Most modern movements coalesce around a clearly stated objective – “Stop the War’, “Nuclear Disarmament”, “End Tuition Fees”, which is at once easily reduced to a slogan and quickly grasped by the mainstream media as something that will cease to exist beyond a finite point.
The tented protest against capitalist inequality outside St Paul’s Cathedral is much more difficult to define, a blurring of ambitions which has led seasoned journalists, incorrectly, to present the protesters as a rag-bag collective of drop-outs.
In fact, Today reporter Simon Jack was so confounded by one female protestor he encountered that he was reduced to asking whether she “possessed an ATM card”, as if the existence of one in her bag would somehow nullify her protestations on the spot. It was a crassly stupid interrogation that demonstrated how little he and others like him understand what’s really going on.
The “Occupy Wall Street” protest, which has now spread to more than 100 cities across the globe, is truly a 21st century movement. The fact that it remains leaderless is a testament to the very real anger of the “99 per cent” it claims to represent.
The London camp is something of a utopian experiment. On my first visit, I counted 37 tents. Many more had been erected when I returned 24 hours later – so many, in fact, that the Dean of St Paul’s took the regrettable decision to close the cathedral to the public, citing health and safety regulations. This was despite the fact that occupiers have demonstrated an unusual degree of
co-operation with the church authorities. Notices displayed throughout the camp request that noise be kept to a minimum, all exits and entrances to the cathedral be kept clear, that the cobbles are regularly swept of litter and that loudhailers must not be used during services, the times of which are also clearly displayed.
During my visit, tents on the perimeter of the camp – which is decorated with a variety of colourful messages calling for everything from a “free Palestine” to “revolution or genocide” –were taken down and re-sited to comply with fire safety regulations. Others were repositioned to leave the requisite “fire gap” between them and their neighbours.
While Metropolitan Police officers guard the entrance to Paternoster Square closely, the original intended site of occupation, officers from the City of London police mingle with protesters and visitors alike, chatting amiably while admitting they don’t really have much to do.
London’s newest tourist attraction boasts an information tent, an “occupation library” (which includes both revolutionary tracts and pulp fiction to while away the hours), a meditation tent, a piano tent and a camp kitchen. All are powered by a bank of solar panels. Missing is a
toilet. Cynics have seized on the irony that campers have been availing themselves of the facilities in Starbucks, with the company’s blessing – as if, like being in possession of a bank account, needing to pee undermines their argument.
Phil, an independent radio journalist from Melbourne and a spokesman for the camp, attempts to tell me what that is.
“There is obviously something very wrong with the way our system is being run. People around the world have decided they have had enough. We need to do whatever we can to help effect change. Basically, we’re looking for economic equality. We’re sick of a very small minority becoming rich while the world’s poor grow in number. We need to make politicians, lobbyists and corporations aware of this inequality.”
Phil admits there is little sign as yet that the “people who can make the difference” are listening. But he stresses: “We are not only creating an occupation but providing a real democratic forum.”
Everyday a handful of working groups convene in a general assembly to agree on both the objectives and the practicalities of the occupation. Issues ranging from rubbish collection to international outreach work are tabled, discussed and voted on. Some of the protestors are veterans of other campaigns, many more are exercising their right to protest peacefully for the first time, but everyone is welcome and all views are considered equally.
Phil and I are talking on the cathedral steps, bathed in sunlight, but there is an autumnal chill in the air and cobbles do not make for a good night’s rest. I ask him what he would need to hear to make him leave.
“We’re not talking about small changes here. We need a large overhaul of our system. We need to get corporate money and the influence of the financial sector out of government. We will remain here until we are forced out or until something changes – however
long that takes. If we leave and nothing changes, people will say: ‘You’ve lost’.”
He laughs off my suggestion that boredom could become a problem. “We are structuring a small city here. It’s not like there is any time to just sit around and do nothing. We are not only building a democratic process but an infrastructure, too. I’ve been running around for three days now and I’m exhausted. There’s just so much to do.”
He expresses sympathy for City workers who understand the protest but are “caught in a bind of going to work to pay the mortgage”. Nonetheless, he believes that change will “come from the individual. It’s a huge ask, but do we just sit back and not try? We need something to happen. Almost regardless of the outcome, we need to take action – to stand up for what we believe in. As human beings, we have that responsibility to ourselves.”
Unlike other mass movements which form behind a charismatic leader in solidarity with an idea, this seems to be a peculiarly personal protest.
All of those I speak to, from the masked members of Anonymous to the young couple, a baker and a student from Essex and Suffolk who have yet to erect their tent, are keenly aware of the impact the skewed relationship between government and the banks has on their own lives.
Whether this is manifested through library closures in their home towns, record levels of youth unemployment which have prevented some here from finding work (others timetable their presence around work commitments), or the cost of a university education the personal is both this protest’s greatest strength and, to some extent, its weakness.
But there is a genuine optimism afoot that, with the sympathies of the “99 per cent” on their side, real change can be achieved. I hope they are right. At the very least, we owe it to ourselves to find out.
