A lot, a lot, a lot.
Aug. 29th, 2019 07:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootSo the house sale was delayed and we ran away to Ghent, though first we saw a clouded leopard.
There's much to say, but this entry is all about yesterday, Boris Johnson's pro-roguing of parliament in order to stop MPs from having their say re Brexit. Pro-roguing isn't an unknown phenomenon by any means, but using it to suspend parliament for so long at such a seismic time is cynical opportunism, the government using a protocol to silence the representatives voted in by the people of this country.
So an emergency protest was arranged and astonishingly, given the notice, thousands turned up. It was very good natured; There were points at which citizens were given the microphone and could talk to the crowd, I tried it, all seemed very well received. Total disruption at Westminster, crowds marching between the HoC and Downing Street, songs and chanting. He won't care of course, and I have no idea how people can make him care. If care was his quality, he wouldn't have done this in the first place. Still, the strength of feeling was evident.
Only one weird moment. Out came a small group of people, smirking somewhat, bearing a large Brexit banner. One of them wore a body sized cardboard cut-out of Britain stapled or glued on his back. Their argument was that democracy was being served by them getting their brexit and if this took the pro-rogueing of parliament, so be it, after all, MPs were ignoring the will of the people (aka What Brexiters Want) so why shouldn't they be ignored?
These people weren't ignored. Smiles vanished from hundreds of faces. I have been on many marches, two, maybe three of which turned ugly; in those cases, the mood of anger was palpable from the start, fomented or manipulated by those looking for an excuse to break shop windows. This was different. Everyone had been jolly, and then I heard something new to me, as the grinning Brexiters paraded. It was an underswell of noise that began as a kind of crowd growl and grew ominous even as I listened, erupting into loud boos and hisses. Then came the word; 'Fascists!' Repeated, echoing through the crowd, as about four men grabbed the Brexit banner and twisted it off the idiots and a scuffle started. Instantly, many huge policemen appeared and separated the protagonists, one shoving me out of the way convincingly. The Brexiters looked shocked, as though they really believed that whole Brexit myth about Remainers being effete chai latte drinkers, as though they really thought they could goad a crowd of thousands safely; it was the first time I ever thought this might become a war.
It really doesn't take much.
I got myself into a row with a couple of these numpties. Blokes surrounded me, one drawling '17.4 million,' moving his hands towards me when I lifted mine. I said, 'How many didn't vote for Brexit? More isn't it? And no hands, OK? Your banner's safe from me.' He frowned as some women coaxed him away and a Kentish bloke, all white hair and blue eyes tried to tell me to calm down in that way that men do when they want to imply feminine hysteria. 'I'm calm, Mate.' I told him, and I was, though his friend trained his big camera lens on me. I still don't know if it was an attempt at intimidation or a hopeful boob shot, but neither worry me in conflict circumstances. The Cretin of Kent tried to tell me it was all perfectly normal, as though the action of pro-roguing was the issue rather than its timing. I lacked the patience to debate with such a dissembler, and just told him it was nonsense. Then I told one of the protesters to do their flies up. After that, it was back to the main protest, these few segregated by a line of policemen.
I was angry, too angry, at the Brexiters and angry also at something else. Yes they were idiots but the march was about the democratic right to be heard. They had turned up in order to counterprotest, to create dismay and antagonism, they had hoped for the weeping soft EU lovers beloved of so many Brexit pamphlets. And then, surprise surprise, as one of them squeaked, 'We were attacked!' It shouldn't have happened, though the irony was that without it, they would still be believing daft stereotypes about weak EU obsessed sophisticates who do nothing but talk. They learned something and so did I.
There will be another protest at the weekend, outside Downing Street. I'll be there.
There's much to say, but this entry is all about yesterday, Boris Johnson's pro-roguing of parliament in order to stop MPs from having their say re Brexit. Pro-roguing isn't an unknown phenomenon by any means, but using it to suspend parliament for so long at such a seismic time is cynical opportunism, the government using a protocol to silence the representatives voted in by the people of this country.
So an emergency protest was arranged and astonishingly, given the notice, thousands turned up. It was very good natured; There were points at which citizens were given the microphone and could talk to the crowd, I tried it, all seemed very well received. Total disruption at Westminster, crowds marching between the HoC and Downing Street, songs and chanting. He won't care of course, and I have no idea how people can make him care. If care was his quality, he wouldn't have done this in the first place. Still, the strength of feeling was evident.
Only one weird moment. Out came a small group of people, smirking somewhat, bearing a large Brexit banner. One of them wore a body sized cardboard cut-out of Britain stapled or glued on his back. Their argument was that democracy was being served by them getting their brexit and if this took the pro-rogueing of parliament, so be it, after all, MPs were ignoring the will of the people (aka What Brexiters Want) so why shouldn't they be ignored?
These people weren't ignored. Smiles vanished from hundreds of faces. I have been on many marches, two, maybe three of which turned ugly; in those cases, the mood of anger was palpable from the start, fomented or manipulated by those looking for an excuse to break shop windows. This was different. Everyone had been jolly, and then I heard something new to me, as the grinning Brexiters paraded. It was an underswell of noise that began as a kind of crowd growl and grew ominous even as I listened, erupting into loud boos and hisses. Then came the word; 'Fascists!' Repeated, echoing through the crowd, as about four men grabbed the Brexit banner and twisted it off the idiots and a scuffle started. Instantly, many huge policemen appeared and separated the protagonists, one shoving me out of the way convincingly. The Brexiters looked shocked, as though they really believed that whole Brexit myth about Remainers being effete chai latte drinkers, as though they really thought they could goad a crowd of thousands safely; it was the first time I ever thought this might become a war.
It really doesn't take much.
I got myself into a row with a couple of these numpties. Blokes surrounded me, one drawling '17.4 million,' moving his hands towards me when I lifted mine. I said, 'How many didn't vote for Brexit? More isn't it? And no hands, OK? Your banner's safe from me.' He frowned as some women coaxed him away and a Kentish bloke, all white hair and blue eyes tried to tell me to calm down in that way that men do when they want to imply feminine hysteria. 'I'm calm, Mate.' I told him, and I was, though his friend trained his big camera lens on me. I still don't know if it was an attempt at intimidation or a hopeful boob shot, but neither worry me in conflict circumstances. The Cretin of Kent tried to tell me it was all perfectly normal, as though the action of pro-roguing was the issue rather than its timing. I lacked the patience to debate with such a dissembler, and just told him it was nonsense. Then I told one of the protesters to do their flies up. After that, it was back to the main protest, these few segregated by a line of policemen.
I was angry, too angry, at the Brexiters and angry also at something else. Yes they were idiots but the march was about the democratic right to be heard. They had turned up in order to counterprotest, to create dismay and antagonism, they had hoped for the weeping soft EU lovers beloved of so many Brexit pamphlets. And then, surprise surprise, as one of them squeaked, 'We were attacked!' It shouldn't have happened, though the irony was that without it, they would still be believing daft stereotypes about weak EU obsessed sophisticates who do nothing but talk. They learned something and so did I.
There will be another protest at the weekend, outside Downing Street. I'll be there.
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no subject
Date: 2019-08-29 10:01 am (UTC)The world is such a mess. Warming up for the Great Conjunction of December 2020, one is tempted to speculate.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-30 04:43 pm (UTC)Regarding stereotypes, yup, they love their head cartoons far too much to give them up. But at least 6 of these epsilons will think twice before dismissing a crowd of thousands as pacifist snowflakes lacking the violent propensities that define yer trew-blew blooded Ingerlishman.