by Owen Jones
Although the old industrial heartlands are generally associated with mining and manufacturing areas in the North, industry disappeared in parts of the South too. Hundreds of thousands of mostly light industrial jobs disappeared in London and southern England. In October 2011, the Government's Cabinet Office published a report on the riots, based on interviews in five of the worst-hit areas. In Tottenham, for example, the report found that 'Decline in local industry and subsequently in retail on its high street were factors seen as being responsible for the lack of jobs. Interviewees described the hopelessness of some young people in the face ofIimited opportunities." Again, this disappearance of opportunities has affected a large proportion of young working-class men, the overwhelming majority of whom did not riot. But with so many leaving school with nothing much to look forward to, itshould not be all that surprising if a small minority should respond to their bleak prospects in this way.
A toxic combination of inequality and consumerism also undoubtedly played its part. In 1979, Britain was one of the most equal Western societies. After three decades of Thatcherism, it is now one of the least equal. The Gini coefficient-which measures levels of inequality in a society-has shot up from .25 to .40 in three decades. London is one of the most unequal cities on earth: the richest 10 per cent is worth 273 times more than the poorest 10 per cent" London is not-yet-like Paris, where the affluent are concentrated in the centre, and the poorest are more likely to be found in the banlieues (the suburbs). In London, the rich and the poor live almost on top of each other. On a daily basis, the least well-off are able to see what they will never have. Take Clapham Junction, one of the scenes of August 2011's riots. A railway separates the affluent south from deprived estates to the north. 'If they [young people] ever wanted reminding of what they don't have, this is a good place to be,' one 'community stake-holder' told the Cabinet office investigators.
Britain is a hyper-consumerist society. Status has so much to do with what we own or wear. The vast majority of young people want to be part of this consumerism, but many face huge financial obstacles. What surprised me least of all about the looting was the targeting of trainers. When Iwas growing up, they were a huge status symbol: to have an unfashionable pair could bring ridicule. No wonder, then, that Foot Locker was looted, while more upmarket stores were simply burned to the ground. The goods may have been worth more, but they had no relevance to the lives of young people: they brought no status.
Hostility towards the police was an important factor, too. Since the riots, Ihave spoken to a number of young black men about their experiences with the police. Like me, they have never been charged with an offence. But there was one major difference: while Ihave never been stopped and searched by the police, it was an experience they have all endured throughout their lives. One told me that he was first stopped and searched at the age of twelve when he was on his waytobuy milk for his mother. Sometimes the police officers were sympathetic, or even almost apologetic; at other times they were aggressive or threatening. Some officers acted as if'we're the biggest gang around here'-a sentiment that cropped up in interviews with convicted rioters. Indeed, interviews with rioters conducted by the Reading the Riots study-a collaboration between the LSE, the Joseph Rowntree Foundation, and the Guardian-found that rioters identified anti-police sentiment as the biggest single cause of the unrest. 11
of course, many of the rioters got involved because they saw an opportunity to steal with impunity. For others, it was a vicarious thrill; a chance to show off in front of friends, and to be able to boast that they were a part of the action. Some just got caught up in a crowd, sensing that accepted social norms had temporarily been suspended. Others looked at the shameless greed of the bankers and politicians, feeling that if those at the top could get away with it, why couldn't they? And there were others who felt frustrated, angry, disillusioned, or bored. The specific motives varied from case to case; for some, there was a combination of reasons. But what united the rioters and looters of England's hot August was there was not much for them to put at risk, and a lack of faith in--or outright antipathy towards--the local police.
Noone can predict whether there will be a new wave of riots. But it is certain that the most drastic cuts since the 1920s will have a devastating impact on Britain's social fabric. Growing numbers of people (of all ages) will inevitably have a mounting sense that there is a bleak future ahead. In those circumstances, anger and frustration will surely only increase-s-and unless it is organized and given political direction, it could manifest itself in the ugliest of ways.
2011 was a year of turmoil across the globe: not least because of a deep- ening economic crisis, and the courage and determination of millions of Arabs in rising up against the brutal, senile tyrannies that ruled over them. This new era of unrest represented another shift taking place, one with profound implications for my arguments. Chavs is, in large part, a story about the legacy of defeat: that is, the consequences of the pound- ing suffered by the British labour movement and many working-class communities in the 1980s. I argued that the demonization identified was 'the flagrant triumphalism of the rich who, no longer challenged by those below them, instead point and laugh at them'. But even as Chavs was published, this triumphalism was under attack.
At the end of 2011, Time magazine named 'The Protester' as its 'Person of the Year'. Indeed, whether it was uprisings against murderous despots or mass demonstrations against austerity, the protest made one of its biggest comebacks since the I960s--including in Britain, which expe- rienced waves of demonstrations, occupations, and strikes. Although,as yet, there has been no sustained challenge to the position of the wealthy elites, it has once more become clear that it is possible to resist.
In Britain, the new age of dissent arrived on 10 November 2010, when the National Union of Students called a demonstration against the proposed trebling of tuition fees. Only 20,000 or so were expected to tum up; the actual number on the day was around 52,000. Most of those who had taken to the street were newly politicized, and they found the experience of marching alongside young people both exhila- rating and empowering. A section of the demonstration occupied Westminster's Millbank Tower, where the Conservative Party has offices. Although the scenes became the focus of a self-righteous media eager to condemn 'violence' --even though there was hardly any-the Millbank occupation became a symbol of resistance for many radicalized young people. Despite the lack of support from the National Union of Students leadership, the following weeks saw a series of pro- tests, while dozens of occupations were staged at universities across the country.
Amid all the moral outrage and focus on smashed windows, the media missed one of the most interesting elements of the protests. Many of the most vocal, determined protesters were not middle-class students, but working-class teenagers who were furious at the scrapping of the Educational Maintenance Allowance-s-means-tested government subventions given to those from poorer backgrounds to keep them in education. Many of them felt that a government of millionaires was slamming the door in their faces. Previously they had been dismissed as, at best, an apathetic mass with few interests outside X-Factor and iPhones; and, at a worst, a social threat that had to be contained. But here they were: politically astute, indignant, and determined to make their long-ignored voices heard.
The students did not stop the government forcing the trebling of tuition fees through Parliament, but the myth of British passivity was shattered. Trade unions-still drastically weakened and lacking in confidence-s-looked on at the protesting students with more than a little interest. In the words of Len McCluskey, leader of Unite--the biggest trade union in the country-the students had put trade unions 'on the spot'. In 2011, the unions' turn came.
As austerity began biting into jobs and living standards, the trade union movement called on people to 'March for the Alternative' on 26 March 2011. Itwas the biggest workers' protest for over a generation. Here was a cross-section of the modern British working class, hundreds of thousands strong, s
tanding up to a government that was forcing them to pay for a crisis they had no role in causing.
The protest marked the beginning of a new wave of trade-union resistance. After assuming office, the Conservative-led government announced so-called reforms to public sector pensions-'reforms' being a term that had long since changed in meaning from 'social progress' to 'rolling it back'. Arguing that public sector pensions were becoming unaffordable, the government unveiled plans to make workers pay more and work longer for their pensions and receive less. Yet a recently commissioned Government report written by ultraBlairite ex-Labour Minister John Hutton revealed that public sector pensions would fall as a proportion of Britain's economy: in other words, they were set to become more affordable. In any case, the extra money raised was not intended to bolster pension funds, but to flow straight into the Treasury's coffers. This was in fact a deficit tax being imposed on public sector workers from dinner ladies to teachers.
Exploiting the fact that private sector pension coverage had collapsed over the previous decade, the government attempted to play divide-and-rule politics, a strategy amplified across the media. Why, the argument went, should private sector workers with comparatively meagre pensions subsidize the generous settlements of the public sector? There was no doubt that there had been a collapse in private sector pension provision. At the beginning of 2012, the Association of Consulting Actuaries warned that nine out of ten private sectordefined benefit schemes were closed to new entrants. But what was being proposed was a race to the bottom; public sector pensions should be dragged down, not private sector pensions dragged up.
The majority of public sector workers saw this rhetoric for what it really was: on 30 June 2011, hundreds of thousands of teachers and civil servants went on strike. But with the Government still refusing to make significant concessions, trade union ballots across the public sector delivered overwhelming support for industrial action. On 30 November, lollipop ladies, bin collectors, nurses and other workers went on strike. It was the biggest wave of industrial action since the 1926 General Strike. After all the many obituaries written about the trade union movement, the collective power of working people was back On the agenda.
Other movements, too, helped put class back on the agenda. In October 2011, anti-austerity protesters occupied Wall Street in the United States. They were, in part, inspired by the Spanish indignados (outraged) who had occupied Madrid's main square the previous May in protest at the Spanish government's response to the banking crisis; they, in tum, had followed the example of Egyptian revolutionaries who had taken Cairo's Tahrir Square. The New York protests spawned a global 'Occupy' movement, as similar camps were set up in hundreds of cities across the globe-including London, where tents were erected outside St Paul's Cathedral. The key slogan of the Occupy movement, 'We are the 99 per cent', reflected that the interests of the overwhelming majority of people conflicted with those of the elite 1 per cent at the top.
It may not have been an accurate figure, but that wasn't the point: the slogan tapped into a deep sense of injustice that had taken root since the collapse of Lehman Brothers in September 2008. Above all, it served as a reminder of who had caused the economic crisis and who was actually being made to pay for it.And itresonated. A poll conducted by ICM in October 2011 revealed that 38 per cent believed 'the protesters are naive; there is no practical alternative to capitalism-the point is to get it moving again'. But another 51 per cent agreed that 'the protesters are right to want to call time on a system that puts profit before people' .
Britain remains in the middle of an apparently intractable crisis. As things stand, the position of the wealthy elite remains strong the world over, and the future looks incredibly bleak for millions of working people. But I passionately believe that hope lies in a return to class politics-that is, a rejection of the fiction that 'We're all in this together', and a recognition that while working people share basic common interests, they are on a collision course with the interests of those at the top.
else, it sought to highlight the central crisis of modem-the lack of working-class political representation. Only an organized movement of working people can challenge the economic madness that threatens the future oflarge swathes of humanity . But such a movement is impos- sible unless a number of myths are debunked: that we're all essentially middle-class; that class is an outdated concept; and that social problems are the failings of the individual.
My book is one contribution to taking on those myths. However, social change does not come through the scribblings of sympathetic writers, but through mass pressure from below. As an ideologically charged austerity programme inflicts hardship on communities across the country, there will surely be a growing determination to fight for an alternative. The Tories, unreconstructed Blairites and their wealthy backers would be reckless to imagine they have already won. There is still all to play for.
February 2012
Introduction
It's an experience we've all had. You're among a group of friends or acquaintances when suddenly someone says something that shocks you: an aside or a flippant comment made in poor taste. But the most disquieting part isn't the remark itself. It's the fact that no one else seems the slightest bit taken aback. You look around in vain, hoping for even a flicker of concern or the hint of a cringe.
I had one of those moments at a friend's dinner in a gentrified part of East London one winter evening. The blackcurrant cheesecake was being carefully sliced and the conversation had drifted to the topic of the moment, the credit crunch. Suddenly, one of the hosts tried to raise the mood by throwing in a light-hearted joke.
'It's sad that Woolworth's is closing. Where will all the chavs buy their Christmas presents?'
Now, he was not someone who would ever consider himself to be a bigot. Neither would anyone else present: for, after all, they were all educated and open-minded professionals. Sitting around the table were people from more than one ethnic group. The gender split was fiftyfifty and not everyone was straight. All would have placed themselves somewhere left-of-centre politically. They would have bristled at being labelled a snob. If a stranger had attended that evening and disgraced him or herself by bandying around a word like 'Paki' or 'poor, they would have found themselves swiftly ejected from the flat.
But no one flinched the contrary: everybody at a joke about chavs shopping in W oolies. To laughed. I doubt that many would have known that this derogatory term originates from the Romany word for child, 'chavi'. Neither were they likely to have been among the 100,000 readers of The Little Book of Chavs, an enlightened tome that describes 'chavs' as 'the burgeoning peasant underclass', If they had picked it up from a bookshop counter for a quick browse, they would have learned that chavs tend to work as supermarket checkout cashiers, fast-food restaurant workers and cleaners. Yet deep down, everyone must have known that 'chav' is an insulting word exclusively directed against people who are working class. The 'joke' could easily have been rephrased as: 'It's sad that Woolworth's is closing. Where will the ghastly lower classes buy their Christmas presents?'
And yet it wasn't even what was said that disturbed me the most. It was who said it, and who shared in the laughter. Everyone sitting around that table had a well-paid, professional job. Whether they admitted it or not, they owed their success, above all, to their back- grounds. All grew up in comfortable middle-class homes, generally out in the leafy suburbs. Some were educated in expensive private schools. Most had studied at universities like Oxford, LSE or Bristol. The chances of someone from a working-class background ending up like them were, to say the least, remote. Here I was, witnessing a phenomenon that goes back hundreds of years: the wealthy mocking the less well-off.
And it got me thinking. How has hatred of working-class people become so socially acceptable? Privately educated, multi-millionaire comedians dress up as chavs for our amusement in popular sitcoms such as Little Britain. Our newspapers eagerly hunt down horror stories about 'life among the chavs' and pass them off
as representative of working-class communities. Internet sites such as 'ChavScum' brim with venom directed at the chav caricature. It seems as though working- class people are the one group in society that you can say practically anything about.
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You would be hard pushed to find someone in Britain who hates chavs as much as Richard Hilton. Mr Hilton is the chief executive of Gymbox, one of the trendier additions to London's flourishing fitness scene. Known for its creatively titled gym classes, Gymhox is unashamedly aimed at fitness freaks with deep pockets, demanding a steep £175 [oining fee on top of £72 a month for membership. As Mr Hilton himself explains, Gymbox was launched to tap into the insecurities of its predominantly white-collar professional clientele. 'Members were asking for self-defence classes, as they were scared living in London,' he says.
In spring 2009, Gymbox unveiled a new addition to its already eclectic range of classes (including Boob Aerobics, Pole Dancing and Bitch Boxing): Chav Fighting. 'Don't give moody grunting Chavs an ASBO,' its website urged, 'give them a kicking.' The rest of the promotional spiel did not pull its punches either, in the voice of a vigilante with a good grasp ofPR. 'Forget stealing candy from a baby. We'll teach you how to take a Bacardi off a hoodie and ruma grunt into a whine. Welcome to Chav Fighting, a place where the punch bags gather dust and the world is put to rights.' The leaflets were even more candid. 'Why hone your skills on punch bags and planks of wood when you can deck some Chavs ... a world where Bacardi Breezers are your sword and ASBOs are your trophy.'
