486 lines
27 KiB
Plaintext
486 lines
27 KiB
Plaintext
London, Anarchy in the UK: 10 days with the London Mob
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by Mitzi Waltz
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I have a habit of picking auspicious days to arrive in
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a place I've never been before. Either a tornado
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watch has got half the town hunkered down in the basement or
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a meteorite just fell on City Hall. So as I left the plane
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at London's Gatwick Airport, I wasn't surprised to see that
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a tunnel had just collapsed under Heathrow Airport, knocking
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out transportation and snarling traffic for miles around
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London.No, I was just glad that for once, I had also picked
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an auspicious place to be in a new city.And also a little
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nervous. One of my bags was stuffed with about 150 pounds of
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radical books and pamphlets, including a number of items
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that I wasn't sure would make it across the border. Not
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being a seasoned international smuggler, the best plan I had
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been able to come up with was to stuff everything in small
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boxes, wrap them, put fancy ribbons on them and attach cards
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with messages like "Here's that late birthday gift! Love,
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Mitzi."Turned out to be a pretty good idea. I breezed
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through Customs, whereas several other people en route to
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the same event didn't due to similar literature (foolishly
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enough, not wrapped in polka-dot paper). Anarchists from the
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U.S. and Israel were turned back at the border, which no
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doubt really sucked for them. Anarchy In the U.K., an
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international anarchist convention billed as "Ten Days the
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Shook the World," was a hell of a lot of fun.I know, I know
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- "anarchist convention." Contradiction in terms and all
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that, right? Actually, they happen all the time. Back in the
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old days, when Emma Goldman and Ben Reitman were getting
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tossed into the Portland pokey for advocating legal birth
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control and suchlike, they were rather formal affairs with a
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lot of speechifying and factional struggles. Not nearly as
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bad as a Communist Party convention but nothing like @UK, to
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be sure.North American anarchists got back in the habit of
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convening yearly in the '70s - the first was here in
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Portland, in fact, a 1978 gathering organized by the It
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alian anarchist artist Pietro Ferrua, then a professor at
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Lewis & Clark. The North American conventions since then
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weren't organized by any party or group, at the end of one
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folks just get together, and some group of people from one
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town or region volunteers to organize next year's. After the
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1989 convention in San Francisco drew 3,000+ participants,
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the consensus was to go regional for manageability. (And
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saying "North American" is really a bit of a misnomer: there
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are always quite a few Europeans hanging around, and since
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the anarchist community in Mexico is pretty lively they'll
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usually send up a few folks. Brazil and Argentina have big
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yearly meets too, although they interface more with Europe
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than with either North or Central Americans.)Conventions are
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a lot of work. They usually consist of workshops on whatever
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subjects people are interested in at the moment, human
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rights in East Timor or self-organizing in the sex industry
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or anarchist education, for example. Workshops might
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facilitated by one or two people or pulled together by
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more-formal affinity groups. And there are generally lots of
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cultural events, gigs, picnics and demonstrations to go with
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the "educational" stuff.@UK promised to be "the biggest
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ever," bigger even than the 1983 Milan convention, which
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drew several thousand people from all over the world and
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deserves credit for revitalizing the European anarchist
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movement. Consisting mainly of members of Class War (about
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which there's more below), the group behind @UK expected
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10,000 participants; I'd say there were about 7,000. They
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announced "500 events at 100 venues," I'd say it was more
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like 300 events at 50 venues. That's still a hell of a lot.
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@UK itself arranged for about 10 halls or buildings to be
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available for the 10 days, pulled together a night of
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speeches, handled the money and paperwork, produced
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thousands of programs, and encouraged other folks to do the
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rest, which they did.How could I miss this? I couldn't - and
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shere's my tour diary.
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Friday October 21
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I made it!!! Took the train into London
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through miles of housing projects that looked
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like they were rotting from the inside. Ever seen the Clash
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movie "Rude Boy"? These high-rise hovels made the one that
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was featured in that look like a palace.Transferred to the
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tube at Victoria Station, where warnings about "suspect
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devices" (i.e., briefcases and bags left behind, which could
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conceivably hold a bomb) still blared every five minutes
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despite the IRA ceasefire. Thanks to Rod's impeccably bad
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directions, I got off at the wrong station and ended up
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dragging all those books plus my carry-on up Clapham High
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Street for about 20 blocks. Finally got to my friend's
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house, sweaty and miserable looking. He made tea and
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eventually I felt much better. Then it was lecturefest time
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at historic Conway Hall. This place has been a hotbed of
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radical politics for at least 100 years, and tonight it was
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packed to the rafters for a series of speeches about the
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Criminal Justice Bill. One of my jobs here was to cover this
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controversial piece of legislation for Mother Jones
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magazine. It's hard to say what the worst thing about it is
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- it abolishes the right to silence at arrest, sets up a new
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prison system for 12-to-14-year-olds, revives the "sus laws"
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(which let cops stop and arrest anyone anytime based on
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undefined "suspicious behavior"), lets the cops take
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"intimate samples" from all arrestees to build a national
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database of criminal DNAI I could go on for half an hour.
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The law itself goes on for an entire book.For a lot of the
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people taking the stage in this hall, the effects are likely
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to be very personal. Squatters and anyone behind in their
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rent can be given 24-hour notices of eviction. Travellers,
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these new-agey types who live in caravans and other vehicles
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and roam the countryside selling handmade goods (and
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occasionally dope), have basically had their lifestyle made
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illegal. Raves will be illegal, ditto any political
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gathering or party that doesn't have a government permit.
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And guess what! : the government isn't going to be issuing
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any, unless you're backed
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by Virgin Records or rallying to support the Tories.Put
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simply, this law is fucked. Ian Bone, organizer of the
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conference and infamous rabble-rouser from those wannabe
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political street thugs Class War, opens the roadshow with
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the most incredible display of apoplectic raving I've
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witnessed in years. He's a good warm-up act. Hell, he oughta
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be a stand-up comedian.And he makes some very valid
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points.The crowd is pumped up and ready for an endless
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stream of speakers representing ravers, travellers, the
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local Black community, the animal rights movement, blah de
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blah blah blah. One of my favorites is "Mr. Social Control,"
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a hilarious comedian who delivers some well-thought-out
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political commentary in doggeral. One piece includes Tory
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leader Michael Howard's home phone number, repeated several
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times. Howard is the point man on the CJB. I see a lot of
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people writing it down. Mr. SC ends his poem with "if we've
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no right to silence, then he's no right to sleep." I bet
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Howard's gonna be hating life tonight - or checking into
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the nearest hotel.
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Saturday October 22
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Today's the famous Anarchist Bookfair, where publishers and
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booksellers from all over the UK and a few from overseas
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come to hawk their wares. I'm happy to see a familiar face,
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Russell from Seattle's excellent Left Bank Books, has managed to
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get his stuff in as well. And I get to meet Fabian of the London
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Psychogeographical Society, which is extremely nice. He's a
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grinning, curly-haired fellow who does very strange research
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linking Masonic conspiracies, royal inbreeding and ancient
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ley lines, among other stuff. He also leads group tours
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pointing out connections between and weird history behind
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places around London and sometimes further afield.The best
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part of the Bookfair is that I sell almost everything, so I
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don't have to tote the 150-pound medicine ball of a bag
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back that night. This is a good thing, since after the
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ookfair everybody heads for The Sun, an excellent pub with
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several dozen microbrew-style beers. It's all very matey,
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I keep drinking something really strong and spicy from Young's
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Brewery, some drunken pal of my new friend Becky keeps trying
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to chat me up, and I'm treated to some terrific singing by a bunch
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of drunken Welshmen who get booted out.
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Sunday, October 23
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It's lovely, sunny day - perfect for a picnic at Jubilee Gardens, or
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for a levitation.That's right - posters all over town and our
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handy little @UK guidebook say that we'll be levitating the
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House of Commons today. My friend and I get together with a
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bunch of people for lunch in the park, then it's off to
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Parliament Square where a crew of tie-dyed and be-
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dreadlocked hippies, punks, travellers and Revolutionary
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Tourists have gathered.There does not appear to be a plan
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for concentrating mental energy on the building, which is
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rapidly surrounded by cop vans. A row of bobbies back the
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crowd off the sidewalk and into the park. This bunch seems
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to be pretty "fluffy," to use a derive term that I'd learned
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the night before. "Fluffies" want to keep demonstrations
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non-violent, enter dialogues with the police, create a
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"positive space," and even identify any riotous
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troublemakers in their midst by spraying them with paint. In
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other words, they're a slightly hippie-dippier version of
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what we Yanks call the "Peace Police." Bor-ing. Looks like I
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will not be treated to a proper riot as promised.So I decide
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to make like a reporter and see what I can learn. One thing
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I discover is that the police vans are full of riot gear,
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and the cops are extremely nervous. Seems that a demo the
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week before had turned violent and a bunch of their brethren
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got whacked (I've seen the leftover Class War posters for
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this one around town too - "Leave your juggling balls at
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home - it's time for some class justice!") A unit on
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horseback is hidden just around the corner, as are two
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groups of soldiers.Juggling balls, and fire-eating, circle
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dancing, rainbow banners and goofy costumes, appear to be
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prevailing over the balaclava-and-bricks crowd here. I guess
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the cops, horses and soldiers will have to be satisfied
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with a little free entertainment and some time-and-a-half.
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After spending a few hours snapping pictures of colorful,
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fresh-faced kids with posters and explaining the demo to several
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groups of passing American tourists, I take off, as does most of the
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crowd.[Postscript: there may have been something to this
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levitation crap after all. London newspapers report a few
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days later that Big Ben, which is attached to Parliament,
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has inexplicably moved a couple of centimeters. No
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shit.]Later, I manage to get into an overcrowded showing of
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"Siege of Sydney Street," a black-and-white gangster
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melodrama about a gang of Russian anarchists at war with the
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police, based on a true story. Although I have to watch it
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hidden in the corner with a couple cans of ale, it's lots of
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fun. Next is "The Stuart Christie File," a BBC documentary
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about the English anarchist who tried (and failed) to shoot
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Franco, was imprisoned in Spain, became a publisher in
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London after his release, and was later swept up on
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suspicion of being part of The Angry Brigade, a
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anarchist/situationist-inspired "terrorist" group. Several
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news shorts and documentary-ettes about The Angry Brigade
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were also included. Some of the alleged members and their
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friends were in the audience, and it was fun to hear their
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sotto-voice commentary bout inaccuracies and gossipy asides.
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The documentaries were uniformly cheesy, attempting to paint
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Christie as some sort of evil mastermind even though at the
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time he was living in self-imposed exile on the far-away
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Orkney Islands and doing nothing but writing. Very
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funny.
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Monday, October 24
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Today promises to be very interesting. Along with some
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guys I've met only online, I'm doing a workshop on
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computer networking for anarchists. Or something like
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that. We meet up at a place called Culross Hall and
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on entering the second-floor meeting space discover
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that the interior decorating scheme is, well, eye-catching.
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We're sharing the room with an ongoing exhibit by Homocult,
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a radical gay art collective that specializes in
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shockingly graphic posters and t-shirts decrying the
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counterculture and middle-class gay culture. Lots of S/M
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imagery, dirty words, offensive images. We like it a lot,
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but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that after four hours in
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here I was experiencing anger overload.The workshop goes
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great. There's a huge number of interested people here, so
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many that we set up separate sessions for publishers
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interested in distributing stuff online, people who want to
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network about computer communications projects already in
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progress, and a second basic how-to class. Ian from Spunk
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Press (an archive of anarchist texts maintained on the
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Internet); Matt from Fast Breeder, a cool London BBS;
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various participants with experience and myself keep things
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running amazingly smoothly. Everybody's questions get
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answered, handouts are much appreciated, those who want to
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have a chance for a hands-on look at the Internet and
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BBSing, and we soon retire to a nearby pub for more.
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Tuesday, October 25
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I start off the day with a walk around the area near Culross
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Hall, a strange combination of interesting old architecture
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cheek-by-jowl with more of London's trademark concrete-block
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public housing. I also make the mistake of stopping in a
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"caff" for a traditional modern English breakfast - crisps
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and a scrambled egg-toast-and-ketchup sandwich. The crisps
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are OK.I've come to the conclusion that the only thing
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edible that's English is Cadbury's chocolate (infinitely
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better than the crap they sell in the U.S.), chips (i.e.,
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french fries), crisps (i.e., potato chips) and food
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cooked by immigrants from just about anyplace else.
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Today there are more computer workshops, and I finally
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get over to see the exhibit brought in by some Spanish
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anarchists who've been attending all the computer sessions.
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It's a retrospective of what's been going on in
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Spain since 1970, very educational and good practice for my
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rusty Spanish skills.Also went to see "The Death of
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Imagination," a strange, three-part dramatic event featuring
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Penny Rimbaud and Eve Libertine of Crass plus another
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actor and some musicians. I'm still not sure what
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I thought about this. It was veryI heavy. From the
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program: "Pt 1) An introduction to the naked flesh through
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the pictures of Auschwitz and the garishly painted Christ of
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the local cathedral who, despite Nietzsche's claims to the
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contrary, still lies at the very root of our cultural
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consciousness."Actually, it wasn't as dire as that excerpt
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makes it sound. It was very personal, obviously painful
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stuff derived from Penny's life, I think putting it together
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and performing it was a cathartic act for him, and an
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interesting thing to see in person. The set was nifty
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too.
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Wednesday, October 26
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The second beginner's Internet/BBS session comes off OK, although
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we don't have our demos up since the computer went back
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to Scotland with Ian. Since everything's done early
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I set out for Camden Town, where I
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check out an art exhibit by well-known anarchist illustrator
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Clifford Harper and "G," the guy who used to do collages and
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illustrations for the band Crass. It's good art, but there's
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hardly enough of it to call an exhibit. I've been trying
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to reach Fabian and his friend, the infamous Stewart Home.
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Home is the skinhead author of several novels ("Red London,"
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"No Pity," "Defiant Pose," etc.) that revolve around themes
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of bloody street fighting, down-and-dirty sex and in-joke
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portraits of his friends and enemies. Written as much like
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the pulp-fiction masterpieces of his literary idol, Richard
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Allen, as possible, they're a literal laugh riot. When we
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can't connect, I take off for the evening's entertainment on
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my own.The event is Smut Fest 94 emceed by an old friend
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from SF, Jennifer Blowdryer. Ms Blowdryer left the punk-rock
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world some years back for a more lucrative career as a sex
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worker in New York, and had put together one hell of a
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line-up for this.The idea is to present a politicized porn
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cabaret, and featured performers included
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stripper/dominatrix/porn star Danielle Willis (who I vaguely
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remember from her days as a Mitchell Brothers girl);
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necrophile poet Karen Greenlea of "Apocalypse Culture"
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fame; an insane and very
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tall drag queen named Burnel; Tuppy Owens, who's England's
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answer to Susie Bright; and a really gorgeous babe who did
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what was definitely the anti-CJB speech that got the closest
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attention of the entire festival. There seems to be
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something about talking politics while falling out of a
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black-leather bikini that makes people shut up and
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listen.Much attention was given to the Spanner case, in
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which a group of gay men practicing consensual S/M sex were
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busted and jailed recently. The only really boring parts of
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the show were an overly-long gothic "execution ritual" by
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some guy called Phil Adams and a few pieces of mildly filthy
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but ultimately sleep-inducing poetry from William Levy,
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former editor of a "Screw"-style magazine.
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Thursday, October 27
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Except for turning in that Mother Jones story, I blew off
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most of the day doing some touristy things like getting
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presents for the kids. My friend had company over for dinner
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and we all had a good time eating lasagna and drinking wine.
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And I finally got ahold of Stewart, and made plans to
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meet up. I did meet up with my Spanish anarchist friends and
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we went off to ind the elusive Unity Hall, a "Labor pub"
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somewhere in a neighborhood that I don't think I could find
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ever again. The reason? It was the site of "anarchist quiz
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night," a political variation on the popular Brit pastime of
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competing to answer the most Trivial Pursuit type questions
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correctly whilst hoisting pints. Needless to say, when faced
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with questions like "what was Louise Michel's nickname?" I
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folded pretty rapidly.Simultaneous multi-language
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translation made for lots of hilarity. My Spanish pals were
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also failing miserably, and none of us really cared. The bar
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had good, cheap beer (a rarity in London, let me tell you)
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and weird-tasting chips flavored like turkey and stuffing.I
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got an embarrassing 23 out of 100. But, hey, I bet YOU don't
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know which cemetery Durruti's buried in either, do
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you?
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Friday October 28
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Went in search of a workshop with some Yugoslavian anarchists
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but missed it. So decided to go down Portobello Road,
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check the world-famous flea market for some cool new shoes
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and rouse Tom Vague (of Vague magazine). Didn't find shoes,
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did find Tom, somewhat the worse for wear after
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a night of drinking. At 2 p.m. he was still "not himself,"
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so while he tried to pry his eyelids apart I chatted with a
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slightly unhinged Indian/English girl who had been handing
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around in German terrorist circles for the past several
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years. She was looking for a place in Tom's neighborhood,
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and I don't think he was real thrilled with the prospect.Got
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some copies of "The Great British Mistake," a Vague best-of
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that I had done some copy-editing on, and left with my new
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acquaintance in tow. I finally lost her at Stockwell tube
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station, thank god.And then it was off to find Stew and
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Fabian on the Isle of Dogs. I was really disconcerted when a
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bunch of scruffy brats grabbed me as I left the train and
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insisted that I give them "money for their guy." Being
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culturally illiterate over here, I didn't know that Guy
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Fawkes day was coming up, when people blow off fireworks and
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burn effigies. Kids collect cash to make the "Guys" to burn.
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(Gay Fawkes was a fellow who tried to blow up Parliament,
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often cited on t-shirts as "the only man to enter Parliament
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with honest intentions.")I got lost wandering around this
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depressing former swamp full of, yes, more housing projects.
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Finally found Fabian's place, one of the ugliest and most
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run-down buildings. The kind of place where every floor has
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a security door, and all of them have been permanantly
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jimmied by the residents or thieves. We had a terrific
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evening, probably the most fun I had in the UK. Good food,
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several bottles of wine, and we all talked ourselves
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stupid.Saturday October 29The day of the big Campaign for
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Nuclear Disarmament rally at Trafalgar Square,a and yet
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another let-down for the London police. According to news
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articles that came out later, the police had been expecting
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a phalanx of several thousand hard-core anarchist
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militants to disrupt the rally and riot in nearby Soho. So
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they surrounded the square with every available officer, police lorry
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and even rented buses full of what may have been rent-a-
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cops. The square, however, was instead filled with peacenik
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college kids and do-gooders listening to blisteringly boring
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speeches by the kind of liberals that make you want to grab
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the nearest shotgun.There were a few anarcho-types hanging
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around, but it was obvious that this was not the place to
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play "Fuck Tha Police" and do some cut-rate window-shopping
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today.The cops had also put the kibosh on a punk gig planned
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for that night at the nearby Astoria. Instead, those of us
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who wanted to get our ears assaulted had to call the club,
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which sent you to another phone number. Your call was
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answered by the terse message "go to King's Cross Station,
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you'll be directed from there," where you eventually found
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the right guy who gave you directions to where someone else
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was waiting, who gave you directions toward a street, where
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we (by now a bunch of us were walking together) were in
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turn moved along to the warehouse space by other people
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skulking in doorways. It was like some bizarre scavenger
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hunt.The illegal gig was overly full, I sure was glad to
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have bought three beers right away because the organizers
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ran out before the first band, Kochise from France, was done
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playing. Kochise had brought a large coterie of extremely
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annoying, very drunk French punks with them. They called out
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the titles of their songs and what they were about in
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amusingly broken English: "thees ees song about zee
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Zapatistas een Mexico! Eet ees called, 'Viva
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Zapataaaaaa'! "Oh yeah, they got everybody to do a singalong
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to that old Crass chestnut, "Do They Owe Us a Living"
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(chorus: "of course they fucking do!"). It was silly and, I
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admit, I was singing too. Next up was Schwartzenegger, with
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ex-Crass guy Steve Ignorant and a really awesome female
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vocalist who sounded like a hardcore version of Poly
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Styrene. Her vocals were girly and high-pitched but very
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powerful nonetheless, and from what I could catch of the
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lyrics from my precarious perch on top of a speaker there
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was some intelligence happening here as well. Conflict, the
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headliners, was actually quite
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good. This was their first gig in a long time but it didn't
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show. Very tight and muscular, but not as strong as they
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were when I saw them eight years or so ago. But hey, neither
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am I.The state of anarchopunk in the UK? Looked alright from
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this standpoint.Sunday October 30Went to an "anarchi-
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tecture" lecture at the Calthorpe Project, a self-built
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community center in Camden. This was an appropriate location
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for a session on self-building, complete with slides and
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personal tales. The folks in attendance were mostly older
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anarchists of the hippie-ish persuasion, including a couple
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of architects and some travelers, who exhibited their nifty
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caravan creations outside.Hit a whole bunch of bookstores
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later this afternoon and got stuff for my partner. Can't
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come home from overseas emptyhanded, you know.And I went to
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Smut Fest again, not having anything better to do (yea h,
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right).Monday October 31Went home. What a let-down.I heard
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rumors that this is going to be an annual event, although
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I'm not sure that some of the other organizers will want to
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work with Ian Bone again, since he apparently did a lousy
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job of getting the money for halls and stuff where it was
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supposed to go. I know I had a fun time, I figure it was the
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best way to see London, from the bottom up and with a bunch
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of people actively doing to their best to accelerate its
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destruction.
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