Masked Avengers©Linda Dawn Hammond 2001

Quebec's Peaceful Revolution
Dave Marshall of geneACTION

We left Toronto at nightfall, a bus full of 'Rise Up!' anarchists, and arrived at Laval University, just outside of Quebec City, at dawn. I may have slept an hour or two, I'm not sure. Clear skies and temperature near freezing, gentle mountains surrounding the city emerge from the darkness.   Some other buses are arriving also. We wait outside the university sport complex for a while, then inside for a while longer, as organizers kindly welcome us, and verse us on what has been provided and what to look  for. Floor space inside the giant gymnasium is searched for to accommodate the additional arrivals of busloads. When enough spots are found we go quietly so as not to wake the 2000 or so already peacefully sleeping people. It is comfortable here; the floors are made of rubber. As hundreds of people arrive and mill about, it is amazing how quiet it is. I don't think I'll sleep, however.

At the food tent, volunteers hand out peanut butter and jam sandwiches, muffins and orange juice for breakfast.

Back inside the huge rubber floored gymnasium I chatted with floor neighbor Alain for a while. He lives in Montreal and believes in things spiritual. Hindu chants, meditative dancing, vegetarian food, and Gaia, are some of his guiding interests, passions, and teachings. He is eating fruit, gratefully, meditatively, and offers me some of his pear.

Gaia is our planet alive, and in grave danger of being murdered by a group of  violent ecological terrorists soon to be meeting behind a heavily fortified security zone. Awareness of this is bringing thousands to the city today to peacefully protest outside the fortress walls.

We begin our walk from Laval just after one o'clock. Friday afternoon is sunny, cloudless, and warm  as the day progressed.

The numbers of people, of banners, signs, buttons, stickers, drum-beats, tambourines, whistles, chants, songs, and cheers would also increase as we neared the city, as would the enthusiasm of the peaceful people marching in solidarity, supported by local residents flashing thumbs-up and peace signs and joining us in our chants and songs of solidarity.

I became an adopted affinity member with Henry, Peter, and Bernard, and helped them carry a 20ft. long 'BEWARE, GENETIC ENGINEERING' banner along Chemin Sainte Foy. The small mountains surrounding the city are frequently in plain view on this crystal clear day.

Down to Boulevard Charest, our banner pulls tautly in the breeze. There are huge puppets 15 feet high and costumed people on stilts. There is street theater comedy and comical radical cheerleading, much noise and laughter as our parade ascends Rue de la Couronne towards Cote d'Abraham and up and around towards Av. Dufferin, and the notorious perimeter fence.

We stand back a good way from the fence and a large crowd before the fence. This is a green-zone event where no conflicts are scheduled. The more active peaceful protesters had earlier taken a different parade route. They would be up the hill on boulevard Rene Levesque.

We stand with our large banner enjoying the drumming, the chanting, the cheering, dancing, and laughing.

I go to check out the perimeter fence as Henry relieves me of my end of the banner. The fence is chain-linked, galvanized steel, 7ft. high, bolted upon a 3 ft. high concrete barrier. When a group of peaceful citizens begin pulling on it, it doesn't seem so strong. As a section of the fence begins swaying to and fro the riot police advance from their original position 30 yards behind the fence to less than 10 feet away.

The first few canisters of tear gas send the peaceful citizens scrambling. A group of us go west, up Rue D'Aiguillion, to escape the first of the tear gas. The perimeter fence divides the street, it runs uphill between  old row houses up along our side of the fence and a brick wall twelve feet across the fence. About fifty yards up this street a hooded citizen calmly and peacefully begins cutting links in the fence with a large pair of wire cutters. Within a minute and a half the fence is cut from bottom to top and folded across until there is a wide-open ten foot gap in the security perimeter at this unguarded section of fence.

A few people jump through the opening and run up the hill along side the fence. Another few minutes elapses before the huge police security force realizes they have a mammoth breach in security. Eight riot police rush in to guard the opening.

By now more tear gas bombs are being fired into the crowd.  Most are picked up by gloved peaceful citizens and returned to where they had come from. Peaceful citizens close to the fence are shot point-blank in the face with high powered tear gas powder fired from guns. It is a terrible thing to witness. To stand bravely in front of a fence is now a crime, subject to vicious assault with harmful sickening chemicals fired from high powered weaponry.

Tear gas is fired now further into the peaceful celebration. Medics are kept busy attending to the many tear gas casualties. Eyes and throats burn everywhere. The tear gas keeps coming despite any actual challenge to the security perimeter. Helicopters hover above.

A few rocks and bottles are tossed across the fence. They have more room for garbage than our side. Our side is crowding up with tear gas and canisters.

This continues for a few more hours. At one point an American flag gets burned. People cheer. Peaceful citizens closest to the fence bravely stand their ground. Some stand holding peace signs, others tie peaceful signs to the fence. A group of brave young women dance up close to the fence. They dance beautifully peaceful and creative movements to the rhythmic drumming of an ancient beat. They dance a soulful beat, a collective beat, a universal beat. Creative messages are colorfully chalked and crayoned onto the street where the peaceful citizens assemble.  Further back from the perimeter a large circle forms, of people holding hands while songs of solidarity ring loud and clear. >From down below to the east on Cote Sampson, a few hundred riot police, in columns of three march in semi-unison, puffing and sweating profusely up the steep hill past Peter, Bernard, and I. They turn up Rue des Glacis where they park themselves and where they appear to have about thirty harmless citizens boxed in close towards the perimeter. Bernard, in impassioned French speaks to a riot police standing sentry along the guardrail overlooking the zone verte a l'iot-Fleuri. This is the green-zone space for artistic work, communal vegetarian food for everyone, incredibly colorful and creative highway overpass suspension walls, and great loud music. Bernard is our affinity group goodwill ambassador and translator. He feels inclined to speak and teach and reach out and bring out the goodness in everyone there in the streets of Quebec. His English, although limited, is articulate. I can only imagine how articulate he is in French. He speaks passionately about the perils of genetically engineered food, and he seems to have an effect on everyone he speaks to. Twenty minutes or so later we politely pry him away from conversation with the riot police sentry guard. We leave there sensing that arrests might soon begin.

We continue on and up through the old ramparts, away from the crowds, the tear gas, and the noise. The cannons high up above the river are not being used. Bernard chats with a few nice old local ladies. They are concerned about excessive security force they have witnessed in their beautiful city. Down near the old town he talks up a guard standing behind the perimeter fence. Things are quiet, calm, and pretty much deserted down in the old town Friday night. We walk over towards the Old Port, find an small outdoor cafe and have a beer and some walnuts for dinner.

Walking west from the Old Port we pass some large storefront windows being boarded up in anticipation of the large peaceful march planned for next day. We have a good laugh with the plywood installers. We hail a cab to take us back to Laval where Peters car is parked. Our cab driver needs little educating about genetically engineered food. He is as animated as Bernard about the violent scientific and corporate takeover and genetic contamination of our food supply.

Just outside the sports complex I meet and talk to Guy, an independent media photographer, who had taken 6 rolls of film up on boulevard Rene Levesque. The Plains of Abraham had been more active than our assembly had been. More fence had been pulled down. More arrests had been made. More vicious assaults had been arbitrarily inflicted against innocent citizens trying to express thier freedom of speech. Despite this, Guy assured me, peaceful protests would continue throughout the night.

Saturday turned out to be warmer than Friday.

After a huge peaceful religious group, citizen group, and trade union march down through the lower town, a bunch of marchers break off to join up with and help their brothers and sisters up on the hill in several spots. They break off to join them and support them in brave peaceful protest against excessive violence being  planned behind a tall fence guarded by heavily armed state funded terrorists with thick body armor and heavy shields.

If the unions were there at all, they kept a low profile.

The dancing continued all day in different locations. The tear gas came more frequently and more concentrated. Up on Cote d'Abraham turns were taken to peacefully challenge the perimeter. Scores of citizens were continually overcome by tear gas. Some were bleeding from direct canister hits. Others had been hit by plastic bullets.

Access to a side street on the east side of  Cote d'Abraham was now closed off  by about 20 riot police. A steady volley of tear gas canisters were shot up high into the air, and into the crowds far back of the perimeter. Others were fired line-drive directly at groups of people, most of which were returned. The crowd cheered as another American flag was set ablaze.

Colorful messages on the walls and the street were accumulating. Fires burned, drums beat, and people danced. Loud heavy music filled the street from an open second story window just down from where the violent state police continued their relentless assault on citizens rights to peaceful expression and peaceful assembly.

The scene looked and felt like war, yet only one side had any real weapons. The other side had only courage, but a great amount was evident as they bravely stood in front of the fence. Some even began to climb the fence before being shot point-blank by a blast of tear gas or a plastic bullet. I saw several plastic wounds during the day, terrible deep wide flesh wounds - evidence to the weight and the size; maybe 7/8 of an inch in diameter by three inches long, and the velocity and force of impact. I saw how dangerous plastic bullets could be, how capable of serious injury or death, if hit in the wrong place. Still, the brave, dedicated, peaceful youth kept responding. They were not out for a good time; they were there for good reason. They were there to change a rotten, corrupt, oppressive system that has traded in their right to participation, their future, and the future of billions of others much worse off than them. They were there to challenge agreements that are fundamentally designed to exploit nature as a resource for us to cinsume, and life as a commodity, worth only what the highest bidder will pay. This is the message that came through all that day. It was a common message written on thousands of shirts, jackets, buttons, banners, signs, walls, sidewalks. It was written in French, English, and Spanish.

It was sung and chanted and danced to. Dances of the earth. Dances of freedom. Dances of love danced to continuous beating of drums. This is what was shouted and chanted and sung in songs of solidarity - that our world is not for sale. Language was no barrier in the streets of Quebec. Such state manufactured divisions and confrontations were irrelevant here. 'Solidarity' is the same in every language. It is something that nation states cannot accept because solidarity transcends the limits of Nation States. It is something that Nation States cannot understand, accept, or accommodate. Nation States are dependant upon competition, conflict, and self interest. To the Nation State solidarity is a threat.

What we brought was a collective message transcendent of Quebec, Canada, or of any nation. What we brought was transcendent of a new world order making dirty deals in favor of exploitation, destruction, and waste, behind chainlinked barricades and heavily armed walls of force. Despite youthful fervor there is little delusion at all.  The message is carried out with deliberate conviction and purpose.

No one came to have a party, blah, blah, blah. They came to challenge force, challenge violence, and challenge a shameful societal apathy that lets all this happen. They were not out to hurt, and no one would be hurt by them. Many were prepared to risk injury though, and many were being wounded by the violent state. We unfurled our large banner there in the war zone for the leaders and the cameras to see. All at once, four  tear gas bombs came our way. I got dosed pretty badly and had to retreat. Lucky for everyone there was always a volunteer medic nearby, even near the front lines. Always brave, they were always ready to assist the wounded and severely tear gassed with water and a special solution to rinse out the eyes.

All along the narrow streets residents on front steps and from open windows would offer support. Some left hoses running so that people could refill water bottles, drink, and rinse out tear gas from their eyes. They seemed sympathetic to what we were doing. They disliked the fence also, and the inescapable tear gas pervading the city. A lady walking home from work was having trouble breathing and needed her eyes rinsed out. From a second story window some residents informed us that the summit meeting had to be moved to another building because of tear gas entering the ventilation system. I hope they got a good dose.

Up on Rene Levesque another battle raged. Two blocks west of the perimeter, drummers drummed entrancing rhythms in unison. A large group of dancers danced beside a row of riot police guarding the street running south off  Rue Rene Levesque. On another side of the dancers was a Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce. Some windows had been broken, and white paint splattered on the front entrance. A cardboard sign hanging over a broken window read, "I owe you for one broken window. It was signed, ' The Revolution.'

Tear gas continued to slither down the street from the direction of the assembly. On the Plains of Abraham, along the bank of a hill parallel to boulevard Rene Levesque, more riot police stood guard.

Bernard and I unfurled our 'Beware, Genetic Engineering' sign right in front of the line of police. We were immediately told to move down the hill because we were blocking their view of the street. Our sign, with a backdrop of riot police was popular with photographers.

Pictures were also taken of Bernard afterwards talking animatedly to a few of the riot police. The piece of rope he gripped in his hands had alarmed them at first, and when he held out his arm to shake hands they looked ready to take him down. He only wanted to talk, however. He only wanted to educate, humanize, and communicate that what we all share in common is greater than what divides us and leads us into conflict. It is the state that creates conflict, and is dependent on conflict to keep itself strong.

The tear gas came heavy from the front lines up the road. Water cannons could be seen further ahead shooting water into a crowd down below to the north.

The riot police were out on the street now, most likely to protect another breach. A rapid fire volley of tear gas dispersed a group of peaceful protesters not far in front of us, then quickly about 30 riot police rushed in from a southern flank position and took down about 15 peaceful protesters. I recognized two of the arrested from spending some time with them earlier that afternoon. They were nice people. They were friendly, thoughtful, concerned, and most of all they were peaceful. A new front line of police soon was formed across boulevard Rene Levesque, closer to us. A brief standoff with a few peaceful demonstrators ensued. A riot cop advanced and aimed, but did not fire. Other peaceful protesters were still being held down on the ground behind the new front line, and more reinforcements were moved in to refill the flank position.

We unfurled our 'Beware, Genetic Engineering' banner once more, and soon several more tear gas bombs were coming our way. They even fell to a distance behind where we stood. The height and the distance with which they traveled was impressive.

I wondered about the thousands of people in their homes and apartments; victims also of this relentless assault of tear gas. As darkness came we headed back. The local youth was noticeably out in full force now and the beer and alcohol seemed to be flowing freely. A helicopter hovered overhead shining sharp beams of light on the peaceful crowd below.

Back to Ave. De Salaberry and down to another street we went east until we dead-ended at another wall of riot police. They blocked off the road at the bottom of a hill on our side of an intersection. A large portion of fence beside the old cemetery had been taken down.

Drums beat, whistles blew, and people danced in front of the police. Bernard talked up a local resident in front of a closed-up shop. This resident could not be swayed,  however, even by Bernard, from his faith in the state, and that the future state of Quebec would solve all the problems of the present dysfunctional federal state..... Likewise, earlier in front of the bank with the broken windows a lady would not be swayed from her conviction of the seriousness of damaged private property. Even if it happened to be a major player and symbol of blood sucking capitalism, private property was important to her. Despite Bernard's efforts her opinion held firm. She would continue to maintain that it's O.K. for big violent banks like the CIBC to steal and exploit, but it's not O.K. to peacefully and symbolically shatter a few of the violent bank's windows.

He was better received a short while later by a couple of elderly ladies sitting beside a little park, where even here, nearly a kilometre away, you could not escape the tear gas.

Running battles continued back at Cote d'Abraham. On the lookout platform above the park, smoke from a wood fire intermingled with more waves of tear gas wafting down from the perimeter area above. The front lines had advanced here also. The riot police were becoming more aggressively positioned to continue their assault upon the people.

We went down to the area beneath the highway overpasses, into the zone verte a lilot-Fleuri. A steady, rhythmic, beating of hundreds of sticks and rocks against the metal guardrails and metal highway signs was impressive and inspiring. The cliff walls and the concrete walls and the spiraling concrete ceilings acoustically amplified the steady rhythmic guardrail drumming. I was handed a rock and offered space alongside the guardrail to join in the primordial chorus of drumming. A guy was playing his acoustic guitar beside us for all it was worth, unconcerned that no one could hear him. He was entertaining himself as much as everyone else.

I spotted a brick not far from my feet and banged it on the guardrail for more emphasis, more base, to help carry further into the night this cohesive primal communication. Down here the revolution was happening. Down here there was power from within. Down here the manifestation was sprouting. Down here there was controlled anarchy- fluid, dynamic, and complete.

A nearby fire beneath the overpass was steadily getting bigger. Highway signs were coming down. Further beneath the spiraling convergence of highway overpasses we walked to the food tent. There we waited briefly in line and were handed a plate of rice and vegetables. They had fed thousands like this all week, free of charge, and continued to feed the brave youth well into the night. In a makeshift washstand of hanging water buckets that had to be manually hauled in to the site, we washed the plates and the utensils provided and returned them back to the food lineup. No one was using disposable plates and cutlery that I could see. Down here recycling was being practiced as part of the revolution.

Incineration was also being practiced as a solution to waste. From 75 yards away we could feel the warmth of the fire growing steadily bigger. The guardrail drummers kept the beat steady and strong and revolutionary.

Closer to the cliff wall below where riot police stood sentry, a strange, luminous, intense fire was ignited, sending an enormous cloud of smoke up above the overpass. Helicopters were quickly dispatched overhead to investigate.

Bernard, Peter and I went over to the Old Port to get a beer at the same outdoor cafe as we'd been to the night before. They offered me a ride back to Laval but I was deciding I needed to stay. Heading west along Charest Est. there was a large crowd converging up near Rue de la Couronne. In the little park to the east a large wooden real estate billboard was coming down. The large wooden poles and the sign itself got the fire in the street going pretty good.

Up the hill the conflicts continued but things there appeared less thick than before. It was midnight and the party was in full swing. It was mostly local people singing, drinking, smoking, and smashing bottles on the ground. Plywood was pulled off the boarded shop windows to feed the fire growing there in the intersection. The images were as intense as the flames from the fire, as numerous and diverse as the thousands of signs, and as persistent as the tear gas. Huge banners were draped from the top of  the precipice towards the Plains of Abraham. One of them proclaimed 'Peoples Summit'. I counted four helicopters in the sky.

It was after one a.m., when a large column of riot police began their advance down Rue de la Couronne, towards the peaceful celebration down in the streets. Without warning, and without provocation, tear gas bombs came pounding down into an innocent crowd below in the streets. It was concentrated tear gas with a devastating effect. It took a couple of city blocks of retreat before I began to recover. Down here with no wind, the tear gas would not go away. It followed us down the street as we retreated.

I watched as the windows of a Subway Sandwich shop got smashed. Good for them, I thought. Even though I'd privately criticized that sort of thing just a short time earlier, I knew I had no good reason to criticize them now.  After the extreme police violence I'd witnessed the past few days, a few broken windows didn't merit a second thought.

Walking home along the parade route from a day and a half before, the streets were quiet and the air was less toxic. I was trying to recall if I'd seen any violent protesters yet. I couldn't. All I could recall were the many acts of courage, generosity, and solidarity in the face of unnecessary police violence. Nearly home now, the solidarity chant still plays in my head. A light rain falls, but the revolution will not be doused.

Counter Set May 8, 2001