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formed to write up codes of conduct, duty rosters,
and sleeping arrangements. A chorus of ayes and
nays sounded continuously.

A group called the Action Committee was try-
ing to garner support for their plan on the even-
tuality of the police invasion. The committee was
composed mostly of the hard-line squatters who
had been in Woodwards since the beginning. This
group, being the most senior, paralleled a group of
elders. Not only were they the veterans of the
squat, most had experience in other forms of
direct action protest.

People willing to be arrested were being asked to
add his or her name to a list. Upon adding your
name, you were given a marker and a lawyer's
number to write on your hand.

The level of paranoia had risen almost to a
breaking point around 2:00a.m. The Action
Committee had formulated a plan and was busy
putting it into effect. We were no longer peaceful
protesters at a squat waiting to have our limp bod-
ies draggedaway. We were a sovereign nation wait-
ing to be invaded by a foreign force. We were no
longer at a squat—we were under siege. The
group of elders and the guy with the conch had
decided to build fortifications. People were pro-
moted and delegated to tasks ranging from securi-
ty to construction of barricades.

As the level of paranoia peaked, word spread
that the invasion was coming at dawn and I heard
people accusing each other of being cops and pigs.
The Action Committee was planning to “tootsies
roll” its most resolute members. This consisted of
putting a zip tie around the wrist of a person, then
attaching another perpendicular strap. A small
carabineer was attached on the end of this second
strap. Someone else with a similar apparatus
would then join hands on the inside of a PVC
tube, and as they clipped their carabineers togeth-

er, became a living fortification. The tubes them-
selves were then fortified, wrapped in chicken
wire, and covered with tar and gravel.

As the Committee began building its tootsies,
the labour captains were giving orders. As the
walls and fortifications were coming up, the shriek
of a skill-saw and the pounding of hammers
echoed the community's determination. There
was even talk of destroying the pulley on the
freight elevator so the “coppers” couldn't use it.

The silent majority of the homeless and handi-
capped were becoming surly. “Shut up!” was being
yelled, and, “Cut out that racket!” They could see
the writing on the wall. They knew that no barri-
er would keep the police out if they wanted in.
Their only hope was one last night of peaceful
sleep.

Finally, the fevered pitch of sawing and the
pounding of hammers subsided. It was 4:00a.m.
The invasion was expected anytime. Everyone set-
tled down for a fitful sleep.

We awoke at 6:30a.m. to the pounding of riot
police at the barricades. I was sure we acted just as
they expected. I watched as a group of sleepy-
faced protesters tried to reason why they were
being awakened so rudely. The pounding at the
barricades and the shouting of, “Police!” was a
good tip off. There were those who were quick
enough to narrowly escape the riot police coming
in like storm troopers. Pepper spray and boots
were on the breakfast menu for the squatters.
Those of us who escaped from the second floor
observed from the outside as a platoon of bike
police took control of the ladder, cutting off any
escape for the protesters. The last person coming
down the ladder was a girl of about 19. She was
swiftly thrown in the police truck as she screamed
in pain from having her arm twisted. A chant of,
“Let her go!” and, “Shame on you!” was promptly

 

started in favour of the girl.

Of the approximately 70 people on the inside,
about 15 people made it out before the police
took control of the ladder. We, the privileged,
watched from the outside and wondered about
the safety of the friends we had made on the
inside. A group decision was made to go around
back and block the trucks that were waiting to
take away the protestors. This was effective for a
moment, but the motorcycle police quickly broke
the line by driving through it.

Cordova, the street parallel to Hastings, was
now blocked off. A police net was sweeping for-
ward on the outside protesters. Those with the
loudest voices were taken quickly. Most of those
remaining were either dispersed or arrested. It was
6:40a.m. and the coup-revolution-squat-protest
was effectively quelled.

In various 15-second sound bites between 3-
minute sport’s casts on the radio, it was
announced that police had taken back the build-
ing and that there were 64 arrests. A minute-long
story aired on a local TV station, basically restated
what the radio had said.

Was the squat a success? Yes, the police took the
building. Yes, homeless people and supporters
were evicted back onto the streets. But some
awareness was raised for low-income housing, and
much of the left-over food did go to local shelters.
Also, how much was spent by the province in tak-
ing back the empty building? The cost of mobiliz-
ing the riot police, the overtime spent on the extra
uniformed officers, not to mention the cost of
hailing and sending to court the 64 protesters,
who are sure to plead not guilty. If this kind of
civil action continues it might be cheaper for the
province to ante up and provide some low-income
housing. Who won? Who lost? You be the judge.

page 15 ©

 

October 2, 2002