Give the Anarchist a Cigarette - Chumbawamba
Oct 16
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I have a chapter in the actual book of Punk Leadership called ‘Bad Dog’ from Chumbawamba’s album ‘Anarchy’ and this is another one. It’s an awesome 90s punk album before people thought all they’d done was ‘Tubthumping’. I won’t bang on about it, but it’s perhaps worth buying the whole book for 🖤
I’ve been on a few demos and protests in my time but not too many. The first one I was invited to, which I declined, was organised in the mid-80s to protest against the teachers who were striking for better pay and conditions. I mean, what the heck?
When the BNP had a councillor elected in Tower Hamlets whilst I was at university, I commandeered the Students’ Union minibus and drove those of us in the Anti-Nazi League down there to join the huge demonstration march. I was kettled, I was nearly trampled by a police horse, and later we were all chased out of Luton by some racists when we dropped into a pub for a drink after being caught in a massive traffic jam. Happy days.
Nothing ever burns down by itself
Every fire needs a little bit of help
I will always support democracy’s provision for protest. Protest comes in many forms but if the summer of 2024 showed us anything, people can be misdirected and their passions exploited. The counter-racism marches were wonderfully reassuring to see even if I was on a different continent.
But personally, for a long time I have simply preferred direct action. Words, action, communication are all great incendiary devices and you don’t have to be that much of an anarchist to use them. Just don’t get burned.
There are always a lot of wars taking place around the world. Google reliably informs me that right now (16.10.24) there are 56 armed conflicts going on around the world, the most since the end of WW2. In every single one innocents are being slaughtered. None of these conflicts is more important than the other - what a bizarre othering to think there is. However, some are closer to home than others, more personal, perhaps involve friends and family. Some get more air-time. But in every single one of them innocents are being slaughtered. All matter.
After my London March experience, where I felt some ended up protesting against the police rather than the fascists, I felt I needed to do something much more direct as I watched the Bosnian war. I was an NQT in 1996 when some friends and I decided to raise some money and convince someone to lend us a van to drive some aid to schools in Bosnia at the end of our first year of teaching. The school supported us (bloody hell, they must have been mental) but we joined a larger aid convoy and drove down to Tuzla.
I won’t explore the experience here; its a blog rather than a novel, but it had an incredibly profound influence and impact on me. How could it not? And every person ia met in Bosnia sked: Did you not know what was happening to us? Why did you not act? Why did no one help us?
it is very easy to bang on about change from the sidelines; I strongly feel you need to act. That we have a moral responsibility to help. So let’s get busy to make things better.
Ironically, the following year I returned to Bosnia, to Mostar this time, and when I got back to the U.K. ‘Tubthumping’ was everywhere.
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