I knew these people. I knew them in my bones… and they knew me.
I used to work in news photography. I left school at eighteen, worked several years in bits of the local press: standard stuff. I also had a more offbeat portfolio. There was a bit of personal stuff, art I suppose, I won’t bore you with it, but it was mostly social concern stuff (housing issues, political campaigns, strikes) that I’d managed to sell on to some of the nationals and the lefty press.
I’d been doing freelance for about a year when I hooked up with this geezer who I knew from the Graun called Callum. He wanted to do some background work on the far right. They’d begun marching again under a variety of names, EDL, SDL, SIOE and so on.
So they took me on the payroll full-time. I’d go to a few of the marches, take some photos… make some notes. It was the usual mayhem, just like the old days really, when the Anti Nazi League took on the NF; lots of running and shouting in the streets… placards… lots of stand-offs. Despite what you think there was very little full-on violence.
These new demos the fash were usually smaller in number, and usually got the worst of it. They denied they were fascists. This was the story. They were caught on camera and film too many times, giving salutes and yelling racist shit. The mainstream nazis tried to deny they were part of this as well but this was a hardcore operation. All their members kept turning up to these demos and joining in the fun.
So they didn’t like what we were doing. We were showing them up for what they were. I remember Callum getting loads of abuse and threats by email. What really made it all start, though, was when they realised who I was. I remember getting an email from the main office. My name and face had gone up on Stormfront. I used to be one of them, back in the day, see? I’d explain but… anyway… Since word got out I was covering their demos they were looking for me so I could be dealt with once and for all.
I’m stuck in hospital with this super-flu. They were quarantining people. I was calling home every night for about a week. It was all miserable, boring, most of the time sitting up in bed reading or watching TV. The first twelve hours or so I remember not having a drip. I couldn’t eat or drink. I could hardly keep stuff down. It was a nightmare.
Of course then these riots start happening. Everyone in the hospital was talking about them, staff and patients. It felt like a bubble had burst, you know? Like someone had yawned in the middle of Shakespeare. There was rightness to it. Yet people were getting caught up. Some of the staff went missing. I remember this guy down the hall, what was his name, I forget. Anyway, this guy, old boy, was expecting to be released. He’d had a close shave, almost died, but was now fully recovered and waiting for his daughter to come pick him up. She never came.
Then it came on the news, Morning Lane Tescos had been looted. That was a bit of a giggle.
I was having a lot of trouble sleeping, as you would. I remember getting up. It was early the following morning, just after dawn. I’d had another rough night and was feeling a bit weak. I went for a walk up and down the ward, just to stretch my legs. I didn’t notice at the time but there was no nurse on duty.
I could see out of the window funny looking groups hanging around in the car park and at the gates. They seemed to be stopping people going in an out, giving them a hard time. I watched for a bit. There were fights. An ambulance came in to the hospital. One group tried to grab the patient off the gurney, while beating up the paramedics.
I was then I clocked what was going on. Despite how I felt, I had to leave. I went back to my bed grabbed as much stuff as I could. I had some clothes and some money but no shoes, just these slippers, and no phone either. There was staff changing rooms on the wing I remember. I reckoned I might be able to nick some decent boots or something.
While I was weighing up the odds I could hear shouting at the end of the ward, outside the door. I just ran as fast as I could down the other end. Lucky for me there was a fire escape. Of course the alarm went off. Standing at the top of these stairs I didn’t really notice. Down below there was a huge swarm of people, maybe 2-300. They were organised, not police or army, but organised, rounding up the nazis and kicking seven shades of shit out of them.
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The second night everyone was out. Half the neighbourhood had been arrested. The feds came down in this huge sweep, took who they could and got the hell out. The police are vicious bastards.
They thought we’d give in but the second night barricades went up. We knew they were gonna come back for more. Everyone helped make them. They brought, like, bits of old furniture, wheelie bins, paving slabs and stuff. Burned out cars were always good to build around. One guy on my block, I swear down, he burned his own car just to get busy.
We fought them back until about midnight, when they cleared out. There was all this stuff about the nazis joining them. I didn’t see any that night. I didn’t think they’d come up our way, although some people I know swear they did. Plain clothes guys with batons and stun guns and that.
Anyway, after we’d won we were all so happy we didn’t want to leave. It was a party. Everyone started breaking out the music and the chanting. The streets were ours, man.
Then something amazing happened. A few of us heard there was this meeting. We went down to the bridge by Finsbury Park station. It was massive, I tell you, thousands. I couldn’t believe it. People were discussing what they were going to do next. I remember this old guy, must have been in his fifties, got up and said we should march to the nearest police station and free all the people inside.
People liked this. We all went down to the Islington cop shop, we reckoned that was the nearest. I never got inside, but people just smashed their way in. They didn’t just carry the people out but their weapons, the computers, the files and that. The place was totally cleaned out.
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