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News :: Miscellaneous |
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May Day protest in Glasgow |
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by Erin Ramsay
Email: ramsayerin60 (nospam) hotmail.com (unverified!)
Phone: (0141) 588-0109
Address: 6 montague st. flat 2/R |
03 May 2002
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My little report on what happened in Glasgow May 1st for the anti-capitalist protest. |
May day in Glasgow, Scotland
It is a typical grey day in Glasgow, and I have come to the Buchanan Street underground for the May Day anti-capitalist march. Every year, as one of the many May Day protests around the world, hundreds of people dress up, make flags and flyers, paint their bodies and bring things that make noise, to march through Glasgow’s city center.
The stickers littered and stuck around town said to be there for 12:00pm, and by 12:30pm, costumes, dreadlocks, Mohawks, 5-litre water bottle drums and cowbells filled the air and the sun came out. I meet my friend Jenny who is equally as plain clothed as I, and some guy hands us plastic bottles filled with rice and stickers on them that say: Mayday; Liberty; Equality; Solidarity; so we now have something to shake. A couple of girls wear coats that say “Peace Police” on the back, and people are already carelessly rolling joints in front of the real police, who cautiously eye, take photos, and videotape the crowd.
My bag is already stuffed with flyers from Green Peace, Anarchist Federation Scotland, Globalize Resistance, and The Palestinian Solidarity Campaign, among anti-fascist propaganda and a boldly typed suggestion that “Another World Is Possible.”
A guy with black tape over his mouth hands Jenny a white flag that has RESISTANCE spray-painted on it. It is on a long bamboo stick and flaps people in the face unless you hold it up consciously. I ask a guy wearing a sign saying: “Our world is being struck DUMB by AMERIKKKAN dreams” if I can take his photo. He wears Mickey Mouse ears, sunglasses, and his mouth is covered with plastic. Jenny tells him to smile.
When those making the most noise decide to move, the march begins. We walk down Buchanan Street and turn left to go into Georges Square where the City Chambers are. Circling the square is a rental van, with the back up and a DJ mixing loud techno into the big black speakers that protrude from it. The march stops in front of the City Chambers for a good 20 minutes, and the music gets louder. People hop around and scream. Two men, dressed in straw hats and dirty clothes, wear signs that say: “Fascist Farmers;” and “Farmers Say F*#!K It.”
Jenny and I climb on to a block to get a good photo, but the policeman tells us to get down. Ok, we say, and do. The guy, who was told to get down just before we got up, turns to us and says: “Someday we won’t have to put up with this shit.” Then, a guy with red paint covering his identity, jumps up and beats fiercely on his empty 5-litre jug, and blows a whistle. He looks down at the cop mouthing words to him and beats harder. Jenny turns to me and confesses we’re not true anarchists. We dance behind the van until we cannot hold our bladders anymore, at which point we go into the bus station. Jenny handed her flag to a couple of men who said no thanks, but she then informed them that someone had handed it to us and that they had to take it and pass it on, and they did. We watch a few people put their 20 pence coins in the silver barrier to get into the ‘Superloo,’ but it’s their own fault for making it so easy to jump over, so we did, it fit the mood.
We go back outside and have lost the parade. Only minutes after the loud protest against the effects of capitalism made its point, traffic flowed as usual. The next street down is now congested. Jenny took a pile of flyers off a girl and tried to hand them out to men in suits, they read: “We need to clean up our act.” With few takers, we observe a girl ahead of us successfully giving the same flyers to a group of street cleaners. There are bubbles in the air. Young boys wearing Nike and Addidas tracksuits stand along the side and grin. Middle aged women in blue polo shirts and navy skirts enthusiastically pass out coupons for Burger Kings new chicken whopper. Sadly, I don’t think they saw the irony.
The march has become more of a sideshow for unsuspecting consumers now. Out of the back of the van stands a skinny boy with a mad look on his face, pumping his fist to the beat, trying to inspire. It takes a while for the van to get around the corner and stop in front of the Armed Forces Careers building. Looking up to the piercing blue sky line, you see floors of suited workers looking down. I look up at the other buildings and feel amusement at the hundreds of faces pressed against, and popping out of the windows. In front is a bin full of scrap wood, with six police officers guarding it on all four sides. There will be no wood throwing today. A stuffy old man limps anxiously by and mumbles ‘bastards,’ while a little baby sucks on her mother’s dreadlock.
We talk to Spud. He was DJ in the van for a while. “Were makin a lot of noise this year,” he tells us.
Around 3:00pm we make our way back to where we started, and when we get there, there’s a huge van with the side open, playing really funky old reggae. Inside is a sofa and two chairs, lamps, a coffee table, and a DJ. Two women sit on either side of a little boy on the sofa, who drinks juice and watches all the strange people gather in front. Jenny and I couldn’t help ourselves. We ripped off our coats and bounced and danced. The music was a much-needed relief from the thumping techno we endured all day.
When all the protesters arrived, the narrowness of Buchanan Street became apparent. The police stood still alongside, and people just sat on the ground smoking joints and drinking beer. Perhaps it was the music, or maybe most got too stoned to move so quickly, but it took a good 2 hours for the protest to move on. The final destination is Kelvin Grove Park. This is where the music and the party go on until it stops. It is really meant to be the highlight of the day, and I’m sure it was. But, unfortunately, I had to go to work, and keep the opening hours of capitalism.
It was a good day. A bit tame, no violence, no arrests, no thrashing and destroying any fast food chains, just a loud peaceful protest in Glasgow.
Erin Ramsay
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