On Monday morning, everyone at the squat was sleeping when two Mossos arrived to deliver an eviction notice. They banged on the door until we all went downstairs. Through a window, Sylvain told them that they didn’t have the right to remove us, that squatting wasn’t illegal – only unlawful, a civil dispute. Before leaving, the Mossos pasted their notice to the front of the building and said they’d be back in twenty-four hours. If we hadn’t left by then, they would forcibly remove us.
Sylvain turned to where we were all standing and listening. “We have twenty-four hours to mobilize.”
I was the last one to follow him up the stairs. I remembered the panic I’d felt at the police station in Toronto, the total lack of control. Being arrested in another country, in another language: things cou
