A civic‑minded public‑safety essay
All we are aiming for is: firm without being self‑righteous, grounded without being passive, authoritative without being theatrical. And yes — it pairs with a sidebar. The sidebar gives the deep‑time anthropology; Another article gives the civic reality. Together, they form a coherent public‑safety argument.
Others let it run the block.
That is the beginning and the end of the public‑safety problem unfolding outside my ground‑floor window. I’m not a crank. I’m not a retiree with nothing to do. I’m a writer — seventy‑one, still sharp, still disciplined — living in a building where unmanaged addiction has turned a cinderblock wall into a tribal hearth.
And I’m exposed. Not metaphorically. Not emotionally.
Physically.
I have police files open. I have a bylaw file open. I have documented intrusion, documented displacement, documented recidivist behaviour.
This is not a lifestyle conflict. This is a public‑safety hazard. And I’m not writing this for myself alone. I’m writing it for the neighbours with COPD. For the children in this six‑suite vertical stack. For anyone who still believes breathable air is a basic civic right. I fight my own battles — but I don’t fight them for myself alone.
The Legitimacy of the Witness
I don’t hide my habits. I don’t pretend to sanctimony of the pure. I don’t posture. I smoke — but I smoke with boundaries. One cigar a week, two if the mold is bad and the spring is long. Fifteen minutes, private location, no intrusion into anyone else’s airspace.
Civilization is built on limits. Barbarism is built on the refusal to recognize them.
That’s why I can speak to this with clarity. I know the pull. I know the ritual. I know the difference between a private vice and a public hazard fraught by spectacle, smoke, illusions, angst, and delusions of grandeur.
And I know what it looks like when the leash slips. Because I keep the beast on a leash. Others let it run the block.
That’s not a moral judgment. That’s an observational fact — one supported by airflow physics, displacement patterns, addiction cycles, and the RCMP and bylaw files currently open with my name on them.
The Dichotomy (Leashed vs. Unleashed)
There are two kinds of tobacco users in this world, and the difference between them is not moral — it’s civilizational.
The first kind understands limits. They smoke the way early humans once did:
- privately,
- briefly,
- with awareness of the group.
They know the primal beast. They respect its power. They keep it on a leash. They don’t intrude on anyone else’s airspace, lungs, or peace.
These are the people who treat tobacco as
- A ritual, not a weapon.
- A moment, not a territory.
- A vice, not a vocation.
I count myself among them. The second kind is something else entirely.
They smoke the way the prehistoric pack once gathered around the fire after a hunt:
- loud,
- territorial,
- boundary‑testing, and
- oblivious to the world beyond their circle.
They don’t keep the beast on a leash. They let it run the block. These are the ones who:
- cluster in groups
- defend each other
- occupy corners
- return to the same spot like migratory animals
- treat smoke as a territorial marker
- treat the wall as a hearth
- treat the building as a backdrop for their ritual
It’s not personal It’s ancient. And when that ancient behaviour is dropped into a modern building complex — six suites stacked from ground to third floor — it becomes a public‑safety hazard, not because the people are malicious, but because the behaviour is barbaric in origin.
Barbaric meaning:
- pre‑civic,
- pre‑law,
- pre‑boundary,
- pre‑consideration.
A ritual older than agriculture colliding with the fragile expectations of modern urban life.
The Street‑Level Descent (The Ground‑Floor Reality)
This is where the anthropology becomes airflow. Where the ritual becomes intrusion. Where the pack becomes a hazard.
The cinderblock wall beside my patio door is not just a wall.
It is a chimney flue. Smoke hits it, clings to it, rides it upward, and enters my home with the precision of a guided missile. It doesn’t drift. It doesn’t disperse. It travels.
And it travels into:
- my living room
- my lungs
- my neighbours’ lungs
- the lungs of children in the vertical stack above me
This is not discomfort. This is exposure.
And exposure is the beginning of danger. The group outside my window is not a social gathering. It is a recidivist cluster — displaced from one building, discouraged from another, and now treating my wall as their tribal hearth.
They bring:
- noise
- fumes
- idling vehicles
- territorial posturing
- unpredictable energy
- the kind of feral presence that makes a ground‑floor resident wonder what comes next
This is not a “smoking issue.” This is a public‑safety issue. And I have the adversaries to prove it.
Public Safety Closure
- Unmanaged addiction creates micro‑zones of disorder.
- Pack behaviour is inherently dangerous.
- Territorial clustering is a civic hazard.
- Smoke is not just chemical — it is spatial.
- Intrusion is not just sensory — it is structural.
- And the ground‑floor resident is always the first casualty.
I don’t wish this on anyone:
- Not on my neighbours.
- Not on the police.
- Not on the smokers themselves.
No one should have to breathe someone else’s addiction. I know the beast because I keep it on a leash. Others let it run the block.
Closing Kicker
If public safety means anything, it means this: the right to breathe in your own home. And that right ends the moment someone else’s addiction enters through your window.
Author’s Note
I write this piece not as a crusader, nor as a man with grievances to air, but as a long‑time Nanaimo resident who understands both the pull of tobacco and the responsibility that comes with living in close quarters. I’m seventy‑one, still working, still writing, and still committed to the idea that public safety begins with clear eyes and honest language.
This essay reflects my lived experience as a ground‑floor tenant in a six‑suite building where unmanaged smoking behaviour has created a genuine health and safety concern — not only for me, but for neighbours with respiratory conditions and for the children who share this vertical stack of homes. I’ve opened police and bylaw files not out of impatience, but out of necessity.
My aim here is simple, to describe a public‑safety hazard with:
- accuracy,
- context, and
- respect for everyone involved.
I don’t condemn smokers. I am one. I don’t condemn addiction. I am not one. condemn intrusion — the kind that:
- crosses thresholds,
- enters homes, and
- compromises the air others breathe.
This essay is offered in good faith to residents, public‑safety personnel, and anyone who believes that civility is built on boundaries. It pairs with the accompanying sidebar on the deep history of tobacco, which helps explain why certain behaviours feel so ancient — and why they become dangerous when left unmanaged in modern urban spaces.
Thank you for reading, and for caring about the safety of the people who live here.
Mack McColl, Nanaimo, BC
