We've been on strike now for 10 weeks. I say this, not as a complaint, but as paint for the scenery of our discontent. Our feet are aching, our joints complaining, and day in, day out, we walk the lines. Endless circles are enough to drive lab animals crazy; they start to scratch and knaw away at flesh as a way to relieve their terminal boredom. Perhaps they do it to remind themselves that they are still alive, and not simply mindless automatons responding to the beck and call of their masters; Zombies answering the call of their Voodoo priest.
Like zombies, we will attempt to eat alive any new flesh that presents itself; especially if it shows itself to be hostile (like some students) or attempts to supersede the commandments of our Voodoo queen (aka Ingrid). This week we had two uppity sorts come down to mingle with the Plebs. Yesterday, a pair of PSAC reps from the Yukon came and joined us on the line. While at least they dressed the part, their bling betrayed them. The fact they didn't bother to make One circle, just marched off with our PSAC rep to the next picket location (and probably thereafter to the hockey game which was the primary goal of their trip). They made more of an effort though than the Patrician that visited our lines today.
I spotted him right away. I was well-placed, as my back was out, and I had stopped to sit and stretch it. Sitting on the pile of industrial plastic buckets, and leaning back on the cement incline at the base of the iron fence that marks the south border of the downtown McGill's campus (East of the Roddick gate), I spotted a suit getting out of a tan SUV. A peeon got out after him - he held himself submissive despite his equally-expensive suit - and they were followed by a man wearing the kind of cap only a driver - or and artist - would wear. Why was my attention caught? The suit looked across the street at me and smiled. Not a usual Montrealer-smile - the furtive half-smile you make when you accidentally catch someone's eye, or even the occasional shy grin you sometimes exchange after a shared experience - no, this was the thousand watt smile of one well-practised at holding one for a camera. I was unsurprised when the guy in a cap pulled a large professional camera out of the trunk. The suit talked to the camera for a bit, and then the camera turned across the street and pointed at me. My curiosity soured to ire in that moment, made worse by the cameraman panning back at me a second time, and seeming to pause on my face, despite my scowl. The smile across the street at me was starting to make sense. They were talking about the strikers on film, and they had just included me in their little production without my permission.
I then watched the suit and the peeon attempt to work the parking meter, for what seemed like a good ten minutes. The cameraman seemed to lose patience with them, giving up on getting shots, and putting the camera down to rest. I felt like asking the strike leaders - who were standing around chatting a few feet from me (including MUNACA president, Kevin Whittaker, and the female PSAC rep from the day before) if they were expecting someone, but there mere presence seemed to answer my question for me, and the suit eventually confirmed it by crossing the street. The peeon was clutching a clipboard which had an Orange paper on it, and I got a flash of insight - he was another leadership hopeful for the NDP.
Sure enough, when he'd crossed the street and joined the leaders, we were informed that he was from the NDP and would speak to us, so to go to the west side of the gates. I grabbed a shot of him as I followed the flock. Once we had crossed over like good sheeple, we milled around waiting; wasn't he supposed to come talk to us? He stayed put, talking to Kevin while the cameraman got good shots. He stayed so long, my group and I had just returned to our side (walking circles around the same place makes one somewhat territorial and form pack-like bonds with those you walk with), when I noticed the arrival of a large group of strikers. Surely now he'd do something?
We returned to skulking just past the western gate, and sure enough, he walked towards the group. He stopped to talk to some of the ladies in the band - picking the older, and shorter ladies to shake hands with and all on camera (did he want to look taller on film?), told the drum-band to keep playing, then moved on to the end of the line. There he, again stood around talking to the president on cam. We were herded into a full line to walk in a circle between him and the gate. Several of my pack lost patience and returned to our side in disgust. Shaking four hands is showing solidarity with striking employees? Then, the line was directed to walk around him, so that there would be a shot of him with picketers walking behind him, holding PSAC flags. It seemed that we were little more than a backdrop to him. We started muttering, Jack would have walked the lines with us, would have actually talked to us. JP told his story of meeting Jack, and we all got misty eyed. Not all of us had voted for him, but we'd liked the man, respected him. This suit was looking down on us from his high horse, inspecting the troops as it were from up on high, not getting his boots dirty. We didn't like it much.
He then crossed over to our side of the gates, and placed himself at one end of our circle - just inside for the better shots, and began smiling at people and shaking the occasional hand. He talked to some of the older ladies, who reported his responses: All were vaguely supportive, promising nothing, saying nothing really of substance, typical politician stuff.
Jack would have asked about people's families, and whether they had enough to eat. Maybe I'm holding him on a bit of a pedestal, but that's the reason Quebec fell in love with the man: He didn't have any pretenses. This man seemed to be nothing But pretense. The whole affair was nothing more than a photo op: Every contact he made with the Plebs was on camera and carefully orchestrated. A real leader would have taken the time to talk to the people, to introduce himself at least. A: 'Hi, I'm Robert Chisholm from __, Ive worked with trade unions and I've walked the lines and know how you feel'. Our PSAC do it all the time, even if there might not be much content to their little pep talks, they make the effort and put in the facetime. There might not be much content to their message, but it gets across. This man wants to be given the mandate to be automatically made Leader of Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition, and wants to replace JACK. He certainly hasn't done anything to convince me that he's qualified for the job. The only thing he Has convinced me of, is that I want to become a card-carrying member of the NDP so that I can vote against him.
Like zombies, we will attempt to eat alive any new flesh that presents itself; especially if it shows itself to be hostile (like some students) or attempts to supersede the commandments of our Voodoo queen (aka Ingrid). This week we had two uppity sorts come down to mingle with the Plebs. Yesterday, a pair of PSAC reps from the Yukon came and joined us on the line. While at least they dressed the part, their bling betrayed them. The fact they didn't bother to make One circle, just marched off with our PSAC rep to the next picket location (and probably thereafter to the hockey game which was the primary goal of their trip). They made more of an effort though than the Patrician that visited our lines today.
I spotted him right away. I was well-placed, as my back was out, and I had stopped to sit and stretch it. Sitting on the pile of industrial plastic buckets, and leaning back on the cement incline at the base of the iron fence that marks the south border of the downtown McGill's campus (East of the Roddick gate), I spotted a suit getting out of a tan SUV. A peeon got out after him - he held himself submissive despite his equally-expensive suit - and they were followed by a man wearing the kind of cap only a driver - or and artist - would wear. Why was my attention caught? The suit looked across the street at me and smiled. Not a usual Montrealer-smile - the furtive half-smile you make when you accidentally catch someone's eye, or even the occasional shy grin you sometimes exchange after a shared experience - no, this was the thousand watt smile of one well-practised at holding one for a camera. I was unsurprised when the guy in a cap pulled a large professional camera out of the trunk. The suit talked to the camera for a bit, and then the camera turned across the street and pointed at me. My curiosity soured to ire in that moment, made worse by the cameraman panning back at me a second time, and seeming to pause on my face, despite my scowl. The smile across the street at me was starting to make sense. They were talking about the strikers on film, and they had just included me in their little production without my permission.
 |
| Schmoozing with Kevin |
Sure enough, when he'd crossed the street and joined the leaders, we were informed that he was from the NDP and would speak to us, so to go to the west side of the gates. I grabbed a shot of him as I followed the flock. Once we had crossed over like good sheeple, we milled around waiting; wasn't he supposed to come talk to us? He stayed put, talking to Kevin while the cameraman got good shots. He stayed so long, my group and I had just returned to our side (walking circles around the same place makes one somewhat territorial and form pack-like bonds with those you walk with), when I noticed the arrival of a large group of strikers. Surely now he'd do something?
 |
| On cam, right before his few handshakes |
We returned to skulking just past the western gate, and sure enough, he walked towards the group. He stopped to talk to some of the ladies in the band - picking the older, and shorter ladies to shake hands with and all on camera (did he want to look taller on film?), told the drum-band to keep playing, then moved on to the end of the line. There he, again stood around talking to the president on cam. We were herded into a full line to walk in a circle between him and the gate. Several of my pack lost patience and returned to our side in disgust. Shaking four hands is showing solidarity with striking employees? Then, the line was directed to walk around him, so that there would be a shot of him with picketers walking behind him, holding PSAC flags. It seemed that we were little more than a backdrop to him. We started muttering, Jack would have walked the lines with us, would have actually talked to us. JP told his story of meeting Jack, and we all got misty eyed. Not all of us had voted for him, but we'd liked the man, respected him. This suit was looking down on us from his high horse, inspecting the troops as it were from up on high, not getting his boots dirty. We didn't like it much.
He then crossed over to our side of the gates, and placed himself at one end of our circle - just inside for the better shots, and began smiling at people and shaking the occasional hand. He talked to some of the older ladies, who reported his responses: All were vaguely supportive, promising nothing, saying nothing really of substance, typical politician stuff.
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| One of the ladies got his card |
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