Up until now I have limited myself to walking the march and documenting it. I haven’t been active in it’s organisation. I waited until the march was such a mess that people came to me to ask if I wanted to play a role. So yesterday evening we sat in McDonald’s, the only place where we found access to internet, and we were plotting. The internal assembly isn’t working, so the idea surfaced to form a junta and to take things into our own hands. Nothing outside the principles of the movement of course, because there exists a concept called ‘liberty of action’, and you can stretch it as far as you like.
This morning it turned out it wasn’t necessary to take far reaching measures. Something had changed overnight. As if we all felt that something had to be done, discipline had returned, and the marching spirit came with it. In retrospect I think the rain we experienced in Bordeaux had helped a lot. Instead of turning the march into a disaster, it brought us together. Apart from that the menace of rain scared away the hippies, and that’s a good thing. The people who remained were determined to bring this march to a good end.
We departed around eight this morning. The route we fixed the evening before was the longest up to date, marathon length. We arrived twelve hours after we left. We went in group, all the way. Almost everyone joined in, the supply along the route worked out perfectly, and despite the crazy length it was a great walk.
First thing we crossed the Dordogne in the mist, and while we walked the bridge, the fog lifted, the sun came out, and the East bank appeared in all its beauty. It was a good sign. We will reach Paris, we will reach Brussels, and we will be strong. After all, we are the arrowpoint of the revolution, and we are conscious of that.
It’s a great adventure, dear people. Long marches have been undertaken before, both military and civil. But we are different. We don’t have a leader, everything is self organised. We are anarchism in practice, and we’re proving it can work. Not only in an acampada, but also in a march, with all the practical and social problems it brings.
Today we brought a map, and that was a fabulous improvement. We took the old abbandoned roads and while we’re starting to make headway into central France, we are discovering a parallel infrastructure that leads through a phantom country.
Ever since the motorways were built, the small villages of France have been languishing. There was a time that all the traffic came through these villages. The bars and the taverns flourished. Now you can hardly recognise the old signboards bleached by the sun. The windows are blinded, the roofs fall apart. There isn’t a living soul on the streets and you can walk for miles without ever encountering a car.
The last part of our walk leads through the pine forests. The road goes on and on. But today the moral is stronger than the fatigue. The supply car brings us a hot meal in the middle of the woods. It brings us safely home.
We arrive just before sunset in Montlieu. Most of the tourists seem to have gone home. Once again, we are the March on Brussels, and today we showed character. I am proud of my revolutionary brothers and sisters.