With the roads shut and buses rerouted, I walked home, about three kilometers, every night and returned on foot each morning. That gave me some escape from the noise and a chance to assess the blockade.
The images that most captured the world’s attention came from the weekends when thousands of people poured in to protest. Many of those people, likely most of them, seemed more interested in being part of an unruly, out-of-control street party than making a political statement.
During weekday mornings, it was a much more desultory scene. Uncleared snow made many of the roads and sidewalks treacherously slippery. A pungent mixture of diesel exhaust fumes and spilled fuel filled the air. The protesters were not early risers, making the streets seem like an abandoned, chaotic parking lot for often ramshackle trucks.
On the morning of the 11th day of the blockade, however, I spotted an unusual flurry of activity. It was along Kent Street, normally a busy route between the Trans-Canada Highway and bridges to Quebec. Much of Kent is lined with apartment blocks, big and small, ranging from luxury condos to public housing.
Up ahead a man was kicking jerrycans, folding chairs and other small objects the protesters had left to block the road. In a bellowing voice, presumably to wake late sleepers, he was telling the protesters that they had more than overstayed their welcome and it was time to go.
Eventually he was encircled by a small group of protesters who were upset about his street-clearing methods and his vigorous use of obscenities to underscore the get-out-of-town message. A woman quickly pulled out a phone and began recording.
After he walked away them, the man and I spoke. He told me that he was a federal public servant who, like most of his neighbors, had been driven to distraction and to exhaustion by the noise, pollution, harassment and the general disruption of the protests. (He gave me his name but, months later, it’s unclear in my notes that he agreed to be identified.) Beside us, a semi-tractor roared to life, its poorly maintained engine temporarily blotting out the sun with a cloud of malodorous black smoke.
