Showing posts with label dudley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dudley. Show all posts

Sunday, 4 April 2010

The Day of Waiting Around

I seem to have spent a lot of time waiting in the cold today. All, of course, in a good cause.

Neal, Mark, Pritpal and I joined many likeminded middle-class liberals to spend several hours in a Dudley carpark. It was our bit to combat the fascist scourge.

Less flippantly, there's a nasty little groups called the English Defence League which combines football and fascism. They're a front for the British National Party and claim to be anti-Islamic rather than racist (as though that's OK), and every demonstration they hold turns into a rampage on their part - such as in Bolton and Stoke recently (they're all from, and like to wreck, already depressed towns).

Today was Dudley's turn: in the midst of almost total social and economic breakdown, caused by capitalism (a massive out of town mall destroyed what used to be a thriving market town), they massed to protest against a mosque. Predictably, some of them turned to attacking the rozzers, their own stewards (!) and breaking things - several arrests.



In case you wonder about the intellectual capacities of these types, check out the comments on the Youtube video. Here's a sample:
better to get rid asasp !we are losing our english traits ! churches instead of mosque ? its england not fucking india ! dont like it ? fuck off back 

Meanwhile, a large proportion of the 3000 police were employed rounding up and filming a bunch of liberals confined to a car park a long way from the fascists. I particularly despise the myriads of police cameramen, the Forward Intelligence Teams, who illegally film everyone and put us all on a database, rather than gather evidence of actual crimes. More pictures here.




I only saw them search Asians

Multiculturalism in action


If the skills required to fight reaction are sectarian bickering and newspaper selling (a ritual activity at such gatherings), then we're highly trained. Rather than actually doing anything, the myriad groupuscules on the British left would rather argue over arcane ideological points. I think they actually enjoy the arguments and fear the responsibility of power.



I could have bought:
Socialist Worker (SWP: not socialists, not workers, can't party)
Socialist Review
Socialist Outlook
Socialist Appeal (their seller wasn't very appealing - denied being a party but didn't explain who was funding a newspaper)
The Socialist
The Militant
and a range of other papers, one for every two demonstrators. Meanwhile, some ineffective speeches were made and drums were banged. Actually, I found it all very appealingly nostalgic - I used to go on lots of these and loved the familiar slogans, the papers, the whistles, the camaraderie. This one was rather nice: some lads dressed up like the old Black Bloc and occasionally made a half-hearted attempt to rush the police lines, but nothing happened.



Still, they also serve who stand and wait, eh? It was important to turn up and remind each other (nobody from the public or the EDL could see us) that the streets aren't the preserve of the fascists. Delightfully, I found myself on the train with these charming fellows, all sloping back to their holes in Stoke - the closest I got all day.

A flying picket



Wiggum waddles into action


I had a brainwave actually. All these fascists seem to hail from absolute dumps, including my hometown of Stoke. They think that everyone of non-British origin should be sent 'home' (despite the utter impossibility of finding anyone who's 'pure British' - it would mean sending all the Anglo-Saxons back to Germany and the Scots back to Ireland).

Josiah Wedgwood, who founded Stoke's ceramics industry. He often sports a beer bottle, and sometimes a Stoke City shirt.


So. Let's give them somewhere nobody else wants, like Dudley. Fence it off. Give them the seeds of any plant that can be proven 'indigenous'. The same with cattle. Remove any tool, machine and object of foreign origin. According to their racial theories, their community will become a Utopia.

Return in, say, 5 years to check the results. My guess is that it won't be an earthly paradise.

Wednesday, 24 June 2009

Court Short

What an appalling waste of a day. Rather than swimming, writing and blogging, I dragged myself out by 8 a.m. to get to Brierley Hill, where Dudley County Court is based. It's a converted office block in the midst of a depressing business estate (mostly To Let) - but at least the legal toffs have to travel through the concrete jungle to get there.

Once inside, the victim, her mother, their (Lithuanian) translator and I were left in an airless, featureless room for 6 hours. We got over the language barrier and chatted a bit: our first meeting was rather fraught and social niceties weren't observed. I've been to Lithuania so we talked about Vilnius, and the translator studied in the Philology department at Vilnius University, where I gave a paper, so we discovered mutual acquaintances, but after a while, boredom, the upcoming confrontation, and the artificiality of the situation intruded on our sunny dispositions.

Turns our there was nothing to anticipate. First the defendant's lawyer and his interpreter (don't know which language) went to the cells to point out that he was guilty as sin and should give up now in exchange for a lighter sentence. Then there were apparently several hours of legal argument. Then we were informed that the defendant had sacked his lawyer and the new one would need a few months to acquaint himself with the case.

So my day was wasted, the victim was left without resolution and still clearly terrified of this bloke, a professional translator had been hired for the day, plus a night in a hotel, plus the very expensive legal teams (all paid for by the state) - what a farce. And it's all going to happen again at some point in the future. At least I got to read the paper in peace, get a long way through Anglo-Saxon Attitudes and avoid a deathly staff discussion day, though the architecture and decor were virtually indistinguishable from the university. There's a joke about incarceration and Kafka in there somewhere, but I'll leave it to you.

Still, I saw a little bit more of the West Midlands and can tick it off the list of places to visit. Dudley was closed and Brierley Hill had clearly recently been used for a post-apocalypse film (although Survivors made the postwar city look livelier and cleaner). There's something rather sweet about listening to Bach's Cello Suites while gazing out on post-industrial decay, the grey relieved only by the occasional splash of vomit on the pavement.

How's your day been?