DAY SIX: Talkin' 'bout a Revolution

For those of you not from London (or for those of you who are but who have been living in a cave of ignorance or apathy), certain areas of the Capital have been taken over by protesters and activists in a movement called Occupy London.  Their grievances range from financial cuts and corporate greed to social injustice and global oppression.  As such, the London Occupations have incited varied emotions from the city’s more orthodox inhabitants; some offer enthusiastic encouragement, others cynical criticism.

Although these so-called “Tent Cities” have been in place since October 2011, I have until now only witnessed them from a distance, offering solidarity from my seat on the bus as I rolled past.  So for Day 6’s new experience, I decided to cross the threshold of London’s most controversial campsite, and spend the afternoon dreaming of a better tomorrow with the rebels of today.

Welcome to the circus... 

With the eviction of the St Paul’s Occupation Camp dramatically looming, I decided to tread carefully and visit the less controversial site: Finsbury Square.  My welcome wasn’t exactly the warmest (though my suit trousers and on-trend trench probably didn’t help) and the “locals” took me in with uncertain trepidation.  Tensions in the camp are understandably high right now.  In light of the crisis at St Paul’s (fondly known as The School, I learnt), Finsbury Square faces an uncertain future. Will they be inundated with an unmanageable number of out-of-home activists?  Will they meet the same fate as its sister city? This predicament was explained to me by “Dave” (real name undisclosed for security reasons), a charming carpenter from Ireland who came to London for work, and ended up part of something much bigger.

Not your average Odeon

After simple introductions, Dave offered me on a quick tour of the Occupation.  Sights included the Cinema Tent (which looked more like a futuristic bomb shelter) and the rubbish area, located disturbingly right next to the make-shift “Kitchen”.  Niceties over, it was back to business.  Dave had the important duty of fixing a megaphone, something I had no clue about. Fortunately for me, Dave was equally stumped so we abandoned the megaphone, and got to work packing away a tent.  People come and go a lot in the camps, I was informed, and tents are constantly going up and down.  Dave himself had only been around for a month; another protester, who looked remarkably adolescent, had only joined the camp this week.  Half term holiday, perhaps?

Conversation about their lifestyle did not come easily with many of the tent-dwellers.  By now they had clearly had enough of being asked about how cold it gets at night and what they do for a toilet.  So, to avoid too much awkwardness, I eventually made my excuses and left the Occupation.  Not, however, before the obligatory cup of tea (this is still England, roof or no roof).  After a moment of waiting, I realised I was to go to the “Kitchen” and help myself. After all, it’s every man for himself in a revolution...

Day Six: Help change the world. DONE!


Peace & Love,
Rich xx