There were no two solitudes Casserole Night in Canada Wednesday night.
From Dawson City to Wolfville, Victoria and Winnipeg to St. Catherines, and points between big and small, people grabbed their pots and pans and clanged their way past the French/English divide and into a histoic new moment.
I didn’t go to Dufferin Grove where several thousands traipsed through west-end streets in a mass bang-a thon, but took my pot lid and wooden spoon to the Leslieville action at Queen E and Jones.
As I hammered my little piece of stainless steel, I considered how therapeutic it was to make rhythm with intimate kitchen implements, but that was just the first half an hour. By the second, I was amazed that anyone could do this night after night a la Montreal – not only is it wearing on the arms (pots have no give like drums do), but the strident ringing is a pain in the ear.
Still, I couldn’t get over the joyous surprise that all of us here – the fleur-de-lis-draped guy, the grey-haired woman with her gong, the man with the red-t fiercely beating at his stew pot, and all the rest – had given up an evening on boutique-resplendent Queen E to stand with activists from LaBelle.
Solidarity with Quebec. Not so long ago, this would have meant defending the self-determination movement, diplomatic code for the right to separate. Now their project is our project: ask not for whom the pots clang- they clang for all of us. Over a decade ago at the tear-gassed Quebec City summit protest, I marvelled at the dead-of-night strategy meetings where French and English speakers and smart, fast simultultaneous translating – as in participants yelling out “what did that word mean?” and everyone filling in the blanks – and how friendly and empathetic and coherent the whole thing was.
I was watching the evaporation of the historic language tension as an issue.
The easy fraternity was a hint that young Quebecers in the progressive movements weren’t too interested drawing lines against Les Anglais. The Orange Crush was a more intense version of the same.
In October, Occupy Toronto grew its structures and developed its habits inspired by the Wall St encampment. The compass has shifted now the North Star is the province next door and local lefties can lose their southern neighbor awe. Quebec students, and their supporters, taking on the garantuan issue of universal accessibility, not to mention austerity and civil liberties, have now refurbished the tactical arsenal and set new records for endurance. We thought the St. James camp lasted a lifetime at five and a half weeks the Quebec student strike has held firm for four months.
(Note, as well, how the brilliant les casseroles has deftly sidelined Montreal’s small but disorienting smash-up and molotov brigade.)
Wednesday’s night cross-Canada action has sanctified a stunning alliance that out-of-Canada activists might not fully appreciate. The gap of language, history and culture is fading to nothingness, and commonality has emerged with the beating of a pan.
The country’s rulers ought to be alarmed.
Read about the origins of the protest here.
