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London, Anarchy in the UK: 10 days with the London Mob
by Mitzi Waltz
I have a habit of picking auspicious days to arrive in
a place I've never been before. Either a tornado
watch has got half the town hunkered down in the basement or
a meteorite just fell on City Hall. So as I left the plane
at London's Gatwick Airport, I wasn't surprised to see that
a tunnel had just collapsed under Heathrow Airport, knocking
out transportation and snarling traffic for miles around
London.No, I was just glad that for once, I had also picked
an auspicious place to be in a new city.And also a little
nervous. One of my bags was stuffed with about 150 pounds of
radical books and pamphlets, including a number of items
that I wasn't sure would make it across the border. Not
being a seasoned international smuggler, the best plan I had
been able to come up with was to stuff everything in small
boxes, wrap them, put fancy ribbons on them and attach cards
with messages like "Here's that late birthday gift! Love,
Mitzi."Turned out to be a pretty good idea. I breezed
through Customs, whereas several other people en route to
the same event didn't due to similar literature (foolishly
enough, not wrapped in polka-dot paper). Anarchists from the
U.S. and Israel were turned back at the border, which no
doubt really sucked for them. Anarchy In the U.K., an
international anarchist convention billed as "Ten Days the
Shook the World," was a hell of a lot of fun.I know, I know
- "anarchist convention." Contradiction in terms and all
that, right? Actually, they happen all the time. Back in the
old days, when Emma Goldman and Ben Reitman were getting
tossed into the Portland pokey for advocating legal birth
control and suchlike, they were rather formal affairs with a
lot of speechifying and factional struggles. Not nearly as
bad as a Communist Party convention but nothing like @UK, to
be sure.North American anarchists got back in the habit of
convening yearly in the '70s - the first was here in
Portland, in fact, a 1978 gathering organized by the It
alian anarchist artist Pietro Ferrua, then a professor at
Lewis & Clark. The North American conventions since then
weren't organized by any party or group, at the end of one
folks just get together, and some group of people from one
town or region volunteers to organize next year's. After the
1989 convention in San Francisco drew 3,000+ participants,
the consensus was to go regional for manageability. (And
saying "North American" is really a bit of a misnomer: there
are always quite a few Europeans hanging around, and since
the anarchist community in Mexico is pretty lively they'll
usually send up a few folks. Brazil and Argentina have big
yearly meets too, although they interface more with Europe
than with either North or Central Americans.)Conventions are
a lot of work. They usually consist of workshops on whatever
subjects people are interested in at the moment, human
rights in East Timor or self-organizing in the sex industry
or anarchist education, for example. Workshops might
facilitated by one or two people or pulled together by
more-formal affinity groups. And there are generally lots of
cultural events, gigs, picnics and demonstrations to go with
the "educational" stuff.@UK promised to be "the biggest
ever," bigger even than the 1983 Milan convention, which
drew several thousand people from all over the world and
deserves credit for revitalizing the European anarchist
movement. Consisting mainly of members of Class War (about
which there's more below), the group behind @UK expected
10,000 participants; I'd say there were about 7,000. They
announced "500 events at 100 venues," I'd say it was more
like 300 events at 50 venues. That's still a hell of a lot.
@UK itself arranged for about 10 halls or buildings to be
available for the 10 days, pulled together a night of
speeches, handled the money and paperwork, produced
thousands of programs, and encouraged other folks to do the
rest, which they did.How could I miss this? I couldn't - and
shere's my tour diary.
Friday October 21
I made it!!! Took the train into London
through miles of housing projects that looked
like they were rotting from the inside. Ever seen the Clash
movie "Rude Boy"? These high-rise hovels made the one that
was featured in that look like a palace.Transferred to the
tube at Victoria Station, where warnings about "suspect
devices" (i.e., briefcases and bags left behind, which could
conceivably hold a bomb) still blared every five minutes
despite the IRA ceasefire. Thanks to Rod's impeccably bad
directions, I got off at the wrong station and ended up
dragging all those books plus my carry-on up Clapham High
Street for about 20 blocks. Finally got to my friend's
house, sweaty and miserable looking. He made tea and
eventually I felt much better. Then it was lecturefest time
at historic Conway Hall. This place has been a hotbed of
radical politics for at least 100 years, and tonight it was
packed to the rafters for a series of speeches about the
Criminal Justice Bill. One of my jobs here was to cover this
controversial piece of legislation for Mother Jones
magazine. It's hard to say what the worst thing about it is
- it abolishes the right to silence at arrest, sets up a new
prison system for 12-to-14-year-olds, revives the "sus laws"
(which let cops stop and arrest anyone anytime based on
undefined "suspicious behavior"), lets the cops take
"intimate samples" from all arrestees to build a national
database of criminal DNAI I could go on for half an hour.
The law itself goes on for an entire book.For a lot of the
people taking the stage in this hall, the effects are likely
to be very personal. Squatters and anyone behind in their
rent can be given 24-hour notices of eviction. Travellers,
these new-agey types who live in caravans and other vehicles
and roam the countryside selling handmade goods (and
occasionally dope), have basically had their lifestyle made
illegal. Raves will be illegal, ditto any political
gathering or party that doesn't have a government permit.
And guess what! : the government isn't going to be issuing
any, unless you're backed
by Virgin Records or rallying to support the Tories.Put
simply, this law is fucked. Ian Bone, organizer of the
conference and infamous rabble-rouser from those wannabe
political street thugs Class War, opens the roadshow with
the most incredible display of apoplectic raving I've
witnessed in years. He's a good warm-up act. Hell, he oughta
be a stand-up comedian.And he makes some very valid
points.The crowd is pumped up and ready for an endless
stream of speakers representing ravers, travellers, the
local Black community, the animal rights movement, blah de
blah blah blah. One of my favorites is "Mr. Social Control,"
a hilarious comedian who delivers some well-thought-out
political commentary in doggeral. One piece includes Tory
leader Michael Howard's home phone number, repeated several
times. Howard is the point man on the CJB. I see a lot of
people writing it down. Mr. SC ends his poem with "if we've
no right to silence, then he's no right to sleep." I bet
Howard's gonna be hating life tonight - or checking into
the nearest hotel.
Saturday October 22
Today's the famous Anarchist Bookfair, where publishers and
booksellers from all over the UK and a few from overseas
come to hawk their wares. I'm happy to see a familiar face,
Russell from Seattle's excellent Left Bank Books, has managed to
get his stuff in as well. And I get to meet Fabian of the London
Psychogeographical Society, which is extremely nice. He's a
grinning, curly-haired fellow who does very strange research
linking Masonic conspiracies, royal inbreeding and ancient
ley lines, among other stuff. He also leads group tours
pointing out connections between and weird history behind
places around London and sometimes further afield.The best
part of the Bookfair is that I sell almost everything, so I
don't have to tote the 150-pound medicine ball of a bag
back that night. This is a good thing, since after the
ookfair everybody heads for The Sun, an excellent pub with
several dozen microbrew-style beers. It's all very matey,
I keep drinking something really strong and spicy from Young's
Brewery, some drunken pal of my new friend Becky keeps trying
to chat me up, and I'm treated to some terrific singing by a bunch
of drunken Welshmen who get booted out.
Sunday, October 23
It's lovely, sunny day - perfect for a picnic at Jubilee Gardens, or
for a levitation.That's right - posters all over town and our
handy little @UK guidebook say that we'll be levitating the
House of Commons today. My friend and I get together with a
bunch of people for lunch in the park, then it's off to
Parliament Square where a crew of tie-dyed and be-
dreadlocked hippies, punks, travellers and Revolutionary
Tourists have gathered.There does not appear to be a plan
for concentrating mental energy on the building, which is
rapidly surrounded by cop vans. A row of bobbies back the
crowd off the sidewalk and into the park. This bunch seems
to be pretty "fluffy," to use a derive term that I'd learned
the night before. "Fluffies" want to keep demonstrations
non-violent, enter dialogues with the police, create a
"positive space," and even identify any riotous
troublemakers in their midst by spraying them with paint. In
other words, they're a slightly hippie-dippier version of
what we Yanks call the "Peace Police." Bor-ing. Looks like I
will not be treated to a proper riot as promised.So I decide
to make like a reporter and see what I can learn. One thing
I discover is that the police vans are full of riot gear,
and the cops are extremely nervous. Seems that a demo the
week before had turned violent and a bunch of their brethren
got whacked (I've seen the leftover Class War posters for
this one around town too - "Leave your juggling balls at
home - it's time for some class justice!") A unit on
horseback is hidden just around the corner, as are two
groups of soldiers.Juggling balls, and fire-eating, circle
dancing, rainbow banners and goofy costumes, appear to be
prevailing over the balaclava-and-bricks crowd here. I guess
the cops, horses and soldiers will have to be satisfied
with a little free entertainment and some time-and-a-half.
After spending a few hours snapping pictures of colorful,
fresh-faced kids with posters and explaining the demo to several
groups of passing American tourists, I take off, as does most of the
crowd.[Postscript: there may have been something to this
levitation crap after all. London newspapers report a few
days later that Big Ben, which is attached to Parliament,
has inexplicably moved a couple of centimeters. No
shit.]Later, I manage to get into an overcrowded showing of
"Siege of Sydney Street," a black-and-white gangster
melodrama about a gang of Russian anarchists at war with the
police, based on a true story. Although I have to watch it
hidden in the corner with a couple cans of ale, it's lots of
fun. Next is "The Stuart Christie File," a BBC documentary
about the English anarchist who tried (and failed) to shoot
Franco, was imprisoned in Spain, became a publisher in
London after his release, and was later swept up on
suspicion of being part of The Angry Brigade, a
anarchist/situationist-inspired "terrorist" group. Several
news shorts and documentary-ettes about The Angry Brigade
were also included. Some of the alleged members and their
friends were in the audience, and it was fun to hear their
sotto-voice commentary bout inaccuracies and gossipy asides.
The documentaries were uniformly cheesy, attempting to paint
Christie as some sort of evil mastermind even though at the
time he was living in self-imposed exile on the far-away
Orkney Islands and doing nothing but writing. Very
funny.
Monday, October 24
Today promises to be very interesting. Along with some
guys I've met only online, I'm doing a workshop on
computer networking for anarchists. Or something like
that. We meet up at a place called Culross Hall and
on entering the second-floor meeting space discover
that the interior decorating scheme is, well, eye-catching.
We're sharing the room with an ongoing exhibit by Homocult,
a radical gay art collective that specializes in
shockingly graphic posters and t-shirts decrying the
counterculture and middle-class gay culture. Lots of S/M
imagery, dirty words, offensive images. We like it a lot,
but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that after four hours in
here I was experiencing anger overload.The workshop goes
great. There's a huge number of interested people here, so
many that we set up separate sessions for publishers
interested in distributing stuff online, people who want to
network about computer communications projects already in
progress, and a second basic how-to class. Ian from Spunk
Press (an archive of anarchist texts maintained on the
Internet); Matt from Fast Breeder, a cool London BBS;
various participants with experience and myself keep things
running amazingly smoothly. Everybody's questions get
answered, handouts are much appreciated, those who want to
have a chance for a hands-on look at the Internet and
BBSing, and we soon retire to a nearby pub for more.
Tuesday, October 25
I start off the day with a walk around the area near Culross
Hall, a strange combination of interesting old architecture
cheek-by-jowl with more of London's trademark concrete-block
public housing. I also make the mistake of stopping in a
"caff" for a traditional modern English breakfast - crisps
and a scrambled egg-toast-and-ketchup sandwich. The crisps
are OK.I've come to the conclusion that the only thing
edible that's English is Cadbury's chocolate (infinitely
better than the crap they sell in the U.S.), chips (i.e.,
french fries), crisps (i.e., potato chips) and food
cooked by immigrants from just about anyplace else.
Today there are more computer workshops, and I finally
get over to see the exhibit brought in by some Spanish
anarchists who've been attending all the computer sessions.
It's a retrospective of what's been going on in
Spain since 1970, very educational and good practice for my
rusty Spanish skills.Also went to see "The Death of
Imagination," a strange, three-part dramatic event featuring
Penny Rimbaud and Eve Libertine of Crass plus another
actor and some musicians. I'm still not sure what
I thought about this. It was veryI heavy. From the
program: "Pt 1) An introduction to the naked flesh through
the pictures of Auschwitz and the garishly painted Christ of
the local cathedral who, despite Nietzsche's claims to the
contrary, still lies at the very root of our cultural
consciousness."Actually, it wasn't as dire as that excerpt
makes it sound. It was very personal, obviously painful
stuff derived from Penny's life, I think putting it together
and performing it was a cathartic act for him, and an
interesting thing to see in person. The set was nifty
too.
Wednesday, October 26
The second beginner's Internet/BBS session comes off OK, although
we don't have our demos up since the computer went back
to Scotland with Ian. Since everything's done early
I set out for Camden Town, where I
check out an art exhibit by well-known anarchist illustrator
Clifford Harper and "G," the guy who used to do collages and
illustrations for the band Crass. It's good art, but there's
hardly enough of it to call an exhibit. I've been trying
to reach Fabian and his friend, the infamous Stewart Home.
Home is the skinhead author of several novels ("Red London,"
"No Pity," "Defiant Pose," etc.) that revolve around themes
of bloody street fighting, down-and-dirty sex and in-joke
portraits of his friends and enemies. Written as much like
the pulp-fiction masterpieces of his literary idol, Richard
Allen, as possible, they're a literal laugh riot. When we
can't connect, I take off for the evening's entertainment on
my own.The event is Smut Fest 94 emceed by an old friend
from SF, Jennifer Blowdryer. Ms Blowdryer left the punk-rock
world some years back for a more lucrative career as a sex
worker in New York, and had put together one hell of a
line-up for this.The idea is to present a politicized porn
cabaret, and featured performers included
stripper/dominatrix/porn star Danielle Willis (who I vaguely
remember from her days as a Mitchell Brothers girl);
necrophile poet Karen Greenlea of "Apocalypse Culture"
fame; an insane and very
tall drag queen named Burnel; Tuppy Owens, who's England's
answer to Susie Bright; and a really gorgeous babe who did
what was definitely the anti-CJB speech that got the closest
attention of the entire festival. There seems to be
something about talking politics while falling out of a
black-leather bikini that makes people shut up and
listen.Much attention was given to the Spanner case, in
which a group of gay men practicing consensual S/M sex were
busted and jailed recently. The only really boring parts of
the show were an overly-long gothic "execution ritual" by
some guy called Phil Adams and a few pieces of mildly filthy
but ultimately sleep-inducing poetry from William Levy,
former editor of a "Screw"-style magazine.
Thursday, October 27
Except for turning in that Mother Jones story, I blew off
most of the day doing some touristy things like getting
presents for the kids. My friend had company over for dinner
and we all had a good time eating lasagna and drinking wine.
And I finally got ahold of Stewart, and made plans to
meet up. I did meet up with my Spanish anarchist friends and
we went off to ind the elusive Unity Hall, a "Labor pub"
somewhere in a neighborhood that I don't think I could find
ever again. The reason? It was the site of "anarchist quiz
night," a political variation on the popular Brit pastime of
competing to answer the most Trivial Pursuit type questions
correctly whilst hoisting pints. Needless to say, when faced
with questions like "what was Louise Michel's nickname?" I
folded pretty rapidly.Simultaneous multi-language
translation made for lots of hilarity. My Spanish pals were
also failing miserably, and none of us really cared. The bar
had good, cheap beer (a rarity in London, let me tell you)
and weird-tasting chips flavored like turkey and stuffing.I
got an embarrassing 23 out of 100. But, hey, I bet YOU don't
know which cemetery Durruti's buried in either, do
you?
Friday October 28
Went in search of a workshop with some Yugoslavian anarchists
but missed it. So decided to go down Portobello Road,
check the world-famous flea market for some cool new shoes
and rouse Tom Vague (of Vague magazine). Didn't find shoes,
did find Tom, somewhat the worse for wear after
a night of drinking. At 2 p.m. he was still "not himself,"
so while he tried to pry his eyelids apart I chatted with a
slightly unhinged Indian/English girl who had been handing
around in German terrorist circles for the past several
years. She was looking for a place in Tom's neighborhood,
and I don't think he was real thrilled with the prospect.Got
some copies of "The Great British Mistake," a Vague best-of
that I had done some copy-editing on, and left with my new
acquaintance in tow. I finally lost her at Stockwell tube
station, thank god.And then it was off to find Stew and
Fabian on the Isle of Dogs. I was really disconcerted when a
bunch of scruffy brats grabbed me as I left the train and
insisted that I give them "money for their guy." Being
culturally illiterate over here, I didn't know that Guy
Fawkes day was coming up, when people blow off fireworks and
burn effigies. Kids collect cash to make the "Guys" to burn.
(Gay Fawkes was a fellow who tried to blow up Parliament,
often cited on t-shirts as "the only man to enter Parliament
with honest intentions.")I got lost wandering around this
depressing former swamp full of, yes, more housing projects.
Finally found Fabian's place, one of the ugliest and most
run-down buildings. The kind of place where every floor has
a security door, and all of them have been permanantly
jimmied by the residents or thieves. We had a terrific
evening, probably the most fun I had in the UK. Good food,
several bottles of wine, and we all talked ourselves
stupid.Saturday October 29The day of the big Campaign for
Nuclear Disarmament rally at Trafalgar Square,a and yet
another let-down for the London police. According to news
articles that came out later, the police had been expecting
a phalanx of several thousand hard-core anarchist
militants to disrupt the rally and riot in nearby Soho. So
they surrounded the square with every available officer, police lorry
and even rented buses full of what may have been rent-a-
cops. The square, however, was instead filled with peacenik
college kids and do-gooders listening to blisteringly boring
speeches by the kind of liberals that make you want to grab
the nearest shotgun.There were a few anarcho-types hanging
around, but it was obvious that this was not the place to
play "Fuck Tha Police" and do some cut-rate window-shopping
today.The cops had also put the kibosh on a punk gig planned
for that night at the nearby Astoria. Instead, those of us
who wanted to get our ears assaulted had to call the club,
which sent you to another phone number. Your call was
answered by the terse message "go to King's Cross Station,
you'll be directed from there," where you eventually found
the right guy who gave you directions to where someone else
was waiting, who gave you directions toward a street, where
we (by now a bunch of us were walking together) were in
turn moved along to the warehouse space by other people
skulking in doorways. It was like some bizarre scavenger
hunt.The illegal gig was overly full, I sure was glad to
have bought three beers right away because the organizers
ran out before the first band, Kochise from France, was done
playing. Kochise had brought a large coterie of extremely
annoying, very drunk French punks with them. They called out
the titles of their songs and what they were about in
amusingly broken English: "thees ees song about zee
Zapatistas een Mexico! Eet ees called, 'Viva
Zapataaaaaa'! "Oh yeah, they got everybody to do a singalong
to that old Crass chestnut, "Do They Owe Us a Living"
(chorus: "of course they fucking do!"). It was silly and, I
admit, I was singing too. Next up was Schwartzenegger, with
ex-Crass guy Steve Ignorant and a really awesome female
vocalist who sounded like a hardcore version of Poly
Styrene. Her vocals were girly and high-pitched but very
powerful nonetheless, and from what I could catch of the
lyrics from my precarious perch on top of a speaker there
was some intelligence happening here as well. Conflict, the
headliners, was actually quite
good. This was their first gig in a long time but it didn't
show. Very tight and muscular, but not as strong as they
were when I saw them eight years or so ago. But hey, neither
am I.The state of anarchopunk in the UK? Looked alright from
this standpoint.Sunday October 30Went to an "anarchi-
tecture" lecture at the Calthorpe Project, a self-built
community center in Camden. This was an appropriate location
for a session on self-building, complete with slides and
personal tales. The folks in attendance were mostly older
anarchists of the hippie-ish persuasion, including a couple
of architects and some travelers, who exhibited their nifty
caravan creations outside.Hit a whole bunch of bookstores
later this afternoon and got stuff for my partner. Can't
come home from overseas emptyhanded, you know.And I went to
Smut Fest again, not having anything better to do (yea h,
right).Monday October 31Went home. What a let-down.I heard
rumors that this is going to be an annual event, although
I'm not sure that some of the other organizers will want to
work with Ian Bone again, since he apparently did a lousy
job of getting the money for halls and stuff where it was
supposed to go. I know I had a fun time, I figure it was the
best way to see London, from the bottom up and with a bunch
of people actively doing to their best to accelerate its
destruction.