Sadly they stared and sank in their chairs
And searched for a comforting notion
And the rich silver wall was ready to fall
As they shook in doubtful devotion
The ice cubes would clink as they freshened their drinks
Whet their minds in bitter emotion.
.And the noise outside was the ringing of revolution.
-Phil Ochs
------
Before and After the Storming of the Wall
------
Monday April 16 was the day it began for me. I was in Calgary and boarded a bus I
was to take to Quebec where the beginning of a new stage, a new manifestation of the
North American class struggle was to take place. I had personally been following the
developments of the Quebec resistance to the Summit of the Americas via an email
announcement list on the Internet. Through this I was already convinced of the size
of the event- but all the other developments to take place were to crystallise how
important it actually was. The movement of a real sense of urgency, and one that has
been called the "anti-globalisation" movement. The name perhaps would ring a bell for
many of the protesters, but the Quebec demonstration was in fact defined from
beginning to end by a strong, pronounced and proudly declared hostility to something
else: to any FTAA negotiations, "free" trade in all its manifestations, to
capitalism, and to the governments who proudly speak of democracy and then feed us
their swill of plunder. That mood was one that would only grow throughout the days
there, and that precise mood was not even close to the private preserve of any facet
of the demonstrations.
I found someone to chat with for the ride, being somewhat deliberate about announcing
myself on the bus, knowing others would be making the Trek to Quebec. I was right,
and had the ability to go over several different options for what was to take place
in the actual "main event". We got right into what, rather unsurprisingly, has now
become one of the main issues around the day: violence and non-violence, when and
where. Well, I said things I was personally to eat in five days time. The debate was,
as is the case when it is divorced from practice, too "academic"- for lack of a less
descriptive word. Having gone over much of the theory of building a movement, I was
of the mind that people would be turned off by "violence"- however that is defined-
and it could only hurt us in the present. Of course, when it came to that Wall, I was
very wrong, and all the theory was irrelevant. Reality has a nasty habit of doing
this to you.
The second day on the bus I got a copy of Canada's largest and most successful
national daily newspaper- The Globe and Mail. The headline was along the lines of
"54% of Canadians approve of Free Trade". Inside was page after page of stupid and
vulgar attacks on those who were going to demonstrate. At the time, I commented to my
(now) travelling companion that this seemed to be an indication of the bourgeoisie's
combined fear and insecurities for their system, as well as utter contempt for those
who will stand in defiance of them. In other words, they are scared before the people
have even taken to the streets. No debate to this position of mine happened- it was
almost self-evident. The ruling class has a great fear that the people have a rising
consciousness about their deeds.
The night before the actual demonstrations were to begin, I arrived fairly late at
Laval University where I set up a sleeping bag on a gymnasium floor where it was to
be my home for the next while. The people going in and out the building were beaming
with delight. Popular power is a very infectious phenomenon. It was announced that at
12 midnight there was to be an assembly held by the GOMM (Le Groupe Opposé à la
Mondialisation des Marchés), alerting people as to what would actually be going on
the next day. Well, the room this conference was to be held accommodated some 2000
people, but the room ran out of space and people were still pouring in long after the
conference finally got under way. This many people, overwhelmingly attentive and
focused, attending anything like that was new to me. It had a very powerful impact on
my feelings about the event. It was, for the first time in that room, clear that we
were making some form of history. The speaker had a simultaneous translator into
English, (much obliged, as I flunked out of French in high school) and broke down the
demonstration route- the different levels of risk involved, and how affinity groups
were to be set up. The affinity groups- much like the model of Seattle activities
with modifications- were activist "cells" that had ties to the larger group, but were
neither strictly co-ordinated with the main action, nor subject to the discipline of
a larger body. It was during the explanations spelled out at this middle of the
night meeting where I understood the premises of "Green, Yellow and Red zones". This
kind of radical approach- one that can encompass all forms of resistance without
condemning the others- this is the single most enduring lesson I garnered from the
actions in Quebec. It ties back into, of course, the whole debate about "violence".
It is my opinion that all the hand wringing that we do about "violence" and whether
or not these forms of resistance are "correct" are completely useless. The radicals
who are currently trying to incite violent episodes- whether against police or
property- are a reality. They are now a huge part of the new anti-globalisation
movement. For us to recognise this and set out different levels of risk according to
where you feel your part is to be played- that is simply the best solution for the
real situation. GOMM themselves are a committed non-violent, civil disobedience
direct action group. The GOMM and CLAC (la Convergence des luttes Anti-Capitalistes)
merged, almost by accident, into the main march the following day.
The night before the main march and after the meeting with the GOMM, I had an
exchange, not unlike many others with "random people" among the crowd bussed in to
the University. I joined a group of young women to play "hacky sack" before heading
to bed (although it was already brutally late, 3 days on a bus meant I didn't really
have an internal clock demanding sleep yet). I asked what was already becoming my
usual question: So why did you decide to come here? One of the women responded that
she knows nothing of politics, what is left and right or what is good or bad, but
that some of the ideas being spoken of here had her fear for her future. And she didn
't like the idea of being told she had no say about these matters. Finally, the Wall
had brought her in, looking like an insult to us as it did. The other woman who
answered my question said "I am not entirely certain what it is they are trying to
hide, but they must be wrong, for if they are right, why would they be hiding what it
is they are doing?" I couldn't answer her, since she was absolutely right. Sometimes
the correct "line" is a simple matter of instinct- and a lot of the people here
instinctively DO NOT trust the government to act in their best interests. Obviously,
this is a good starting point. It is these kinds of attitudes- the understanding of
what is going on, stripped of all the rhetoric, that are very good among the citizens
at these marches. People KNOW the rich are screwing the poor, people KNOW the
environment is being bought and sold by corporations- and people here at the demo
KNOW what the police are going to do. The kinds of comments being uttered the night
before all the "fun" began indicated a direct understanding that the struggle was
about to get far more pitched, and far more acute. Illusions were smashed in the
wafting gas of Seattle air. That was a lesson for me- it was more than simply what
feels to be the launching of a movement, it was the undressing of the state, for many
at least. I would have guessed as much about the demonstrators who had been IN
Seattle, but not those who watched the events unfold.
I went to sleep shortly after, convinced that the meetings, both the personal and the
political, had left me in a great position for the struggles of the next day.
After getting a pair of coffees and downing them fiercely, I headed to the space of
the main march. It slowly filled the streets in front of the University and seemed,
at times, very unsure of itself. I still didn't really know what was going on myself,
but found a railing I could "stand" on near the edge of the demonstration. From there
I looked out at the crowd and tried to determine who was in attendance, what kind of
groups were here- would it be the kind of diversity that was troubling at Seattle? I
had hoped that people would not come with issues that didn't relate somehow to the
protest. I wasn't disappointed, at least from where I stood. The groups remained
diverse, but very few seemed out-of-place. The most "out of place" were "Free Mumia",
"Shut down the School of the Americas" and the like. Considering that the American
president was only a few hundred yards away, it didn't seem inappropriate. The amount
of simple "fix it" type slogans, such as in Seattle, were not apparent on this day.
After all, the march itself was billed as a "Carnival Against Capitalism". And that
would turn out to be an understatement.
When it finally got rolling, we had in fact been standing around for over two hours.
But move on we did. Immediately the march organisers announced that turning left (all
of 20 metres from the start of the march) at the first intersection meant going the"
green" peaceful, legal, and no arrest route (GOMM) and turning right was to go the
"yellow" route, where the risk of arrest was indeed involved (CLAC). Red areas were
listed but not particularly endorsed nor condemned. The media were to later portray
the stall in time as being one where the groups were fighting. That was a funny label
for the amount of caution involved in launching the actual march. Once we were on the
streets, the usual rounds of chants began. I've myself been in many loud marches
involving chants- but you simply haven't lived until you see the look on the 3-piece
suit crowd to hearing tens of thousands of people yell "1,2,3,4- eat the rich to feed
the poor- 5,6,7,8- organise to smash the state". Poetry in motion, and people in
action!
I decided to stand on a little hill that I found about an hour into the march, to
look back at the people. I couldn't see the end; that march was a truly remarkable
size. I went about observing the people who went by. There were represented the usual
contingents of banners, signs of slogans, and signs of wit. I noticed how a large
number of flags seemed to be making the rounds. Then I saw this group I'd seen
earlier, back at the University- a group of young Red masked folks, carrying their
Red Flags, wearing all red and marching in step with what would likely be described
as Black Bloc Anarchists. Were they together? I don't think so- but the spirits were
kin, and that was evident. I had received this flyer for a group that vowed to "end
bourgeois society" and spoke about the "landless are starving" while the bourgeoisie
will "drink to that at their jet set party". We thus need to organise through
revolutionary struggle. This statement was accompanied by a picture of a red hooded
person wearing a hammer and sickle mask and holding a stiletto. I must admit being
drawn by the pure raw energy that came off the page, the seeming anger with which it
seemed written. It dripped with the freshness of a newly hardened radical. I can also
see the telltale signs of a newly read Maoist grouping. For the first time in a long
time, that rough-edged raw nature appeared as much as strength as it did a weakness.
At the outset of the march I had grabbed a Red Flag (felt the thing to do, must
admit) from a group of men who were doling out free home made Red Flags, and was
holding it while looking out to the crowd, trying to decipher what I was seeing here.
One of the black clad, masked Anarchists got the same idea. I quietly without a word
extended my hand then. It was a feeling of solidarity with this tendency in the crowd
that would not dim, but strengthen throughout the rest of the day. Some of these
Anarchists walked by holding above their heads a pair of mattresses. I didn't know
what that was all about, but someone later explained it. Turns out this is a police
line breaking tool- one can crash a police line and prevent being swung at with such
a frontal assault ram. I never saw them used, however.
I decided upon arriving at the main intersection (the "front") to stay right there.
Upon getting gassed within the first five minutes (I arrived almost immediately after
the wall came down on the Friday), I had to pull on my own hair not to launch into
attacks on the police line. The intensity of the situation was of combat and pure raw
anger. Now, if we accept the premise that the Wall was a challenge, and it was our
duty as democratic proponents to tear the blasted thing down- then surely one can see
that the rest of the conflict was hardly one to wring one's hands over either. The
whole "provocation" was not a factor- the rocks and bottles didn't have any real
power to do any serious damage to police (if that is a concern for you). Also, hand
wringing has been the preserve of the truly irrelevant who want to argue about who
started what. And this has been the part of the action that makes me feel things have
changed the most. Why I believe that, at least from the mostly white, middle-class
Canadian standpoint (whatever that actually means), things have changed dramatically
has to do with the reactions of other demonstrators and people who were thousands of
miles away. There were (and remain) almost no people spending their time trying to
decipher who started the violence.
Images in the mind, of course, endure. The local shops of Quebec around the areas
where the demonstrators were to spend much of their time were boarded up. To my
delight, rather than prying down the boards to smash things up (as I had quietly
predicted to myself), people wrote up polemics on them. One great image was one on
Rue Saint Jean that included illustrations. Someone drew out a complete postcard,
which read: "Dear mom: The people of Quebec have an interesting way of disposing of
their garbage. First, they pile it all on top of a hill, then they put a 4km fence
around it and the people here push it off into the water. Love ___". Of course, many
were slogans and other one-liners we can expect to hear a lot ("Is this what
democracy looks like?" being the most common). The entire downtown was polemics, and
only a block from where the gas was raining on the people, others would be engaged in
the staunchest of debates about what we could do next, or should.
Other images include imitating the hippie phenomenon, developed in the 60's Portugal
of a flower for the soldier. A young woman approached the police line with a large
sunflower. A different individual had already attempted the offer of a flower,
walking up and down the police line with the offering and being ignored the entire
way. This woman got within a few feet (walking alone, with much space) and was
summarily gassed. End of experiment. Perhaps the most illustrative image I saw was
on Friday of a young woman, most likely a student, getting on a megaphone and asking
if anyone in the crowd had a copy of Canada's Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Well,
this took a couple of minutes, but someone did, to her delight. It should be
mentioned we were on a hill, after one of the more vicious gassings had been used to
drive us there. She began to read out the charter. She was able to get through much
of it, but as she got to the part about the right of free assembly, gas was shot, in
an arch and another in a straight line, right to where she was. That ended her
education of the crowd of the rights all around being crushed. She persisted in this
effort several times, never getting through the document.
(end part 1)
-------------------------------------------
Macdonald Stainsby
----
In the contradiction lies the hope.
--Bertholt Brecht
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