30.EP.27j: September 1, 2002.
"The War Party, part 9:
Safety, Dancing."
Others cried
Why should I?
-- Men Without Hats, "Folk Of The 80s."
G6B
They are the G6B-- everyone
here. Every protester, every public interest group, every person
on every streetcorner handing out pamphlets. G6B stand for "Global
6 Billion." The title has been generated to reference the "G8," of
course. And, it's inclusionistic, the G6B-- as inclusionistic as
the G8 is exclusionistic. The G6B slogan is "They are 8, We are 6
Billion." However, there's a problem....
GEARING UP
I join up with the crowd.
The action is already in progress:
People walking around people,
shouting slogans. People with megaphones yelling something distorted
and incoherent.
I walk up to a girl who's
got an armload of pamphlets.
"Excuse me," I say, "could
I have one of those?"
She looks at me, stares
blankly for a few seconds, and walks away.
SIGNS:
CORPORATE SLOBS!
CAPITALISM IS A CANCER
ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH
REDUCE TUITION FEES
RESTORE SOCIAL PROGRAMS
HOW DID THE CAT GET SO FAT?
GREED=PROFITS3
IN THE SHADOW OF THE PARTYING MINORITIES
The heat is crushing my soul.
The sun is bleaching my eyes.
I stay back with the cops
and the journalists.
The journalists don't seem
to like me. I'm some guy scribbling notes in a blue notepad.
Therefore I'm probably a rival. I'm trouble. They have to get
the "scoop" before me.
The cops don't care.
I hang back, and follow
along.
There's the crowd of protesters,
and then the vast entourage of police and journalists and curious pedestrians
following behind.
The crowd of protesters
walks down the middle of a street, stops at an intersection, and begins
to cluster in a circle.
Some girl in a tie-dyed
t-shirt looks at me and sneers, then she walks into the crowd.
A group of people-- men
and boys-- appear. They are wearing black handkerchiefs over their
faces. Some of them have black bandannas on their heads.
The crowd begins to roar
and cheer.
The group walks into the
centre of the circle formed by the crowd.
A soccerball is thrown in
the air. Then, when it lands, it's kicked about-- seemingly, at first,
at random. But then it becomes clear that this is a choreographed
performance.
A guy with a megaphone squawks
something unintelligible.
In the centre of the soccer
circle, some goals are scored.
Another cheer.
And then it's over.
The circle breaks down,
and becomes a formless blob. The black handkerchiefs are consumed
by the masses.
And then the protest begins
to move, slowly towards another intersection.
Behind it, the cops and
journalists and pedestrians.
High above, a helicopter.
OTHER EVENTS
Later today: A die-in.
People fall down and pretend to be dead in order to protest the deaths
of people who have succumbed to AIDS, as well as the deaths of Sudanese
people who apparently died, probably indirectly, as the result of something
a Calgary-based oil development company did.
Tomorrow: A knit-in.
People sit around and knit things. I don't know what they're protesting.
SOCCER?
And so I follow the crowd.
At the next intersection, it forms another circle, and another game of
soccer is played. This time, the participants are all women and girls
wearing black handkerchiefs over their faces, and black bandannas on their
heads. Is this some sort of strategic re-enactment? Or maybe
a symbol of something?
I ask a cop (not in black,
for a change) if he knows what the soccer game means.
"I dunno," he says.
"They do it in every intersection. I think they just do it because
they need something to do while they stop traffic."
I ask a guy who's been tagging
along like me. He's in a business suit and is probably out for a
few kicks during an extended lunch break. He shrugs.
"Who knows?" he says.
I ask a girl with long blonde
hair tied back in a huge ponytail.
"It's the World Cup," she
says and then walks over to some friends holding anti-G8 signs. She
says something to them, looks back at me and they all walk on.
The friends holding signs
don't look in my direction, so I can't tell what they signs say.
Another roar from the crowd,
more distorted instructions from a megaphone. The circle breaks up,
the soccer players vanish, and we all move down the block.
SIGN CARRIED BY A WELL-DRESSED, OBVIOUSLY UPPER-MIDDLE-CLASS BORED-LOOKING TEEN BOY:
POOR PEOPLE FIGHT BACK!
FALLACIES
Down the block, again, and another
mock-soccer game.
This time I think I can
almost make out something being said over a megaphone.
Its a guy who looks like
a born-again Christian, and he's shouting:
"Eurocentric fallacy!
Eurocentric fallacy!"
Unfortunately, the chant
doesn't catch on and he gives up.
This time, the people playing
the soccer game are all male. They seem to be alternating between
the boys and girls for their displays.
Unfortunately, I'm not close
enough to the action to be able to tell if the scores in the game are always
the same, if the winners are always the same. And, frankly, that
suits me just fine.
Unlike yesterday, there
is a wide open sky above me-- even if it is full of choppers-- and even
if it is so blue it looks like a digital illusion-- and even if it's so
damn bright my eyes feel like they're on fire every time I look up at it--
and even if it does contain a sun that's beating down on me, making me
feel faint, and making my head pound-- and even if it's making my life
out here a misery, it's still a sky. The buildings have not closed
in yet. And right now I'm not surrounded by so many people I feel
my breath being crushed from my lungs by invisible hands.
So, even though I'm not
in the thick of it, I'm very happy where I am. At a safe, non-claustrophobic
distance.
Also, I'm very aware of
the potential for tear gas, and so I want to be on the periphery in case
the canisters start flying.
A small crowd of businesspeople
and curious onlookers have also gathered around the soccer game.
And when the game is over,
the businesspeople and the onlookers also tag along, like me, on the edges
of the thing.
Most of them seem bored,
though. Utterly unresponsive. Not here to support anything.
They're just here because,
shit, at least it's something new to do over lunch hour....
1ST STREET SW/ 6TH AVE SW
At this point, 30-odd cops pedaling
bicycles appear from an alleyway. They join up with the mass, and
tag along, talking on their radios, looking nervous, but still in control.
STREET AMBIANCE
Big Canadian flag with the words
"LEGALIZE POT" emblazoned across it in bright green letters. And
instead of a maple leaf in its centre, someone has put a marijuana leaf.
Anti-G8 sign with the letter
G and the number 8 surrounded by a circle. And, of course, there
is a line through the circle.
Sign with Che Guevara's
face plastered on it. I know that face, and I know that sign.
You can buy those posters in the store I work at. They cost $13.99.
We have three different kinds of Che Guevara posters. They're sandwiched
between the South Park posters and the beer posters with topless
women dripping suds on their breasts.
An old guy who actually
doesn't look like a bored rich kid, handing out Socialist manifestos.
I ask him for one, and he actually gives me one. I say thanks, and
he smiles. He actually looks like he believes in what he's doing.
Kudos to him.
During the soccer game,
a guy standing beside me says to his girlfriend:
"Looks like fun, but what
is it about?"
CRYPTIC SIGN BEING CARRIED BY A POSSIBLE MEMBER OF THE INTERNATIONAL CHURCH OF SATAN:
Evil spelled backwards is
L * I * V * E
7TH AVE SW/ 3RD ST SW
The sun is getting brighter
and hotter.
Yet another soccer game.
Each time the game is played,
it elicits the exact same response: shouts of support and approval from
the protesters, a vaguely confused indifference from the general public.
And I'm left wondering:
What is this supposed to
prove?
There are no efforts on
behalf of the protesters to explain themselves. And I thought that
was part of the point of a protest, to enlighten the public, to be political
and active, not to just enact a series of cryptic, repetitious rituals.
There is supposed to be a meaning behind this huge group motion, and if
there is a meaning, no one is willing to share.
I can't remember who it
was said a thing done for its own sake is that thing in its purest form.
Maybe Plato, maybe Aristotle, maybe some Zen master. Regardless,
this protest seems like it's striving to be a pure thing, a thing done
explicitly for itself.
However, there's a problem,
here. Protests are political, they are supposed to stand for, and
represent a thing other than themselves. Politics, by its very nature
stretches beyond itself, tries to be all-encompassing. And so a protest,
in order to be successful, must be more than just a protest. There
must be a why, a reason, to the protest.
So far, however, all I'm
seeing is a group of people pretending to play soccer. All they're
doing is imitating a game. And no one is willing or able to explain
why.
9TH AVE SW/ 3RD ST SW
We walk together, between buildings.
I stay back, with all the bike police. They seem friendly enough,
probably think I'm a journalist. The buildings here are huge, converging
way above, blocking out sunlight.
Now, things are closing
in. And sweat drips down my arms.
Again, the crowd of protesters
forms a circle. And more police on bikes arrive.
I'm standing by a parkade.
Or maybe it's the back end of an office building, and the office building
has a built-in mini-parkade. Or something.
Anyway, there are a lot
if taxis, here.
Above me, a blast of water,
a horrible hissing, static sound.
I cringe and turn.
Nothing.
And water mists down on
me from above.
It's just a window washer,
up there. Washing the windows. Probably oblivious to all the
action on the street.
I look at a journalist.
He's smiling, but shaking.
"I thought it was a water
hose," he says. Then says: "Heh heh."
"Yeah, me too," I say.
"I was in Montreal once
when the cops turned a hose on everybody. It sounds exactly like
that."
"Great...."
And so I skirt around parked
taxis and I move across the street, away from the cops and the journalists
and the window washer. And away from the protesters. Seeking
a bit of comfort with a bunch of curious businesspeople who've come outside
to see all the action. I think I'm somewhere near City Hall, but
I don't think this is the City Hall building: It's a big building,
with a lots of steps and a concrete promenade. It looks like there
should be a fountain, here. But there's no fountain. Only lots
of steps, metal railings, and dozens of businesspeople.
I walk up the steps, to
get distance. I lean on one of the railings.
The railing is hot to the
touch.
Girls are playing soccer,
this time. I can't remember if the last time was boys or not.
This heat is baking my mind, making details blur.
Another blast of water,
across the street, above. And a few more people duck, and then look
up, vaguely frightened. And now I can see the window washer on his
platform. He's ignoring all of us, probably doesn't even know there's
a fake soccer game going on underneath him.
And something new happens:
all the protesters join in a mass wave. And then there's a round
of cheering as the game breaks up, once again.
As I take notes, a scruffy
old man walks up to me.
"Who the fucka you," he
says, "Hunter S. Thompson?"
MORE SIGNS, ETC.
On a bicycle helmet: "BUSH
KNEW."
I get a better look at the
Che Guevara poster. It says: "CANCEL AFRICA'S DEBT."
I'm not really sure what Che Guevara has to do with Africa. But that
could just be me.
A sign:
NDP
Participation
Of Waren Comittee
A group of Anarchists carrying
a big black banner, and all I can make out is a large letter A in a bright
red circle.
G6B, again
They are the G6B-- everyone
here. Every protester, every public interest group, every person
on every streetcorner handing out pamphlets. G6B stand for "Global
6 Billion." The title has been generated to reference the "G8," of
course. And, it's inclusionistic, the G6B-- as inclusionistic as
the G8 is exclusionistic. The G6B slogan is "They are 8, We are 6
Billion." However, there's a problem:
Everyone is a member of
the G6B. You, me, every slave and freeperson on the globe.
And so, the representatives of the Global 6 Billion speak for us all.
However, I'm pretty sure
they don't speak for me.
I say "pretty sure," because,
frankly, I can't determine what the G6B is actually saying on my behalf.
Other than, maybe, some vague, unfocussed rhetoric about the evils of capitalism,
corporations, and George W. Bush-- some of which I'm sure I might even
agree with-- if I could actually determine what points the G6B is trying
to make.
But, more importantly, the
G6B has not consulted me on its choice of policies. In fact, I can
be pretty sure that the G6B has not consulted the majority-- the "6 billion"
others that it purports to speak for, and includes. And so, even
though there are-- what, maybe a few hundred, possibly a few thousand?--
people operating under the aegis of the G6B-- all claiming to be operating
under an idea of total democracy-- because they have not consulted with
each and every citizen of this planet they cannot claim to speak for everyone.
Doing this, claiming they are speaking for everyone, and claiming to know
what is best for the vast unconsulted masses, is fascism. In fact,
the G6B is almost exactly as fascistic as the G8. I say "almost"
because there are a few thousand people in the G6B, as opposed to the 8
who make up the G8. However, when you consider the vast number of
people that are being "spoken for" at this protest (6 billion) the difference
in degree between 8 world leaders and a few thousand people with signs
is so slight it's irrelevant.
The G6B is so inclusionistic
it's exclusionistic.
THE SECRET FACE OF THE G6B (Verbatim from my notebook)
Despite the seeming show of
"democracy," this whole thing is very exclusive. It's a party by
invitation, only for the invited. And that's all it is.
30.EP.27j: September 1, 2002.