An Interesting Day

The day started with a mad dash to the coach, we were late again, but we couldn’t miss it as we had to be at the demonstration. The cause was something close to our hearts, the occupation of Palestinian land, and this was an opportunity for us to show solidarity with the Palestinian people.

The number of people attending the march from Birmingham was low, since the media stops concentrating on certain issues people’s interest in the issue diminish. We need to be told what to associate with even the so called activists. Both young and old were on the Coach, from middle aged hippy looking figures, to young students. The coach journey was tiring and boring, and the guerilla team was stuck at the back of the coach with some college girls, whose conversation ranged from make up to types of shampoo and what the organizer of the coach smelt like.

Upon arrival in London the first thing we realized was the police presence. Vans, cars and coppers were standing all over the place, but the turn out of demonstrators was low. The rain was trickling down our coach window, we were in for a wet day.

In the wait for the demonstration to start, as the rain poured down on us, we started a conversation with a middle-aged police officer with gray hair. We asked him why there was so much police presence. According to him they were there to facilitate our demonstration. To help us carry out our democratic right to protest along with the fact that it gave them the opportunity to put in some overtime.

As soon as the demonstration started we were straight on the megaphones chanting the standard chants. Victory to! The intifada! The Police were stalking the crowd, radioing away, making notes and taking pictures. I was pointed out several times by a young white police officer, who looked like he was fresh out of the academy. You could see his excitement, he thought he was onto something, he called the police cameraman over several times to try and get a picture of me, but I tried to make it as difficult as possible for them, ducking and diving, and generally being difficult. I hate the police, always have done. Maybe it’s because I grew up in an inner city area where you rarely hear people talk about the police in a good manner. They take their time to turn up, and when they do, they are condescending. But one of the underlying reasons is that the police are not here to protect and serve. Well, they protect and serve certain people, those in power to be specific, but not the people. The police throughout the protest were lurking around, waiting to pounce. As we approached Trafalgar Square two police officers called me to the side to warn me. They mentioned some act and told me that if I continued (what?) they would arrest me. I thought about it for a while but before I had come to a decision on whether to continue or not, they swooped on a student who had constantly been on his megaphone. We put up a futile attempt to stop them but the police came in heavy. They dragged him off, put him face down on the floor and sat on him, until more police arrived on the scene. We stood facing the police for a while, shouting and screaming at them as you do, as if they were going to release him. But it was all we could do short of rushing the police, kicking the crap out of them, and taking back the hostage. Melodramatic I know, but this is a result of watching to many Rambo movies throughout my childhood.

We moved on and listened to a few speeches. Same old thing nothing new. You begin to see the same faces at these protests, and you pray for more people, for the passers by to stop and listen and to be effected by the words, but they very rarely do. We went back to the coach, jumped back on, tired and slightly wet from the rain. We continued listening to the college girls chatting on about how their makeup was affected because of the rain. I wanted to turn around and say ‘what the hell is wrong with you, cant you talk about nothing else?’ ‘The Palestinians have Bullets and rockets raining down on them everyday and your complaining about a bit of water’. The majority of people fought through the rain as they understood the situation of the Palestinians. But these girls had just come for a simple day out. Thinking of this made me sit there in silence and wonder about activism of the future. Will activism of the future be reduced to days out that have no affect on those campaigning and those being campaigned against.

As soon as we had got back into Birmingham we had to rush down to the Birmingham University Students guild for the NUS black students conference. We had been informed that the Guerilla Team had been nominated for the best campaign award, and it was possible that we could win a prize. What the hell for? We didn’t do anything. We ended up coming second. In my speech I mentioned we didn’t do much apart from getting thrown out of college, but nevertheless we were thankful and gave our gratitude to Pav, the NUS black students officer, for all his hard work during the campaign. He had to put up with our problem with authority. We were very argumentative, aggressive and stubborn throughout the campaign, and if we didn’t disagree with somebody else we would disagree with each other. Pav did a good job dealing with us considering he was in the midst of an election campaign for the NUS presidency. The last thing he needed was two mature students trying to make up for lost time by fighting the world.


After the awards we sat around talking to some people. I ate the free sandwiches on offer; the taste didn’t bother me, as I had not eaten all day. Nowadays before I open my mouth to complain about the food I try to remember those who don’t have any, or have no money to buy any like the Palestinians who are being punished with collective guilt for voting democratically. Some people wanted their picture taken with us. I warned them that I was not very photogenic, so all pictures were taken at the photographers’ own risk. Our conversations varied. Nothing much I can remember; a girl with an identity crisis, Marxism. As I recall I think there was only two people who actually spoke to us. We had a feeling word had got around about us being difficult individuals, coupled with our anti social, anti mingling view on life. And then there was our military looking personas. Nevertheless we were invited back to the hotel the NUS delegates were staying at to continue ‘chatting’.

In the hotel lobby whilst I sat alone waiting for people to return from a group toilet visit, I got chatting to a large looking middle aged man about the price of coffee. His name was Don, he informed me that it had only been three weeks since he had returned from Iraq, where he was stationed in Basra. The blood rushed to my head, I felt an electric pulse go down to my toes. What a situation I had found myself in. I sat face to face with a British Soldier, Sergeant to be exact. It was my chance to find out about the situation in Iraq along with his views on the war. I don’t like the British army, I see them as the hand of the government that will carry out their orders and oppress on their behalf, a bit like the police. But this was more personal since Don is not the army, he is apart of it, and a father of five working to provide for his family. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, nor was he carrying a gun. He was just a normal man having some overly priced coffee.

I started asking him questions. Why did he think it was ok to fly half way across the world to kill and maim people? Don replied he was just following orders and he didn’t kill anybody. He had a family to feed and he was not allowed to have a political opinion. I didn’t stop at that, the conversation continued. Did he agree with the war? I was presented with an analogy of my boss asking me to do overtime, and although I didn’t want to, I agreed as I needed the money and would follow what my boss said. I explained that this was not the same as engaging in an illegal war and occupying Iraq, which in turn has resulted in thousands of deaths and has made the country worse off then it was before. Usually overtime doesn’t entail people dying, unless you’re occupation is an assassin. How about the Iraqi families? The death they have experienced. The loss of schools, the healthcare situation, the violence. But that’s all ok as long as my family can eat their happy meals? Don said he does what he thinks is right, but surly this only applies to what is right by himself and his family, not by the Iraqi people. So all rules of ethics go out the window when we put on a uniform? Yes sir! No Sir! I will kiss your ass Sir! Don was an honest guy, but his naiveté amazed me. Don has three and a half years left until retirement where he gets his pension. I asked him if he understood that he was a legitimate target for the resistance as he was seen as an occupier. Don duly agreed. I mentioned this to point out to him that there was a chance that he may not make retirement, that he could get killed, leaving a widow and fatherless children.
Don was also of the opinion that people where coming from Afghanistan into Iraq to fight. When I asked if he had seen anybody or captured anyone the answer was no, so how did he know? He had no solid evidence, he was probably reading The Sun, and thinking that Iraq had something to do with 9/11. The subject changed, and Don began to show contempt for the Blarite regime. Don raised his voice and in an authoritarian manner said ‘This would not have happened under Thatcher’. Well I don’t know about that.
Don and his family live in Germany where he is posted. He is visiting a friend who is in hospital after having a stroke upon returning from Iraq because of stress. Don was angry with the Government for messing up the NHS and not taking care of soldiers.
Don has the same concerns as any other British citizen; the state of the market, the strength of the Pound, education, and health. I also pointed out to him that the government has also messed up the Iraqi healthcare system, namely by dropping bombs and occupying the land and leaching off Iraq like blood sucking leaches. He also told us that he was going to stay in Germany, and not return to Britain after he retires, as Britain doesn’t give a ‘shit’ about him. No shit Watson, the British Government doesn’t give a crap about anyone who doesn’t have a large bank account, isn’t white or who doesn’t hold a European passport. He also told us that he would speak against the actions of the government once he retired, but he reiterated that he was just following orders and was not allowed to have an opinion. But as you can see he did have an opinion, and from what else he mentioned so do the rest of the troops out in Iraq. They don’t want to be there, and Don and his colleagues know that they are not defending Britain by remaining in Iraq. Soldiers are not supposed to think. They are supposed to just listen and obey. But what is wrong with him speaking up now? If it is going to be wrong when Don retires, it’s wrong now. The army is probably full of people like Don. He saw it as a job, and didn’t fancy working in a factory, so the only other option left was to join the military. Don mentioned oil and questioned me as to whether I was prepared to give up my car if we had no fuel. I answered that my car is not worth your life, or anybody’s life, and that I would gladly give it up to save some ones life. Don mentioning this example to me, illustrated that even a he, a British soldier understood that the war was for oil. He also said I should join the army. Maybe my aggressive questioning and demeanor made him think that I would make a good, obedient killing machine. I think he mistook my frustration with his naivety about the war in Iraq as something else. Don wants to finish the remainder of his time and get back safely to his family and continue his life, he wants to see his children grow up, graduate, marry and have kids, but somehow we forget sometimes that there are other people who want the same thing. They want the same thing for their children and families and what our governments do, what we are involved in, stands in their way. Before we left Don reiterated, this time with a look of regret in his eyes ‘I am just following orders’

By Guevara Serapion

I HAVE NO ENEMIES

I have no human enemies

My enemy is the idle mind,
The words that are repeated without thinking
The suppression of free thought

My enemy is the mind that cannot think for itself, that cannot see hypocrisy

The mind that cannot see oppression and tyranny

My enemy is the restriction of thought

My enemy is the mind that justifies wrongs, seeing good for themselves and for a certain group of people, Nationalism, Racism, Zionism

My enemy is the unspoken word, the words that wonder the mind, the words we dream of speaking but never have the courage to say

My enemy is silence in the face of tribulation

My enemy is laziness, inactiveness, idiocy, inanity, inaction and crimes against humanity

My enemy is ignorance

My enemy is words without action

My enemy is corrupt ideology, impiousness

I have no human enemies, just human diseases

by Guevara Serapion