Dan Kieran
Page 4
My mind was running off in panic down Whitehall and losing itself in the streets of Covent Garden when I realized that if I stepped onto Parliament Square and joined the group of protesters it would be only a matter of time before the police had a file with my name on it. If I got arrested, which after all was supposed to be the whole point of the exercise, I would no longer be an ordinary member of the public; I would have become a ‘troublemaker’ for the rest of my life. According to the Foreign Office, if I got arrested, regardless of whether or not I was actually found guilty of any crime, I could forget about ever visiting America because they routinely refuse visas to anyone who has had their collar felt.
It wasn’t long before I’d managed to convince myself that if I so much as looked at the picnickers I would be dragged off kicking and screaming into the back of a police van. Back at the YMCA, Matthew had talked about people’s fear of arrest. He pointed out that being with the protesters did not make you one. This was no comfort though, as my excessive flatulence began to prove. I literally trumped my way along Whitehall. Before long I turned the corner and saw the square. There were hundreds of tourists milling about, gazing up at Big Ben, but none on the square itself, which was surrounded by a moat of traffic. Parliament Square is an obvious place to come if you’re a tourist visiting London. In fact Parliament Square itself is a World Heritage Site, which is one of the reasons why Brian Haw’s protest was such a problem for MPs. On 19 May 2004, Sir George Young MP raised concerns in the House of Commons about the impact of Brian’s presence: ‘He [Brian] began by camping on the grass in Parliament Square, but was moved on by the Greater London Authority, which manages it. He has camped outside ever since, sleeping on the pavement under a plastic sheet, accompanied by an unsightly accumulation of placards, flags and hoardings, and assaulting the eardrums of anyone within range - audible graffiti on the walls of Parliament publicizing his minishantytown. This is not a conventional demonstration of the type that we know, accept and sometimes enjoy, but an unacceptable visual and audible intrusion that risks becoming permanent.’20 On 7 February 2005 Parliament debated suggested amendments to the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act which included one proposal to reduce the exclusion zone from 1,000 to 100 metres, an idea some felt was an entirely practical alternative. For five and a half hours MPs debated ‘New Clause 18 - Demonstrating without authorization in the designated area’, which later became Section 132 of the SOCPA when the bill became law. Sir Patrick Cormack MP commented in the House, ‘I do not think that any individual has the right indefinitely to deface the centre of a great capital city, which is what we have seen over the past three years with Mr Haw.’ Glenda Jackson MP was speaking as the debate drew to a close. ‘I have heard people say that no such demonstrations as we have seen for the past three years should be allowed in Parliament Square because it is a World Heritage Site,’ she said. ‘It is a World Heritage Site not because of that rather scruffy square of grass or the statues at its corners, and it is certainly not surrounded by buildings of overwhelming architectural excellence, with the exception possibly of Westminster Abbey. It is a centre that the whole world comes to visit because of what has happened in this Parliament, and certainly what happened in Westminster Abbey. This building [the Houses of Parliament] is a symbol to the world of a democratic system whereby the rights of the individual were placed above those of, in the first instance, a sovereign, and, in the second instance, a state. Westminster Abbey is the great symbol of Christianity with its call to all of us to have compassion for those who are the lowest in our esteem. We should be—’21 And at that point she was cut off and the debate was closed. The amendment to reduce the designated area to 100 metres was refused. It could only happen in Britain.
I wandered round the perimeter of the square looking for some way of getting across the road but I couldn’t find a single pedestrian crossing. The only way to get over to it was to run across the road during a break in the traffic. I looked ahead for a smile and the waving hand of a fellow protester but there was no-one to be seen. It was 12.10 p.m. Surely the picnickers hadn’t already been arrested and carted away? Brian was there, on the pavement, looking out towards Parliament and Big Ben. The wind got up, and I remembered Matthew saying how cold the protests had become. It was one thing having a picnic in August, but having one at the end of October was slightly less inviting. Perhaps they’d decided to call it off and save their ideas for the big event on 6 November.
I began to feel like a criminal staking out the joint as I sat on a bench eating a sandwich I’d brought from home. After half an hour of introspection, gazing up at Big Ben and listening to the increasingly irate road rage of the passing motorists, I got bored and headed for home across Green Park. I crossed the road, walked round the corner and saw the entrance to the Cabinet War Rooms. I stopped and stared at it for a minute, feeling a strange urge to go in.
Now, comparing the threat of Hitler and Nazi Germany to not being able to have a picnic on Parliament Square seemed a little far-fetched, even for me. But World War Two jvos the last time the freedom of the people of Great Britain was truly threatened. It was also the last time the government brought in ID cards and a whole raft of other measures designed with security rather than freedom in mind. The difference then, of course, was that these measures were actually necessary. Britain was fighting for its life on foreign soil while back at home parts of London were being reduced to rubble by the Luftwaffe every night. It’s hardly the same level of threat we have today when statistically you’re more likely to be seriously injured putting on your socks22 than by an act of terrorism. After the war most of these measures were phased out because in peacetime the price was no longer worth paying. But that makes it sound as though I was trying to justify going in when in fact I’m a great believer in wandering about aimlessly to see where coincidence and serendipity will lead you if you’re prepared to spare them the time. The entrance fee, £10.50, seemed a little steep but I decided to go for it and joined a queue of American tourists.
I emerged an hour later feeling a little stunned and surprised. The War Rooms are slightly bewildering. In this day and age they seem rather quaint and sweet - the technology of elastic bands, paper cups and those old phone systems where a woman with conservative hair plugs and unplugs wires to patch you through to your caller. Apparently, during the war rats were a real problem, and they had no air-conditioning and pre-politically correct attitudes to smoking. It can’t have been pleasant. According to one of the commentaries, Churchill was a bit of a cantankerous old sod when the War Cabinet met to discuss operations. He had a habit of feigning deafness when his ministers and advisers didn’t agree with him, but to his credit, and unlike Hitler, he never went against the will of the collective even if he himself disagreed.
As I walked round those dark, cramped passages, it seemed absurd that the marauding Nazi empire had been held off for so long by this small band of people underground and those above ground in the country at large. There was a spirit in the land back then, a determination to stand up and fight for freedom. Of course, sixty years on, what they won the war with isn’t in those passages any more, and you’ll be hard pressed to find it out in the country either. After the war the rooms were sealed until 1970, and now they have been turned into a rather impressive, if slightly confusing, state-of-the-art museum. It’s a shame we can’t commandeer those rooms again today. Britain was conquered while they were closed, that’s for sure. Conquered by an infantry pincer movement of overwork and over-consumption and the cavalry charge of consumer debt. We don’t seem to have the stomach to stand up for ourselves any more. Either that or we’re all just too busy. We never seem to have time to think. Which is a shame, because if people don’t have time to think and hold their government to account you get to a stage where you can be arrested for holding up a banner that says ‘Freedom of Speech’.
I got home earlier than I’d planned, relieved not to have been arrested. I visited the picnic website to see if there
’d been any excitement I’d missed out on. There was no mention of any new arrests nor an explanation for the absence of protesters earlier in the day, but there was a message for everyone to come to a party in Parliament Square on 6 November.
They were having a teddy bears’ picnic
‘It cost £94. Well, £104.92 including postage. It is a bona fide business expense though. I won’t get taxed 20 per cent on the hundred pounds, so it’s effectively only really £80.’
Rachel began to laugh. Wilf, our ten-month-old son, was sitting on the floor trying to reach my computer keyboard.
‘You’re actually going through with it then? You’ve bought a teddy bear suit to wear on Sunday in Parliament Square?’
I was feeling as though I might have overstretched myself and was looking for reassurance. I moved Wilf towards his large rocking snail.
‘I suppose Wilfy will like having a daddy-sized teddy bear,’ Rachel added. ‘But I do think you’re completely insane.’
I sat down and took a deep breath.
A notice had appeared earlier that evening on the picnic website:
PRESS RELEASE 2/11/05 Federation of Teddy Protesters assert Freedom to Protest The Federation of Teddy Protesters are becoming increasingly unhappy with the way their furless friends, the Parliament Square Picnickers, have been harassed by the police since the introduction of the Serious and Organised Crime and Police Act (2005) this year. This draconian law forbids demonstrations within lkm of Parliament without the prior ‘authorization' of the police. To date they have made at least 19 arrests. Five of those arrested were our friends the Parliament Square Picnickers. Their crime? Simply daring to eat cakes with ‘Freedom to Protest 'Freedom of Speech' and ‘Save our Speech’ written on them in icing, for wearing T-shirts with slogans such as 'Make Trade Fair' and ‘Peaceful protest is an essential part of democracy', for discussing the important issues of the day at their 'people’s commons’, for clapping in a provocative manner and generally drinking tea without prior 'authorization'. The T-shirts have been seized as evidence.
Being inanimate objects and therefore not subject to this outrageously undemocratic legislation, the Federation of Teddy Protesters (FTP) have decided to support their comrades by staging a ‘Teddy Bears' Picnic ’ this Sunday at noon in Parliament Square. We call on all free-thinking Teddies who value free speech, and the right to drink any beverage without authorization, to join us in tea, cakes, party games and peaceful protest.
I was on my third glass of wine, and the press release, coupled with the knowledge that the idea I had suggested back at the YMCA was actually going to happen, had made me bubble over with enthusiasm. Everybody would be wearing teddy bear suits! It would be hilarious! I had to get one. I couldn’t be the only one without a teddy bear suit. Two minutes later I’d spent a hundred pounds. Teddies would take over Parliament Square. I could already see the newspaper front pages. It was genius!
There were, however, certain practicalities that I hadn’t considered. Rachel pointed out one of them: ‘How are you going to get it there? Are you going to get on the tube wearing it?’ Wearing a teddy bear suit in public would certainly not be very dignified. And once I reached the square there would be no way of blending into the background as the police approached, that’s for sure. Still, at least I wouldn’t be the only one. That really would be humiliating. I rallied myself. If enough of us were prepared to look ridiculous we would definitely pull it off.
The next morning I bounded up the stairs with a large box containing my new teddy suit. Rachel, laughing again, demanded I try it on immediately. I cut open the box. A pair of paws and a pair of feet lay on top of the headpiece and finally the suit itself. It was enormous. I tried it all on and Wilf immediately began to cry. He crawled off down the corridor with tears streaming down his little face. Rachel looked horrified. ‘You look really frightening,’ she said. ‘Since when do teddy bears have such scary teeth?’ It was true. The headpiece did have a particularly nasty set of yellow gnashers. I’d managed to buy the only teddy bear suit known to man that actually looked intimidating. I took the headpiece off and sat down on the sofa feeling dejected. Rachel was right: it was complete madness.
Although, I began to realize as I stroked my fur, it was actually rather comfortable. I ran my hands over my furry arms and legs, scratched my furry tummy and reclined on the sofa. It would, I thought, be a brilliant lounging-around suit for wearing at home. Like the kind of thing you imagine everyone wears in the Playboy mansion. Well, I would wear one if I got into the Playboy mansion. It oozed a wonderful kind of class and sophistication born of reckless confidence. The tail was a little uncomfortable to sit on, there were no pockets and it wasn’t the most flattering thing I’d ever worn (I suppose all teddies have pot bellies on account of all those picnics), but those things aside it was rather cool. Suddenly, normal clothes seemed absurd compared to this ultra-comfortable, warm and cuddly adult romper suit. I stroked my back and my shoulders and let out a little purr. Why had I never thought of getting one before? This was the comfiest thing I’d ever worn in my life! After twenty minutes the acrylic lining did begin to itch my legs, but I put on some tracksuit trousers underneath, tucked them into a long pair of socks, and it was perfect. So perfect that I fell asleep on the sofa.
The day of the protest started rather badly. I had a terrible hangover following a firework party at a friend’s. We’d got in at three, and I’d had to get up with Wilf at six to watch Teletubbies. Consequently, the early part of the day had a vaguely hallucinogenic tinge to it. Outside, inevitably, it was pouring with rain.
I was feeling rather nervous. Rachel’s parents arrived to babysit Wilf so she could come with me and take some photographs. Her mum, Gail, asked me over breakfast if I thought Rachel would get arrested if she came with me. She was concerned what effect that might have on her career as a teacher and what the loss of her part-time salary would do to our small family. I assured her it would be fine, but it was a stark reminder that, however silly the whole business might have seemed as I tried on my teddy suit, we were about to go out to deliberately break the law and place ourselves at the mercy of the process of criminal law. We had decided that we should split up when we got to Charing Cross so that Rachel could arrive in Parliament Square on her own. That way no-one would suspect we were there together. Still, the paranoia that suddenly swept over us both at the breakfast table put SOCPA’s exclusion zone into a context that I don’t think either of us was remotely prepared for.
After a solid breakfast and countless mugs of tea I squeezed the teddy suit and a few tubs of chocolate muffins into my rucksack and we headed off for Parliament Square. By noon, only six other people had arrived. It was cold, wet and miserable. I felt like a complete idiot, and my teddy bear suit was still packed deep in my bag. I drank a cup of tea I’d bought nervously, wondering if I could sneak home and sleep off my hangover before anyone noticed, but then I saw Matthew walking over. It suddenly struck me that I’d bought my tea from Starbucks, the enormously profitable corporate chain, which was clearly not going to endear me to the protesting elite. Matthew didn’t recognize me but asked if I’d come for the teddy bears’ picnic. I asked if many people were going to turn up. ‘Well, to be honest, I’m the only one who gets here on time,’ he replied. ‘They all seem to come at one thirty. We’ve got lots of people we can rely on, though.’ He then added enthusiastically, ‘We have got cold curry, and someone’s bringing tea,’ before marching off towards Brian Haw’s stash of tarpaulin sheets.
Cold curry? Well, thank God for that.
Gradually, people I remembered seeing at the meeting began to emerge from across the road, but no-one seemed to recognize me. They converged on three pieces of tarpaulin that Matthew had laid out at the edge of the square. Still, I reasoned, once the other people in teddy bear suits arrived I’d put mine on and be hailed as a fellow protester. It was only a matter of time before I was welcomed into the fold.
It was at that point that I n
oticed everyone seemed to be unpacking small teddy-bear-sized teddy bears. I looked around, waiting for someone else to put on a full-size suit. There was a chap with long hair and glasses who looked like the type of guy who’d be prepared to throw himself into the spirit of things. But he took off his rucksack and began pulling flasks out of it until it was empty. I looked around desperately. Surely someone else had a teddy bear suit? Matthew certainly didn’t, he was decked out in jeans and trainers. Then a few attractive young ladies emerged, but alas, none of them had brought teddy bear suits either. Tight jeans and trainers were the order of the day. Everyone huddled under umbrellas and talked in whispers. The light drizzle became dense and sharp. The sheets of tarpaulin were occasionally buffeted by exhaust fumes from the road. I spotted another person I remembered from the meeting. I looked at his feet, hoping to sec fur poking out from under his tracksuit trousers, but he just smiled, sat down under an umbrella and started to read a newspaper.
I looked around for Rachel and saw her sniggering by the statue of Churchill. She began gesturing at the rucksack by my feet and raised her camera. She was laughing quite animatedly by now.