Theatre on the Frontline

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Londons Burning! Rioters close down the City! Mob Smashes Bank!
This i had to see, so I strolled up to the front of a line of riot police and asked the copper how i could get the 149 bus to London Bridge.

Breaking through the angry mob wasn't hard, a straggling line of scruffy students, trendy looking folk and the odd out-of-town hippie with dirty dreads and dull combat trousers. All standing around, trying to crane their necks to see over each over to look down the front.
Across Bishopsgate there was a line of policemen, shoulder to shoulder, glowing brightly in their high-visibility yellow jackets, shining numbers and untouched riotshields, they formed a glimmering wall across the road.
Immovable and adamant, they stood their ground against the stagnant crowd of onlookers, but like a coiled snake, they looked ever ready to lash out.

The crowd had taken their places and were awaiting the show.
Most carried cameras in anticipation of a scene - in fact, only one or two protesters at the front DIDN'T have a camera. One of them was a wild dervish of a dreadlocked traveller girl, singing at the coppers and tapping out a tune onto their clean riot shields, amusing the onlooking crowd who laughed and took lots of photos of her.

A tall protester tried to push past the police cordon, and the day-glo snake lurched - a baton was raised and a shield was pushed up against him. The mob moved in, their cameras flashing wildly. The shouting erupted and the police threatened everyone to move away, but more cameras clicked away, the lenses clashing into each other until the flurry of flashbulbs calmed down...


Up at the front i leant over the riot cordon and asked an uniformed officer my question
'How can i get through to London Bridge?'
The copper smiled and jestured to his right 'Down there first right and go round'
'Thanks mate!' i smiled and he grinned back at me, knowing the absurdity of the situation.

Some of the anarchist mob had lit a small fire in the street and were drumming on the metal flasks they had bought with them - probably filled with warm tea this morning, but now empty after a hard day protesting.
People were chatting and joking and swapping phone numbers, sharing cans of beer and flirting.
I warmed my hands by their burning log and moved on, the audience politely parting the way for me, and made sure i didnt bump any of the very expensive cameras they were holding.

Round the back of Bishopsgate and past St Marys Axe (the building known as the Gherkin) there were lines of white policevans, all with coppers chatting or tapping away at their mobile phones - hundreds of Extras in the Wings, ready to take to centre stage.
The police presence at 9 o'clock last night outnumbered the non-police by about 3 to 1- a cast of thousands for an audience of a few hundred. But what an amazing show the onlookers would have! The city blocks were a beautiful theatre, a glowing ampitheatre, with the privelged rich bankers up in their private boxes, looking down on the show and the scum in the scrum of the stalls. A helicopter hovered overhead, a massive spotlight picking out the main players. Lights! Cameras! Action!
The ringside crowd cheered and jeered, but none were sure of the story line - were the G20 politicians the badguys, or trying to save the world? Were we complaining about climate change or the downfall of our consumer society? And what about the placards about Gaza, or the old guy complaining about local Post Office closures?

No-one seemed to know, or seemed too bothered. Much like the audience that Shakespeare himself had to play to, this rowdy crowd were there for amusement, spectacle and fun. The world leaders of the G20 were in town and we were the choreographed backdrop to the importance of their meetings - these days, major political discussions need colourful protests to keep the public interested.

This was protesting as posturing, the police playing their part on the world stage, the mob acting up for the cameras - Theatre from the frontline, and the World was watching.

Beyond the crowd, I strolled down a deserted Gracechurch Street, that ancient route through The City, and over a quiet London Bridge. The Thames peacefully rolled underneath my feet, as gently as it had done for thousands of years.
London carried on through the night.

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Photos

Floodlit theatre
excuse my dodgy camera phone pictures! it was a bit chilly.

Comments

[JonathanCampion]

Thanks.
I really enjoyed this blog, as I do all of your writing. Your observation about "protesting as posturing" is spot on. J.

[thecrashpacker]

update
thanks, those were my thoughts after wandering into the demo and out through the other side, but it appears that the police here are being prosecuted for excessive force and possibly manslaughter after the protests. In the recent Thailand protests, 2 people died but the police/army have not been properly investigated or being charged... I guess one thing about England is that although it is not 100pc fair, it is a far sight fairer than most. The news over here is making a massive thing out of these charges. Its amazing though that with so many cameras recording every angle of the protests, there are only a couple of bits of abusive footage, therefore, hours of perfectly friendly, non abusive protesting. Not the ugly, demonic scenes that the news wants to project.