I AM THE PKK

I could tell it was Thursday by the demonstrators outside. It seems as if every Thursday there's demonstrators outside the Home Office. Incidentally if you've never been there, the easiest way to describe the building is, well, like a concrete block of chocolate nine stories high (with extra 'hidden' floors - a total of 5 extra ones hidden in unusual lifts and parts of the building that are only accessable through obscure routes) with the overall feel of a German Concentration Camp, or something from the Escape From Colditz board game.

Oddly enough from the little I did see when I worked there was enough to convince me that there's far more going on than even most of the people who work there understand. I did manage to see Jack Straw turned away from the building for forgetting his security pass (though I'm not sure if that was just for a few minutes of the whole day). And I did see David Blunketts dog sitting patiently in reception. Incidentally, David stands on her lead to make sure that she doesn't walk off whilst he's giving speeches.

And so every Thursday lunchtime, as if by clockwork a generally well behaved bunch of protestors turn up outside my work and yell a bit. They hand out leaflets and sing a litle, if somewhat out of key. There's a bit of mumbling, and a few more security guards on the ground floor than normal. It's a bit of a drag really, having to dodge leaflets when all I want is a sausage sandwich.

Some days its just some people with your typical well meaning "Free Satpal Ram" stuff. Other days its kids with pictures of people in beards and banners saying "Free My Dad". Unfortunately, the hardnosed Home office staff are kind of, well, immune, you could say, overexposed even. And to me, personally, I'd be a lot more sympathetic if people handed out leaflets that made sense.

Anyway, this Thursday things turned out slightly different. I'd forgotten my sarnies that day, so I needed to go out and get some. Not a good idea. There was a slight problem. I was sat behind my desk when, in the true fashion of all World War II films there was a great big whooping sound. Normally that meant the fire alarm was being tested. Doesn't always mean that though. We used to sit around listening to the fire alarm waiting, waiting for an announcement. Didn't always happen. I remember once we were in the corridor waiting to go down the stairs when the announcement came through that it was only a test.

So this lunchtime, it transpired that due to a demonstration outside that staff were recommended to stay inside the building if they could help it (thanks to an announcement in sonerous tones on the PA). Couldn't be helped, I had to have food. And so once more into the breach my dear friends, we go.

There's only about 2000 people outside the front door. And more security guards than if Chris Morris was making a personal appearance outside the Daily Mail offices. I feel like Arnie walking into the SWAT Team in the office building reception near the end of Terminator 2. There's a lot of people here. There's a lot of noise, like a Gladiator entering the Arena about to be torn apart by Lions.

But they're lovely people really. Singing, and playing musical instruments, and dancing like a street carnival, and handing out leaflets, and lord knows what else. It's like a great big party. And there's men, women, and children first, all waving big signs with "I AM THE PKK" on great big signs. All well and good, it's the PKK Summer Team Building Day. Shame nobody really understood what the PKK are, or what they do. Somehow that was never explained in all the leaflets I ignored.

I thought, there's someone behind this. I wonder who? But unsurprisingly, when there were people protesting for a good cause, there was no TV coverage. Unlike when the police penned in 6,000 people in the middle of Oxford Circus because they were "rioting" and kept them prisoner, and denied them food, water, or sanitary facilities, hoping that there would be a riot to put on the cover of the Sun to discredit the anti-globalisation cause. I saw that too with my own eyes, and that was disgusting. Even though its OK to shoot protestors point blank in Italy and nobody makes a fuss.

Before I came down from the top floor, I looked out of the window. It looked like the street was jammed full of little dots. There were 2,000 (?) or so. That means the whole of the street just outside St. James Park Tube was jammed up with people behind barriers. There were even people playing drums inside the tube station. Traffic was blocked and the sound of the carnival was so loud that even I, on the 10th or so floor, at the back of the building far far away from the entrance, could hear them. And when people rang I did tell them what the noise was in the background, kind of like the low buzz when you stand outside a football stadium in full flow.

Actually, I got a little bored inside my work. I wanted to go home, and didn't really fancy running the gamut of the protestors, especially as the "staff entrance" (now permanently closed following the Sept 11th attacks) was closed off as well. Slowly the protestors drifted away after bringing the cold, cruel stone heart of bureaucracy to a halt for a short while. I've not seen anything like it though - and when I left the Home Office, some months later, there were still "I AM THE PKK" leaflets strewn on the floor outside the tube station.