December 17th , the day of the farmers' march in Hong Kong, turned out to be a day of resistance and repression. The events of that day reflected the lines drawn between two versions of the future: on one hand, the defense of sovereignty and the family farm agricultural model; on the other, globalization imposed from above by large corporations.
At the scheduled time for the march, the participants seem to be in no hurry. In Victoria Park, transformed from an urban recreational space to a hive of global activism, information stands from around the world are set up and from two stages songs, speeches, and slogans blare. Contingents of farmers and fisherfolk share experiences and listen to speeches in at least five languages.
Their organizations identify themselves with colorful flags and distinctive hats and vests—a sort of uniform to show membership. The South Koreans sit on the grass in military-style lines and share food prepared by Korean immigrants to Hong Kong. Many of the immigrants have come from farms and, even far from home, they share the sense of urgency to preserve a way of life and protest against the forces that forced them from their villages.
Although most of the organizations come from Asian nations, there are also representatives from other regions. Alberto Gomez of the National Union of Autonomous Regional Farmers' Organizations (UNORCA) has come from Mexico along with three farmer activists from the state of Guerrero. UNORCA is a member of Via Campesina International and helped organize the day's march. He stands beside Josep Bové, a French farmer who has been jailed repeatedly for his direct actions against transgenic crops and in favor of small farmers, Rafael Alegría from Honduras, and European representatives. Together they lead the march behind the green flags of Via Campesina.
After setting off, about ten blocks from the park the marchers run into the metal barricades erected by the Hong Kong Police to prevent them from getting close to the Convention Center where delegates plan their future in secrecy. The first confrontations happen suddenly, as marchers round a corner and encounter the police barricades. The goal of the march is to reach the Center and make their voices heard, or at least to get as close as possible to where the decision-making takes place.
Via Campesina forms the front line of the march. The arms of the participants and the poles from their flags become a gate to control who goes up front to try to break through the barricades and who doesn't. Only Koreans prepared for this moment can pass. In small groups and individually, they rush the barricades, persistently, concentrating on striking the shields and barricades rather than the guards themselves. They employ their arms and legs in martial arts moves against the barriers. Their movements seem perfectly choreographed, rehearsed, and show their high level of training. The guards shoot pepper spray at close range—orange and sticky, it burns the skin of the protesters. The affected marchers head back suffering, with red faces, and are washed up by helpers as others take their place.
Soon the protestors have succeeded in knocking down several barricades and the march rushes through the gap. When one route doesn't work, marchers coordinate retreats and try side streets. A few people are bleeding, but most are affected by the pepper spray, tear gas, and the high-pressured water hoses that the security forces let loose to try to drive back the march.
The police refuse to allow marchers into the area around the Convention Center so a street battle begins for control of the territory that lies between the protestors and the official meeting. The protesters led by the Koreans open up holes in the defense and the other contingents rush in to claim the ground won. They are so well-organized they even have people assigned to pick up the trash. Everything that seemed to serve as props when the march began—plywood signs with painted faces and logos, lifejackets that were used on the first day to attempt to reach the Convention Center by swimming, chains that represent the slavery of the market regime—now have a practical use in the street confrontations. The wooden signs have become shields; the lifejackets identify leaders and protect them against punches; the chains pull down barricades. When the vanguard gets tired or gassed, replacements run in.
The local and international press insists on painting the Koreans, in particular, as “violent.” Although militant, the Korean delegations confront the police with tactics aimed at breaking barricades not bodies, and attitudes of determination rather than rage. They push, mostly with their own arms and legs, some with bamboo sticks. The police respond with gas, without warning, and hitting with sticks, although they too avoid a bloody response.
The combination of culture, the desperation of small farmers losing their livelihoods and their land, military-style discipline, tactical organization, and force in numbers somehow gives the Koreans a moral authority that many others instinctively recognize. Two days before the farmers' demonstrations, they carried out a march that consisted of walking three steps, kneeling, and touching their foreheads to the ground in a prayer position. Physically, it is incredibly demanding, but they advanced for tens of city blocks repeating the same steady ritual. The act not only demonstrated the depth of their convictions but also served to build up respect within the movement and sympathy among Hong Kong residents, already overwhelmingly sympathetic to the protestors. Watching the Korean farmers in action reveals an irreducible core of resistance and determination within a movement that is all too often distracted. Without being aggressive, these people, and many like them, are obviously willing to face the ultimate consequences: they know why they're protesting and they know how to do it.
By late afternoon the marchers have ascended a bridge that crosses the highway and leads to the Convention Center. The Koreans form a barrier and only let their fellow members through, women and men, to go up against the guards. Korean drums sound when there is a clash and keep up ominous rhythms to give their people strength. The atmosphere is very tense. The front line moves to the base of the bridge and suddenly a victory cry is heard, meaning that they have broken the line of contention. Simultaneously, an explosion sounds and a cloud of gas fills the air.
The greenish cloud is the last thing people see, because it is quickly followed by a collective blindness. Immediately everyone begins to run, eyes shut tight, breath held. The next day the papers say that more than 20 canisters of tear gas were released in the same place at almost the same time. It's unbelievably strong. It makes your eyes burn and tear up, but the worst is the effect in the lungs. You can't get oxygen, every breath is like inhaling fire; you wonder if you will ever be able to breathe again.
It seems an eternally long moment. Then finally, the air inhaled becomes a little cooler, the burning subsides. The first gulps of fresh air rasp in the lungs but they bring a tremendous sense of relief. Many people are still vomiting and coughing, but slowly the marchers begin to recover.
In the meantime, the police have retaken half the bridge. They form a line behind their shields, masks in place. It seems they have executed their master plan and it worked—who would confront something like that again ? The answer is: most everyone. The march reconstructs itself and returns to its position on the bridge.
However, here there is little room to advance and another front is opened on another street. Everyone runs in that direction. By 8:30 in the evening the march has reached the closest point to the Center and occupies a wide avenue lined by luxury skyscrapers. It's a surreal scene—a couple hundred multicultural protesters, another couple hundred riot-geared police, and in the background enormous neon snowflakes and Santa Clauses flashing out season's greetings on the sides of the 40-story buildings. The protestors sit down, anticipating a long night, listen to speeches, get to know one another, and wait to see what will happen next.
But it appears that even a nocturnal street occupation will not be tolerated. At 9:00 the police begin to advance once again. They take an overpass above the protest and lines of masked and shielded forces begin to close in from both ends of the street. Gas is released but not as strong this time. No one moves. Word circulates that those who remain will be taken to jail so collective decisions are made. Over 900 stay, along with some members of other Asian organizations. Unsure, hesitating, the guards finally let the others leave the area and arrest the protesters occupying the avenue.
As the police clear the streets, the official delegates still haven't reached an agreement. They decide to continue the session into the early hours of the morning. It is clear that it will be a long night for everyone. However, some are inside heated and lit salons sipping coffee, while others are off to jail or on the street facing the cold wind coming in from the Bay of Hong Kong.
Translated for the Americas Program by Katie Kohlstedt and Laura Carlsen.
Laura Carlsen directs the Americas Program of the International Relations Center, online at americas.irc-online.org.
