The 1% roots of Occupy Toronto’s spokesman
How the estranged son of wealthy parents came to lead the movement
He chose the pseudonym “Smith,” the most common of English monikers.
It is a name for regular folk and the plebeian masses; it is a name for the 99 per cent.
In October, a burly, curly-haired activist calling himself Antonin Smith moved into St. James Park, the nexus of the Occupy Toronto movement.
Over the next two months, Smith — or “Agent Smith,” as he sometimes referred to himself — became one of the most controversial and outspoken citizens of Occupy Toronto, making himself a de facto spokesperson for a movement that did not want one.
Like many occupiers, he used a pseudonym. But to change one’s name is to obscure the past.
So when Antonin became a Smith, he tucked away Antonin Yvan Mongeau — owner of a Yonge and Eglinton loft, former president of a briefly lucrative web company, and the 34-year-old estranged son of David Charles Mongeau, an international investment banker and the antithesis of Occupy Toronto.
Antonin Mongeau is someone who identifies with the 99 per cent but has deep ties to the 1 per cent.
Last fall, as Mongeau slept in a tent and railed against Wall Street, his father was dividing his time between Monaco — where he and his wife have a palatial luxury apartment — and England, where his investment banking firm keeps a posh London address and Mongeau drives a Ferrari 360, according to a 2009 newspaper report. Although the elder Mongeau comes from humble beginnings, today he lives in the rarefied universe of the 1 per cent. So does his wife, Rose, and daughter, Caroline, who works at her father’s firm.
But as father, mother and sister ascended into a world of wealth and privilege, Antonin Mongeau drifted in another direction, eventually landing among the tent dwellers of St. James Park.
“I was very shocked and surprised when I read (an Occupy Toronto) article about Antonin that was in the paper,” said a bemused Margaret Mongeau, his paternal grandmother who lives near Windsor. She chuckles at the dissimilarity.
“(For anybody that sees) what his father is, and they see what he’s doing, there’s a big, big question mark.” When asked to describe her grandson, she pauses.
“He’s in between two worlds, I think,” she says. “And he has to find himself.”
When initially contacted for this article, Mongeau adamantly refused to be interviewed unless the Star promised to only use his pseudonym. When he learned the story was going ahead, he reluctantly agreed to answer questions by email but said he was doing so “under duress.”
Through a series of emailed statements, Mongeau paints a portrait of a rejected son who has authored his own successes and divorced himself from his parents and their ilk.
He and his parents are estranged, he says, because they “live in different cities and different worlds.
“I have experienced radical swings in class, but I’ve never wanted for much,” he says. “When I was 17, I lived on welfare; by the time I was 22, the Internet had made me a millionaire.
“My father didn’t join (the) 1 per cent world until after I left home. It’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”
Where Mongeau lives, exactly, is a murkier place, located somewhere on the dividing line between the 99 and 1 per cent.
His parents have dangled the silver spoon; the question is whether he has tossed it aside or just hidden it away in his mouth. Or perhaps they have taken it back.
Mongeau owns a Yonge and Eglinton loft but appears to spend little time there. He claims to be a onetime dot-com millionaire, but now tweets about the evils of capitalism. He says his bank account has a balance of just 46 cents, but last January, he took out a $50,000 loan from his mother, according to his condo’s
“They don’t care what I do. . . . Parents are like electrons; they want the path of least resistance for their children. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed them.” ANTONIN MONGEAU OCCUPY TORONTO SPOKESMAN
mortgage record. Mongeau was born in Belgium on Nov. 4, 1977. In the early ’80s, his mother, Rose, met a young lawyer from Windsor named David Mongeau, who would later marry her and adopt her little boy. The couple had a daughter together, Caroline.
By any measure, the Mongeaus lived comfortably while their son was under their roof.
Before Mongeau reached the age of 17, his father had already been a rising star at Goodmans, one of Canada’s leading business law firms, and a senior executive with Four Seasons Hotels. In1993, David Mongeau joined CIBC, the job that would make him vice-chairman of CIBC World Markets and eventually prompt his move to London, where he later established Avington Financial, an investment bank.
The Mongeaus lived in a Georgian-revival three-storey home in Richmond Hill, which they purchased for just under half a million dollars in 1988. It was here the relationship between Mongeau and his parents began to fracture. When he was 17, he says, they kicked him out.
“I lived on welfare in a boarding house. I was 17 and homeless.”
Mongeau would not answer questions about why his parents kicked him out, the location of the boarding house, how long he lived there, or where he wound up afterwards. He says his parents later tried getting him into boarding school, but he eventually graduated from Bayview Secondary School in 1998 at the age of 20.
Mongeau says his experience as a homeless youth “changed my whole world view.” Several years later at St. James Park, some occupiers would notice Mongeau’s particular affinity for the homeless.
“When you’ve seen both sides of the coin you realize two things: we can’t keep going like this and it’s going to be hard,” Mongeau says. “Those with power and money will not relinquish it kindly.” After graduating from high school, Mongeau enrolled at the University of Toronto, studying semiotics and becoming heavily involved with the French Club, where he still serves as president. He has not yet received his degree, U of T records show. Mongeau says his only experience as a 1 per center came during the early years of university. He and a friend began an Internet company called bounce2this, which created and hosted websites. Mongeau claims the venture briefly made him a “millionaire” and landed him a condo. A larger company eventually bought it out, he says. “My parents weren’t1per cent until after I left home. I was one of my own accord thanks to the Internet. Please don’t mislead your readers.” But his father lurked at the edge of his success. His condo was bought from his dad, who sold it to him for $50,000 less than what David Mongeau paid one year prior. His web business, too, was largely acquired by a company called Zconnexx, which became a 65 per cent share owner in 2000. “David C. Mongeau” is listed as a one-time board director with Zconnexx, according to a TMX database. In January 2011, mortgage records show, Mongeau took out $50,000 from his mother at a 10 per cent interest rate. The loan was backed against his condo. Occupiers who met Mongeau in the park said he sometimes complained about the high costs of his condo and worried about losing his home. He would not answer questions about the loan, but says he is now “back to being poor” with less than 50 cents to his name. Mongeau says he works as a copy editor and freelancer, “but it’s not enough to make ends meet.” In October, Mongeau surprised French Club members by announcing in an email that he would be temporarily leaving his post as president to join Occupy Toronto. Mongeau felt compelled to join the movement, in part, because of his disgust with corporations and their obsession with growth, often at the expense of human rights. He was also drawn to its emphasis on obliterating class divides, he says. “The Occupy movement comes with the tacit acknowledgement that the base of all our problems is class,” he says. “That’s what I’d been waiting for.” But part of the appeal was also the fun. “Half the reason I went to Occupy was just to camp,” he says. “I love camping.” Mongeau became an ardent Occupy devotee, spending 40 days and 37 nights in the park. He took on the challenging role of police liaison and was skilled at organizing the food team, ensuring the kitchen passed health inspections and making 5:30 a.m. runs to the food terminal. But some occupiers had trouble accepting Mongeau. Certain people felt bullied by the burly activist with the tendency to shout. Others took issue with his autocratic decisionmaking style. Some even suspected he was an undercover cop. At a general assembly in late November, people voiced concerns over Mongeau, some proposing he be excluded from future gatherings until the issue was resolved. Mongeau’s credo is “those who work the hardest make the rules.” For some occupiers, this mentality went against the spirit of the movement. “For me, one of the most important parts of Occupy should be from an anti-oppression perspective,” said occupier Nele Michiels. “It was more an issue of he acted by himself almost, ignoring our democratic processes.” But the incident that drew the most ire was when Mongeau and a small group of occupiers attempted an illegal “food squat” in a vacant Queen St. basement.
“We’re not leaving,” he told Star reporter Laura Stone, his face obscured by a floral-patterned bandana. “When we run out of food, it becomes a food strike. Then we’ll go on a hunger strike. If the city wants to leave us here to die, then so be it.”
They were evicted by police the following day.
“Antonin Smith hijacking the movement at the end was brutal and destroyed whatever was gained,” wrote one online commenter, responding to an article on Media Co-op, an independent media website.
“(He) squandered all political goodwill from the public when he and a few other yahoos occupied a building on Queen for all of 24 hours, only to totally malign the Occupy movement with his masked attention-seeking.
“I’m just sayin’ that allowing this guy to be the de facto spokesperson for Occupy was an unhinged unabashed mistake.”
Mongeau shrugs off the criticisms and says he has been targeted as a scapegoat because he is a person of action. Occupy is an idea, he says; there’s no membership card.
“It’s hard to even want to align with Occupy Toronto anymore,” Mongeau says. “I came for a revolution and now I find myself encircled by a group of neo-hippie repeatniks who float somewhere between consternation and indifference.”
But would he participate in a second Occupy Toronto?
“Ya, I’ll be there,” he says. “I love camping.”
Josephine Grey met Mongeau at St. James Park and says she was impressed by his intelligence and dedication. Grey is her “professional name,” which she has been using for 20 years as an activist.
He is not the only Occupier with privileged roots, she says.
Grey comes from an aristocratic family herself, she says, but now lives in social housing and works at Low Income Families Together, which she founded.
Although Mongeau never spoke of his past, Grey strongly suspected he came from a wealthy family.
“I think it could be a part of his drive is that he does have a broad perspective, he has had a foot in both worlds,” she says. “It doesn’t matter how much wealth you come from. Once you’re on the outside, you’re on the outside and you’re like everybody else.”
Mongeau downplays the differences between himself and his father. He is not against any individual, he says; just the system.
“I’m not Luke, he’s not Vader, and it’s not quite that epic,” he says. When asked what his parents think about his Occupy involvement, Mongeau responded, “They don’t care what I do.” But he loves his dad and he speaks respectfully of his parents. David is “industrious and intelligent,” he says; Rose is “a poet.”
“Parents are like electrons; they want the path of least resistance for their children,” he says. “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed them.”