A-Infos (en) The Quebec Chronicles (A20-A21)

[Graeme Bacque <graeme.bacque@3web.net>]

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      A - I N F O S  N E W S  S E R V I C E
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(Look for pics at <http://graemesgallery.tripod.com/Quebec/A20-21.html> 
starting later on this evening. I still have several rolls of film left to 
process).

(I apologize in advance for any errors in identifying place names - this 
was my first visit to Quebec City and I speak no French.)
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I arrived in Quebec City shortly before midnight on Thursday, April 19 with 
half a dozen friends. Before that, we had all spent the entire day in 
Cornwall/Akwesasne, as part of an effort to ensure safe passage across the 
border for U.S. residents who wished to participate in the demonstrations.

Following a couple of hours of frigging around in the unfamiliar city and 
getting directions from several people (including two city cops!), we 
finally arrived at our billet at Lavale University. Imagine this scenario - 
a gymnasium floor larger than a football field, packed wall-to-wall with 
more than two thousand people! While the sleeping arrangements themselves 
were rather spartan (sleeping bags laid on the floor), the availability of 
showers, some food and even a sauna guaranteed relative comfort for the 
duration of our stay.

[April 20]

Demonstrators had begun to assemble on the streets of the Lavale campus by 
late morning of Friday, April 20. At this point confusion reigned supreme, 
apparently due to ongoing ideological conflicts among the various 
organizers over the tactics to be employed. I eventually found out that two 
groups were supposed to be departing (the first leaving at 12 noon to go to 
a relatively low-risk 'green' zone, with a second group leaving at one with 
the intent of actually approaching the perimeter fence.) As it turned out, 
the two groups ended up leaving only moments apart sometime after one PM. 
My friends and I joined the group of thousands of people that was planning 
to march along Rene Levesque Blvd. towards the 'yellow' zone at the 
security perimeter.

The march was a long one (nearly seven miles) and for a while the energy 
seemed to be flagging, but as we drew nearer to our objective, the 
drumming, chants and shouts rose once more until the air was electric! 
Finally at a little past three, our destination came into view - twelve 
feet of chain-link fence, set into a cement base adding an additional three 
feet in height. Just beyond the fence were more steel barricades, and 
behind these - hundreds and hundreds of riot cops.

Initially a few signs and banners were hung, and some rather innocuous 
objects - a small plastic beach-ball, a couple of rolls of duct tape, some 
plastic water bottles - sailed over the fence. The one young man scrambled 
up the barrier, clinging precariously to the very top as the people below 
began furiously shaking the fence to chants of 'Tear down the wall!' With 
the help of some young people armed with bolt cutters, and the first man 
who used his body to force the mesh lower to the ground, within a few 
minutes the crowd had brought a huge section of the perimeter fence 
crashing down.

After a brief hesitation hundreds of protesters poured through the 
shattered fence as a hail of debris was directed towards the police lines. 
The cops reacted rather timidly at first, firing only a few smoke bombs and 
concussion grenades towards the crowd. This was not to last, as a series of 
sharp bangs announced the first of hundreds of canisters of tear gas that 
would be fired at us over the course of that day. The thick clouds of 
noxious smoke forced the front lines into a choking,  eye-watering retreat, 
but the determination of this huge crowd was a sight to behold! As some 
folks withdrew, hundreds more would rush to the front - over and over again!

The cops eventually pushed us back to just outside the fence, then formed a 
solid line in front of it as people variously stood their ground, sang, 
danced and drummed or sat down in the street. We could see still more lines 
of cops moving into place in the spaces between the buildings on the south 
side of Rene Levesque. An occasional volley of tear gas canisters would 
send small groups of people scrambling madly  out of the way. (Many of 
these ended up being scooped up and pitched right back at the cops). The 
base of the wall and the media vehicles parked nearby began to acquire a 
generous coating of graffiti in French, Spanish and English. At one point a 
large yellow school bus came barreling right through the middle of the 
crowd, led by a cop car with siren screaming.

Just then, the revving of engines to the west announced the arrival of two 
huge white trucks with water cannons mounted on their roofs, which 
immediately began directing powerful jets of icy water into the back of the 
crowd. Hundreds of people promptly swarmed around the two hulking vehicles, 
and within a couple of minutes they were forced into an undignified 
retreat, one of them sporting a busted windshield.

This may have been a diversion, for then the cops began firing a 
concentrated barrage of gas, with volley after volley sailing up to two or 
three blocks to land in the middle of the throng. Many people fled, some of 
us taking refuge among a block of small apartment buildings or on side 
streets. I found myself running headlong down a steep hill, coming to an 
abnrupt halt near the bottom as I plunged into a deep snowbank and went 
sprawling on my back.

People began to regroup and moved west along a narrow street for several 
blocks before making their way back up to Rene Levesque as the gas 
dissipated. We discovered the cops had succeeded in forcing the bulk of the 
crowd back several blocks before forming a solid line across the middle of 
the street. By then it was nearly eight o'clock, and since the energy 
seemed to be diminshing I hooked up with a couple of friends and made my 
way back to our billet.

A large screen TV set up at one end of the gym showed continuous live 
images of street battles that would continue well into the night - it 
seemed that Rene Levesque was not the only hot point around the security 
perimeter that night! There had only been a few arrests by that time, 
although a number of people (including a New Democrat Member of Parliament 
named Svend Robinson) had been injured by gas canisters or rubber bullets. 
News had spread that organizer Jaggi Singh had been literally kidnapped 
from the 'green' zone  by three large men in hoodies, scarves and goggles 
who turned out to be undercover cops!

[April 21]

Many of the people sleeping at Lavale had left to participate in the huge 
labor-organized march that was assembling on the Plains of Abraham at noon. 
My friends and I drove down Rene Levesque towards the fence, stopping 
several blocks away. Secreting our van at the corner of Fraser and Moncton 
Streets, we made our way cautiously towards the perimeter, not knowing 
exactly what to expect. It turned out that a sizable crowd had already 
assembled near the barrier, and it continued to grow as we watched. The 
stink of gas already hung in the air.

The next several hours were to unfold like some form of bizarre ritual. The 
crowd would slowly approach the fence. As people drew near, blasts of cold 
water from the two water cannons (now discreetly stationed behind the 
partially repaired fence) would cut a swath through the assembled people. 
The crowd would advance again. A few rocks would get tossed at the cops. 
Gas would fly. A lone bagpiper in full regalia (including gas mask) would 
step close to the barrier, with several other men dancing a hornpipe as he 
played. A burst of water and several rubber bullets soon sent these 
enterprising folks fleeing.  Next, several Canadian Auto Workers union 
members would walk forward bearing flags, standing their ground as they 
nearly disappeared into a maelstrom of water, the sun striking the 
surrounding halo of mist and forming a gaudy rainbow that hung in the still 
air. The cops would advance, pushing the crowd back a couple of blocks 
west. Hundreds of people would then sit down in the street. The cops would 
retreat again.

At about four in the afternoon the pigs launched their fiercest assault to 
date, firing dozens of rounds of gas all through the crowd. People were 
forced to retreat among the buildings of a small block of apartments (which 
was home primarily to seniors)and the narrow, hilly streets in the 
working-class St Jean-Baptiste neighborhood. Previously, the space among 
these apartments had proved to be a refuge of sorts, providing a small zone 
of safety where people could recuperate from the gas. This time, the pigs 
forced us between the buildings - then proceeded to fire gas in after us! 
People scrambled further north among the tall rowhouses, ducking into 
doorways and down alleys. I ran northeast, wiping out on a muddy hill and 
going all the way to the bottom on my butt, my eyes burning. (Saturday was 
a much warmer day than Friday had been, with hardly any wind, and it was 
also suspected that the cops had switched to a stronger form of gas). The 
air in a large section of downtown Quebec City was rapidly becoming 
unbreathable as the fumes failed to dissipate. Many peoples' homes were 
undoubtedly becoming contaminated.

Ran into some friends from New York at this point, and we sat down together 
in a tiny park to rest. Hundreds and hundreds of people were roving back 
and forth along the narrow streets. The support from the community itself 
had been amazing, with local residents offering activists food and water, 
use of their washrooms or a place to rest. Music blasted from numerous 
stereos (Pink Floyd's 'The Wall' being an especially popular choice that 
weekend!) and many of the locals would end up joining the actions.

The rumors circulating by this time were incredible - that the summit was 
on the verge of being shut down due to contamination of the hotels from 
their own damned gas; and that the army had been called in to bolster the 
cops. None of these wild stories were ever substantiated.

I roved around some of the back streets with my friends for the next little 
while. We discovered that a third water cannon had been brought in and was 
directing a continuous stream northward from the fence along a narrow 
laneway, undoubtedly flooding basements in many of the neighboring houses. 
We found ourselves in a little caged-in cul-de-sac - to my paranoid senses, 
this seemed like a bad place to be! A couple of gas canisters landing in 
our midst quickly confirmed this.

Retreated to the north and found ourselves in a fairly large group of 
people headed roughly north-east through the streets. Suddenly someone 
shouted a warning, and a solid block of several dozen cops emerged from one 
of the larger streets, moving in at a rapid jog! Everyone fled, making 
their way down two steep flights of stairs set into the side of a cliff.

As darkness fell, we found ourselves under a soaring highway turnpike near 
the base of the steep bluff, which would prove to be the scene of the most 
surreal and riveting spectacle I had ever seen. This was like the gathering 
of forces before some kind of strange medieval battle! At least 3,000 
people had congregated here, and many of them were beating out a ringing 
tattoo on anything they could find - drums, buckets, tin cans, even the 
highway guardrails! We all watched in amazement as a lone man scaled the 
towering cliff, starting a small avalanche and almost falling before other 
people along the top pulled him to safety, to our resounding cheers. 
Hundreds more people were dancing wildly to the intoxicating din. Bonfires 
blazed. A large field kitchen had been set up, with the hardworking folks 
from Food Not Bombs providing meals for thousands of weary activists. High 
above, the top of the cliff would occasionaly fade from view behind a 
noxious veil of gas, with the occasional stray shot streaking down into our 
midst like a small meteorite. Lines of cops and groups of demonstrators 
roved back and forth on the highway ramps overhead.

I was to spend several hours down there, until about nine-thirty or so. A 
group of us tried the stairs at one point, only to discover a crowd of cops 
awaiting us at the top. We retreated back into the pit.

By then I was pretty much done-in, what with breathing tear gas for two 
solid days,and all the running around. (I won't hide the fact that I'm a 
middle-aged man with a belly). Someone pointed out a safe retreat route and 
where to catch the city bus that would take me back to Lavale.

Stories of police brutality were emerging thick and fast by this time. We 
heard of a large group of people who had been cornered on the turnpike 
being forced to scramble down the 150-foot cliffs or leap twenty-five feet 
down to a neighboring ramp to avoid being clubbed and tear-gassed. There 
were many arrests being reported by this time, with most people being 
grabbed in the 'green' areas or even by roving police 'snatch squads' while 
walking (or in a couple of caes, riding their bikes) along city streets! A 
street medical clinic set up by protesters had been attacked with gas, and 
the CMAQ (independent media) building had been surrounded and fired on with 
rubber bullets, with one person being wounded in the leg. In the end, more 
than 450 people would be arrested and detained for periods of up to several 
days.

At the prison, people were reporting being held handcuffed on the buses for 
many hours without access to water or toilet facilities, public strip 
searches being done, and a 'decontamination' process that consisted of 
being forcibly hosed down with cold water. There had been many injuries 
from gas canisters being fired horizontally into the crowd and from rubber 
bullets, including at least one man who wound up in critical condition. I 
personally assisted one man whose arm had been broken by a gas canister 
fired at point-blank range, and a friend of mine was struck in the neck by 
another canister, which then exploded in his face. (Incredibly, he was only 
slightly injured).

The numbers present that weekend were absolutely phenomenal, with an 
estimated 10 to 20,000 people participating in the various direct actions 
around the perimeter for two days, and up to 60,000 more taking part in the 
Saturday afternoon march. On the other side was a security force of at 
least 6,000 cops from the RCMP, Surete du Quebec and the Montreal Police, 
among others. (The few Quebec City cops present were largely irrelevant). 
At an estimated total cost of $100 million, this was the largest police 
operation in the history of this country!

By then, the mainstream media, politicians and even the more mainstream of 
'protesters' were making many sanctimonious statements about the supposedly 
'violent' tactics being employed by people around the perimeter. As usual, 
the authors of these statements failed to mention the inherent violence 
behind the erecting of a fence around these thirty-four 'leaders' with the 
express purpose of keeping all others out, or of the thousands of 
storm-troopers who were enforcing it. They failed to mention the violence 
of a system that continues to practice widespread repression and genocide 
of indigenous communities throughout the Americas, or allows for the 
rampant poverty and homelessness that has taken root even in the most 
wealthy of member nations.

Far from being 'violent', the resistance at the perimeter was a powerful 
and unifying experience that will likely lead to the radicalization of many 
of the participants. Many people acquired important organizational skills 
over the weeks leading up to these actions.

A tremendous amount of momentum was generated by these two days in Quebec 
City. It is now vital that participants carry this momentum forth into the 
work they do within their own communities. The consequences of 
globalization will be felt right in our own backyards as well as in 
neighboring countries - and it is in our own backyards that the most 
important organizing work must now be done.

Graeme Bacque
April 26, 2001


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