Occupy Movement London March Report
Shoutout UK 1 A Political Commentary Platform and Campagin Consultancy
Occupy Movement London March Report
Occupy Movement London March
I – “The hippies, who had never really believed they were the wave of the future anyway, saw the election returns as brutal confirmation of the futility of fighting the establishment on its own terms. There had to be a whole new scene, they said, and the only way to do it was to make the big move […] from the hang-ups of protest to the peaceful disengagement of love, nature and spontaneity.” – Hunter S Thompson
Back in 1967, politics was as tired and old as it is today, but the dope scene was completely new. Right now it is 2012, not yet the year of our Lord - and we are no longer new to dope either. The trendy youth of the day are the hipsters, who are in many ways similar to the hippies HST was talking about. Unfortunately, both currents have the same frailty – the refusal to face reality. They are feeling persecuted by the ‘mainstream’ because it has the assurance of an industry backed by millions of dollars, yens and pounds and they don’t feel a part of it at all. Paying taxes makes us de facto contributors to the system regardless of how much we disagree with it. It might be time to accept responsibility and make the long overdue and righteous move from dope and mysticism back to politics – this time without the dramatic and even tragic dimension that the Civil Rights Movement had. The evils of today are subtler, so the resistance must be tenacious - or at least this is the atmosphere on Adbusters and HuffingtonPost, a week before the much expected ‘12th of May Occupation’. Apparently, the G8 summit has been moved from Chicago to Camp David – a fortified military compound – in a move interpreted by the free press as precautionary. The White House is allegedly concerned about the Occupy Movement’s plans to protest in huge numbers. Union and police federation protests began as early as Thursday in London, with as many as 400,000 taking to the streets, The Guardian reported. All
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these small victories are good props of confidence for Occupy on both sides of the Atlantic, so Saturday ought to turn out rather exciting.
The macroeconomic reality of the world today is like an amateur game of poker near the end not that it was much different in the past, just that today the few players left at the table are nervous, worn out and reckless. China has taken great advantage of our short sighted bets on wasteful consumption and has a fat stack of multi coloured chips, while Europe is lost in its own issues, too weak to act decisively, and already into the house for a lot of cash. It has good credit with the house, Europe – as any good game, this one also respects its seniors. All eyes are on the USA’s next move, and as usual, nobody will be able to call the bluff until too late. Tensions are running high at this end of the room, and even the audience is getting impatient, some booing and throwing paper cups at the players. At the other game table, by the window, there are fewer spectators, and the play is less unpredictable. South America is tired of the USA's cheating and is not playing with them any more... Africa is trying to keep its act together but the colonists only taught them to pray, so they’re learning poker as they go... Goddamn these soft mental movies... they’re distracting me from my article and my professionalism. That third pipe of black stuff was a mistake, no more of that.
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Occupy Movement London March
Life, for some, is a game to the death of power, sex and money. The rest of us are reluctant to get in on it and instead are just trying to LIVE and do something useful with our time. Perhaps our predatory instincts are atrophied and I for one, would be glad for it. Worrying makes me nervous, and my best work, meagre as it is, has historically been done in conditions of complete carelessness. I just wrote what I honestly thought without any stake in the outcome - 'and not a fuck was given that day', amen. When the pressure gets too much to handle I regress to a state of doubt and anxiousness, which can only be cured by good drugs. Writing on politics or the economy is best done high, in the time honoured gonzo tradition, so I acquired a beautiful
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wooden hash pipe to be able to smoke out on a whim during the assignment. London is no place to pause and roll whenever you feel like it - there are always things to point the camera or the recorder at. Somewhat matriarchal societies (Latin countries) and deeply patriarchal ones bare subtle differences in mentality under the thick veil of voracious capitalism. In the City of London, however, these differences cease to be subtle – the Gherkin casts a phallic shadow over the city, a symbol of the potency so cherished and craved by the Finance Tycoons who run it with the strong conviction that the top has yet to be reached. Ordinary people, who only see the enormity from outside, are riding the metros and buses in all directions, rushing from place to place, talking on the phone, texting, staring... living. They do not care too much about being in control or owning vast fortunes, yet they still notice the shadow. With all this in mind, I urged my trusted friend Philip to join me in London, to offer his sober view on things in case I get tangled up, and to throw his fist up with the crowd on my behalf, since being on journalism duty means I have to keep out of the protest. He is known for his cool head in times of hardship – so if it all turned into a bloody riot, I would have someone to rely on to pull me out of the clouds of pepper spray and slap sense into me. I also had logistical issues such as a hotel room (sleeping under a bridge would be too romantic for this kind of work) - and expenses - the oyster card, train tickets, beer, cigarettes, raw meat for the wolves... shit. I’m drifting, so down to the point. Philip accepted to come over for free, just for the action, as a proper gentleman. Plus his girlfriend was eager to get rid of him for a couple of days. ‘Count me in - you just pay for the coach; I’m coming for the Cause.’ He said. Upon hearing the good news about not being alone in it, I felt suddenly optimistic about the prospects of the 12th of May Occupation and the movement in general. I skipped the night’s sleep to take the time and plan the next day right. At 4 AM we were at Southampton Coach Station smoking a pipe and getting anxious. As protest virgins, we were a little paranoid about not fitting in, being foreigners, but quickly shrug it off and went to sleep in the coach.
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Occupy Movement London March
When we finally got there at 6.30 AM we were groggy from sleep and barely found our way to the underground. We went to Wembley Park to Philip’s future mother-in-law for coffee and breakfast, and to leave our bags. She was glad to see us and she made us a pot of black coffee and a big breakfast with eggs, bacon, schnitzel, beer, cheese and salad. When she heard our intentions of joining the protest – me, as a journalist, and her soon to be son in law as “one of them” she started nagging him about being careful and keeping his head down. I was briefly reminded of that iconic stencil of the punk rocker and his mum fixing his bandana when I saw this scene. I smiled and carried on, resisting the urge to make unsavoury jokes. With our stomachs full and the sun starting to warm up the day, we hit the tube and headed for the city centre. Philip had food, hoodies and what smelt like ganja in a knapsack and I was carrying my camera, voice recorder and notebook hoping to fill them all up by nightfall. It was ten o'clock when we got off at Liverpool Street station to walk a bit and enjoy a beautiful Babylonian morning. Shades on, beer at hand, my first assignment began.
II – "It seems to me that the underlying assumption of any public protest- any public disagreement with the government, "the system", or "the Establishment," by any name- is that
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the men in charge of whatever you're protesting against are actually listening, whether they later admit it or not, and that if you run your protest Right, it will likely make a difference." – Hunter S Thompson
We arrived at 11:30 at St. Paul’s and there was no sign of action. We bought 8 Stellas from M&S and started drinking discreetly, watching tourists and hoping to see some Guy Fawkes masks soon. There was a comforting peace about the small square in the sun – people from all over the world were walking around speaking their own language, enjoying themselves. It struck me how little difference politics should make in our lives, if it would be done right. As it stands now, only a hopeless ignorant or a fool can afford to not care about what's happening in the world. Around midday, other people than tourists were starting to come. The gathering was beginning, so me and Philip rushed under the Millenium Bridge for more weed+beer to get in the right spirit of the thing before it kicked off. It was an unexpectedly hot day, perfect for chilling out and “philosphing” half-seriously. By 12:35 a big crowd formed – people were preparing banners/ costumes/ signs and it was clear they were enjoying the process – smiles and loud laughs filled up the place. The 12th of May – Meet the One Per Cent started out as a street party with music, speeches and good vibes. Many Spanish Indignados showed up – most of them students and workers in London – celebrating the Indignado anniversary in unison with their brothers in Barcelona, they were rowdily enthusiastic and everybody liked them for it. Even the police couldn’t help but smile when they thought nobody’s looking.
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I accidentally recorded a man saying that “They took’r jobs.”
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My watch shows 13:33 when a young, student activist guy takes the mic and holds an introductory speech which starts with the history of the economic crisis, mentioning greed and unsustainable debt. Then it focuses in on the UK and the cost the depression had in this country – austerity forced on the middle class through unfair public spending cuts while the rich got a free ride. Blaming part of the problem on the Euro – “a dysfunctional currency”, he points to the “one percenters” for answers to questions of unfair burdening. All old news, yet everybody present in the square is listening carefully. “The sinister IMF, World Bank and ECB have pushed austerity measures in Greece, which lead to high unemployment” – directly linked to an increase in suicide rate, according to the speaker. After him went Jackie Turner MD of the NHS, a Londoner. Her speech was mainly directed at the Tory intentions of privatising the NHS, and the social injustice this represents. Britons shouldn’t allow their NHS to be turned into a version of the American Medicare, by sleepwalking into a situation where “the likes of Richard Branson and Virgin Services” would be able to take over the country's healthcare. Duh. More beer followed. In spite of hearing nothing new, I was still excited to see someone muttering these words in flesh, as opposed to the computer screen I got used to.
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In the meantime, pamphlets without a direct connection to Occupy were being distributed – The Economic and Philosophic Science Review and The Socialist Worker. The extreme left political ideas expressed in these papers range from interesting to delusional to paranoid, and it’s my personal opinion that their marginal link to the Labour Party is hurting Occupy. The standfirst of World Socialist Review reads “Urgent universal debate led and guided by revolutionary philosophy to build Leninist parties is crucial for the development of Leninist revolutionary leadership.” Further down, the same author predicts an imminent “World War III” among other disasters. Paranoia doesn’t exist, I agree, but the certainty of the article’s tone is suspiciously manipulative. It is precisely this kind of reactionary ideological propaganda that slivers the Movement’s credibility with the large population. I have also heard a couple of speakers making the suggestion that Labour is a viable political alternative to the current coalition, in which the Conservatories have de facto control, whilst the Lib-Dems are powerless. As true as it sounds, I don't want to believe Labour is trying to take over Occuppy with the inertia it generated with trade union protests in the past days. On the one hand you have the colourful and modern design of the 12 May Occupy Map of London – which contains the timetable and map of the protest march and concisely mentions the main issues the day’s talks will focus on (Hedge funds, sovereign debt, healthcare, stock exchange and lobbying), maintaining a continual openness to debate. On the other hand, frustrated communists are taking advantage of the popular dissent to spread their lame old Marxist-Leninist bullshit about the absence of a revolutionary leader. They don’t understand that the future lies somewhere else, and that if we learned anything it is that absolute power corrupts absolutely – and absolute powerlessness the same. Akala the rapper said that on twitter. The Occupy Movement is leaderless precisely for that reason – the fundamental belief in individual power and responsibility. They piss me off... fuck those people. God, I'm losing objectivity again.
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Even an amateur journalist with dilettante novelist ambitions can tell that there’s a cultural revival going on, and luckily for him, he caught it at the stage where it can become his ticket to ride. 'Counterculture' is there, and if MTV and most radios are far enough removed that they don’t recognize it anymore, these leaves a market gap for people like me, who see OccupyLsx, Indignados and the like as a microcosm of the enlightened everywhere. There were psy kids hanging out with old hippies, skaters, computer geeks and others of every description, except BDSM fetishists... actually, who knows what that Milf doctor lady who held the speech about NHS was wearing underneath? And who cares?
Next on the mic was a Spanish girl, with subjects such as global unity and social media and how the world is changing for the better. I liked her, and after she finished I went and had a chat. Not being an optimist myself when it comes to politics, I am always impressed and intrigued by people who are, and can’t resist picking their brains. She told me that the birth of a nonhierarchical movement has changed the way people look at politics and deep societal change is sure to follow. This is only the beginning, and new laws trying to control the Internet are a good sign that mentality is beginning to evolve. Irrational fear is what we are trying to get rid of, as a species, so we can start seeing things clearly. She’s looking forward to the future despite resistance from ‘the powers that be’ and thinks that the young, educated people worldwide hold the right answers – without resorting to any kind of violence or force, but to fairness and
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practicality. Admirable ideas coming from an eloquent Indignado who travelled at her own cost from Spain to London for this event.
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Some families brought their children, which is the perfect testimony of what a protest is – a fundamentally humanitarian act. Faith in humanity: restored. After the speeches the crowd started to move towards the landmarks of capitalism – banks, hedge funds, lobby firms and other “crisis profiteers” among the objectives. The march was fine, with the Spanish drummers leading the way and skilfully improvising rhythms which were more reminding of sandy beaches than rebel uprisings. A helicopter followed the hours-long procession, flying slowly above, along with the march – I wonder who got the queer idea to send a goddamn helicopter to hover over a peaceful protest? For some reason, no matter how flower power you roll, the cops still see a threat in your behaviour. At some point during the walk through the City of London, I noticed a sign saying “Iceland – fuck yeah!” referring to the way the people of Iceland gave the bankers the finger and dealt with the crash on their own terms. However, at first, I misread this sign as “Iceland – Fuck you!” and thought it’s about the chain of supermarkets. I brooded on this wrong psychic connection for a while and I decided to avoid supermarkets in the near future, since consumerist brainwashing apparently touched my radical mind.
The Spanish “vaya con dios” suddenly took on a whole new meaning when I met this guy. He kept denying it, but I am sure he is at least St Peter.
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Before I came to my senses the front marchers were climbing the pillars of the Bank of England putting up banners under the eye of the boys and girls in fluorescent green. I asked one of them what he thinks and he grinned in reply. The cops were courteous and some of them even displayed traces of a sense of humour – but as the evening progressed and the crowd settled on the steps of the Bank of England and the square, tents were put up and police formed a tight cordon around the gathering, which if I was overly sensitive I would describe as a 'kettle'.
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Within an hour of the protest settling down on what proved to be private property, a swift order came that everybody needs to disperse by 5:45, otherwise there will be police intervention – under section 14 of The Public Order Act, cited by the constable who passed me the news. All friendly communication ceased at this point.
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The “temperature check” of the protesters’ intention to obey the order was inconclusive, yet nobody seemed to move. Drum and Bass started playing and instead of dispersing, protesters around the tents started dancing as a defiant statement to the police orders. The childish game officially began when a policeman politely escorted me by the arm to the pavement opposing the square. ‘The core group’ of protesters were set on occupying the place, like it meant something. That gave the police the only excuse they needed to start using force. For the activists, it meant determination and peaceful disobedience against police oppression, and for the Met cops it meant another long evening on the tedious job of maintaining their image of schoolyard guardians, and occasionally making a brutish arrest. If London’s finest were trying to intimidate, they have learned nothing from the riots las year, but after having talked to some of them I can’t believe that. They were very aware of their obligations and knew exactly what to say to not create controversy. Occupy’s regulars noticed a new technique employed by the police when performing an arrest, going in force inside the group – about 30 of them at once, surrounding one person then arresting them and taking them to the van. “Snatch squad” is what i heard it being called, and the reason for it is to avoid having nosy photographers, cameramen, or casual passers-by see what might be uncalled for brutality I suspect the so-called 'snatch-squad' more a PR technique, to show that unlike the protesters they are surrounding, the policemen can be organised enough to kick ass without being caught. Unfortunately, instead of human policing we get machine marketing officers.... I thought I’ve
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seen a cop knee hitting an activist jaw, but there were so many fluorescent jackets surrounding the grounded ‘perp’ that I just cannot be sure, and neither can anybody else.
In all fairness, there were a few drunk bums shouting cheap slander at the deployed constables – the type of idiots that don’t really care what they’re protesting and where, as long as there’s some form of tension. They feed on that tension and you can see their eyes glowing after a cop half angrily tells them to cool down. Undoubtedly it takes a high degree of self control to do a proper job as a cop, when you have to deal with a bunch of clowns pushing you to act on impulse and cross the line.
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III – “Beware of enthusiasm and of love: both are temporary and quick to sway.” – Hunter s Thompson I cannot give a qualified estimate of the degree of success this particular event had, because it was my first and I don’t have a term of comparison. Even so, I would dare say that I felt a lot of static energy has been accumulating over the cold months, and part of it erupted in positive ways at this protest. It might be because of the weather – Saturday was the first warm and sunny day after long weeks of bleak rain, proving that karma still is on the side of the occupiers. There’s a frustration among the organisers – I’m not sure of the reason for it, but it could be stemming from the fact that only a small group of activists feel really passionate about the movement. The Spaniards present on Saturday were all passionate – being latin, it’s probably in the cultural DNA... but for the Brits, I think if the tories hadn't stepped over the line trying to sell the NHS, most of them wouldn't have bothered coming down. The Guardian reported of 11 arrests being made, Occupy lsx’s Facebook page declared 40, and I witnessed about five, so only the cops have the real number, not that it matters. Although there is a resigned sense of futility and disbelief combined with blind idealism among the participants, the good vibes a sunny day of protest brings are undeniable. It cheered me right up and I’m now sure it was just what I needed after a period of brooding and loneliness watching the rain and questioning my masculinity in Southampton. My editors will like this, and I’m sad for it, since it’s my plain duty to defy them every chance I get, but even if I paid my own expenses and did my first ever journalistic assignment for free, I would do it every week given the chance, simply because the people at these things are so diverse and optimistic about things... it’s truly inspirational, not only for ‘the cause’. For the first time ever I heard talk about ‘a new wave’, ‘an awakening’, ‘collective conscience’, ‘21st century humanism’, etc. and it wasn’t coming from either my mouth or a computer. I might just decide to become a journalist on permanent occupy lsx assignment this summer, provided I get a job to pay the rent.
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Sure enough it derailed at some point later in the evening after some rough arrests and heavy pressure from the police. Some ‘protesters’ who tagged along while the group was running around in the city to ‘occupy the Gherkin’ and confuse the cops were breaking bottles and shouting football slogans, along with the usual “no justice/ no peace/ fuck the police” – but by then I was tired and it wasn’t fun anymore. It was depressing, actually – the kids who stayed were by now in the mood to have fun and the political overtone faded into the London night. I went for a couple of beers and a final joint, then took the tube home to Wembley, for a meal and more beer and scotch. It had been a good day for me and my assistant – we had fun, met good people, saw even more good people enjoying themselves, and after we had a huge dinner prepared by his mother-in-law, we were content of a job well done. A new, professional feeling stuck with me the whole day – the same feeling I used to have after wrapping up a long night at the warehouse back when I was making an honest living, only this time I wasn’t hating myself for it. I still don’t know how to swing it. I can’t be honestly optimistic about it myself, because of the police intervention at the end, neither am I disappointed. It’s just a routine, I guess... like sort of political jogging, you do it to keep from turning into a lump of grease.
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Statistics show that more than half the population is unhappy with the direction the world is taking, and if there’s one thing people conform to, it’s statistics, even if they are tailored bullshit. It’s a good thing to appreciate lies sometimes – if only because the one lying to you is either your perceived superior or so close to you that believing them is the only way. It turned out that overcompensating for my lack of journalistic experience with insane amounts of pictures, recordings and notes was a good idea after all. Even if I am still ambivalent about the whole thing a week after it happened, the story told itself through all the gathered material – in the end it’s the people who matter, and being there proves they are socially conscious, if nothing else. These gatherings are fruitful for personal development simply because surrounding yourself with like-minded people will always help in some way. It’s not about stereotyping on what makes people the same but finding out what brings them together and building on that. A few days after the protest, I found an e-mail in my inbox letting me know that Adbusters decided to drop my article they promised to publish in their June issue and give me a hope of someday being paid for writing words. They felt it is ‘dated’ – as if they didn’t know the date when was written when they got in touch in the first place. I would have thought that a ‘culturejammer’ magazine has different means of operating than ordinary press, and just like the fox who can’t reach the grapes I am now reluctant to send them any more stuff. Vanity is a bitch indeed. *side note: in my first book there will be an issue of Adbusters magazine in every pub loo, and no toilet paper. Selah.
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Occupy Movement London March Writer: Harry Cathead
Editor: Matteo Bergamini
Designer Matteo Bergamini
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