ON SATURDAY, APRIL 21, I sat peacefully with an alleyway full of activists in front of a line of riot police, in Quebec City. The police in the front line held shields and billy clubs, and hiding behind them were several officers with tear-gas launchers and plastic bullet guns at the ready. They wore black body armour, including black helmets and thick gloves, and I laughed when I imagined they had changed their motto from "To serve and protect" to, "Luke, join the Dark Side of the Force."
While the riot police guarded the small section of security perimeter fence that had been dismantled by protesters, the people sitting peacefully in the same alley were humming one long note together, praying silently that the police would not use tear-gas on us, or worse. More police climbed over the bulldozer with which they had blocked up the hole. Being at the front-line of the sit down protest, I prepared for the worst. The narrow alley was sealed off at one end by the riot squad, and at the other by the dense crowd converging on the street behind me; if the police attacked, there was nowhere I could go to escape.
I looked at the other activists with me at the front. Most were women, and the average age was closer to my parents' than to my own. They had been in situations like this before, but for me it was my first time and I felt painfully vulnerable. I had seen the police inflict much pain and suffering over the previous days, and realized it might be my turn to receive that.
But together we felt strong, and together we were ready to hold that alley in opposition to the Free Trade Area of the Americas, no matter what violence they inflicted on us. As I focussed on grounding myself to find strength, one of the women began to read from the Water Declaration prepared by the people of Cochabamba, Bolivia and international water activists:
We, citizens of Bolivia, Canada, United States, India, Brazil ...
A hush fell over the sitting crowd in the alleyway.
Farmers, workers, indigenous people, students, professionals, environmentalists, educators, nongovernmental organizations, retired people ...
I listened as these words resonated in me, realizing that the declaration included me, that we were in solidarity with the people of Cochabamba in both our words and our actions.
... gather together today in solidarity to combine forces in the defence of the vital right to water.
The police shuffled in their places, adjusted their grip on their billy clubs, readied their tear-gas launchers. I was not sure if they were relaxing or preparing.
It was a powerful moment. When the declaration had been read, someone else stood up, holding a white flower, and slowly walked towards the line of police less than eight paces away. They placed the flower at the feet of one of the police officers, and returned to the crowd. Two more people did the same. The Cochabamba Water Declaration was then laid next to the flowers, at the feet of the heavily-armoured riot cops, and I walked forward to greet the police with my hands together in peace.
We decided that we had succeeded in maintaining peace, had held the alley nobly, and had raised awareness about the dangers of corporate control of water, and so we applauded the police for their restraint and then flowed, holding hands, out of the alley. I say flowed, because that is how I remember us moving; this group was based on the image of a Living River - fluid, determined, powerful, but graceful. We rejoined the rest of the group on the street, mostly dressed in blue and carrying flowing blue cloth above them to identify them with a flowing river.
