There was something particularly satisfying about hearing about the storming of the Millbank Tower. In the build-up to the spending review and its aftermath the right-wing press was full of smug articles proclaiming the 'responsible' acceptance by the British public of the looming austerity measures. The British, it was claimed, weren't like the infantile French or the uncontrollable Greeks - they would take their dose of medicine and doff their hats to their betters.
Where are those articles now?
The first major protest against Austerity Britain saw destruction on the streets of London, at a homeopathic level of dilution compared to the violence which is about to be inflicted on society as a whole. As made clear by many first hand accounts, this was not the normal anarchist crew acting outside of the will of the group. This was the simmering discontent of a generation, manifesting itself as broken glass, crude graffiti and cheers.
In three paragraphs, Laurie Penny gets right to the heart of the matter:
One can often take the temperature of a demonstration by the tone of the chanting. The cry that goes up most often at this protest is a thunderous, wordless roar, starting from the back of the crowd and reverberating up and down Whitehall. There are no words. It's a shout of sorrow and celebration and solidarity and it slices through the chill winter air like a knife to the stomach of a trauma patient. Somehow, the pressure has been released and the rage of Europe's young people is flowing free after a year, two years, ten years of poisonous capitulation.
They spent their childhoods working hard and doing what they were told with the promise that one day, far in the future, if they wished very hard and followed their star, their dreams might come true. They spent their young lives being polite and articulate whilst the government lied and lied and lied to them again. They are not prepared to be polite and articulate any more. They just want to scream until something changes. Perhaps that's what it takes to be heard.
"Look, we all saw what happened at the big anti-war protest back in 2003," says Tom, a postgraduate student from London. "Bugger all, that's what happened. Everyone turned up, listened to some speeches and then went home. It's sad that it's come to this, but..." he gestures behind him to the bonfires burning in front of the shattered windows of Tory HQ. "What else can we do?"
I wasn't at this protest and, as I'm stuck in Jerusalem for a while, I am unlikely to be on any future ones for some time. But I cannot help but feel that this protest is a foreshadowing of what is to come. It being the first noticeable blow to the coalition's plans for the bright, new Austerity Britain, this has set the stage for a significant confrontation. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe for one second that the next protest is going to see any such act. I don't think that it's only a matter of months until we're waving red flags in the House of Commons, but the idea that the British public do not know the word "fight" unless followed by "ze Germans" is dead.
The burning of those placards and the smashing of those windows has added a dash of tension to the otherwise oppressive sense of broken hopes and grey austerity. The coalition is unlikely to back down or compromise, but perhaps (just perhaps) this has opened the door to defeating the coalition outright. When he criticises the people in Millbank that day, Aaron Porter is living in a different world where the government is a partner for negotiation. The truth is that this government is hell bent on an ideological redrawing of this country. No number of friendly chats or witty placards can change that.
As said, "the next five years can't just be about marching on Whitehall to hear Tony Benn speak". The spending review was the declaration of a political conflict whose outcome will shape our entire society. We need to win it.
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