April 26, 2001

The Crying of Quebec City: A wee little protest diary

Feel free to reprint/repost . Probably the only unique thing I have to add to other accounts is at the end, during the late night of A21.

Note: This story excludes any "illegal" activity I may or may not have undertaken during my experiences. This hypothetically could have included rock and bottle throwing at riot police who more than deserved it given the immense pain they were putting the city of Quebec through. Hypothetically, of course.

Prelude:

After stories of activists being tunred back at the Canadian border, my friend and I took every pecaution imaginable to make it through customs unmolested as we were to fly to Quebec City. We ditched all maps and literature on the events and brought an array of inconspicuous clothing with us. I went so far as to write a fake journal that gave hint to a casual trip to Montreal for the weekend. But we had no problems on the plane and infact wound up sitting among a bunch of Uruguayan delegates who had to ride coach.

During the flight they began trading lapel pins denoting their nations flag with other Canadian and American delegates. It reminded me of old elementry school math meets where kids trading pencils with their school names on them. It was almost comical to watch their childish glee as they got off the plane ahead of the rest of us to take a police motorcade to their guarded hotels. A woman behind them exclaimed, "Well, we're going to the People's Summit. Where's our motorcade?" Another labor union member retorted, "Its because we are going to the Plebians Summit, remember?" I had been sitting a few rows back from my friend and noticed that she was talking to the man next to her through the flight. He turned out to be a Quebec City local and said that he was for trade deals, so long as they respected human rights. He offered to sponsor us (the Canadian form of bail) if we were arrested and gave his number.

Once we made it near to where we were staying on Rue Arago (only a mile from the fence), our taxi was blocked by a night time protest, lifting our spirits immediately. So we more than happily got out and walked.

DAY 1: April 20

On Friday, April 20, my companion and I began our gathering at Laval University in the suburbs of Quebec City called Saint-Foy. From noon until about 2pm we waited anxiously as the crowd swelled in size to number to what some estimates put at 10,000. And this was only the prelude march. As it had been planned by CLAC, the Anti-Capitalist Convergence organization from Montreal, people were to march in blocs that broke down according to the degree of risk one was willing to take. The green bloc was to be safe and avoiding any confrontation with police. The yellow was to be more hazardous with people performing civil disobediance, and finally the red bloc was for those willing to confront the police head on. As it turned out, the march primarily only divided into two groups, one for the green bloc and the other for yellow and red. My friend and I were unable to find a substantial group of black-clad anarchists and others leaning more towards direct confrontations. People seemed to be quite fragmented, although it was really hard to see where one might want to go due to the sheer size of the march.

After a couple miles of marching and receiving encouragement from locals sitting on their front steps, we finally reached the police perimeter at the intersection of Rene Levesque and Rue de l'Amerique-Francaise. Chants became more vibrant and vocal at this point, but people didn't seem to know what to do next. Finally a large squad of anarchists under the banner of "Ya Basta!" approached clad in foam body armor, gas masks decorated helmets and a variety of different sized shields. "Let us through!" they announced, pushing their way to the fence. We backed away to let them up. I was glad to have finally found those I was looking for, but lacking any protection myself ourselves, we stood back a bit. Within minutes the 3-meter fence was violently shaking. One protester had climbed to straddle the top of it and help give the top some added weight. Soon after, numerous sections came crashing down to ruckus cheers. The riot police on the other size had been standing some 10 meters away at the time and seemed hesitant to try to prevent anything from happening.

Once the fence was down, the hole was filled by a stream of Black Bloc anarchists who then found themselves facing reinforcements of riot police. A few cannisters of smoke were fired, frightening many until they understood the lack of danger. Some protestors had picked up and thrown sections of fence at the police who were also under a barrage of eggs and other items. A makeshift catapult made its way to the front and launched large stuffed animals into the police lines. After a few tense minutes another round of cannisters went off. I presumptuously called out, "Dont run! Its just smoke!" - that is until I was incapacitated by a lung full of what was really tear gas. My friend and I retreated to regain the ability to breathe and see, hearing the concussion of gas continuing. After the initial shock however, most people would refill any space just retreated from and the police would not move beyond the fence perimeter. But when another section of riot police emerged outside the fence to our right, people began to fear encirclement.

Not knowing if the police are aiming to make arrest sweeps or not made it difficult to assess the dangers around us. As a result people began retreating. As we turned to fall back to an intersection (any place that allows multiple avenues of escape always helps) we found two police water cannon vehicles pulling up behind everyone. What seemed to be a horrible trap ended up as a major loss for the police who soon found that their lumbering vehicles which were unguarded by police on foot were quickly surrounded. People drove sticks and poles through the side windows of the armored water cannons which only made a token attempt to spray anyone before fleeing. As the crowd rejoiced in this victory, the police at the fence began advancing under a barrage of tear gas.

The crowd, still on edge, retreated in three different directions, taking some of the edge off our viability. My friend and I moved through some apartment buildings (which must have been tasting the same gas) down a set of stairs and onto a back street. Others filled the area and in time we began returning to the confrontation area in an indirect route. Small squads of riot police were roaming, but eventually headed back to their front. To help reinforce this, my friend and I grabbed a construction barricade and placed it behind the police as they pulled back. Once the police reestablished their lines in an L shape about a block from the fence the tear gas began fling again, with rocks going back in responce. From here the rest of the afternoon went on in a seesaw with gas being launched at us, and people throwing it back at the police. In time, sections of the more peaceful marches walked up dancing and singing only to find gas cannisters launced from long-range mortars falling into their crowds. But they remained defiant enough to at least stand half a block away. Despite not doing anything but chant, they were indiscriminately gassed through the day. Through all of this, I should note that at all other demonstartions I have been to, I had a gasmask with me. This time it was just a handkerchief and no eye protection. Yet the wind was in our favor, so as long as the gas landed infront and not behind us, I didnt have too much trouble evading severe pain. I did go down a couple times after inhaling too much gas which then cuts off one's ability to breathe for at least 30 seconds. I noticed that some gas dispensed in small bombs that broke into little bomblets stung the eyes the worst, while the large cannisters and gas grenades that spurted large amounts of fumes were worse of respiration. From what I could make of it, a small group of other protesters who had been closer to the fence were encircled in a surprise move. No one could tell since most people were hanging back about a block away from the bottom of the police L shape. Then a police cruiser and an empty school bus came barrelling through the crowd, nearly hitting many people, presumable to pick up those arrested. We pulled street signs and other construction barricades over to prevent another police vehicle from repeating that act. After about another hour of this standoff, with the police getting more aggressive in firing plastic bullets at people who returned gas cannisters, another huge barrage went off. This signalled the advance of the police in a quick manner firing gas without consideration to the fact that people were falling back infront of them. The gas caused several people to double over and drop down, and while they were struggling to breathe, the police would snatch them from behind.

This effectively broke people apart too much to continue action in that area. Apparently a section of fence further away had been taken down by a completely different march, and bands of protesters roamed around the 4km perimeter all day. A police van near where we had retreated from happened to be unguarded and supposedly had its stash of riot equipment looted. Again, I found the section of well armored anarchists lined up infront of their homemade full body shields and helmets waiting for further police advances which never came.

My friend and I figured that it was time to return to where we were staying to get some dinner. Later on, around midnight we opted to head out to grab a drink somewhere in the Old City, which the perimeter cut through. While we were walking, we noticed the distinctive gas cannister trails left behind by tear gas mortars. Surprised to see this so late at night, we rushed ahead to find a police line about a block from their fence line bombarding a few hundered protesters and locals who came out to join them. The amount of French yelling and chanting as opposed to earlier in the day told me that there must have been many more locals participating at this point. We stood and got gassed multiple times just watching it all, until we finally had had too much and needed a beer. Even several people at the bar we found were wearing repirators around their necks just in case.

DAY 2: April 21

On Saturday, the girl who we were staying with had her parents in town. They were activists of the old line, with her mother being the child of a man who had helped organize Amnesty International to help Chileans fleeing Pinochet's terror in 1973. Her mother drove us to a camping store so we could buy some light gear to use: safety goggles, mouth and nose respirators and construction hats. These items were far from perfect, and did little good given their cost (about 4 times as much as an Israeli gas mask), but it was something. This woman had told us that the police had had a strategy of using lots and lots of gas, and she was all to happy to help us out. "I was doing the same thing in my 20's," she remarked. It was good to see that she was doing little less in her 50's.

My friend and I walked to where we knew the main labor march was meeting. We were confused about where to go exactly to find some of the groups from the day before. No one really knew among who we asked, and many radical looking protesters had no idea what CLAC even was, let alone where they were meeting. After almost an hour of milling among the 35,000+ demonstators who had begun a slow march to a park far from the fence, we found a group of Black Bloc anarchists who were waiting by a banner to gather others. After another 15 minutes there, some people came running up to us to tell us that there were already large sections of the fence pulled down and that cops might be moving to cut off anyone from going near the perimeter if we didnt hurry. Unfortunately, not everyone heard this, and only about 20 of us went up the long stairway to the highway below the fence. Right as we got there, another small part of the fence came crashing down on Rue Richelieu at the top of the stairs we climbed and then the police responded with more gassing. We moved on eastwardly to the side of the fence we had yet to see, but with the narrow streets and small numbers of demonstrators we moved back the other way.

Soon enough we encountered a major confrontation at a the large intersection of Côte d'Abraham and the Dufferin Highway that was to last about 5 hours and involve thousands of people and hundreds of police through the afternoon. Even as we got to the point which was a major 6-way intersection at the tail end of 2 offramps, the entire 1-acre open area was filled with gas. Smoke trails illustrated that gas was being launched even around corners that we couldnt see where other people were throwing rocks at the police. The main line of riot cops stood behind a 150m stretch of fence while a smaller group guarded one of the many side streets off the corner. This second group, unprotected by a fence received the full brunt of stones and molotov cocktails through the afternoon. They seemed to serve no strategic purpose other than to draw people's attention.

The lack of any organized blocs began to show though, since clearly this area was not going to be penetrated. But so long as people had nothing better to do, they milled about, running from gas and making a clamor of drumming on the metal highway rail guards. A large section of the labor march came up to support us, but these thousands of people were able to do nothing in the face of the gas and eventually moved back. The two of us decided to move on to Rue St. Jean and later split up as my friend wanted to talk to people elsewhere. I came across a section of fence that had been placed over an iron fence around a church graveyard. The chainlink portion had almost been completely torn down and further down a shopping cart with debris in it was lit on fire infront of riot police to obscure their view. Small fires are also lit at times to burn away residual tear gas. All of these fires were lit safely away from buildings using old protest posters and sticks. But nearby another fence section had been torn down and when a front-loader was moved in to block passage, it had been set ablaze. I should also add that tear gas cannisters as launched from mortars often set fires when they landed on grass since one end sputtered flames. Sometimes the gas wouldn't even come out and the device would just end up setting fires as it rolled by. For a short bit I helped some people to pull down sections of the fence that had been attached to the Church's iron fencing. Behind us was what was rumored to be and later proven, the Centre de Congres, where the Summit was being held. People had the ability to climb the short Church fence, but there were a few wary police watching on the other side and I suppose no one wanted to get trapped in the Church lot.

I headed to go around the west side of the perimeter when I ran into a small band of Black Bloc'ers who numbered about 30. They lined up to charge at the fence where the shopping cart had been on fire. They were notably nervous about the lack of exit points since they hadn't been in this area before. I tried to tell some of them that it was safe since there were two turn offs that were hard to see from our position, but with the nature of organizing large groups among a sea of protesters, my words went no where. But charge we did - and the police immediately fired directly at us with gas cannisters from their guns. We pulled backwithout doing a thing - obviously the cops were still on guard from some earlier action that this Bloc didn't know about. So the plan was to move on to a different part of the fence. While we passed a corner of the fence that was only guarded by three cops, one of us taunted them. They fired gas into the middle of us, cutting our bloc in half. The police brought up attack dogs (even though they were behind a fence, so I dont understand their use) and tried to continue gassing us. Two people had found old and dried christmas trees (god knows where) and used these to start quick fires to consume the smoke. Regardless, the police aciton worked to divide us, and as I followed the half that made it past, we wound up right back to the major intersection I had just left.

I decided to stay and helped others as people gathered rocks, asphalt and plywood boards that shielded us from the increased use of plastic bullets and lead-bag shotgun rounds. The gassings put people out of commission for periods of time, but they would return to the front just as others had to pull back. It almost worked as an incidental firing line from the days of musketry. While the cops who stood in the side street got all the attention of the rock throwing as before, a few police behind a fence around the corner fired lead-bag rounds at people. When we finally noticed them, we waited until they would raise their guns at someone and we began throwing rocks at the fence around them. Angered by being spotted, one of the cops began shooting into us and I saw a few people go down when hit in the leg or foot. A water cannon truck was moved in to replace the shooting cops and swept the intersection with its cannon. The police had been thinking this time, and left their water cannons behind the fence, unlike the fiasco of the day before.

After a while of this action, I was tiring of the fact that nothing was changing in the area and intended to move on. My cue was when the person standing next to me was struck by a mortared gas cannister that struck him in the head and hand. Fired up a good 100ft in the air, these canisters were heavy and flaming, coming down with incredible force. As I spun to help him I caught the full blast of gas an was myself knocked out of comission. I retreated down the street and up a side street to hide from the fumes. Many people were around me, indicating that the barrage had been heavy. I took this chance to finally move around the perimeter all the way. Back where the front-loader had been set on fire, the police had pushed forward and I found a line of police surrounded by some 100 people sitting down infront of them. I thought it kind of boring and moved on. I climbed up hills towards the area where I had been on friday. At one point I passed a quiet section of fence where a protester was talking through the fence with three riot police. The protester kept asking why all of the gas and fence was necessary, that it was only provoking people into wanting to tear it down to be heard. The cop pointed to three passing anarchists with a black flag and said "what about them?" The protester responded, "What about them! So they have gas masks on - thats to throw back the gas you hit us with to protect other people from being gassed!"

I continued uphill, only to find people streaming down fleeing a water cannon blast down from the side street along René-Lévesque. When I reached the top where the fence turned infront of me, I saw a cannon spraying non-stop down one street, where no one was. It seemed rather inexplicable. As a result, I couldnt pass infront of it, so I just went down and around. As I did, I passed by the same three riot police. This time they were talking to the three anarchists from before. I couldnt hear much of their conversation since both had gas masks on, but to my right about 30 feet away I noticed a non-descript demonstrator cliping away at the fence with wire cutters. Everyone else noticed too, except for the cops who had no periferal vision due to their masks. Finally, one noticed and ran at the guy, while everyone laughed at the police.

I eventually made it up to the area I had been in on friday, and judging from the white stains of gas cannister powder on the ground and scattered burned debris, there had been quite a batter here just before. But at this point there were only a few hundred people milling about. Most were sitting down about 200 feet from the fence talking and holding up peace signs. This didnt stop the cops from randomly launching teargas at them every few minutes or so for no reason at all. Oddly, I noticed that someone was throwing bottles at the police anyhow. I looked over an edge and saw a mix of high school kids, protesters and even a few people who were in polo shirts and khakis were throwing rocks and bottles at the police who could barely see them. The police never once threw gas at them or tried to disperse them, instead focusing on the people sitting half a block away on the main road of René-Lévesque. Bored with this, I moved to retrace my steps.

While taking the route back, I passed by a section of the fence on Rue Ste-Genevieve that was in a tiny lot between two buildings. I had seen this spot earlier and noticed how few cops there were in the area. This time I approached with four Black Bloc'ers infront of me and the five of us were stopped by a hippy-ish activist who said he needed our help. "Im trying to tear down as much of the fence as possible," he explained saying that he had just gotten gassed while inspecting this tiny bit of fencing. We agreed to help, but realized we would need more people. The affair turned into a rather pathetic episode of myself following the other four anarchists and not really passing by any large affinity groups that could help us. This really contributed to my woe concerning that day as I sensed that so much more could be done if people stuck together in tight moblile flying columns of even just 50, so much more of the fence could be removed.

I moved past Rue St. Jean where the cops had been blocked by 100 sitting protesters earlier. When I arrived this time, the protesters were gone and the cops had secured two blocks surrounding the spot. I left that and went back to the main intersection at Dufferin Highway. This was the second time I had walked down Rue d'Aiguillon which ran right into the intersection at a downward slope. The approach gives you the sense of walking onto a hill overlooking a surreal battle scene below when you had just been passing by some buildings that blocked the view. I hurried down the hill and spotted my friend. She had been roaming around much like me and had managed to pick up a pickle-bucket drum someone had ditched. She and I remained fairly close to the fence that we had gotten so used to over the course of the day. By now there were still thousands on the Dufferin Highway offramps, about twenty people sitting peacefully in a circle just infront of the fence and most of the Black Bloc and other participants hiding behind large pieces of pegboard along the highway railing. From that point they were able to lob their rocks and still find some protection from the police marksman who picked off people with his lead-bag rounds. During the long battle that continued to go on here, sometimes with the added wirght of a water cannon, I noticed that one of the concrete emplacements holding the fence had been spraypainted with "Less Talk, More Rocks!" I found that quite amusing.

At one point a person next to me pointed out the hotel just behind the police at the fence. There on the second story balcony as the early evening had set in, men in business suits were visably drinking and watching us. With this I realized that we might be able to get gas cannisters thrown back in that direction. I really felt it would be only suiting that the delegates have a taste of what their goons were dishing out to us. Since no one knew where the next cannister would ever land, I figured I just had to spread the word since people were still throwing the cannisters back at the police in the side street. When I ran up to the first person I saw who was up close enough to act, I mentioned my idea and he just silently looked at me and showed me his palms. They were seared red by burns, clearly from picking up a burning cannister without gloves. The next to people I approached were French speakers, so I turned to some of the rock throwers. One fellow thought it a great idea, but remarked, "that's a long way to throw." I found someone with a slingshot finally and he used that aiming at the delegates, but to what degree of success it cannot be known.

Just as my attempts were going no where, announcements came that the police were moving up Côte d'Abraham behind us to our right. People began to pull back on to the highway realizing that the surprise flanking move left us no choice. No one could figure out how the cops reached that point. At this moment my friend was using her little medical bag to treat a wounded protester who had had a bloody gash in his hand from exploding tear gas cannister shrapnel. As she was sitting and tending to his wound gas bomblets went off all around us and we had to flee. We first moved onto one off ramp, but seeing that it went no where we could walk from, we moved to another adjacent one that connected to the same pedestrian stairs that had gotten us up the hill earlier in the day. The stairs were a mess of people, some climbing up and some retreating down. From the top we could hear the overwhelming cocophony of drumming underneath the highway that filled the air. It was definately the louded sound I had heard without the aid of amplification. It gave the retreat a surreal rhythm to it.

As my friend and I returned to our apartment on Arago St, we saw that the police had moved to the very crest of the hill, blocking passage on most of the pedestrian walkways. The air was thick with the acrid odor of gas, which permeated for miles all around. That evening, from the second story balcony of the house we were at, we could still smell the toxins strongly. Such a thorough gassing was to have a strong affect on the population that night.

A21 NIGHT:

Following a small dinner and rest the two of us set out at around midnight. We determined that it might be best to start on the far side of the fence and to move around the perimeter to fin what point of action we could. As we walked up Boul Lengeller to reach the area of Friday's action, three French Canadian activist talked to us along the way. They knew very little English, but were quite accomodating. When we reached the area around Rene Lévesque gas cannisters were going off around some small fires on the street. All around us were average citizens dressed in normal evening clothing but adorned with handkerchiefs and filter masks. Many didnt have water on them and were most thankful for some of the supplies we had with us.

The scene there seemed rather slow, so we moved on. Back on the side street that ran along Rene Lévesque on the other side of the fence sat the water cannon that had guarded the position all day long. I really didn't think that the cannon would be as tempermental as it had been before when it was spraying water down a side street for no apparent reason. We began to walk past it as the beast came to life. The headlights turned on and the vehicle began backing up to catch up to us. The revving of the water cannon warned us of the oncoming water, so we dove behind a burned out car that was nearby. We hid for a bit until the water stopped, then stood up and backed away. The searchlight of the mobile cannon turned on and we just took the opportunity to wave hello.

While we easily could have walked around the block to reach the same point, I became rather irate at the fact that this sole water cannon was guarding absolutely nothing, but yet preventing us from crossing. So when a person headed from the opposite direction towards us and the cannon backed up to confront him, we moved out again. This time the cannon nearly caught us and we again wound up behind the car. As the cannon sprayed the ground at our feet, kicking up hundreds of pebbles and piles of sand, the person coming from the other way ran through, cackling with joyous laughter. "Buahahahaa!" he shrieked with a French accent. He moved on as we began laughing too much to continue fighting our armored foe.

We moved down to Côte D'Abraham to find that the police were still extended a block beyond their fence in the area. Yells and streaks of tear gas firings greeted us as we rounded the corner. We found that several Black Bloc'ers and others had erected a makeshift barricade out of metal fences, pallettes and plywood. They were trying to block the plastic bullets and other weapons while still tossing an occassional rock. It was more a stand of defiance than anything else. Looking up I could see the two or three roaming helicoptors shining their spotlights on trouble areas around. It seemed as if this wasn't the only battle going on.

After repeated gassings and about a half hour of fighting, the line of riot cops began advancing. We were really quite helpless against this, which pissed of my friend to no end. She started cursing the police for their invulnerability while they inflicted so much pain on us. The day before she was begging people not to throw things at the police, but her experiences now had turned that view around completely. We were pushed down the street to where it divided into Rue Dorchester and Rue De La Couronne. The hundred or so of us around split down the two streets, as my friend and I took Dorchester. Down below us we could make out a giant bonfie, but couldn't tell if any police were there or not. We didnt have time to consider it as the police were fast advancing with gas bombs exploding around.

The bonfire at the intersection of Rue Charest and Dorchester turned out to be full of several hundred more protesters. We moved into their ranks quite eagerly and everyone prepared for the oncoming police. The cops decided to keep their distance now and just fired some long range gas rounds. Following each gassing, the crowd would surge back to the intersection. No one expected the police to have gone so far beyond the fence perimeter which they publicly announced was their priority. And strategicly speaking, it seemed to me that moving so far from the fence surely only increased the area the cops had to cover, thus weakinging their positions.

At any rate they pushed us beyong the large bonfire in the street that had been offering us protection. During this time, cars driving down Rue Charet would occassionally drive up, see the gas and the fires and then do a rapid U-Turn to get out of there. One driver asked for assistance with directions, and a few local protesters went over to help them. A block down the street to our left we could hear the booms of gas cannisters going off in another fight. We turned through a side street and ended up in a small concrete mall infront of a public library building. I tried to peer back to see if the cops were moving in and found that I was being illuminated by a flashlight affixed to a shotgun. I prudently continued my retreat. The police stopped short of this, which then allowed us to take a rather festive attitude in the area. Beers were being passed around while other people removed large metal pipes from concrete emplacements to use for drumming.

A few long range gas mortars landed in the middle of our festivities once a new bonfire was being set up. People moved in three directions, with my friend and I going to the right. A nearby lone squad car saw us appraoching and sped out of the area. But we realized that we were few in number, and that people were actually returning to the mall area. When we returned there a few minutes later cheers were going up. Some people had found a plastic dumpster, set its contents on fire and ran it at the cops. While they stopped short of striking the police to it, its large flames right infront of their lines provided visual coverage. Soon a similar dumpster was moved in next to it. Then an abandoned commercial building which had boards covering its windows was ransacked of its plywood supply to make shields for plastic bullets. Before then, people who walked out too far were getting shot at.

Either due to tactics or internal logistics, the row of riot police then began packing up and dispersed in their white, unmarked vans. Cheers went up all over. The barricade was immediately taken down and set up again at the Charet intersection the next block up where the large bonfire had been. Much of the joy was taken out on the old building which had its windows completely destroyed. To give them credit, I did not see any buildings that were actually being used receive damage beyond the occassional spray painting. A Canadian Bank and Shell Oil (the investors in Nigeria's old regime) supposedly did get targetted I later found out.

As we remained in the area for a while, some people grew tired. For a good half hour we just sat, basking in the warmth of the fires and listening to the sounds of distant fighting. It didn't seem reasonable to guard a barricade when there was no opposition, but I still revelled in conjouring images of something like the Paris Commune. My friend began to tire as it was approaching 4am in the morning and she returned home. Just as some drunk locals walked past and began arguing with another local girl in French (it was clearly unrelated to the protest) we could spot the white police vans returning. But this time they came in from two sides, from the front and from the right down Charest. I tried yelling "Barricade! Barricade!" but people moved back instead. As they police rapidly approached, a few bottles - no doubt recently spent - went flying, but that was all for token gestures. The lack of cohesion allowed the police to begin nabbing people. I moved back with the crowd down Dorchester, past our now melting dumpsters. Tear gas broke up more people, but I was angry and defiant. I raised the stick I had been using for drumming on metal posts and began yelling for people to remain. Between myself and the advancing police line was nothing but a couple debating to each other what to do. I yelled out at the police: "Fascists!" Only I didnt quite finish the word. It came out more as "Fasci - ow! Fuck!" for I had taken a plastic bullet in the knee.

In the past year of attending major demonstrations I had managed to avoid ever being hit by anything but a little baton blow that left a bruise for a few weeks. Just that day I had counted four near misses (including the man next to me who was hit with the cannister). But it was my turn, and being the only person around wearing a protective helmet, I was an easy target. The accounts of these projectiles feeling like being hit with a baseall bat are not exaggerations. The point of impact broke the skin and turned bruised veins purple in a halo around it.

I limped back and found a lone Indymedia reporter trying to document things. I told him I had been shot in the knee and he offered to call a medic. As it was so very late at night and our plane left in five hours, I figured I would be fine without. I moved down a small alley which happened to also have some doors to apartments along it. I paused at a house where the young residents were watching from their door. A particularly hefty one was brandishing a wooden bat and kept shifting his head looking for errant police officers. Then there was a commotion and the police stormed the alley. Without thinking, I jumped into the house. I knew I couldnt run at that moment and needed safety.

I told the first person I saw that I was wounded. He didnt understand English, but understood when I pointed at my knee. In time a person who lived there and knew English began offering me help. His name was Vince and was very supportive of our activities. In between guarding his front door and watching for police, he gave me an ice-water rag for the swelling. He seemed to have several friends over and many were lounging on their couches. One gave up his seat for me and a few began trying to talk to me. When our line of conversation got to the issue of health care they were all agasp as to what the costs in America are. I did nothing but reaffirm them of their wise choice in residing in Canada over the US.

After about 45 minutes of taking their time, I felt I was good enough to leave. It also had to be safe enough - at one point six police cars drove past his house. I thanked Vince and the others and was on my way. To avoid detection, I had to hide my helmet behind my small bag and put on an innocent, dopey and half-drunken face with one hand in my pants pocket. As I walked back to my temporary home on Arago street I saw many cop cars patrolling for protesters. At one point I passed two kids with cuffs on getting searched against a police van. I later found out that over half of the 450 arrests or so during the entire weekend occurred at that time and in that area.

After a healthy two hours of sleep my friend and I left the fair city of Quebec. That morning was cold and rainy, so it was probably better to avoid the anti-climax. The 8 hours of flying/bussing until home were quite difficult due to my swollen knee, but I was leaving with good memories of an incredible and inspiring weekend.

As this is just a log of my experiences, I'll avoid going off about my reactions to much of how things went and what we can do next time. My knee still hurts to move.

Solidarity
-sarin

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

-Wilfred Owen
exerpt from "Dulce Et Decorum Est"