Quebec: One More Crack in the Wall

QUEBEC CITY -- "Excuse me, but is this Canada?"

Scrawled on the "Wall of Shame," a 10-foot high, 2 and a half mile long fence erected to keep protesters away from George Bush and 33 other leaders gathered at the Summit of the Americas, the slogan just about says it all. The graffito underscores the radically different visions of democracy on either side of the wall: one espoused by Bush and company and one expressed in the streets of Quebec this past weekend.

While the assembled presidents expounded on their commitment to democracy, the city surrounding them became a virtual police state. The Canadian government mounted the largest security operation in its history, with some 6,000 police in hi-tech riot gear deployed to defend the wall, and more than double the usual number of airport security personnel on duty to keep tabs on entering protestors. In the days preceding the summit, there were also reports of police searching activists' hotel rooms without warrants.

Where were those friendly Royal Canadian Mounties? What most protestors saw looked more like a phalanx of Darth Vaders.

A silver lining to the military crackdown was the unifying effect it had on anti-free traders of all stripes. For example, prior to the summit some of the more radical activists suggested that participants in a week-long international Peoples Summit were harmless "reformers" who would receive a red carpet welcome from the government. Canadian immigration agents helped put that notion to rest by treating many of the 3,000 delegates to the alternative summit just as shoddily as those who arrived later in the week to participate in direct action.

Hector de la Cueva, the Mexican leader of the Hemispheric Social Alliance, the international labor-NGO network that hosted the Peoples Summit, was interrogated for more than an hour and then issued a visa that restricted the length of his stay and his movements. De la Cueva's colleague Silvia Sandoval faced much worse. After arriving alone at the Toronto airport, she was handcuffed and held for six hours without being allowed to make a phone call. Sandoval, who doesn't speak English, was released after a frightening night in detention. Several other participants were sent home, with the reminder that it is a "privilege and not a right to enter Canadian territory."

Up Against the Wall

Meanwhile, the much-reviled security wall provided a vehicle for creative expression, at least during the days before the area became a war zone. One 50-foot section was covered with hundreds of bras and underpants, hung by feminist activists during a candlelit vigil in which they expressed their anger over the impact of free trade on women. Other protesters attached balloons, flowers, and children's drawings to the chain link fence, creating an image reminiscent of the Berlin Wall, with its array of colorful graffiti on one side, contrasted by austere gray on the other.

With the city already on edge, paranoia among local business owners intensified after Jose Bové, the French farmer now famous for dismantling a McDonald's, commented to the press that "breaking a few windows should not be considered violence." Within a matter of hours, carpenters were busily nailing plywood to the windows of about two-thirds of businesses within a mile of the wall. Graffito on one panel read: "The only good thing that free trade has done for the Canadian lumber industry." (The United States and Canada have been locked in a trade dispute over Canada's logging subsidies.)

On Friday, the day the presidents arrived to begin three days of discussions of the Free Trade Area of the Americas, the Canadian security operation faced its first real test. At about 2:00 pm, some 1,000 trade unionists gathered in front of the Peoples Summit's big tent meeting space. The Canadian Labor Congress (a counterpart to the AFL-CIO) had mobilized to show support for a youth march that was heading towards the town center from a nearby university. One contingent of students had made it clear that they planned to engage in direct action. Although the CLC did not encourage participation by its own members, "it was critical that we do something to counter the perception that we don't stand with the students," explained International Department chief Steve Benedict.