BY DEBRA PAYNE
LONDON — Many people on the February 15 London anti-war march peace march hadn't been on a march before. But I had and let me tell you it was terrific.
I was on one of 25 buses that left Nottingham for London, along with 300 buses from Birmingham. Altogether more than 1000 coaches were used throughout England to get protesters to London. The sight of the coaches moving steadily to London with signs stuck on the windows was a good start.
Although the traffic went smoothly all the way, there were some drawbacks. As our coach pulled into a service area en route we were met with about 50 buses coming and going, all packed with protesters.
We went in a wave to the shops and found ourselves in a long queue to even get into the centre. Once inside. there was a huge line for the toilets snaking for hundreds of metres. I have never seen a queue for the "men's" but I did that day (with some satisfaction). Two other women and I decided we could find a bush somewhere. The coffee would have to wait. We found a freight container behind some fences. We laughed and laughed at what we were doing. The whole atmosphere, even while travelling, was one of a carnival.
The coach slowly moved through London's streets to get us to the top of Gower Street, one of the two official starting places. As we looked out our window at 12.10pm we could see a throng of people moving in the same direction. Everyone was itching to join them. I, and my new friends, were eager to get to Hyde Park to hear the speeches.
We joined the street march, voting with our feet. The atmosphere was lively, happy, exciting; everyone boisterous with whistles and hooters.
A really interesting part of the march was the "Mexican wave" — only with hundreds of thousands of voices. As we marched you could hear yelling coming at you. Then next minute you were yelling with those around you and then just as suddenly it would proceed into the ranks in front of you. This was a frequent occurrence.
Along the way were the usual drums as well as Samba dancers and even a portable disco stationed in the middle of the street. People danced and sang their way around it. The atmosphere was unbelievable.
After two hours of moving steadily down the street, we started to have doubts that we were ever going to reach Hyde Park. After another hour, my companions and I decided to stop for that promised coffee. We sat, drinking and eating, watching the parade go past. We laughed and talked about how inspiring it was, wondering how many were marching. The march was still coming, with no end in sight, when we rejoined it.
We went on for another hour. Hyde Park was still a way off. We left the official march route to try the side streets. We ran to the next block but to our utter amazement the parallel streets were all a sea of protesters marching towards the park. We tried several streets and at one time we looked at all four streets at an intersection and saw all four were a sea of bodies, moving to drums, chants and whistles.
At this point, about four hours after joining the march, we realised that we would have to reassess our expectations. We were not going to get to Hyde Park before dark.
Being new to England, and not knowing London, I decided to make my way to a friend's house. This was no easy feat. I had to go against the tide of people for about one kilometre, hugging the wall, past the heavily barricaded and guarded Downing Street, until I finally got to Westminster and out of the masses and masses of people.
As I walked to Victoria Station, I realised I had just participated in something remarkable and beautiful. I can't tell you what the speakers said because I simply didn't get there.
Mr Blair! Beware!
[Debra Payne is a teacher from Newcastle, NSW, currently on exchange in Nottingham.]
From Green Left Weekly, February 26, 2003.
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