Oxford street at 9.30pm
by we are everywhere
The ghost of anti capitalism haunts oxford street. Local residents smell the spirit of rebellion. A little over a week ago I was in Quebec at the FTAA protests and the smell of rebellion there was the acrid stench of tear and pepper gas, fired from behind a 4km long fence and dropped from helicopters onto a crowd of tens of thousands. This evening in Oxford street there is a very different smell, here rebellion smells of sweet freshly cut hardboard, acres of it, that board up nearly every shop for dozens of blocks around London's consumer Mecca.
The reflecting facades of capital have been dulled for the day. The sound of tills and rustle of plastic shopping bags, the roar of cars and buses has been replaced by the stomach rumbling clatter of police helicopters flying overhead. A unusual stillness fills these streets that are normally havens of economic growth. Corporate Logos on shop fronts have been covered up everywhere - a pathetic two foot square of hardboard is hung with string in front of a large 'Macdonalds' sign, but the familiar golden arches peak from underneath it. White sheets are draped over an enormous 'Foot Locker' logo, but have fallen off the end to reveal a big red 'ker'. The shops may shut but their brands are unable to hide from the wrath of those 'intent on inflicting fear, terror, violence and criminal damage on our people and property' as Tony Blair described us this morning.
The police have cordoned off dozens and dozens of blocks. The people inside the cordon were there for hours. They must have got so frustrated , so dying of thirst and desperate for the toilet. I doubt the police are offering to take off their riot helmets to let people pee in them, which according to urban myth is requirement if you are a pregnant woman ! After 6 hours of imprisonment they are let out one by one and searched and logged, photographed catalogued, treated like criminals , just because they dare to question, they dare to imagine a different world.
Those who have escaped the cordon or who have come to watch the 'sale of the century' intrigued by the spectacle of anti capitalism mill around the streets, dazed and shocked by the draconian policing. Like all moments of festival and rebellion, strangers spark up conversations and for a few moments the alienation of the megalopolis is shattered by the beautiful intimacy of strangers.
Down a side street, several blocks away from the main action, we bump into a grey haired woman in her 50's , who lives in social housing just off oxford street. ' I've never seen anything like it, I was brought up on Peace Marches in the 50's and I've never seen police presence and over reaction like today' she says, her eyes beaming from behind her spectacles 'my husband is from Poland, he is at home screaming about democracy and freedom, he experienced martial law in Poland and says it was peanuts compared to what's happening tonight...'.
'It makes me so angry' she smiles mischievously, 'I was walking down the middle of oxford street, past the boarded up shops and as I passed the GAP I was just dying to set the place alight, I've never had such a strong desire to do such a thing before, but tonight I just wished that I had some lighter fuel on me.'
Living on the edges of this street that never stops, she is enjoying these hours of respite from the fumes and clamour of mass consumption 'Even on Christmas day we don't normally get a break, the noise of street cleaning machines normally wakes us up. Normally I don't go out much, I suffer from anxiety attacks and depression often I black out in crowds or heavy traffic and have to come home in an ambulance. But today's been heaven, thank you so much.'
We shake hands and part, 'check out the news on the indymedia web site' we say and she memorises the URL as her silouhette drifts towards the line of yellow reflective police jackets glinting under street lights.
The spectre of anti capitalism has haunted these streets for over 8 hours, the 8 hours of a working day that was fought for over a century ago, a battle that Mayday commemorates.
As I sit here in a boarded up internet cafe, through the top floor (un boarded) windows I can see oxford street, a convoy of white police vans slowly make their way home, on the other side of the street going in the opposite direction a column of white street-cleaning vehicles and dustbin vans go to eradicate the traces of this momentary uprising.
Another opening in history begins to close. Tomorrow the plate glass windows will be unveiled once again , and crowds of shoppers will pass-by reflected in their busyness, normality will have returned, money will be spent, goods will exchange hands, eyes will no longer meet the eyes of strangers, intimacy will be forgotten. But for those who ignored the police and media scare stories and came down into the streets today, these streets will never be normal again. The memory of martial law, the stillness of a city where consumption has been put on pause, the smell of freshly cut wood, will return each time they return here and perhaps they will imagine that one day this street may no longer celebrate commodities but be an example of a living community.
we are everywhere