REACHING FOR THE SUMMIT

By Dale Duncan

When people asked me what I expected to happen at last month's Quebec City protest, I honestly didn't have an answer. On one hand, I thought it would be a highly organized event. I had read about various planned marches, different groups of protesters who were putting together street theatre, and a Peoples Summit that was to feature speakers, artists and musicians from all over the Americas.

On the other hand, media images from Seattle of angry protesters, smashed storefronts and crowded demonstrations filled my mind. After reading through Web site after Web site crammed with advice on how to deal with pepper spray and tear gas, I began to wonder what I was getting myself into. A nervous e-mail from my sister Nancy, who would be attending the event with me, reflected my anxiety: "I kinda feel like I might not be prepared for this . . . at all."

But despite my uncertainty about the unfolding of events, I knew the protest during the Summit of the Americas in Quebec City was something I wanted to be a part of. Concerns over the erosion of the rights of governments to make and enforce rules to protect citizens, the environment and resources - rights that are already threatened by the agreement in Chapter 11 of the North American Free Trade Agreement, on which the Free Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA) is to be based - were the driving force behind my decision to attend. The secrecy behind the negotiations and the lack of public access to information about the summit and the FTAA also influenced my decision to take part.

The lack of public involvement seems even more problematic when coupled with the privileged role of businesses in the process of determining an agreement. Although the corporations couldn't buy their way into the official meetings, they could put up a lot of cash to rub elbows with the heads of state at various "unofficial" corporate-sponsored schmoozing events such as lunches and dinners. The public didn't even get to see the officials get out of their cars and go into the building.

Because of this apparent distance between the decision-makers and the public, for me, the protest in Quebec City provided a chance to be heard. To literally make some noise, grab media attention and direct people's focus to the issue at hand and to the fact that considerable concern exists among a great many citizens. Sometimes it feels as if one person alone doesn't have the power to make a difference. But a crowd has the potential to project a loud and powerful voice. Its effects are not only apparent but also immediate.

Although Quebec City is more than nine hours away, getting there was hardly a problem. Many groups organized transportation and accommodation to the protest for cheap prices that were usually offered on a sliding scale. Although buses were being organized to leave from Guelph, I arranged to leave with my sister from Toronto on buses provided by Toronto Mobilization for Global Justice.

Toronto seemed to be the meeting place for a variety of activists from Canada and the United States. On my bus were a group of high school students from Orillia, members of an anti-globalization group from Burlington, American university students who had driven up from Virginia and a man who had travelled from Brandon, Man. We left at 9:30 p.m. Thursday and arrived at Laval University in Quebec City the following morning at 7 a.m.

On Friday morning, many people were already walking throughout the streets and exploring the city. They walked along the fence as if they were in a museum, stopping to read the various letters and signs that had been attached along the way. One section was decorated with balloons; another was covered by a swarm of bras. Colouring book pages completed by children, flowers made out of construction paper and signs saying: "Harmonie," "Solidarité" and "Democracy" were also posted, effectively transforming the "wall of shame" from an instrument designed to close out the public to a means for them to communicate and display opposition, opinions and ideas.

Just beyond the bras, balloons and posters, however, were police officers already standing guard in preparation for the day's events. The amount of security administered during the weekend seemed unreal. At one point on Saturday, as we were walking away from the crowds and along a building where a group of police officers had gathered, one of my friends rapped on his self-made drum. An officer stopped him and pointed to his sticks. "Les batons!" the officer shouted, gesturing for my friend to hand them over. Taking the two pieces of wood, the man turned to another officer beside him, who looked at the sticks and nodded in approval. My friend was disarmed and sent on his way.

The extreme security measures definitely exceeded my naive expectations. Before I arrived, I had foolishly assumed that if I kept back far enough from the "front lines," the burning sensation of tear gas could be easily avoided. On Friday, we lost count of the number of times we got caught up in tear gas, and on Saturday, it seemed as though there was a constant haze of this painful gas throughout the city.

You might assume the purpose of such measures would be to control or disperse a crowd that was getting out of hand, yet canisters were shot far out from the fence into the middle of peaceful crowds filled with people doing nothing more than standing, carrying signs, playing drums and occasionally chanting. Like me, many of the protestors were shocked and angry that the "security" measures used by our government appeared to be aimed at halting those who were demonstrating peacefully. "Shame! Shame on you!" screamed one woman passionately towards the police - who weren't even visible from where we'd been standing - as we retreated from the smoke. Closer to the fence, some fearless protesters picked up smoking canisters and threw them back at the police who had just fired them, inviting encouraging cheers from the crowd.

Among the protestors, I always felt safe. When retreating from the tear gas, everyone walked, determined not to create a state of panic in the crowd. Demonstrators offered water to others whose eyes had been stung by the painful smoke. At one point, Nancy and I were unexpectedly caught in a heavy cloud of tear gas. We grabbed on to each other, closed our eyes and began walking in the other direction. I tried breathing through my shirt as much as I could, but the smoke was too thick. Out of nowhere, a fellow protester handed me a cloth soaked with vinegar to lessen the sting in my throat. I didn't even have time to thank him.

The weekend consisted of much more than running from tear gas, however. On Friday, a teach-in of the Second Peoples Summit of the Americas was held. Thousands of people gathered to hear speakers, musicians and artists from across the Americas. Issues discussed included the environment, the rights of indigenous peoples, health care, work and agriculture, as well as various ways to develop alternatives. Throughout the streets, many demonstrators dressed in costumes and carried puppets, drums or creative signs. Some groups performed street theatre such as interpretive dances, while others handed out street chalk and stickers.

Whenever I think back on the weekend, I become more and more astonished by just how incredible the events were. Ingrained in my mind are images of the rows of armed riot police in dark bulletproof suits, the sun shining off the visors of their helmets and their shields. It's ironic that as we retreated from the tear gas, water cannons and rubber bullets, our government was probably hammering out its highly acclaimed democracy clause.

Without question, I know the protest in Quebec did make a difference. Aside from the media coverage, I was overwhelmed by how the protest inspired those who attended to become even more involved. For many of those who came to Quebec, it was the first time they had been a part of a protest or large group movement of any kind. A lot of them came to learn, and many were not already a part of a group or coalition. But on the bus ride home, everyone was sharing stories, passing around newspapers and talking about what they could do next. If nothing else, the protest inspired many people to become involved and learn more, giving truth to the slogan: "It didn't begin in Seattle, and it won't end in Quebec."
It didn't end in Quebec. If anything, it is growing.

Dale Duncan is a fourth-year psychology student working in the Office of Research.