Catégories : Diaporama, LDL nationale, National
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Ligue des droits et libertés – Section Québec
lundi 28 mai 2012
Un fascicule pour comprendre la Loi 78
Quebec Student Protests
To get a glimpse of what is happening in Quebec
http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/news/quebec-student-protests
And because Facebook behaves in a strange way, suddenly refusing to accept postings on the protest... Is this censorship?
Please share!
http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/news/quebec-student-protests
And because Facebook behaves in a strange way, suddenly refusing to accept postings on the protest... Is this censorship?
Please share!
vendredi 25 mai 2012
Welcome to our movement
An Open Letter to the Mainstream English Media
Thank you; you are a little late to the party, and you are still missing the mark a lot of the time, but in the past few days, you have published some not entirely terrible articles and op-eds about what’s happening in Quebec right now. Welcome to our movement.
Some of you have even started mentioning that when people are rounded up and arrested each night, they aren’t all criminals or rioters. Some of you have admitted that perhaps limiting our freedom of speech and assembly is going a little bit too far. Some of you are no longer publishing lies about the popular support that you seemed to think our government had. Not all of you, mind you, but some of you are waking up.
That said, here is what I have not seen you publish yet: stories about joy; about togetherness; about collaboration; about solidarity. You write about our anger, and yes, we are angry. We are angry at our government, at our police and at you. But none of you are succeeding in conveying what it feels like when you walk down the streets of Montreal right now, which is, for me at least, an overwhelming sense of joy and togetherness.
News coverage of Quebec almost always focuses on division: English vs. French; Quebec-born vs. immigrant; etc. This is the narrative that has shaped how people see us as a province, whether or not it is fair. But this is not what I feel right now when I walk down the street. At 8pm, I rush out of the house with a saucepan and a ladle, and as I walk to meet my fellow protesters, I hear people emerge from their balconies and the music starts. If you do not live here, I wish I could properly convey to you what it feels like; the above video is a start. It is magic. It starts quietly, a suggestion here and there, and it builds. Everybody on the street begins to smile. I get there, and we all—young and old, children and students and couples and retirees and workers and weird misfits and dogs and, well, neighbours—we all grin the widest grins you have ever seen while dancing around and making as much noise as possible. We are almost ecstatic with the joy of letting loose like this, of voicing our resistance to a government that seeks to silence us, and of being together like this.
I have lived in my neighbourhood for five years now, and this is the most I have ever felt a part of the community; the lasting impact that these protests will have on how people relate to each other in the city is deep and incredible. I was born and raised in Montreal, and I have always loved this city, I have always told people that it is the best city in the world, but I have truly never loved it as much as I do right now.
The first night that I went to a casseroles (pots and pans) demonstration, at the centre of the action—little children ecstatically blowing whistles, a young couple handing out extra pots and pans to passers-by, a yoga teacher who paused his class to have everyone join—I saw a bemused couple, banging away, but seemingly confused about something. When we finished, they asked me, “how did you find us?” I replied that I had checked the map that had been posted online of rendez-vous spots, and theirs was the nearest to my house. “Last night we were all alone,” they told me. They had no idea it had been advertized online. This is what our revolution looks like: someone had clearly ridden around our neighbourhood, figured out where people were protesting, and marked them for the rest of us. This is a revolution of collaboration. Of solidarity.
The next night the crowd had doubled. Tonight we will be even more.
I come home from these protests euphoric. The first night I returned, I sat down on my couch and I burst into tears, as the act of resisting, loudly, with my neighbours, so joyfully, had released so much tension that I had been carrying around with me, fearing our government, fearing arrest, fearing for the future. I felt lighter. Every night, I exchange stories with friends online and find out what happened in their neighbourhoods. These are the kinds of things we say to each other: “if I loved my city any more right now, my heart would burst.” We use the word “love” a whole lot. We feel empowered. We feel connected. We feel like we are going to win.
Why don’t you write about this? This incredible feeling? Another example I can give you is this very blog. Myself and a few friends began it as a way of disseminating information in English about what was happening here in Quebec, and within hours, literally hours, volunteers were writing me offering to help. Every day, people submit translations to me anonymously; I have no idea who they are, they just want to do something. They come from everywhere. They translate what they think is important to get out there into the world. People email me corrections, too. They email me advice. They email me encouragement. This blog runs on solidarity and utter human kindness.
This is what Quebec looks like right now. Every night is teargas and riot cops, but it is also joy, laughter, kindness, togetherness, and beautiful music. Our hearts are bursting. We are so proud of each other; of the spirit of Quebec and its people; of our ability to resist, and our ability to collaborate.
Why aren’t you writing about this? Does joy not sell as well as violence? Does collaboration not sell as well as confrontation? You can have your cynicism; our revolution is sincere.
Sincerely,
The Administrator of Translating the printemps érable.
Thank you; you are a little late to the party, and you are still missing the mark a lot of the time, but in the past few days, you have published some not entirely terrible articles and op-eds about what’s happening in Quebec right now. Welcome to our movement.
Some of you have even started mentioning that when people are rounded up and arrested each night, they aren’t all criminals or rioters. Some of you have admitted that perhaps limiting our freedom of speech and assembly is going a little bit too far. Some of you are no longer publishing lies about the popular support that you seemed to think our government had. Not all of you, mind you, but some of you are waking up.
That said, here is what I have not seen you publish yet: stories about joy; about togetherness; about collaboration; about solidarity. You write about our anger, and yes, we are angry. We are angry at our government, at our police and at you. But none of you are succeeding in conveying what it feels like when you walk down the streets of Montreal right now, which is, for me at least, an overwhelming sense of joy and togetherness.
News coverage of Quebec almost always focuses on division: English vs. French; Quebec-born vs. immigrant; etc. This is the narrative that has shaped how people see us as a province, whether or not it is fair. But this is not what I feel right now when I walk down the street. At 8pm, I rush out of the house with a saucepan and a ladle, and as I walk to meet my fellow protesters, I hear people emerge from their balconies and the music starts. If you do not live here, I wish I could properly convey to you what it feels like; the above video is a start. It is magic. It starts quietly, a suggestion here and there, and it builds. Everybody on the street begins to smile. I get there, and we all—young and old, children and students and couples and retirees and workers and weird misfits and dogs and, well, neighbours—we all grin the widest grins you have ever seen while dancing around and making as much noise as possible. We are almost ecstatic with the joy of letting loose like this, of voicing our resistance to a government that seeks to silence us, and of being together like this.
I have lived in my neighbourhood for five years now, and this is the most I have ever felt a part of the community; the lasting impact that these protests will have on how people relate to each other in the city is deep and incredible. I was born and raised in Montreal, and I have always loved this city, I have always told people that it is the best city in the world, but I have truly never loved it as much as I do right now.
The first night that I went to a casseroles (pots and pans) demonstration, at the centre of the action—little children ecstatically blowing whistles, a young couple handing out extra pots and pans to passers-by, a yoga teacher who paused his class to have everyone join—I saw a bemused couple, banging away, but seemingly confused about something. When we finished, they asked me, “how did you find us?” I replied that I had checked the map that had been posted online of rendez-vous spots, and theirs was the nearest to my house. “Last night we were all alone,” they told me. They had no idea it had been advertized online. This is what our revolution looks like: someone had clearly ridden around our neighbourhood, figured out where people were protesting, and marked them for the rest of us. This is a revolution of collaboration. Of solidarity.
The next night the crowd had doubled. Tonight we will be even more.
I come home from these protests euphoric. The first night I returned, I sat down on my couch and I burst into tears, as the act of resisting, loudly, with my neighbours, so joyfully, had released so much tension that I had been carrying around with me, fearing our government, fearing arrest, fearing for the future. I felt lighter. Every night, I exchange stories with friends online and find out what happened in their neighbourhoods. These are the kinds of things we say to each other: “if I loved my city any more right now, my heart would burst.” We use the word “love” a whole lot. We feel empowered. We feel connected. We feel like we are going to win.
Why don’t you write about this? This incredible feeling? Another example I can give you is this very blog. Myself and a few friends began it as a way of disseminating information in English about what was happening here in Quebec, and within hours, literally hours, volunteers were writing me offering to help. Every day, people submit translations to me anonymously; I have no idea who they are, they just want to do something. They come from everywhere. They translate what they think is important to get out there into the world. People email me corrections, too. They email me advice. They email me encouragement. This blog runs on solidarity and utter human kindness.
This is what Quebec looks like right now. Every night is teargas and riot cops, but it is also joy, laughter, kindness, togetherness, and beautiful music. Our hearts are bursting. We are so proud of each other; of the spirit of Quebec and its people; of our ability to resist, and our ability to collaborate.
Why aren’t you writing about this? Does joy not sell as well as violence? Does collaboration not sell as well as confrontation? You can have your cynicism; our revolution is sincere.
Sincerely,
The Administrator of Translating the printemps érable.
Follow this great initiative
http://translatingtheprintempserable.tumblr.com/#
jeudi 24 mai 2012
L'alouette en colère
J'ai un fils enragé
Qui ne croit ni à dieu
Ni à diable, ni à moi
J'ai un fils écrasé
Par les temples à finances
Où il ne peut entrer
Et par ceux des paroles
D'où il ne peut sortir
J'ai un fils dépouillé
Comme le fût son père
Porteur d'eau, scieur de bois
Locataire et chômeur
Dans son propre pays
Il ne lui reste plus
Que la belle vue sur le fleuve
Et sa langue maternelle
Qu'on ne reconnaît pas
J'ai un fils révolté
Un fils humilié
Un fils qui demain
Sera un assassin
Alors moi j'ai eu peur
Et j'ai crié à l'aide
Au secours, quelqu'un
Le gros voisin d'en face
Est accouru armé
Grossier, étranger
Pour abattre mon fils
Une bonne fois pour toutes
Et lui casser les reins
Et le dos et la tête
Et le bec, et les ailes
Alouette, ah!
Mon fils est en prison
Et moi je sens en moi
Dans le tréfonds de moi
Pour la première fois
Malgré moi, malgré moi
Entre la chair et l'os
S'installer la colère
Félix Leclerc
Qui ne croit ni à dieu
Ni à diable, ni à moi
J'ai un fils écrasé
Par les temples à finances
Où il ne peut entrer
Et par ceux des paroles
D'où il ne peut sortir
J'ai un fils dépouillé
Comme le fût son père
Porteur d'eau, scieur de bois
Locataire et chômeur
Dans son propre pays
Il ne lui reste plus
Que la belle vue sur le fleuve
Et sa langue maternelle
Qu'on ne reconnaît pas
J'ai un fils révolté
Un fils humilié
Un fils qui demain
Sera un assassin
Alors moi j'ai eu peur
Et j'ai crié à l'aide
Au secours, quelqu'un
Le gros voisin d'en face
Est accouru armé
Grossier, étranger
Pour abattre mon fils
Une bonne fois pour toutes
Et lui casser les reins
Et le dos et la tête
Et le bec, et les ailes
Alouette, ah!
Mon fils est en prison
Et moi je sens en moi
Dans le tréfonds de moi
Pour la première fois
Malgré moi, malgré moi
Entre la chair et l'os
S'installer la colère
Félix Leclerc
May 23rd: Police Attack CUTV's Journalist & Kettled Protesters | CUTV Montreal
dimanche 20 mai 2012
Résister à la loi 78 en 15 points
Résister à la loi 78 en 15 points
Par Daniel Weinstock – Devant la nouvelle noirceur qui s’abat sur le Québec, j’ai pensé qu’il était de mon devoir de tenter de résumer aussi simplement que possible les raisons qui me font penser qu’il faut résister à la loi 78.- Les droits individuels sont un rempart institutionnel fondamental protégeant les citoyens contre les abus de pouvoir de l’État.
- Même des représentant élus démocratiquement peuvent abuser de leurs pouvoirs.
- En démocratie, les droits de s’associer, de s’exprimer, de protester, revêtent un caractère tout à fait fondamental.
- Ces droits doivent être reconnus à tous, surtout à ceux qui défendent dans le respect des normes démocratiques et libérales des points de vue dissidents et impopulaires.
- Le caractère fondamental de ces droits fait qu’ils ne peuvent être circonscrits qu’avec la plus grande parcimonie.
- La situation actuelle au Québec n’appelle pas une limitation aussi draconienne que celle qui a été posée par le gouvernement du Parti Libéral par son odieuse et honteuse Loi 78. Le gouvernement par son refus d’engagement démocratique avec le mouvement étudiant a contribué à la dégradation du climat social. Les dérives qui se font sentir dans ce climat, engendré en partie par le gouvernement, peuvent par ailleurs être régies par les dispositifs juridiques existant, dont ceux du code criminel.
- Que l’on soit d’accord avec eux ou pas sur la question de la hausse des frais, les étudiants posent des questions qui sont légitimes, et qui méritent une réponse respectueuse.
- Ils n’ont reçu pour réponses de la part du gouvernement que mépris, bastonnades, injonctions, et maintenant, répression.
- Les tribunaux sont chargés de faire respecter les droits des citoyens contre les dérives autoritaires des gouvernements. On peut penser qu’ils ne feront qu’une bouchée de la loi 78.
- Les tribunaux ne peuvent cependant pas être les seuls remparts contre les abus de pouvoir et les dérives autoritaires des gouvernements. Les contestations juridiques sont longues et coûteuses, et les lois liberticides peuvent causer beaucoup de dégats avant qu’elles ne soient annulées par les tribunaux.
- Il faut également que les représentants démocratiquement élus, par delà leurs loyautés partisanes, s’érigent en défenseurs des principes et des institutions les plus fondamentaux de la démocratie, et refusent de voter des lois liberticides.
- Il faut également des citoyens qui sont disposés à user de leurs droits civils et démocratiques. Sinon, ces droits ne sont plus que des paroles creuses. Nous devons savoir gré au mouvement étudiant d’avoir été à la hauteur de cette responsabilité citoyenne.
- Il s’agit d’une conception bien anémique de la démocratie que celle selon laquelle ce n’est qu’au moment de voter tous les 4 ans que l’on exerce des droits démocratiques, la responsabilité du citoyen à tout autre moment n’étant que d’obéir. Cela ressemble plutôt à la « douce tyrannie » dont parlait Tocqueville. Or, c’est cette conception de la démocratie qui semble être mise de l’avant par ceux — chroniqueurs, politiciens — qui défendent cette odieuse loi.
- Il est souvent arrivé, dans l’histoire récente, que des limitations importantes de droits individuels imposées au nom de l’ordre public aient initialement été applaudies par une majorité de la population des États concernés. Ces populations ont vite appris que les droits ne sont gagnés qu’au terme de longues luttes, mais ils peuvent être perdus en un clin d’oeil. Et une fois perdus, ils le sont pour TOUS les citoyens.
- La désobéissance civile est parfois apparue dans de tels contextes comme un puissant instrument de contestation. Elle a été théorisée par des philosophes aussi importants pour la tradition de la démocratie libérale que le sont Thoreau et Rawls, et elle a été mise en oeuvre par Martin Luther King et par Gandhi, pour ne nommer qu’eux.
mercredi 9 mai 2012
Quelques traces du colloque sur l'intelligence collective
L'arbre de l'intelligence collective
Réflexion sur les liens entre les pratiques, la recherche, l'art et la nature, qui donnent vie à l'intelligence collective, mardi 8 mai.
Retourner au sensible
Toucher, reprendre contact, laisser une trace de son passage dans le collectif.
Premier rhizome
Amalgame de définition de l'intelligence collective, à partir des communications présentées lors de la journée du 7 mai.
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