was a life or death situation. It was whether you wanted to live or die. I mean, it was that simple. So the situation was so critical that we did what we had to do. ACT UP was a voice for the voiceless. For people like Joe, who had already died.

And for those who wanted to live, who refused to die. It was a voice for the community. I remember them wearing t-shirts that said, we are all people living with AIDS. I remember they all had leather jackets and they were all super cool and they were confident and they were loud. We had the best artists, we had the best, we had the best everything. We got stuff done. They were also pretty clever about how to get into the building

where Prime Minister Brian Mulroney was just about to speak. They understood what it meant to be activists in the media age. They had good laser printers and good software programs and they got their hands on press passes that were being issued by the conference and replicated them.

We belong here! We belong here! And so we're protesting and out of the blue, one of the ACT UP people shouts, we're going inside. And we went into the conference center and, like, up the escalators and into the hall where the conference opening was supposed to take place. So suddenly people start surging up the escalators towards the main room.

And so the escalators are like a sea of leather jackets and placards and noise. So between two and 300 people rush past security guards and break into and noise. So between two and three hundred people rush past security guards and break into the event. Time is running out! Time is running out! Time is running out! And we just head to the front of the room

and then climb up onto the stage and banners are unfurled and signs are raised high and we start chanting. We were chanting things like, history, history will recall, Brian Mulroney did nothing at all. History will recall, Reagan and Bush did nothing at all. Reagan and Bush did nothing at all. And Tim McCaskill from AIDS Action Now is near the front of the space and he says I would like to open this conference on behalf of people living with AIDS. To the first conference in the history of AIDS, opened by the group affected by the disease.

by the disease. Woo! Woo! Woo! Which is huge because in terms of science, in terms of expertise, in terms of how we handled and understood public health, it was unheard of to center the quote unquote patient. So he makes this proclamation and we all start cheering. At least half the room in my memory leapt to their feet and started applauding, which felt like such a win, like such a win, like we were being heard, which felt amazing, a huge rush.

The following year in San Francisco, someone living with AIDS opened a conference. And the delegates, for the first time, included activists and patients. It was life-changing for a lot of people, I think. They had never been involved in something on that scale. They had never been in a position where they could literally affect change or felt like they could affect change. It opened the eyes of the community. It's little ripples that create a big ripple. So we didn't expect to change things overnight,

but we did know that we had to keep badgering and stay on the backs of these politicians and medical officials in order for change to occur. The experience was life-changing for Blaine as well. A few months after the conference, they returned to Montreal. On the heels of the AIDS conference win, it was time to start an ACT UP chapter here in the city. start an ACT UP chapter here in the city. Did this have a special meaning for you to be there, given that Joe had wanted to create that ACT UP chapter? I mean, we were in a way there because of him and we were there to remember him, but

also he wasn't there so the fact that he had been wanting an AIDS activist group like ACT UP to come to Montreal and that he was involved in it when he was killed to see it taking place was bittersweet in that we were making it happen and that would have made Joe happy, but he wasn't there and he wasn't a part of it. And that was sad. Because he would have loved everything

that came after he died. And it's the most bitter irony that a lot of what happened after he died. And it's the most bitter irony that a lot of what happened after he died was because of the way he died. Peter told me that Joe Rose is no longer a person, but a political event. His death had shocked the city into action. Countless gay men died during the AIDS crisis, and many others were murdered in Montreal during that same period. Their deaths may not have resonated the way Joe's did,

but that doesn't mean their friends, their lovers, and their families were not left broken. The same night Joe Rose was brutally killed on a city bus, on March 19, 1989, another man, Richard Galland, was murdered in his bedroom in the village. His lover found him the next day, naked, stabbed to death.

There was no vigil, no call to action. It's 30 years later, and the case remains unsolved. Galland was just one of 17 gay men killed between 1989 and 1993. When I started working on this series, I came straight to Montreal's courthouse, the Palais de Justice, looking for whatever court documents I could find.

But when I showed up, requesting Joe Rose's file, I did not expect what came next. Detruit. Yeah. Destroyed. In Quebec, after 30 years, archivists will destroy any court files they no longer deem important. But Joe Rose's file was important. And there are so many other important stories like his that are in danger of being lost to history.

Who were those other men? What really happened to them? This season on The Village, I'm digging into what happens when people fight for the very right to exist. So people in the crowd started realizing that this was basically an attack because they were gay. And when police indifference turns hostile... They were already standing in a riot position and then they shepherded everybody out and were brutal.

And the police used their sticks to beat them apart. It was horrible. There was just a slaughter. It went on and on and on. It seemed endless as they dragged people one by one. Sex Garage. That's coming up on the next episode of The Village.

This series is produced by Carrie Haber, Michel Gagnon, and me, Francis Plourd. Original concept by Justin Ling. Check out the previous two seasons of The Village wherever you get your podcasts.

And if you're interested in hearing what our colleagues at Radio-Canada are doing with this story, you'll find the French-language production over at audio.ca. It's called Le Village, Meurtre, Combat, Fierté. Our story editor is Chris Oak. Our digital producer is Esquire Robert.

Editing, mixing, and sound design by Kerry Haber and Julia Whitman. Special thanks to CKUT 90.3 FM for their archives. Also to Jeff Turner and Dave Donnie. Kerry Haber is a series showrunner. Our senior producer is Cecil Fernandez. The director of CBC Podcasts is Arif Noorani. Thanks for listening.