Trucker acts in Canada have organized dome and erratic movement

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Since the large semi-trailers entrenched in the center of Canada’s capital arrived nearly three weeks ago, they have arranged themselves in near order, parking in evenly spaced rows. Its drivers have stayed warm and are fed by volunteers, and while they have varied personal ideas, they seem carefully on the same tune: “Freedom!” is the refrain of the last 19 days.

It’s no accident: high above the cluster of trucks on Parliament Hill in Ottawa, in hotel rooms next to the hustle, are the war rooms behind the operation. From there, a team of self-appointed leaders, some with military backgrounds and in right-wing organizations, orchestrated a disciplined and highly coordinated occupation.

They spent the weeks crammed into conference rooms broadcasting press conferences on social media. It’s a team that includes ex-cops, military veterans and conservative activists, a collaboration that helped turn a protest against mandatory vaccines into a force that destabilized the city and sent shockwaves across Canada.

The main blockade that paralyzed trade and goods traffic for nearly a week at the main border crossing between Canada and the United States was released this week, but most protesters in Ottawa did not move.

Canadian authorities, who do not have the power to dictate how the police should act, have grown increasingly frustrated with the occupation and see coordination not as a well-groomed demonstration but as a dangerous threat.

“What drives this movement is a very small and organized group, driven by an ideology to overthrow the government,” said Marco Mendicino, Minister of Public Security, this Tuesday (15). “By any means they want to use.”

The protesters’ efforts appeared to be rewarded with the resignation of the Ottawa police chief, who has faced criticism for his lukewarm reaction to the demonstrations from the start. When the news arrived, excited horns echoed through the city.

Peter Sloly resigned a day after Trudeau took the rare step of declaring a national public emergency, which extended tighter policing measures across the country. The invocation of the Emergencies Act also targeted fundraising schemes for protesters, which were deemed criminal activity, and personal and business bank accounts.

The new public order threatens to reveal a group that is already struggling to project credibility. Its fundamentals — a hodgepodge of people steeped in diverse belief systems, conspiracy theories and barely contained anger — often show through the official veneer.

In a press conference at the Sheraton hotel on Monday (14), open to media other than exclusively conservative, as before, there was an air of gravity in the room that echoed with the constant coughing of dozens of supporters without masks.

“Some of you may object to our grievances,” Tamara Lich told TV crews. “However, democratic society will always have fair dissent and dissent.”

But when a reporter asked about a large volume of weapons found that day at a protest in Alberta, others in the room raged, shoving the reporter and calling for his expulsion with shouts of “How dare you?”. Tom Marazzo, a spokesman, later defended the suit.

The messaging discipline comes from the initiative’s first public face, Tamara Lich, according to Jay Hill, interim leader of the Maverick Party, a small Calgary-based center-right group created to promote the separation of three provinces from the rest of the country. Lich has deep ties to the group.

Even before the convoy assembled, communication was her concern. “We’ve had a lot of conversations about sticking to the message, having a very clearly defined message that’s understandable and simple,” she says. “Tamara clearly understands that.”

Lich played an important role in organizing a campaign on the website GoFundMe that raised $7.8 million for the protests before the crowdfunding website closed it after receiving “police reports of violence and other illegal activities”.

Previously, Lich worked as a personal fitness instructor in Medicine Hat, a city nicknamed “Hell’s Basement” by writer Rudyard Kipling for its location atop a huge natural gas field. She did not respond to requests for an interview.

BJ Dichter, the official spokesperson for the convoy, said he joined the effort after Lich sought help managing the donation surge on the GoFundMe page. He has a history of spreading anti-Islamic views and once said that “political Islam” is “rotting our society like syphilis.”

He denied the accusation of racism, claiming in an interview that he is Jewish. “I have family in mass graves in Europe. And apparently I’m a white supremacist.”

Organizers have handled much of the logistics of sustaining the occupation into its third week, but it’s unclear how much power they have over protesters — who share a wide range of motivations and theories — if and when the time comes to negotiate their departure.

“They generally speak for everyone, but everyone has their own ideas,” says Guy Meister, a truck driver camped outside the Senate. That fracture became clear recently when word got out that organizers were negotiating with the mayor of Ottawa to remove some trucks.

“I believe in them, but it’s me,” says Meister. “The only person who will decide when I leave is me.”

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