The Green Party of Canada visits Quebec City during the FTAA meeting... it's a gas...

The Greens Party at the Summit

Raphaël begins…

Friday 4 p.m. - Linda Dawn Hammond arrives and we decide to take a 'perimeter' walk, in order to register at the indy media centre from where I am typing this report. (http://quebec.indymedia.org/) Linda also wants to photograph the protesters.

Our quest begins below the cliff which separates the old port from the high town. The mass of rock and earth is impressive. The perimeter is slightly smaller than the centuries old fortress, which enables us to walk on the old ramparts and admire the textured rock formations and forested hills on the horizon.

Linda continues…

As we draw closer, it's clear that most businesses just outside the perimeter are not taking any chances of being looted. Some stores have left it a bit late due to confusion over which side of the perimeter they would be on. Sorely disappointed to find themselves on the less lucrative side of the fence, they are now hastily catching up. I take photographs of these last minute workers fortifying stores, equipped with the usual tools of the trade- wood drills, plywood planks and... gas masks.

It was then that we detect the first acrid whiffs of tear gas, floating down from the high town. Gas and chanting voices waft over from a location marked by a military helicopter overhead, suspended in position like a malevolent hummingbird. This is obviously the direction to go!

We turn down a side street and come face to face with our first view of the "wall"- not an overly impressive sight. Shiny new chain link encased in fresh concrete, approximately 8 feet high and easily scaled, were it not for a group of SQ "officers" guarding it directly behind. The police are well equipped in the latest riot gear- tear gas masks behind helmets, matraques, gas canisters and some sort of projectile weapon in hand. A handful of protesters call taunts across to them and pin flowers and messages between the links. Sirens roar, and pedestrians milling in the street quickly move to the sidewalks as five buses of heavily uniformed police officers are escorted up towards the perimeter. The gas is beginning to accumulate and we are forced to better equip ourselves, covering our stinging faces with makeshift scarves. I create a new fashion statement for the summit-- purple velvet leg tights serving as a makeshift scarf to protect my face, with matching swim goggles and 1950s moped helmet- no green, sorry.

Raphaël and I turn down another side street. We have heard rumours that protesters have successfully breached the wall somewhere uphill. Appropriately enough, a young Quebecois man wearing a tricorne and an 18th century French uniform is perched dramatically on the old battlements-- facing him across the wall is an SQ officer on a rooftop, silhouetted against the backdrop of luxury hotels which are housing the summit leaders.

We pass Sven Robinson ambling up the street in the opposite direction of the melee. He looked remarkably nonchalant, but then again, he was LEAVING the scene of conflict (Sorry, Sven. Not that we blame you!). We, naturally, continued -- drawn onwards by the tantalizing promise of the chemical haze which confronted us. We Greens are known, after all, for our healthy lifestyle choices.

The street opened to reveal a plaza filled with crowds of colourful and noisy protesters. They were facing off against a silent battalion of riot squad officers, positioned behind a long stretch of fence. We somehow managed to encounter fellow Greens among the thousands of protesters. Clusters of political interest groups such as the Council of Canadians were also there, along with union representatives, the Red Cross and many others.

The crowd was largely composed of young students, experiencing a first taste of violence perpetrated by their own elected government intent on silencing them. Some approached the fence, clinging to it with hands outstretched in gestures of peace reminiscent of the 60s. They gazed through the chain at their armed adversaries and waited passively for the inevitable volleys of gas. Others try to engage in debates with the police while a few courageously attempted to place banners on the barricade itself. It was hard to understand the need to gas people who were exercising their constitutional right to dissent and were presently engaged in non-provocative actions. Their sense of injustice was palpable. One girl of about 17 was overheard saying to her friend as she emerged scalded from a gas attack, “How can these guys go home to their wives and children at night after they do this to me-- I could be their daughter.”

The gas was also projected into crowds watching from a distance and medics circulated about treating the injured. We were becoming envious of those smart enough to come equipped with gas masks themselves. I’ve added two to next year’s Christmas wish list-- one for me, the other for my 15 year old son. More practical a gift than a video game.

Raphaël was the first in our Green group to be injured—tears streamed from his eyes as he retreated half blind from the scene. Another Green went down. Then I made the mistake of trying to take out my contact lenses on the spot. (Yes I know- I shouldn’t have been wearing them.) Up to this point my swim goggles had served me well, but my own gas contaminated fingers removed them from my eyes, with the inevitable searing results…

At some point, I became separated from our Green group. I heard that a riot squad of over 300 was congregating and engaged in a face-off with protesters, in a small street adjacent to the plaza. I hesitated, then journalistic instincts (not of the self-preservation variety) overcame reason and I headed towards it. In a tight narrow street, lines of riot police were head to head with protesters. At the end of the street, more rows of SQ were blocking another exit- leaving only one street effectively open as an escape route. The atmosphere was extremely tense. Everyone knew that a volley of gas in such an enclosed area would be devastating— and it was suicidal to remain. The protesters bravely stood their ground and pressed their political points to the immobile and unresponsive police. Then the SQ began to execute an exquisitely choreographed shuffling dance, which I recognized from my OKA days. They began arresting protesters squatting on the ground between their lines. At this point, reluctantly and with feelings of absolute guilt, I retreated in order to face another day unincarcerated and more or less intact.
To dream of the day when I too own a gas mask.
To plan for it.

FOOTNOTE:

Maybe not right away. Raphaël and I are trapped in the press office with other CMAQ journalists. It's 12:30 pm. CS gas is seeping beneath the doors and we're effectively trapped. Reports of the absolute chaos outside are coming in regularly. Injuries, arrests, people being coralled onto dead end bridges. Jumping off to escape.

Actually, where is Raphaël?