Saturday 26th March 2011, I was eager to get into London for the protests and decided that I needed a photographer, and it could only be Matty B. He took a little persuasion, so I filled the air with prophecies of tens of thousands of people in the streets of London, thousands of armed, armoured police officers, and of course, a moral obligation to add our numbers to those out in the streets that day, protesting the actions of the terrible money-men who run our world. But I think it was the prospect of some good photographs that sealed the deal.
We got there before midday, getting off the tube at Embankment. We immediately found ourselves immersed in immense crowds of smiling, cheering, singing protesters, pouring in from every street like floodwater finding its way to the main river course. The police acted like floodgates in their capacity as 'mediators' of this mass act of defiance, kindly directing us through the tributaries until we found ourselves part of a swollen river of people being flushed into the Hyde Park ocean, where we slowed, quietened, and were subdued by words that turned us all into 'comrades'.
Along the course marching bands played in unison, with drummers drumming out machine-gun rolls that seemed to fit in nicely with the sound of helicopters hovering overhead. Scattered through the streets amongst the bright eyed TUC public sector workers, the occasional group of masked 'Black Bloc' protestors reminded some of us that the government will probably completely ignore us, and that some people are going to assume this as pre-emptive fact and smash up the banks and the stores of the rich tax-dodgers to demonstrate their anger and dissatisfaction. These are by far the minority however. The vast majority of the reported 500,000 people were there to peacefully, albeit loudly demonstrate their disgust
As we left Embankment tube we were not allowed out of the riverside entrance, and were forced out of the north exit through crowds of people handing out red pro-communist leaflets and newsletters. This continued up to The Strand where we began following protesters East towards somewhere we hoped we could join the procession along the river. We had to sneak past police down towards Waterloo Bridge, turning into Somerset House where we got a nice view over the balcony of many tens of thousands of people readying themselves for the march.
We had to double back up to the Strand as police were not allowing anyone to go down the steps to Victoria Embankment, so we ended up joining the riverside just east of Temple tube station. The atmosphere was amazing. Everyone was smiling, cheering, singing, chanting, dancing as bands played music, banners waving in the wind. Mothers and fathers walked with their children. Those who could not walk came on their wheelchairs. Old, young, black, white and brown all marched together, all smiles, eyes reflecting the feeling of elation I felt.
Every one of the public services was represented; firemen, nurses, ambulance, teachers, carers and many many more. The only people I didn't see represented among the protesters were the police. I don't know whether to read anything into this or not. They might have been busy that day...
We made our way through the procession, which seemed to go on forever, never seeing the beginning or the end. Matty snapped photos of the police and the protesters while I gazed around smiling, shouting at him occasionally to catch a shot of something. All of the protesters wore smiles; beaming, happy smiles that I empathised with; it was amazing to see so many people, men women and children of all different races, religions, different backgrounds, all joining forces for a common good. Everyone had forgotten their petty differences and come together to ask that our government exercise some humanity, or else move aside for someone who is capable.
Some of the police looked pretty menacing a lot of the time, and I tried to cheer them up by saying hello and smiling as we walked past. Some replied in a friendly manner, others stared at me, as the late great Bill Hicks put it, 'like a dog that's just been shown a card trick'. The shot below is typical. Guy on the left, whistling happily to himself. Nice. Friendly. Guy on the right, looks like he wants to spray us with CS for existing. Now, he has been given the duty of protecting a statue, so he might just be pissed off about that. I would be too.
As we made our way down towards Westminster the police presence intensified. The protesters of course hit a crescendo, and many people pulled out their megaphones. As we turned right at Parliament we encountered Libyan protesters lined along the streets, protesting British and US intervention, saying that contrary to the news reports, Libyans did not want our 'help'. And I'm not surprised. Look what has happened to Iraq and Afghanistan thanks to our 'help'.
We soon passed Downing Street, which had a good few police officers outside of course. The entire procession continued straight past without stopping.
"Hold on!," I shouted out to the crowds, "shouldn't we stop and shout a bit? The bastards are right in there!"
But everyone continued on their way to Hyde Park. I was shocked that people were not stopping to shout at Cameron in Downing Street, but of course, that is the way it was planned. We had a date at Hyde Park to hear a bunch of nicely choreographed protest speeches, all arranged for 1.30pm, and we were already running late, so we walked straight past the door of the man in charge without a word. I believe the 'Black Bloc' protesters kicked up more of a fuss, but I think that they turned up later than us, and they weren't worried about turning up fashionably to Hyde Park, if at all.
The rest of the march was fairly uneventful, and we arrived at Hyde Park for about 1pm. Tony Robinson was presenting the show, and various speakers came up, all with their own underlying causes to promote, which I felt drew us away from the unity everyone had felt on the march. The speakers called us 'comrades', for which it was impossible to ignore the soviet/communist connotations. I didn't know why they didn't just call us 'friends', or 'fellow humans' or something. It felt like the whole protest had been hijacked by communists and the Metropolitan Police. I felt completely deflated, and we left to find a pub after hearing three speakers.
Now, here's where it got even more interesting. As we headed towards a pub, we heard shouting down one of the roads leading east off of Park Lane. I suddenly saw a crowd of riot police, many splattered in paint, running down the street dodging a hail of paint bombs, after a crowd of protesters dressed in black waving the black and red 'Black Bloc' flag as they went.
"Matty come on mate! Photo opportunity!" I shouted, "Come on! Come on! Quickly!"
So we left the three friends we were with, promising to catch up with them at the pub later, and suddenly there we were, chasing a crowd of twenty or thirty paint splattered riot police down the street, who in turn were chasing a crowd of 'Black Bloc' protesters down the street, dodging paint as they went. The Black Bloc crew had in their midst a guy on a bicycle, pulling a boom-box on a trailer with hip-hop blasting out. Not too ironically, the tune I remember hearing was NWA's 'Fuck Da Police'. That made me smile. Shit, I might have even sang along...
We followed the police for a while, dodging the odd paint bomb which got through their lines. I remember one police officer in particular, a tall man looking like he was in his mid-forties, about 6'4" and well built, running down the street whacking lamp posts with his baton. I remember him clearly and have since seen him in a few videos online. The look on his face was unforgettable. He was enjoying it all thoroughly. He wore a twisted grin like some sort of fairy tale gremlin catching a victim. It's hard to describe what I saw in his eyes, but it has stuck in my memory. I would recognise him anywhere, and I would probably avoid him.
As we bolted down the street the Black Bloc crew smashed things as they went. They graffiti'd police cars and shop windows. Some smashed windows. Occasionally police would catch up and grab one, but the crowd would come back and release their 'comrade' quickly before darting off. At one point the police managed to corner a few of them. They surrounded them with outward-facing riot police and searched for weapons while 'legal observers' attempted to ensure that the police were not using excessive force. We saw a policeman pull sandwiches, bananas and water from the bag of one lad. By now there was crowds of protesters joining the Black Bloc crew, partly in support, and certainly in part for the excitement.
And so it moved on. The BB crowd seemed to grow quickly, with smaller groups all converging into one big mass as we neared Oxford Circus. When we arrived at the main crossroads where you find Oxford Circus tube station, the number of people was staggering. The police were massively outnumbered. As we came to a halt we could see the remnants of the 'TUC Armed Wing' Trojan Horse burning in the middle of the road. The BB guy on the bike stopped, turned the volume up, and just like that Oxford Circus became an impromptu drum & bass rave. Everyone started dancing. I started dancing. What an amazing feeling, that this relatively small group of people had beaten the guardians of this crooked government and taken back the streets. And we celebrated that fact with the chant, "WHOSE STREETS?" - "OUR STREETS!" - "WHOSE STREETS?" - "OUR STREETS!"
Matty and I hung around a while longer. I danced and chatted to people while Matty snapped shots. Police seemed to be milling around the outskirts not doing too much. Then without warning a police van came ploughing dangerously through the crowd, before the protesters stood their ground, some lying down on the floor defiantly. Out of nowhere riot police flew in and threw people out of the way and the van passed through. It seemed to be a kind of decoy, since it drove away slowly, allowing the angry protesters chasing to keep up with it. This dispersed the crowd some, and then Matty said he was going to go find our friends at the pub so we moved off into the side streets.
We arrived at the pub and breathlessly told our friends about the drama down in Oxford Street. The pub's punters took a moment from the live BBC broadcast from Fortnum & Masons to listen to us, before we were drawn to the TV ourselves as Piccadilly Circus erupted. We watched the chaos on the TV and I decided I was going back in. The adrenaline was pumping and I wanted more. I wanted to see what kind of action the police took, the protester response, I couldn't just go home now!
We finished our pints and went our separate ways, since Matty had prior engagements that evening. I headed off in the direction the helicopters were looking, triangulating my direction from them every few minutes. I was excited, jogging through the streets looking for the crowds, picking up a 'Bust Card' along the way. This is a card lawyers firms provide to protesters letting them know their rights and telling them who to call if they are arrested.
After jogging through side streets for twenty minutes or so I found myself in the thick of it again, right outside Boots in Piccadilly, where there was an enormous police presence barricading the store (owned by a NY based private equity firm and accused of enormous tax-dodging) to protect it from angry protesters. The area was effectively kettled, with lines of police along every road out and practically no exit except for the tube station, obviously to try and coax people to head home. Shortly after I arrived a man came out of the crowds that were skirmishing with police, blood all over his face. I gave him my bottle of water to wash himself, and he vanished back into the fray.
I moved towards the police lines to get a better view and found that it was getting much more heated. The police were being taunted by the more aggressive protesters, resulting in police charges with batons swinging, sending the crowds flying backwards. The protesters attempted to set up roadblocks between the police and themselves, carrying festival barriers, bins, anything they could get their hands on to the front line, whereby the police would charge periodically, beat them back and remove the barriers again. In the centre of all this, non-violent protesters watched the carnage around them fairly calmly, lighting fires in the road to keep warm, singing songs, smoking, drinking and chatting. Some people shouted for everyone to head for Trafalgar Square, but the police blocked the way.
Protesters climbed onto the fountain in the centre to get a better view, or simply to wave their banners and flags, like conquerers claiming land. I join them a while. We all smile, we all sing.
Below us, around us, people play music and drums bang away in a warlike fashion, people chant and shout and sing and the police lines stand firm. The paint bombs are all but used up, but some of the more aggressive protesters throw bangers into the police lines, which do not falter as the pavement explodes around them.
As the evening wore on and the light began to fade the police and the protesters were getting visibly worse. The police were tired and stressed, the protesters were tired and angry, and the violence was escalating. This is when I made the decision to leave. I knew that as night fell the police would descend upon those left with force, as indeed they also did in Trafalgar Square later that evening. I wanted to stay, but I had been walking for the best part of twelve hours, had not eaten for six, and I was exhausted. The decision to flee came quickly. I turned and walked 20 metres to the tube station and walked down the steps into a world of calm. I sat on the tube quietly and reflected on the day, looking around the carriage wondering what involvement the passengers had had in the day's events. And what a day it had been.
When I got home, I smoked a joint, committing my first and only crime of that day.
This is "The Fourth Blog of Trig", signing off.
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- All good quality pictures and video in this post are courtesy of Matthew Luke Broughton, via
Matthew Luke Photography.
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- All poor quality pictures on this post are courtesy of me.
