“Is that it? Six of you?” A police officer sneers at fifteen students wandering through Russell Square. The students carrying placards - embellished with minister of state for universities, David Willets’s face and torn barcodes with lettering: ‘OUR UNIVERSITY, NOT YOUR BUSINESS’ - have all walked out of lectures, to protest against government education cuts in central London, the 16th of March 2012.
The square is littered with siren fitted vehicles and helmeted individuals, parading the sidewalks in vast numbers.
Waiting.
Watching.
Past Russell Square is the starting point for thousands of student protestors. Home to the University College Union; Malet Street is a wide road, bordered with tall town houses with steps leading onto the pavement and parked cars on either side of the road, now occupied by hundreds of activists, students, supporting staff and lecturers. Lurking law-enforcers are ever present, on horseback, packs and in meat wagons.
The small group of students heckled by police earlier, from the University of East London, now aligned at the very front, are given a fabric banner reading in large red painted letters: ‘ONE SOLUTION REVOLUTION’. The humming crowd of students assemble behind the banner…and then, the drums start.
The world’s media forms a solid flashing clicking wall at the front of the protest. They climb scaffolds, trees and statues with tripods and heavy cameras. They capture every face in the crowd.
A megaphone squeaks.
The crowd draws its breath…
“NO IFS! NO BUTS! NO EDUCATION CUTS!” The united chant throbs from the mob of rebellion as it marches forward. Turning at the end of Malet Street, there are school coaches full of kids parked on either side. Individual protestors shout to the windows of child spectators: “This is for you!” as the kids cheer the procession.
On the opposite side of the road, horses swish their tails with the green of Russell Square silhouetting their hides, as the angry crowd sympathises:
“GET THOSE ANIMALS OFF THOSE HORSES!” The injustice mentality bubbles like a physical sheet over the crowd as they cry out unanimously “No justice. No peace. FUCK THE POLICE!” before slowing down cautiously, to avoid a split. Batons dance at the sides of the police, still heavily escorting the crowd as tensions escalate.
The road is blocked from the volume of protestors at Holborn underground station. Commuters pile out to meet barriers. Passengers of the 91 bus run to one side and press their faces up to the window. Passing tourist shops and little restaurants; all customers come out to screw their faces up trying to read the banners and decipher the meaning behind: “WE ARE ALL ALFIE MEADOWS!”
The protestors caught in a mob mentality of police angst, lose grip on this march against education cuts. “ONE, TWO, ONE TWO THREE, HOW MANY PIGS IN THE BNP?!” is emitted past the London School of Economics and Aldwych. Voices are already starting to get hoarse, and protestors constantly trip on each other’s feet trying to keep a steady pace.
The march continues past Lion King billboards, past Legally Blonde and Sweeney Todd, as the sun suddenly bursts forth from its captive clouds, to baptise the determined protestors in sunlight, like a Godly approval.
Stepping slowly past Charing Cross, strangled cries continue to draw attention “WILLETS RETREAT! THE YOUTH CONTROL THE STREET! David Camer-on? FUCK OF BACK TO ET-ON!” Over the roundabout towards Whitehall a susurrus spreads to sit, outside…Downing Street. At the gates - the crowd sits. Police look at each other, rolling their eyes, wishing through clenched teeth no one felt the need to protest. “SIT DOWN! JOIN THE FIGHT! EDUCATION IS A RIGHT!” Bobbies hold radios to their cheeks as hundreds of cameras form a canopy over the sit-in. There’s clapping as a speaker, Hannah Dee, 37, chair of ‘the right to protest’, stands, megaphone in hand.
“I just want to take a minute to show solidarity for Alfie Meadows who was hit by police so hard he nearly died!” (In a demonstration in 2010.)
The crowd rumbles:
“Boooooo”
“The hospital was reserved for injured police!”
“Booooo!”
“Kettling on Westminster Bridge! Protestors in prison!”
“WE ARE ALL ALFIE MEADOWS!”
“Tomorrow is international day against police brutality!” The crowd cheers mightily, then points towards the perimeter of police.
“SHAME ON YOU! SHAME ON YOU!”
And back to the original point.
“We’re gonna go to Willets with a 40,000 strong petition against job cuts, grant cuts, education and pension cuts!”
“WHEEEY!!” The re-energised protesters get back to their feet as the police wipe the sweat from under their helmets.
Marching past parliament a seemingly ‘nice’ policeman in the infamous baby-blue jacket of a liaison officer, reveals to a small part of the crowd, smiling so much his eyes squint:
“We were gonna move ya. But we allowed ya to sit for ten minutes.” As if this was a grand favour of generosity to be accepted with stuttering over-gratification.
Passing Westminster, protestors point towards the ancient building of governments yelling “THAT’S NOT WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!”- Pointing back - “THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!” To reach the official ending point of the protest: the Department for Innovation and Skill. An ordinary looking red-brick building, it wore a large shiny new plaque declaring its title.
“WE ‘AD YOU AT MILBANK! DA DA DA DA!” The crowd clumps as police form a human barricade preventing a continuation, such as, the afore mentioned Milbank protest. Tie clad office workers sceptically watch the block of enraged, excited and unpredictable student protestors. “We fucked up your H.Q, DA DA DA DA!” The police take notes and gather; reinforced with riot vans.
A speaker stands forward; megaphone assisted and asks the inhumane redbrick:
“Can we hand in our 40,000 petition? Against education cuts?!”
The mass cheers, clapping and placard waving.
“Against the privatisation of our education? ...” No one comes out to -
“FACE THE ANGER OF THE CROWD!”
Still no one comes out. “WE WILL CONTINUE TO STRIKE AND TAKE TO THE STREETS!!” The crowd jubilantly hollers as all eyes are transfixed on the Department of Innovation. There is silence as the deflating crowd waits. Police start ushering people, the row of numerous bobbies growing in blockage of the street. Disheartened, but no one wishing to be kettled, people start to disperse. No one even took the polite, civil petition.
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