THE ANATOMY OF A DEMONSTRATION
ony about half of this article was printed, due to its length

Quebec is a beautiful city -- beautiful enough to make any Canadian proud to be there. I was there because of the Summit of the Americas. I had decided that I would peacefully march with the rest of the 35,000 people who showed up.

Things changed!

Twelve hundred protesters packed into the tent to hear the words of native speakers from BC and South America, speakers from Quebec, and elsewhere. Two thousand stood outside in the warm sunshine. After the moving oratory, in the four languages of the Americas, we assembled outside and watched as the thousands of demonstrators passed. We made no move to join them. I was confused.

It was decided that we would not join the march which was away from the focus of everyone's discontent - The Wall of Shame. The security fence was deemed to be the enemy and the symbol that everyone detested. It brought memories of the long standing Berlin wall and was now dubbed simply 'the wall.'

We (hey, I did not vote on this) would do the Gandhi-arian thing -- we were going to be civilly disobedient (I turned pale). I tried to remember Gandhi's words. Was it? "Civil Disobedience seeks to take the initiative in exposing and bringing an end to unjust conditions." OK - We would do what had been forbidden. We would "go to the wall."

I was not so sure that this was the thing that I wanted to do - Then as fate would have it -- I met Alison!

Alison is 82 years old and one very determined individual. "I did not come here to march" she said -- "damn it, I am going to the wall whether you like it or not." Most of us did not, but one way or the other, she was going -- with us or without us.

So there I was, along with Barb Dickie and her husband Dale and fifty other people. We departed in the opposite direction from the marchers. A few friendly police officers waved a greeting to us as we passed. We were in Maude Barlow's wake, trudging up the hills and narrow streets. I had a banner protesting the WTO, a plaque condemning the FTAA, several stickers in French (that I couldn't read) on my jacket, a political party badge, and trying to carry a sign that said 'public education is not for sale.' Alison, our ancient activist, was clicking along, unaided, in my wake.

A helicopter crew spotted our movement and took up a position above the end of our street. It held its position to report our route and numbers.

We got to the wall. A few formidable police officers in riot gear passively watched and correctly ignored us. (Probably yawning behind the face shields.) We stood around like a group of confused tourists, not really sure of what we are doing or seeing. We moved on down the wall only to meet a group of young people with grappling hooks determined to breach the wall. The police were just as determined that they would not and gave us all a few exploding tear gas canisters as appropriate warning.

Choking and gagging and somewhat blinded, we retreated in several different directions.

People came to our aid with vinegar and fresh water to neutralize the gas. Barb says "Matt what do you think?" I said "I don't think that Jean and George will let us join them for lunch today Barb," I eventually manage to say.

We went back up the way we retreated in an effort to rejoin the group. This is when things started to get real scary. The three streets that we occupied, along with many other people, were cordoned off by walls of officers with plastic shields. The only egress was down the stairs that scaled the wall on the cliff face.

The three of us went down to less dangerous ground. I decided that I needed some pictures of this for my article and joined Dale on a trip back up. I then made my retreat to safer ground and lost Dale in the process.

Eighty-two year old Alison was made of stouter stuff than me. She held her ground leaning on her two walking canes to confront the men in black. The police advanced looking for all the world like a row of sinister Darth Vaders.

Alison advanced right up to them. She said "You men have mothers and grandmothers who watched over you, didn't you? Well I'm here watching over my children here." The police, taken by surprise by our feisty old Joan of Arc - slash - Moses, backed up about 10 feet.

"You can arrest me if you want" she said but they didn't. They gassed the group and forced them all down the stairs. Several climbed over the wall and scaled the rock face to escape the melee. On the lower level someone who was obviously not a city employee attached a homemade tap to a fire hydrant so that people could wash the gas from their eyes.

When the smoke cleared, everyone went back up to the top. It was almost as though the tear gas had a shot of adrenaline in it -- such was the reaction to it.

We regrouped about an hour later. Many thought that we should retire to eat and have a brew. We were told to go straight up a new unexplored street. We did - lead again by our female coordinators with their walkie-talkies -- only to find that the wall was there and that we were most unwelcome -- More gas.

A mother and daughter rigged up a hose from their second story apartment to supply water for the group. The mother hugged her daughter in the window with emotion, for her sibling's contribution to our cause. The crowd cheered their approval.

"Who are you guys anyway" I was asked, by a young woman. There were cheers and high-five's when I told them. We progressed up the hill only to find another Mexican standoff. The Darth Vaders filled a cul-de-sac with 'the wall' behind them. There was an ominous looking earth moving machine in position that appeared ready to roll over us.

There was a group playing music. There was chanting in French -- Solidarité - solidarité. They were giving the peace sign. Gandhi would have been proud as everyone peacefully held his and her ground.

Several were taking the fence down further along the street. The police shot tear gas at them but the canisters were thrown back. The police realized that they were only wanting the fence down. As they were not trying to enter, they left them alone.

We went down the hill to escape the gas. Barb said, "I want to go back" -- so there we go back up the hill with the bespectacled mother of three in the lead, and we in her wake. Barb marched right into the group with her camera to record, for posterity, the situation.

The situation was surreal.

We went into a health food store about 100 feet from the center of this confrontation where it was business as usual. It was lunch time. We bought some Brie and a couple of bottles of beer. (Good health food eh?) It was almost as if we had walked from the movie theater to buy some popcorn. When we returned, the plot had not changed and the 'movie' reeled on.

We stood on the corner with two older Filipino women and one man -- They had driven in from Toronto. We talked about the plight of the planet before they left -- trying to find a street without stairs. Good Luck!

The police thought that they should advance. They shot concussion grenades, and acetic cordite joined the tear gas. The people moved away like a wave on the beach. The wave flowed away in all directions, only to ebb back into position when the irritation subsided. They sat down again, waved their assorted banners, renewed the chanting and presenting the Churchillian peace symbol. I added the Vulcan 'live long and prosper' gesture to show that we were not without humour.

It was time to vacate the scene. I had had about all of the direct confrontation that I could handle. We made our way down the hill and out of harm's way.

On the way down I unexpectedly bumped into a good friend from Lion's Head. "Matt what are you doing here? he asked. I thought that I should say something historical like "Robert, I'm here trying to remove the Corporate tentacles from our government," but he knew why I was there, as he was there for the same reason.

"I was too old for Woodstock, so I thought I would come here," seemed to be the appropriate response.

He handed me his cell phone and said "say hello to Sara" (his wife). "Hello Sara"-- "Hello Matt, how is everything?" - "Sara you should be here, it's a real gas." I handed the phone back to Robert and eventually we left for our B and B in a quiet little town.

As I pondered the day I realized that I had been following women into confrontations all day. I concluded that perhaps my father was right. He had often said "the hand that rocks the cradle will rock the world. - mark my words."

Have a nice day - I did.