Afterwards, my friends and I met up with an acquaintance who happened to be a banker. That’s right: a banker (hey, they’re human beings too, people, come on!) I won’t name him, as I’d hate to endanger him by raising the ire of certain people - namely, his colleagues, as opposed to us protesters, who, after all, were enjoying a pint in the pub with him! Bankers have feelings, too, and in these tough times, I’m waiting for Tory leader David Cameron to abandon his “hug a hoodie” strategy and go back to his original ways of embracing bankers.
Our banker himself told us that he’d passed by the “Climate Camp” on his way to meet us and that the vibe was a peaceful one full of songs and dances and cakes - so peaceful, in fact, that he wanted to go back! So, after finishing our drinks, we accompanied him, failing to fulfill our role as freedom-hating terrorists thirsting for the blood of bankers. One of my friends had a suitcase with her, with the intention of joining the camp herself.
However, when we got there, those darned riot police had showed up again and created a blockade at both ends of the street where the camp was set up, meaning no one got in, or got out. Frustration followed for those inside, who couldn’t leave to go use a 30p London public toilet or get some overpriced snacks, and that frustration followed for us on the outside too, but we remained, in solidarity.
Then, word around the campfire (or camp) was that one man, Ian Tomlinson, had been assaulted by the police, and later died, reportedly of a heart attack. We got antsy, as more riot police arrived and squared up to us. Acting as a voice of reason for perhaps the first and last time in my life, I called for many of the protesters to “sit down,” believing myself to be a bright spark who remembered what worked as a tried-and-tested form of peaceful protest throughout history - and sure enough, a sit-in followed.
You can imagine my shock, then, when the riot police simply started punching, kicking, and swinging the edges of their shields at the seated demonstrators before my very eyes - women and the elderly included. So much for my voice of reason, which soon began to crack as I joined others in chanting “shame on you” at the police. My friend received a shield to the face and held her suitcase as a shield of her own, only to have it snatched and tossed behind the line of armored cops. We ran for our lives as they pursued us 1.6 miles up the street, pulling barriers into the road behind us in hope of salvaging some survival from police brutality - which, I expect, the media chose to catch on camera in time to show us committing “criminal damage.”
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