I am a protest-parade poser. I am Canadian.
When asked whether I’d take part in the International March for Science (April 22nd – Earth Day 2017) in Paris, I evaded the question. I work for a science organization, share the concerns, and knew my daughter would march in the Toronto parade.
Yet I can’t say that I felt the need to impress Rebecca nor to add my voice to fight for science. The protest also fell on the day we were booked to head off for the Loire Valley, and I cited this as my reason for not going.
Then on the day before, a colleague of my vintage, said “Aw - come on ! How often do you get to go in a protest parade in Paris?” I knew that this fellow baby boomer was recalling the French student protests of the 1960s. Protesting in the streets, manning the barricades Les Misérables-style does seem like a very Parisian and just thing to do.
Then on the day before, a colleague of my vintage, said “Aw - come on ! How often do you get to go in a protest parade in Paris?” I knew that this fellow baby boomer was recalling the French student protests of the 1960s. Protesting in the streets, manning the barricades Les Misérables-style does seem like a very Parisian and just thing to do.
Checking the schedule for the march and the schedule for the trains, I learned that (1) we were to leave for Amboise at 1:30 PM from the Gare d'Austerlitz; (2) that March for Science was to begin at about the same time in the Jardin des Plantes next to the Gare d'Austerlitz.
So, as soon as we arrived at the station, I left an anxious Michele with our bags and ran down the street to the gates of the Jardin. I didn’t see any marching, but watched the setup, mingled with the crowd, and heard a few speeches. I took a selfie for my daughter and left for the Gare.
Looking out the train car window an hour later, I thought my participation was pretty tepid, pretty lame, pretty Canadian. Aside from tuition-fee protests in Quebec and the Idle No More demonstrations for aboriginal rights, Canadians haven’t gotten off their butts very often or, at least, very vigorously in recent years. We are known as a people who sheepishly accept our lot, bow to big business and government, pay high bank rates and telecom fees, smile and thank our abusers, and say excuse me in the process.
Not the French. They get worked up and scary even about things like peer-reviewed research and scientific data.
Knowing many people need convincing on climate change, on the benefits of biotechnology, and on the need for artificial intelligence, I felt a little uncomfortable amidst my fellow March for Science protesters.
“You know, if that protest wants to influence ordinary people, they probably shouldn’t use a Frankenstein killer robot as their symbol,” I said to my wife. “They might have cranked back the megaphone a bit too.”
Nevertheless, I found myself wishing I could have marched in the protest that day and assumed that I had missed a unique opportunity.
A week and a half later, we were in Angers wrapping up our Loire Valley holiday and getting ready to catch a train back to Charles de Gaulle Airport and the flight home. After a walk of 120 kilometres, it wasn’t bad to have a couple of days rest, but we were a little bored. All of the shops, most of the restaurants, and even the museums were closed.
It was the May 1st weekend.
La Fête du Travail is a big deal in France. A day to not only celebrate workers and workers’ rights, but to campaign for more and to stage protest marches. This year with the presidential elections at the same time, the protests took a lively bent everywhere and, in Angers, they took the form of a long, noisy march right in front of our hotel on the main drag, Boulevard du Maréchal Foch.
The combination of nothing else to do and a wistfulness over missing the Paris protest prompted me to run down to the street and join the march for a few blocks. Again, I took a selfie and the bowed out.
It was OK. But I did feel like a poser. I wasn’t sure what was being protested exactly and what we were yelling and singing about - other than to let Marine Le Pen know she would not be invited to the post-parade wine and cheese.
The next morning, riding in the TGV to the CDG, I read online that other May Day marches had taken a violent turn with fire bombs, water cannons, Molotov Cocktails, tear gas, and injured police. Protesters interviewed by the media said that they were fighting Le Pen and the Front National, of course, but weirdly they also promised to protest Macron if he got elected.
“These guys are nuts,” I said, thinking that sometimes not protesting makes more sense.
I rationalized that if the choice is violence or misrepresenting an idea, pursuing quieter and respectful avenues make a better statement on some issues.
But then again, I am Canadian.
