An attempt to curtail protests against hikes in college fees has raised hackles, writes LORRAINE MALLINDERin Quebec
ON THE streets of Montreal, thousands of people are banging pots and pans. The atmosphere is festive but charged. “We don’t care about your truncheon law!” shout protesters, as they march through the streets.
They are referring to an emergency law introduced by Quebec legislators last week in a bid to curtail student protests over increases in tuition fees. There have been more than 2,500 arrests since strikes began more than three months ago.
Daily scenes have ranged from light-hearted nude protests to violent clashes with riot police. The new law requires organisers of demonstrations of more than 50 people to notify police eight hours in advance, imposing heavy penalties on those who disobey.
But, rather than marginalising the student movement, the emergency law seems to have rallied mainstream society to the cause. Spontaneous demonstrations on May 23rd resulted in 700 arrests throughout the province.
“The law has been designed to crush a perfectly legitimate protest against rises in tuition fees. They want to silence young people, who are paying for all the mistakes made by the baby boomers,” said Andrée Blais, a mother of two, who was out protesting with her family.
Quebec, which has a strong social safety net and the lowest tuition fees in Canada, may seem like a curious setting for revolution. Even after a proposed hike of 75 per cent over a seven-year period, fees will still be among the lowest in the country.
Many pundits deride the students as a bunch of “enfants-rois”, or spoiled children. This week, the front cover of Toronto-based magazine Maclean’s features a student in a red mask with the headline, “Quebec’s new ruling class: How a group of entitled students went to war and shut down a province.”
But the cause has struck a chord in the province of Quebec, which is tiring of corruption scandals involving the ruling Liberal party and the Mafia-infested construction sector, the subject of a public inquiry. People also fear the province’s generous social provisions are under threat.
“The more militant among us have always been aware that the fight against tuition increases was symptomatic of a bigger disease,” says Gabriel Nadeau-Dubois, spokesman for Classe, the province’s most militant student group, representing nearly 80,000 strikers.
Nadeau-Dubois says his movement feels betrayed by the government.
“Since the beginning, all we’ve asked for is to be listened to – for an open and constructive negotiation on fees,” he says. He has called on members to disobey the new law.
Student unions signed a tentative deal with the provincial government this month, which attempted to remove the sting of increases by extending them over seven years, rather than five. The deal also included plans to curb university spending, turning over savings to students.
But union members voted against the deal after government officials were perceived to have gloated in public over winning the battle. Hugo D’Amours, spokesman for Jean Charest, the provincial premier, said the government would still go ahead with plans. “This is not a state of emergency,” he said.
Nadeau-Dubois is determined to continue the struggle. “We are going to inherit very big problems in the next decade – economic, political and environmental,” he said. “We have to be able to learn freely without the pressure of being indebted. That’s the reason why we’re fighting.”
The new law has been slammed by critics ranging from the Quebec bar, which deems the legislation “unconstitutional”, to ‘hacktivist’ collective Anonymous, which this week brought down 13 Quebec government and police websites.