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| | The Bridge At Midnight Trembles: My Story of Quebec City |
 | | In Quebec, there are near deaths, a man shot in the trachea by a rubber bullet, asthma attacks from the tear gas, a finger torn off in the assault on the fence. |
 | | We dance on down to St. Jean Street, singing, "Fleuve, porte moi, ma mere tu restera, Fleuve, porte moi, vers la ocean." The news comes from our scouts -- the CLAC march has reached the gate we've just left, and the fence is already down. |
 | | We spiral and dance, the drums pounding against the thunder of the projectiles as they shoot tear gas canisters overhead, laughing with the sheer liberation and surrealism of it all. |
| www.starhawk.org /activism/quebec-report.html (3216 words) |
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