Thursday night, Montreal at Émilie Gamelin Park. Cursed beautiful evening to demonstrate with thousands of people who have plenty of their headphones. I've been depressed for years reading newspapers, which I worry about trying to measure the extent of their hold. Fuck that, tonight I'm walking to the beat of the djembes. Tonight, we are shouting revolutionary slogans! The night welcomes the clamor calmly, the temperature is bodily and there is in the air a burning smell, a mixture of sweat, anger and fear.
I join a group of friends while people arrive and massage gradually. A Radio-Canada team asks the demonstrators questions. They want to know why. Viewers want to know everything. Why do you go down the street even if the crowds are illegal? Why did you reject the government's offer? I am here because for the first time in my life I unreservedly love thousands of people whose vision I share. I am here because the reality is that I am wrong to have been so pessimistic. But I do not speak to the camera; I am wary. I prefer to stay indented and take notes for later. The real camera tonight, the one to whom no detail escapes, it's me.