THE ANTI-WAR RALLY
(the biggest demonstration Great Britain has ever seen)�
LONDON, 15/ 2/ 03.
Eh, where were you on Saturday Feb 15th 2003? If you weren't in London you should have been, to be part of the biggest demonstration the world has ever seen!
It was a long day, but it was amazing. Waiting for the allotted 5 coaches on Ferensway in Hull to take the rallying masses (8 coaches' worth of people in this case) to and from the bitterly cold capital, the early morning scene looked like a heavy-duty scene from 'Braveheart', as the protesters with banners et al gathered on one side of the main thoroughfare into Hull city centre, while a throng of holidaymakers clustered directly opposite waited for airport-bound coaches. All they had for 'protection' were suitcases though.
Stopping only once on the trip down at Watford Gap services (which is, like, duh, 70 miles from London and thus nowhere near the London suburb of Watford), the 'Wimpy' was packed, and the overrun toilets stunk more than the Leeds-fest portaloos after 4 days of incessant action. Here it struck you that there couldn't have been a more representative cross-section of our country's people prepared to be seen and heard. Out of the Hull party most of the people were of retirement age and sounded to have been rallying against various wars most of their lives (some of them would have lived through the second world war and duly thought, hell - we ain't going there again), while odd assortments of twenty-something punks, teenage Goths, middle-aged single ladies (whom I was surrounded by on the coach, nice!) and a few fully-intact families constituted the remainder. Meanwhile the coaches from ethnic minority hotbeds such as Bradford and Birmingham reminded us all that we're holed in this on-the-verge-of-war situation together, that hardly any of us want to be, and that it's time the world at large learnt to live as a multi-racial global community.
The march itself was split into two, with one starting from Gower Street and the other from the Thames Embankment� for both waves of humanity to converge around Piccadilly Circus before shuffling into the gorgeously grandiose Hyde Park. But we were late, and the city was packed with what felt like 7999 coaches before us (it is estimated that there were genuinely 8000 rally-related coaches paying-&-displaying on the day) so we had to hop off roughly 2 miles from Gower Street, mid-way down Baker Street. Rounding the Planetarium and Madame Tussards (which was still open to the public as normal in spite of the swarming marchers bustling past with no interest in seeing waxwork figures� except life-size, man-fazed replicas of Bush, Blair and Saddam - who are all just as radically bad as each other - who all need a good telling off) and onto Marylebone Road, where I got split from my group straight away. Anyway, I wanted to experience this protest alone, going at my own pace and seeing what I could see.
Eventually onto the official start of March A, Gower Street - as with most ye olde, city-centralized London roads - is one long road alright, and as soon as we turned onto it the march became an immediate shuffle and hustle. An arse-kicking tidal wave of homemade placards and poetic chants, this was happening for real and humanity seemed to be being reborn right under our eyes and ears. Nobody wanted war, everybody demanded peace - and Mr. Blair and Mr. Bush didn't sound to be too popular in the nation's humble but essential opinions at all.
'Another word for Bush� Cunt!' 'Bush is Blair's Valentine!' 'Who let the bombs out? Who�who-who?!'
The carnival-contained atmosphere then exploded into the heady run of Shaftesbury Avenue, after passing streakers (who had nowhere to run other than away from the high-rise window that they were publicly streaking by with inkblood arrows to their arses, asking Blair to kiss 'em!), samba bands and a manic street preacher-woman raving that we were indeed taking part in the largest demo ever witnessed on proud British soil. And while the police guestimated that 750, 000 revellers took part, the organisers in the 'Stop the War Coalition' fund reckoned the crowd was more like 2million people strong. Must admit, it did feel like the latter as we all tried to crush through the West End, past Gielgud's Theatre and into Piccadilly Circus.
I really wanted to try meet the band Rococo but there was going to be no chance� not when we had to be back at the coach for five, I was barely half way en-route, and the time was� Jesus, the time was already 4!!!! And time for a crisis!
I knew if I stuck with the march on into Hyde Park (and the mass rally of famous speakers therein), then I'd never get back in time so I whipped out the makeshift map we'd each been issued and planned my route of escape, opting to maniacally spring up Regent's Street before ankle-brake turning due West into the wealth of Oxford Street which was magically heaving with both protestors - who, like me, were making quick-sharp for their travel in fear of being left, cold, hungry and destitute in the city - and bemused shoppers spending their small fortunes as usual on their Saturday afternoons. Pelting for Lancaster Gate to the West side of the park, I made it for 5pm spot-on as dusk began to draw forth further impassioned speeches from Jesse Jackson, Ken Livingstone, Charles Kennedy and one of my fave US actors, Tim Robbins - whom I was gutted I'd missed.
What ensued with the coach situation turned then into a farce, as I literally ran into our coach organiser in a panic. He in turn had no idea where our coach was, and just as 30-odd incoming calls from other passengers on our coach began to give him a hard time, what do you know - his phone died!
Let's just say due to various degrees of misunderstanding and skewed communicative efficiency we didn't actually leave Hyde Park until 2 long and frenzied hours later - at 7pm - to eventually get back into Hull at 1.30am Sunday morning.
Sure, it had been hell of a long haul for the sake of 4 hours worth of walking down a few streets. But in light of potential war and the sense of community spirit that the march evoked, it had been worth it - and I salute everyone who'd made the effort to be there, and of course to be such an integral part of such a historic day.
In fact, it was one of the best days of my life and I'll never forget the sheer drama of Saturday Feb 15th 2003. A day when people from Great Britain united with folk from all over the world to convey 'our' views to 'them' in the simplest way possible.
War is the worst thing in the world. And, should we ultimately go to war, it certainly won't be in our name�
(STEVE RUDD)
www.stopthewar.fsnet.co.uk www.stopwar.org.uk www.socialistalliance.net