Protesting, and ranting.

[pensnest]

I'm just so angry.

I have never in my life had such murderous fantasies. I want to be able to snap my fingers and kill people. I make Thanos lists, constantly adding to them as yet another category of unspeakableness comes into view. I don't bother to construct compelling arguments in my head any more—I want them dead. Dead.

This isn't who I am.

No general election brought this kind of thing into being. I've been disappointed at many, excited at some, but after a General Election, I've always known that (a) in five years' time, there's another chance, and (b) parties have to get the votes in order to push their policies through. They often don't.

But that bloody referendum. That *bloody* referendum where half the voters decided to flush the country down the toilet of its own stupidity. That bloody referendum that told me I didn't live in the country I thought I lived in, where English people are reasonable, tolerant, open-minded and forward-thinking—no, not all of us, I've never thought all of us were virtuous, but we were making progress. We were getting better. And now I live in a country where jerks can taunt me for being so dreadfully disappointed and scared. Where they can do much, much worse things to people who have less than I have. Where common sense and even the very modest grasp that I have of the situation seem to be in vanishingly short supply, and our politicians are frantically scrabbling for their own personal advantage and not the country's advantage at all. Not a statesman on the scene.

There's only one thing on my bucket list: I want to slap David Cameron's smug, self-satisfied face because he brought us here.

And I'm scared. I suppose the anger comes from the fear. My comfortable, sensible, reasonable life, my future of increasing decency, of improving social mores and increasing tolerance and equality, has been disrupted by outright horribleness, and it scares me and enrages me.

It's not the only thing that scares me. We've been hearing for years and years about global warming, about climate change, and I try to do my bit, but the sheer scale of it and the wicked, wilful blindness of the empowered classes who just won't take the action that needs to be taken, that has to be taken. I found myself thinking, perhaps it's for the best that we don't have grandchildren. And I would so love to have grandchildren. But what are we leaving them?

Scared, and sad.

And so angry.

*

Months ago, Beast had said to me that if Trump were to come on a state visit, he'd want to protest. And so did I. Not Donald Trump the repellent individual, but Donald Trump who stands for the absolute worst of humanity at present: for the people who think that white skin magically confers superiority, the people who think of other human beings not as people but as vermin, the people who think that being well-fed and well-housed and wealthy means that they don't need to have compassion or generosity, they can just self-righteously pull up the drawbridge and spit on the ones left outside. Trump is the biggest pustule on the collective stinking arse of humanity, and that's what I was protesting.

*

So. Going on the Anti-Trump march was quite therapeutic—I didn't think it would *do* anything other than give a lot of people a reason to smile and be glad that some of us—many thousands of us—chose to express our anger like this.

It turns out that a protest march is, not at all surprisingly, a mixture of excitement and tedium. And there is a lot of standing about.

Norwich protesters assembled outside the Theatre Royal in Norwich and waited rather a long time for a coach that was supposed to have departed at 0930. We left at 1000. But there were several people there from the media, wielding TV cameras and radio mikes. I didn't speak to any of them, which I mildly regret.

Traffic in London was, natch, rather heavy, so our coach eventually struggled to Great Portland Street to deposit us a few minutes before 1400, at which time the march was, theoretically, supposed to set forth from outside the BBC's Broadcasting House in Portland Place towards Trafalgar Square. Well, it didn't, of course. We joined an already merry throng there, and the Place filled up completely with people. There was loud music, people with horns and whistles, occasional waves of excited bellowing that rippled through the crowd like sound-based Mexican Waves.

There were so. many. signs! Occasionally there would be a cluster where obviously people were marching together and had been issued placards—a group from Young Labour, the flag-bearing Palestinian rights people, a demure line of Handmaids walking in twos. I know that our coach was organised by two or three different groups in Norwich, of which the Socialist Workers Party was one, but we weren't affiliated with any of them, and I am quite sure that a lot of the marchers weren't regular protesters any more than Beast and I were. There was a cheerful spirit in the march, even though it was undoubtedly fuelled by deep anger. We were there to protest, and we were there to mock. Mock we did! So many home-made signs and objects (a Trump-wigged rubbish bin, an abusive banana, an orange orangutan puppet on two sticks, a 'Dementor' with Trump's face, a full-sized human shaped puppet with movable arms… so, so many); and the array of signs made it a pleasure to be in and to move through the crowd, reading all the different takes on the essential message of **FUCK YOU DONALD TRUMP YOU ARE A COMPLETE UNMITIGATED ARSE** (personal translation). My own, which I'd had laminated in case of rain, bore a Photoshopped picture of Trump as the Child Catcher on one side, and "civilised people DON'T put children in cages" on the other. There are a lot of posts around which will give you an idea of some of the signs, and believe me, there were more than that. Way more.

Here are a few collections.
https://www.elle.com/culture/g22142388/best-signs-london-trump-protest/?slide=1
https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/trump-protest-signs-london-rally_us_5b48dddbe4b0bc69a786ee98
https://www.thecut.com/2018/07/best-signs-london-trump-protest.html
https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/trump-london-protest-best-placards-uk-london-visit-signs-a8445866.html
I did not see this one! https://twitter.com/minidriver066/status/1017853718597984257
I also spotted a few signs by Embarrassed Americans.

And here is a glimpse of the scale of the thing.
https://twitter.com/HillaryPix/status/1017776984124882945

I talked to a handful of interesting people within the crowd (it was kinda noisy), and how nice it is to be able to chat to perfect strangers and know they agree with me! And a few people took photos of my sign.

Ahahaha - I did not see Dalek Trump. https://mashable.com/2018/07/13/donald-trump-dalek-london/?europe=true#4sAgu9iRYmqW

The throng began to show signs of possible forward momentum at about 1525, which gradually turned into actual movement. From perhaps a third of the way back, Beast and I actually passed the end of Broadcasting House at 1545. The walk progressed quite slowly down the road, all of us displaying our placards proudly to the people on the pavements. Beast and I ducked out just before we reached Oxford Circus to go and find a loo. We did pass two youths wearing red MAGA hats, the only evidence of disagreement I saw during the whole day.

It took us a little while to find a convenient loo—department stores are great, thank you John Lewis—so when we rejoined the march we were at the stragglier end, but still plenty of people and loads of noise being made. Actually getting in to Trafalgar Square, which we did at about 1700 (when the rally was due to start), was quite difficult, the place being packed already. (Look at the aerial photos. Now imagine being in the middle of that!)

At this point there seemed to be marchers milling about in all directions, and it was very difficult, from the edges, to hear the speakers, so we decided that we might skip the actual rally. It took about half an hour to get to the Strand and head off in search of a drink. We were far from the only marchers doing so—Regent Street had lost customers, no doubt, but the cafés and the pubs (especially the pubs) in the vicinity of Trafalgar Square were *heaving* with people. Signs everywhere! We ended up in the gardens on the Embankment, which was pleasant. Our coach collected us and set out for home at *exactly* the specified time of 1900, and we were back in Norwich before ten. With very, very hot feet!

I'm very glad I went. I know that one person, or two people, more or less makes no perceptible difference, but if everybody felt that way there wouldn't have been a march. Turned out a lot of people felt like I do.

Comments

[dine]

political crap is just unbelievable and unbearable - I'm really glad you made the effort to join the protest and had such a positive experience; seeing the news coverage and photos has been so great

[pensnest]

It's nice to do a bit of shouting, you know?

[frausorge]

D: D: D:

but being among like-minded people does help. ♥

[pensnest]

It does. And so many of them, and in such wonderful variety!

[sperrywink]

Yeah, I first protested Bush's Iraqi Oil War back in 1990ish, and it was a totally spontaneous gathering of people but so energizing.

I'm glad it helped rejuvenate you or at least bring you like-minded people.

[pensnest]

It was nice to feel angrily happy for a change, rather than angrily scared.

[spikedluv]

I've been loving reading about the protests there and especially the signs! I'm glad you went and met like-minded people.

[pensnest]

The signs were splendid! I suspect signs in Scotland, where the creature went to play golf, were more incomprehensibly obscene and probably even funnier, but our march had some good stuff.

[turlough]

Protests really are an excellent way of reminding yourself that you're NOT ALONE in your anger and frustration.

[pensnest]

You're right - it was a good reminder.