I HAVE walked all round the wall/fence of steel. It seems as secure as a tiger's cage, blocking off the streets and turning the place into a no-go zone. Since its construction, the more creative forces of anti-corporatism have shown their feelings by daubing some artistic graffiti on the big cement blocks; by fixing up a variety of witty posters and banners to the fence; tying up coloured paper flowers to make it look more like a garden trellis; and by stringing kids balloons along it in a chorus-line of playful indignation.
Nothing very revolutionary there then. But the canny store-keepers know what's coming. Only last night they learned that seven hard cases had been arrested in the city with a cache of explosives and weapons which could have done the place some very serious damage….
For half-an-hour the hard-core stand there in defiance. They have red flags and accents which give them away as Canadians. It is as if their national pride should set them at the front. "You don't have to be here. We are citizens. We have rights. Why don't you let us through," says the burly, bearded leader.
"Who's got the weapons? Who's got the guns?" screams the girl beside him. "We have nothing."
Others are joining in, taunting the police ranged up before them. "Why are you doing this? Why are you protecting these people? What are you doing with our democracy….