I sat down on a bench and peered into my phone and found the next event: a march about low pay. We were to meet by Temple underground station but an ominous message said that the organiser was ‘on holiday’, which meant that we were pretty much on our own. I hadn’t thought of a rule about how to handle this situation, so I invented a new one: the ‘unhosted event rule’. The new rule was: if the Meetup selection rules suggests a Meetup that is not hosted by anyone, you still have to go to find out what it is all about.
I looked through the list of people who had signed up and I recognised Tina, who I had met at the London Country Blues and Folk Meetup. I sent Tina a quick message to tell her that I was going to be at the ‘Britain needs a pay rise’ march, hoping we might bump into each other.
When I arrived at Temple, I found myself in the middle of a huge event. Stalls advertised flyers, badges and newspapers. Activists carried placards that said, ‘No Cuts’ and ‘No to Austerity’. I was asked by a Socialist Worker activist whether I wanted to sign a ‘minimum wage’ petition.
‘Would you like a sticker?’ I turned my head and was greeted by a friendly smile. A ‘homes not Trident’ sticker was presented to me on an outstretched index finger. I decided that I needed to join in, so I took the sticker and put it on my jacket: it was a simple action that implied that I was now officially a part of the protest. I chatted to one of the three sticker-meisters, who turned out to be a retired university lecturer called Natalie.
‘Are you here with your union?’ asked Natalie.
I explained that I was with another group, but I didn’t really know who they were, but confirmed that I was a member of a union.
‘Perhaps you could try to find them. What union are you with?’ I explained that I was a member of the university lecturers union.
‘I’m sure they’ll be here’.
On my way to the protest area I was gently accosted by an activist called Holly who was selling a newspaper called ‘The Socialist’. We chatted for a bit about union membership and I learnt that the government had issued a successful legal challenge against the union that I belonged to. I also learnt about a coalition of different trade unions that were trying to repeal anti-union legislation, and that there was also a proposed trade treaty between the EU and US that would give ‘big business’ the upper hand and erode aspects of the public sector. I found all this very interesting, but slightly overwhelming. We wished each other a good protest.
I continued to scan the faces of people who were leaving the Tube, but there was still no sign of Tina. As I was looking around, another activist gave me a welcoming smile. I went over to have a chat to a nice lady in her early sixties who was representing ‘workers fight’, which I later discovered was connected to the Internationalist Communist Union. She asked me what I did for a job. I told her I worked at a university.
‘What’s your subject, or discipline?’
‘Computing’. She appeared visibly disappointed. ‘Do you know much about the left movements in this country?’
‘Well, I’ve been to a meeting of the Socialist Party of Great Britain…’
‘Ah, yes, the SPGB. They have more of Marxist tradition, which is different to our movement, which is more Trotskyist.’ Sensing my general confusion, I was given a pamphlet that described a dispute that was going on at a Ford engine plant.
I glanced at my watch. It was now becoming clear that it was very unlikely that I would be able to find my Meetup friend Tina, so I decided to find out whether my union had showed up.
The march was beginning to assemble. I saw a red flag with the hammer and sickle emblazoned upon it. My eye caught sight of a group of policemen and women. I then noticed a group of protesters who were wearing black, covering their faces with scarves; I guessed they belonged to some kind of anarchist movement.
Moments later, I found my university lecturers union, which was suitably situated between the anarchists and the communists. It seemed my union was pretty organised: they had several banners, their own placards, and loads of helium balloons.
I wandered over to a group of union members to say hello; they turned out to be from the Institute of Education, but they didn’t really want to chat. I spoke with one of the union officials who had heard of a campaign that I had been involved with, but he was distracted: he was too involved in the running of the event, so I left him to do whatever organising he needed to do.
Gradually, I settled into a place in the march where I felt comfortable. I was ready. I had a packed lunch, a bottle of water, and a copy of The Socialist. I was to offer silent solidarity, but I was sure that I would chat to fellow members when we got going.
‘Sarah! What are you doing here?!’ I recognised a colleague. Sarah worked in the same office that I did and had been doing a lot of work to support members who had been made redundant; she had been doing a great job organising and running meetings. My own contribution had been meagre. I hadn’t been doing much other than listening during meetings and making the occasional comment here and there; I felt that I needed to learn more about the culture of the union and the dynamic between the members and ‘the employer’ before figuring out what I might be able to help.
‘You been on many of these?’ Sarah asked. I replied that it was my third ever protest. The first one was to protest against the invasion of Iraq. The last one was about the closure of an accident and emergency department of a local hospital.
‘I love it that the roads are all closed; you can look at all the buildings in a whole new way’ said Sarah.
Our march began. It snaked its way along the Victoria Embankment, down The Strand and past Trafalgar Square. It then made its way down Pall Mall, onto Piccadilly, passing Green Park and then finally Hyde Park. Parts of Piccadilly seemed entirely new to me: it was an adventure I was enjoying; it was a walk I had never done before. Sarah took advantage of the moment, looking skyward towards the tops of buildings whilst I puzzled over how the different streets connected together.
‘Keep left! Hard left please! Hard left!’ an organiser shouted as the march started to narrow. I turned to Sarah: ‘I’m not sure whether that’s a political direction or a physical direction...’
A branch of HSBC bank had been daubed with ‘pay your tax’ stickers, a couple of protesters carried drums that looked like the drums I had seen in a basement in Islington. In front of us was a family; a child was being pushed in a pushchair. Police community support officers wandered between us in blue tabards. Observers from a civil rights movement looked on, carrying clipboards. Gradually, the different groups started to merge with each other. We were still followed by the communists but the anarchists, however, were nowhere to be seen.
‘Chris!’ I turned around.
‘How are you doing, mate!’ It was a friend of mine called Gary who performed on the open mic comedy circuit. He had stopped off for a swift pint and was trying to find his way back to the actors’ union. He was with two other comics, both of whom seemed drunk. He told me he was with ‘Johnny Glasgow’ and Johnny had an awesome placard that read: ‘comics against the Tory cu*ts’. I introduced Gary to Sarah, but then minutes later he was gone; we had lost each other in the vast crowds.
As the protest march entered Hyde Park, Sarah decided to call it a day; she had a long journey to get home. We gave each other a hug and wished each other a great weekend. After she had gone I pressed onto the end of the park, where I knew there would be a stage and speeches.
Thousands of people stood and sat. Massive television screens showed the faces of those who were making speeches about the challenges faced by those who work on low pay; the impossible dream of buying their own home, the possibility that the National Health Service might be ripped apart and ‘for profit’ businesses taking over, the outrage that there is such a huge disparity between those who run corporations and those who carry out essential jobs within them. Points were made about the importance of working together, with our unions, to ensure that our rights were not eroded by corporations and greedy executives who just want to take advantage of us; protest is a necessity, as is solidarity.
As I listened to the speeches, I wandered about, looking for Gary. I found the Equity sign, but I couldn’t see anyone I recognised. I then looked around for the banner of my own union, but I couldn’t see it anywhere. It had been packed up and put away. Overhead, dark clouds started to gather, but it didn’t rain; they were just threatening, but the wind had picked up. From a distance away from the main stage, I looked out across Hyde Park for one last time. People were starting to go home.
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