Joyeux Halloween!

I just have to write tonight after a lovely and bizarre evening. As most of you know, I love Halloween, Sidney loves Halloween and Mac loves Halloween too. It was the main thing that Sidney was upset about when we were leaving Canada - that he would miss Halloween and that they don't do Halloween in France. Not so, apparently. About ten years ago the powers that be, and by that I mean the various holiday promoting industries, started pushing Halloween here. And it worked. The kids wanted to dress up and run around collecting sweets. No kidding. its one of the best holidays going!
So apparently in this village three years ago, they started a new tradition. But its a bit different than 'back home!'
And it requires a bit of planning. The village had had posters everywhere for the past few weeks announcing the event. But the event ran as such:

29th of October - Halloween market - where you buy the candy to give out.
31st of October - 4:30 pm Children in disguises meet at Salle De L'avenir
31st of October - 5:00 pm Children go through the streets knocking on doors and collecting bonbons
31st of October 6:30 pm Children return to Salle De L'avenir to share their candies.

To ensure that everyone got the message - get the candy, be ready to give it out. They announced it from the loudspeaker this morning from the clock tower. "Be ready, its Halloween! the children are coming to collect candies"

We were totally ready. Overprepared one might say. We had decorated the tower with tissue paper pumpkins and had carved a pumpkin and disguised it as a dragon. Sidney was dressed as Darth Maul from Star Wars, minus the face paint which he baulked at at the last minute. We even found out where 'salle de l'avenir' was! (from the bartender)

The children were ready - frankly Sidneys costume was definitely in the running for the best costume and he was psyched. He had a black cape, a red electronic light saber and a hat/head that was covered with horns. For a while until he took that off.  A neighbour asked me to chaperone his samurai son around as he had to give out candy and so we had a companion. Then each child was assigned a group, with a specified route through the city - intended to hit all houses - despite the fact that many houses are shut up for winter. We were in the group rose.

And so we headed out, ourselves and about 8 kids. Because there is no tradition of 'shellout shellout the witches are out!" or even 'trick or treat!' the kids tended to converge on doors and hammer on them like a mob out for justice... then they would wait a couple of seconds and run onwards to the next door. The slower moving habitants would have to call the children back to give them candy. But because this is all new, and perhaps because they knew of the sharing ritual afterwards, they would often simply put a whole bag of candy in one kids basket, leaving the rest with naught. And given that the village shop only sells one kind of sweets, there was an oversupply of those candies with the soft fruit centres.. you know the ones. I kind of like them, but Sidney doesn't. A fact that became very apparent as time progressed and he started to refuse to go to doors. The other local child I was escorting also stuck close, trying to find sweets in his bag that Sid would like. Also picking me flowers. Ah, le francais!

Anyway, eventually we returned to the salle d'avenir. The candy was all put onto the table and the teachers (I think) divided it up. Then the zombies arrived. There were three zombie adults and two kids. Their makeup was amazing and they scared some of the smaller children, inadvertantly. I kind of suspected they were the people we've been trying to make friends with in the village, but honestly I couldn't recognize them.
After getting our share of the loot, we headed home and a few minutes later, the zombies came by and invited us out for a cup of coffee.  Indeed, they were the people we wanted to befriend - being the local anarchists and artists. Sidney was timid and didn't want to go and I lucked out - Mac stayed home with Sid. I went to their house and the very first thing, we decorated the place for Halloween, drank wine, chatted in english and french and got to know some of the local characters and their kids. So lovely! They even had a pumpkin! a la prochaine.

Settling in, and the visit from the Scotts.

We’re virtually village locals now, right? We’ve been here for a month. Although we’ve done a lot of short trips. I think the best sign that we’re gradually becoming a part of the scenery was that our neighbor offered us a piece of wild boar that had just been shot. Very sweet. I hope we didn’t offend when we turned it down. I suspect we became even more ‘les anglais’’ when we did. But honestly we have nowhere we could put such a large piece of meat! And I don’t eat the stuff anyway.

We don’t really know anyone though, not really- despite our promising set of introductions from the anarchist syndicalist group – CNT. Hopefully this will change in the next week after Halloween and a dinner invitation we’ve proffered. We’ll see! 

This past week Mac’s dad and our niece are visiting from Toronto-Oakville. It has been so wonderful having them here – not least for Sidney who is delighted to play with another kid, especially one he loves so much. They have been reading, doing lego and going on our various adventures which included:

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• Les Gorges au Fou – the gorge over the river fou, not the crazy gorge as I originally thought. Incredible walk along a very deep chasm wearing hardhats. We also went into some caves, but the kids were disappointed that there weren't more.. thus the visit to the caves. 
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• Caves with stalactites and stalagmites. I stayed home but it was apparently amazing
•  Collioure – the seashore at the Mediterranean. Famous site of various painters like Matisse, Picasso and also a site where Spanish civil war refugees were interned and those fleeing the Nazis gathered to find their way across to Spain. Gorgeous place. A bit touristy, but it’s the off season so not so bad. And most of us went in the water, and drank a fair Mediterranean of sangria. Here we also ate well. I ate wild mushrooms, tuna and tarte au citron. And a bunch of sangria
•  Last night in Spain. After being too early to have dinner in France, and leading to a temper tantrum from Sidney, we drove to spain for dinner – its across the border and we went to Macanet de Cabreyns. We ate well. I had wild mushroom soup and pears in coffee with cinnamon ice cream, Sidney had chicken, Mac steak, Gracie cannelloni and Scotty a heroic combination of escargots and prawns. I teased him that they’re wrestling in his stomach. On our way home we saw two small wild boars. Hopefully they were unrelated to the one mentioned previously. 
•   Horseback riding – we found a place where Grace and I could ride a horse, and Sidney a pony – his first time. . Amazing fun – although I do need to find out how those horses know I have no idea what I’m doing.
• The Castenyada – or chestnut festival. According to Wikipedia “The Castanyada (Catalan pronunciation: [kəstəˈɲaðə]) is a popular Catalan festival, celebrated on All Saints' Day. Like Halloween, its origins are in an ancient ritual festival of the dead. It consists of a meal of chestnuts, panellets, sweet potato and preserved fruits, typically with moscatell to drink.” That said, we didn’t know anything about the ancestors – only that the chestnuts were ready to eat, as well as the primera, or new wines to drink. There was a local choir – fierce singing of Catalan songs, and wearing of Catalan colours. There was also an odd pair of British type hunting horn players, and a trio of bagpiper and flute players. Not a ton of people were there – which according to our local informant is because the new mayor isn’t that popular.. something like that. The last one was a communist and more community oriented. We’ll find out more in time no doubt. 
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• -          Picking chestnuts, roasting them in the fireplace and eating ‘em. Pretty good and ridiculously picturesque
• Chez Charly's - we found out when the local restaurant is open. omg. so good. especially their sauces and creme catalane (like creme caramel as far as I can figure)
• Carcassonne, medieval fort and walled city. supercool.
• And now we’re prepping for Halloween… and cleaning up for our first lunch. We’ve invited Ann Marie, the friendly Swiss lady who tells us what’s what. She is apparently also bringing an unknown number of others. Will report back. 
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Occupy Barcelona..

I had a plan on how to describe the Barcelona O15 day of action, but Hilary Wainwright did a better job than I could here:

http://www.redpepper.org.uk/resistance-takes-root-in-barcelona/

From my North American perspective, what I saw was a massive, spirited march that left promptly at 5 pm, the scheduled meeting time. During the day, one saw many bank machines spray painted and stickered promoting the demonstration. There were posters throughout the downtown core – but no central website coordinating the actions. The crowd was so massive it was difficult to get a sense of the whole thing – but like other ‘Occupy’ or indignados actions it had a large proportion of young people, and mainly handmade signs.  Many of the signs called to end the cuts by Parliament – or talked about solidarity with those arrested during the occupation of Catalunya Square last June. There were plenty of anarchist signs and flags, evidence of communist formations, immigrant rights groups, and student organizations. Many signs used the term ‘indignados’ and referenced October 15^th, the day of action that had emerged from Spain, but there was no reference to Occupy Wall Street.

There were people who had taken it upon themselves to bring festive aspects to the demo - including the fellow with the long clown balloons that people then waved in the air or tried to twist into flowers and the like. There was a mobile sound system, various drummers and marching bands, and a band who set up their instruments (including the drum kit) in the middle of the street so that the crowd flowed around it. In one area were a crew of people with a shopping cart, loaded with spray paint. As we would pass banks, a group of people wearing masks would rush to the bank, and spraypaint and sticker its windows. On a regular basis, loud explosions would be heard – apparently firecrackers. But many of the banks ended up with paint explosions across their windows – so there were paint bombs of some sort. No one seemed in the slightest bit unnerved by the pyrotechnics – except a friend of mine who had recently returned from Palestine.

When we ended the massive march at the Arc de Triomphe, the crowd divided  into three sections – one group headed off to occupy a hospital, one to occupy a set of apartments for housing and one to occupy the university. Hilary Wainwright reports that each site would host an assembly to discuss next steps. However, my Spanish being weak, and the remaining crowd so big – they disappeared before we noticed. The Spanish papers reported on the protest, saying that over 300,000 participated. However, the size of Barcelona was overshadowed by Madrid’s 500,000. 

What struck me, as it did Wainwright is that in Spain this is a movement that has found its legs. It’s been going for five months and while it is global, it started nationally, and remains focused on the local, regional and national economy and politics, but within an analysis of global capitalism.  When the occupiers left Placa Catalunya this summer, they continue to meet in regular popular assemblies across the city. These assemblies are the future of the movement as they organize both mutual aid and they build solidarity, even as they are developing concrete demands that will influence November’s Spanish election. I don’t expect that the movement will become deeply distracted by electoral politics however, given that the current President is from the Spanish Socialist Workers Party. The demands are broader and deeper are for a different kind of economy and a different kind of politics, ones that any party would find difficult to enact.

Barcelona

My parents had come visiting to the tower and were I think, delighted with the town, the wine in the town, the hikes near the town and the magic of our tower - except for its oh-so-chilly nature. Given that its hundreds of years old, I guess we should give it a break, but its power to retain coldness, despite warm weather outside is truly amazing. There are small space heaters, but they don't do much. It made Dad grumpy. But hell, it makes me grumpy too. We had a great few, quiet days in the area - eating amazing food Mac put together. Then we skedaddled to Barcelona. I was interested in Barcelona for so many reasons. I was there for about a nanosecond in the mid 1990s, but keep hearing about the crazy Gaudi buildings, the amazing anarchist scene that has dozens of social centres, and being in a big vibrant European city was a draw.

From our place it costs about 20 bucks, and 5 hours or 50 bucks and three hours to get to Barcelona. Not too bad. We took the TGV on the way there, and the slow train the way home. The hotel Mum had booked was right beside the crazy tourist Ramblas area - but also close to cool areas like Rabal, and Gracia. On our first night, we were sitting at a touristy restaurant when we saw the famed indignados march past. They were marching to protest the charges given to some of the Occupy Catalunya Square people this past summer. Given that Occupy Wall Street was heating up, it wasn't surprising to see a few signs in solidarity. There were probably 1000 people, mostly young, white and with only a few signs. The following day Mac, Sid and I went and met up with a Canadian activist living there who showed us a community information centre and gave us a bit of a sense of the movements in town. Then Mum and Dad took Sidney and Mac and I got to celebrate the 10th anniversary of our wedding - a month or so late. Despite the fact that I had a touch of food poisoning that had made food incredibly uninteresting to me for two days, I did sample a few tapas as we walked around the Rabal area, drinking wine in different places and talking. So lovely and so appreciated.
The next day, we all got onto one of those double decker bus thingies and toured the city. But before you snort, seriously, we were a gaggle of 5, one 83 year old, one six year old, and three in between. It gave us a sense of the city's layout anyway. Then Mum, Dad and I went to the Picasso Museum, while Sid and Mac saw sharks at the Aquarium. We met up and saw a fantastic flamenco show at Carmen y Tablo. Heart stoppingly dramatic. You seriously don't want to mess with an angry flamenco dancer. Wow.

The family visit, and we go to Barcelona

We went on a hike near our town... and spotted all sorts of small spiny seedpods. Aliens or not? We're not sure.

We ate lots of amazing food that Mac made, and drank a goodly amount of local wine.

Mum and I shopped at Desigual, a Spanish place with terrific patterns.. And then we went to see flamenco dancers. Its all very cliche. But I'm embracing that.. 

The Alchemy of Hope - Occupy Everywhere, the Indignados and the 99%

There is hope in the air. That hope is tied to a new rush to the streets, to protest, to say no to the status quo of payoffs to the rich, and cutbacks for the poor.  

People are saying that they are the angry ones, the indignados, and that they are the 99%. In response they are occupying public squares, and powerful places. They are marching and assembling, and feeding each other. They are being arrested, beaten and ignored by police. They are making demands on the states they live in, but also on the banks, and on institutions like the European Union. Their demands vary, but they talk about ‘real democracy’ and fairness – themes that resonate widely. They blame the elites, the bankers and the government leaders who have created an economic crisis, bailed out the system and are attempting to cut social spending in order to restore business as usual.

On Facebook people send me maps of the US, of Europe and of the world are popping up with protests marked with virtual push-pins. It looks like the globe is erupting. But of course it’s not just one movement. It’s the interaction between a number of waves of protest, including the one sweeping North Africa and the Middle East, the one rocking Southern Europe, the wave of student protests that filled the streets in the UK over the past six months and the smaller ones in Canada and the US that are fighting austerity cuts to the public sector, from Wisconsin to Toronto.  Each of these waves is gaining new energy and significance as they have flowed onto Wall Street, and reverberate further.

We know something about globally influential waves of protest and contention. Researchers have studied the 1968 global wave of protest around Vietnam, the student movement and black power, the 1989-92 wave that collapsed the Soviet Union, the wave of revolutions of 1848 that affected over 50 countries in Europe and Latin America, and others.

The conditions of the launch of a new wave are somewhat mysterious. Like the start of a revolution, much ink and energy has been spent trying to identify, and replicate such moments. As per usual, protesters plan, gather and try to make a difference. Sometimes they innovate in some way, and if they achieve some success – either in terms of attention, solidarity, or much more rarely influence on authorities, they signal to others.  Sometimes observers may be inspired enough to, and have the capacity to share the news, or even to try to imitate the successful protesters. Only rarely do new tactics, slogans, or symbols stick and spread to new sites. Occupy Wall Street was one such idea. In order for an idea to be experimented with, people have to be able to put aside their cynicism. They need to be able to feel hope.  

George Katsiaficas talked about ‘eros effect’ when he looked at how protest spread worldwide in 1968.

While I intuitively know what he means, I want to get more concrete.  If we're talking about the case of the Occupy Wall Street actions, repression, and the media that was generated from the pepper spraying of young women protesters has helped accelerate its power and potential.  It has drawn attention to the protesters, made them appear sympathetic, and brave, when they continued to protest.   

The longevity and endurance of the Occupy Wall Street protest movement is not due to the effectiveness of the tactic, nor repression, nor the albeit resonating frame of the 99%. It has to do with the context. People who study revolutions and waves of protest have noticed that when elites are divided, and when they appear confused and contradictory, protesters are more likely to emerge and more likely to be successful. There is no doubt that the current and widespread economic crisis has helped such a moment to arrive. The fact that the G20 leaders, and international financial institutions like the IMF have agreed to follow similar strategies to respond to this crisis has linked movements who otherwise would not necessarily be thinking along the same lines.  These global top-down connections are combined with bottom up connections amongst activists involved in waves of protest, linked through media like Facebook and Twitter. 

The Occupy Wall Street Movement then is a product of both this global economic and financial crisis, the networks that link activists worldwide and the history and geography of the particular moment it emerged. The New York direct action movement it emerged from has recently been in a period of disarray.  The last five years has been a period of division and confusion. There has been very little direct action – outside of the student movement, as many organizers have put their time into local community organizing. As a large city, the scale of the movement sector has often led to competitiveness amongst non-profits and formal organizations. Coalitions that cross issue, race, class and neighbourhood are rare. And yet, there are recurrent attempts. In 2008, successful coalitions were built in the lead up to the Republican National Convention, despite over a thousand arrests.

The idea of occupying the hugely symbolic site of Wall Street resonates widely. Throughout the economic crisis, the idea has popped up repeatedly. So often in fact that most New York activists dismiss it quickly as impossible and impractical due to its small size, and likelihood of massive and speedy repression.  

But herein lies the importance of local context and its intersection with other dynamics. The idea of occupying Wall Street was circulating through the movement networks that underlay the indignados protests in Spain this spring, the activists in Greece, France, Wisconsin and elsewhere. Through personal and political networks, these activists connected with those in New York City who were able to seriously consider the Wall Street strategy avoiding the historical cynicism of some more experienced organizers in the city. When these new organizers launched their protest, the initial reaction from some of the more experienced folks was skepticism.

But as the protesters endured, key coalition builders wrote pieces that argued that the movement was worthwhile and exciting. These included people like Marina Sitrin and David Graeber who had been active in the global justice movement; it included Silvia Federici and George Caffentzis, who have a great deal of respect in Marxists and feminist circles; celebrities like Michael Moore and Roseanne Barr; and then the Rebel Diaz Arts Collective from the South Bronx argued that although it was a largely young, white crowd on Wall Street, who had little understanding of racial dynamics, the issues were significant and that they would stay involved. These public statements, along with many private ones, helped to build bridges that would facilitate the coalition building that would support the growth of the movement.

The wave won’t last forever. But it will change things – probably globally in terms of the decisions that the G20 leaders will make in Cannes this November, maybe at the national level, and probably at the local level in terms of NYPD’s policies around protest. It will definitely have an effect on the level of movement history, strategy and biography.  The US movement that is emerging is linked up with movements that have already overthrown governments, caused others to default, and created a crisis that has no easy answers. It’s unclear what this will mean in the US context. But what we do know is that people are hungry for hope, and the possibility of real change.

Lesley Wood

Saint-Laurent-de-Cerdans, Pyrenees Orientales, Languedoc-Roussillon, France, Catalonia.

I’ve written very little about the village that we’re staying in here. To a certain extent that’s because its no longer where we’re travelling to, its where we’re travelling from. But we’re still exploring here, trying to figure things out – and that’s a great adventure in itself.

Our ‘tower’ is part of a large structure at the top of the mountain in a mountain town. We live at Place Publique (write us letters!) between the parochial buildings where catechism classes are held and the church. There is a wee font on the ground level, with Mother Mary looking down benignly.  The square that we are on is really more of a parking lot – filled with the cars of people who live in the nearby buildings, or those visiting La Mairie, or town hall, which is behind us. Above us is the church tower – quite an impressive structure, topped by French and Catalan flags that rings every 15 minutes from 8 am until 10 pm – two minutes earlier than the other church in town.  It also rings very enthusiastically for church, for catechism classes and other apparently significant times.

As is obvious, this place is pretty religious. Or at least it was.  There was a church here from the 1100s it seems, and the large landlords (the Christmas family, the Vilaros) that were still present until recently.  

Today, the village is only 10 km or so from the Spanish border. In 1661, the Treaty of the Pyrennees tried to establish borders in the region and gave this part of the land to France. Right from the beginning, the people here weren’t too crazy about this. In 1663, six guards of the salt tax collectors were killed by local inhabitants. Yii!

By 1667 or so there was a lot of war and smuggling through the region.  There was a French Brigade of customs officials set here. A few years later, our tower was built. Our fireplace has 1721 carved above the fireplace, and other buildings nearby have similar dates on their doorways. The population began to grow around this time. In 1730 until 1745 a bizarre puritanical Pastor Bonaventure Xaupi showed up here. He was apparently a Jansenian, and was pretty popular with ordinary folk around town. Nonetheless, he was condemned for heresy and killed.

  

Around the same time, the forges began to be the base of the local economy, and the taking of firewood to fire the forges was becoming a bit of a sore point with the local lords. The same lords didn’t really like paying taxes, so in some ways, things were ripe for the French Revolution.

But economics and religion can complicate things. In 1769, the iron industry in town is in crisis, Charles III of Spain bans coal exports. Of course the town is dependent on this coal. Then there’s a bad harvest.

The French Revolution comes in 1789 and locals ask for a ban on iron ore exports to Spain, to try to defend their local industry. They don’t get much of a response.  It takes a bit time for folks from Paris to make it to this neck of the woods. People are happy to take from the rich locally, but when the Jacobins arrived, they report back that people in the village live in a feudal state, and are hella superstitious. “They are many centuries away from the revolution,”say the Jacobins.

But perhaps the folks from Paris didn’t understand the entire deal. In 1793 the town was a centre of counter-Revolutionary sentiment and action. Apparently, locals travelled to Spain and talked with the folks there and told them when to invade to attack the French troops stationed nearby. So when Spanish troops did invade, most of the 1700 people in town supported the Spanish. The following year, most of the men in the village sign up on the Spanish side in the Legion of Vallespir. Weird.

Then there’s a big gap in the history. But suffice it to say, the museum tells us that for a long time there were two sides in town – the white, called the Chateau (where we live) and the red, called the Moulin (or Mill).  These two sides didn’t get along.

And then there’s the Spanish Civil War. Thousands of Republican refugees flee over the border (the Retirada of 1937) and end up in town – which turns one of its two churches into an infirmary. There are many committed anarchists and communists in the crowd. Many settle here permanently and alter the politics and life of the town.

Which may explain the fact that the mayor Guillaume Julia from 1947 until 1971 was a member of the Communist Party.  Apparently he united the town – for the first time ever. He’s still much loved – with a giant Karl Marx beard, he apparently played Santa Claus or whatever at the holidays. His picture is everywhere. During the twentieth century, the town’s industry turned to the making of espadrilles – those rope and cloth sandals. Until the 1990s, large cooperative workplaces were the main game in town. Today, the ‘cooperative syndicat’ buildings remain as the center of the community and a large fabric manufacturing business continues some of the local tradition. There are also three places to buy espadrilles, should any of you want them (they’re quite lovely).  

More recently, the town has suffered the depopulation of many small towns. Whereas it had 1700 people in 1900, it now has about 1000.  Many people come here for weekends in the summer, as the air is clean, the mountains healthy, and as one woman told me, the iron in the ground is good for you. This area also has over 300 days of sunshine a year.

In the summer, apparently, there are tons of ex-patriots. We ran into a couple from Jersey (Channel Islands, not US style). Mike told me that the difference between summer and fall ‘is like chalk and cheese’. We arrived shortly after the mass exodus. I think the 1000 person population figures may have been taken in the summer.

We’re trying to make friends. We’ve met one person – a lovely Swiss retiree called Ann-Marie – who speaks English. We are also gradually learning to figure out when things might be open. Despite its name, the main shop – 8 a 8, is not open 8 a 8, but instead closed on Sunday afternoons and Mondays, and open other days only in the morning and evening. The credit union is open two hours a week. There is a newsagent, a small bar, and two small bakeries. There is a butcher too, but he’s gone on vacation for October. One needs to plan.

We have spotted a couple of mysterious anarchists that are closer to our age. They’re friendly, but every time I think I’m going to try to have a conversation in French, I balk and scurry away. But today I both made a phone call in French to try to find a source of dry firewood. That felt like a victory – except that he didn’t have any dry firewood. Then I asked at the 8 a 8 about the sign that seemed to suggest that they sold pizza and firewood on Friday evenings. Apparently it was actually advertising pizza from a wood burning oven. Geez. Well, we are here partly for entertainment.  But it looks like we’re going to need firewood soon. The tower, despite its charms is chilly. When my mum and dad came for a visit last week we finally tried the baseboard heaters, but toes were still icy. 

 While Mum and Dad were here we went on one of the main activities of the region – hiking (along with wine drinking!) One can get into woods, farms and trails in mere minutes. Amazing. After Mac homeschools Sidney in the morning and I work, we often try to go for a walk, and then take an 'apero' at the bar as school lets out. We have a lot left to explore. 

BTW – Homeschooling.. Mac is doing amazing things with Sidney and I really think he is becoming more inquisitive, and more enthusiastic about learning than he was before. Especially in terms of science and math – which seem to be his current interests – other than Star Wars Lego, which rule Supreme. 

In other news – on Thursdays we go to Perpignan (2 hours each way) for French classes. Our teacher looks like Gwyneth Paltrow. Seriously. She's from Alsace, but has a Breton name - and explains that the Catalan identity we're finding has really been more activated in the past ten years. But around the french..  Its kind of funny/painful that after years of resisting French classes, we’re now paying for them. But its terrific to have a space where we get our mistakes corrected and get to ask silly questions like ‘how do we use the phone?’

Last week we went to Barcelona with my parents. It was amazing. I’ll write about that soon.