Letter from Anarchopanada to Flik [the SPVM mascot]

[Photo: Anarchopanda has already disobeyed many times and will continue to disobey your dirty fascist law. Charest come out of your hole and come fight me. At chess. You will lose, mon estie (profanity).]

Dear Flik,

I allow myself to write to you today even if, fortunately or unfortunately, we have never met. Everything I know about you, including the fact that you exist, comes from a sort of baseball card that an SPVM supervisor gave me during my second night protest. There I learned that you are my junior by about ten years, that you are a little bigger than me, that you like sardine sandwiches and blueberry jam (really?) and that you may still live with your father (Polinous), although the card seems to be a bit dated, or at least I hope – at your age, that wouldn’t be very glorious. More than anything, I learned that I teach at your old college, Maisonneuve. You almost could’ve been my student, imagine that? And it is thus much more as an almost former student than as an imitation cop (simili-flic) that I am sending you this letter, because time is of the essence.

We’ll start then with the most urgent: you no longer have the right to protest, even peacefully. Did they tell you? It’s just that I suppose, maybe wrongly, that you are not, like me, a worthy representative of the family of idea bears but rather a civil hominid standing, undercover, in a simulacrum of hairy cops. I deduce this from the fact that, presumably, your bulletproof vest and your service weapon are both as contrived as you, and I deduce this from the fact that the contrary is too terrifying to be seriously imagined, although recent history teaches us not to think this axiom as too accepted. Therefore, you are not a cop, and you are masked, therefore, for you, protesting has become illegal. That sucks. I imagine that in the economic hierarchy of the SPVM (Montreal police), the mascot finds itself somewhere between the cafeteria employee and the poor guy who cleans the cells, but too bad, cousin, you’re screwed.

As for me, you see, I have the inverse problem. The law demands that I disguise myself as a human to maybe be able to protest, subject to arbitrary decision… pardon, to the judgment of those that you represent. Regardless of the fact that I no longer fit my human costume (damn post-protest beer), the worst in all of this is no longer being able to protest as I really am, denying myself the possibility of doing what I can do as what I really am: to comfort the students from the long struggle and all this unjustified violence they are victims of, as well as attempt, by my meager means, to encourage the awakening of the human side of the police core, alienated by their training, their cheap solidarity with their colleagues’ inadmissible actions, and for some, without a doubt, the insupportable moral anxiety from having to participate in interventions that deep down they judge to be unjustified and useless.

And that is what I want to talk to you about to conclude. You must explain to the police officers what they already know deep down, the less idiotic at least – that what the Liberals and the CAQ are asking them to do is an insult to their work, that they are shoveling the problem into their yard (like in those of the profs and directors of CEGEPs and universities) and ordering them to sort it out themselves, as if they have nothing better to do, without having the courage themselves to endure what the police officers endure every night, this shared planned madness of which we are at once victim and accomplice. Talk to them, Flik, explain to them that at worst they don’t have to apply all the parameters of the law if they don’t consider it practical to do so, that at best they can stop collaborating with this futile and disgusting commissioned violation of the rights of the citizens of Quebec. And if you can’t do this, Flik, because you don’t talk or because you think that it’s already a lost cause, get the fuck out (decalisse), run as fast as your little bear legs can carry you (and I know that’s not very fast), because there where you are is no good for you, because among them you’re not in your place. I’ll wait for you with a not bad stash and a pint of stout, and we’ll find the way out of this bullshit.

ANARCHOPANDA

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