| The area around the Railton Road (Frontline/Mayall
Road triangle) is inhabited by mainly black council tenants and white squatters
(leftists/anarchists/marginals). Empty houses are also used by local blacks
as drinking and gambling clubs, dope centres and venues for all-night 'Blues'
parties with sound systems pumping out non-stop reggae. Down the Frontline
a black crafts centre has recently started in one empty building and further
down a former black bookshop is now a squatted anarchist bookshop. |
| People down here tend to live on the left-overs
of capitalist society. For years, the Triangle has been on the drawing board
for demolition but only in the last two has any attempt been made to carry
this out. But the council keep running out of money so it has been coming
down piecemeal, making a rough area look even rougher. However, the maze
of streets west of the FrontAine look brighter as they have increasingly
come under the occupation of white, liberal professionals and self-made
respectable blacks. |
| Down the Frondine there are two distinct cultures
- the black and the white - and it is the black culture which predominates
and on the fringes of which the young whites participate. Dope and Reggae.
The blacks have their own language - Patois - and this gives them an independent
cultural identity that is not easily co-opted or diluted. Perhaps the most
relevant aspect of this culture (in terms of the riots) is that it is very
much a street culture (despite British weather). Winter or summer there
are always crowds of blacks out on the Fronthne rapping, smoking, laughing,
visibly occupying their social space. But it is the cops who claim they
control the streets of London. |
| Certainly m the two years I've lived on the
Frontline I've noticed that the cops have always tried to intimidate the
Frondine community with constant vehicle and foot patrols and less frequently,
horse patrols. (The most bizarre policing incident I've ever seen happened
a few months ago when a cop on horse-back chased someone down Mayall Road).
Actually, the cops know they cannot fully control the Frontline. Despite
their claims and their patrols the police policy on the Frontline has been
one of containment- periodical raids to remind locals who is boss and to
warn them not to get out of hand. |
| Operations such as the one in 1978, when the
SPO sealed off the Frontline and searched anybody and everybody, have caused
outrage. Blacks, especially the second generation, are, on the whole defiant.
A month or so ago a black motorist tore up the ticket a cop had just given
him and threw it back in his face to cheers from the assembled crowd. The
cops constantly use the SUS laws to stop and search young blacks. And they
do this with vengeance. Another event on the Frontline will illustrate this.
Two vehicles collided and the cops on the scene immediately searched both
vehicles and their drivers and passengers. The accident was secondary. |
| With such everyday deprivation and such mindless
state bullying, for being deprived, the one thing which united the disparate
elements of the Frontline community is a burning hatred for the cops. What
most surprised local people when the Bristol riots happened last year was
that they hadn't happened here first. Another surprise was that the anarchist
grafitti which went up after Bristol-' Bristol yesterday, Brixton today
' took a year to be made real. The establishment knew this too: Only a few
months ago Lam beth Council published a report criticising the cops and
predicting trouble. |
| The constant intense policing of Brixton and
of the Frontline in particular was heightened in the week leading up to
the riots. At 11pm on Friday April 3rd., the Frontline area around Dexter
and Leeson Roads was sealed off by cops with no-one being allowed in or
out for over an hour. Over 20 arrests were made. Then, in the following
week, Operation Swamp 81 saw over 1,000 people (mainly young blacks) stopped
and searched. This was all adding to the increasing frustration of local
people. |
| At about 2.30am on Friday 10th I was stopped
and threatened by 3 young blacks with bottles. This confused and angered
me (it was the first time I'd ever been hassled on the Frontline) and it
was only later that I realised that they have been victims of 'Swamp 81',
perhaps only minutes before meeting me. On Friday 10th at about 5pm a young
black with a knife wound was stopped on the Frontline by cops. What followed
is the source of many different stories. |
| Whatever happened (and it isn't necessary to
seek justification for what followed anyway) the cops were attacked by a
gang of locals, the young bloke freed and taken to hospital. A brief battle
with cop re-inforcements occurred. The cops took this as a challenge and
so the following day, Saturday 11th, the Frontline was under police occupation.
Usually the cops patrol the Frontline. But on that Saturday they parked
up and down the Frontline every 50 yards, just sitting in their vans waiting
for something to happen. It was a warm day so the Frontline was full of
people standing around doing the usual things and, this time, eyeing the
occupation force with hatred. |
| All afternoon most people expected trouble of
some sort. At about 5pm in the afternoon a plain-clothes cop received the
free gift of a brick on the head for wanting to search a black guy's car.
Up in Atlantic Road an arrest was attempted and this further angered an
already angry crowd. Most of this crowd was gathered in the space at the
apex itself and at the beginning of Atlantic Road. The odd brick began to
fly at the cops isolated in the crowd. A window was smashed. Tension rose.
Electric. Then plain-clothes cops appeared from the crowd and joined the
uniformed lot. |
| Battle lines were now clearly drawn and the
first barrage of bricks flew in the direction of the cops. They threw a
few back and charged. At first we retreated a little but-realising we were
many, they were few- we stopped. Then, spontaneously, the whole afternoon's
tension being released like a spring, we charged them. (What follows may
seem confused and incoherent. But this is how I experienced the rioting.
I report on only what I saw and heard. Certain incidents are omitted for
obvious reasons). A massive surge of adrenalin. War whoops. Class war whoops.
'Whoops! Class War!' A scramble for bricks. 'I must have a brick. Where
are the bricks?' A hail of bricks. The cops are confused as they realise
they are no longer in control. Puppets without a role. They look at us,
at one another and around themselves. Them. Run. Away. Down Mayall Road,
leaving their vehicles in our hands. |
| In the twinkling of a rioting eye the vehicles
are smashed up and turned over. A light is instantly provided and poof!
Up goes a cop's van. Wild cheers. Laughter, dances of joy. I see a comrade
and we beam solidarity at one another. Our savage celebrations are interrupted
by a charge of cops. (They had regrouped with re-inforcements). The crowd
splits. The cops are mad. Truncheons thrashing. I run to safety up a side
street and meet another comrade. As we point with child-like glee at the
rising pall of smoke; a white guy is bricked, inexplicably. He is immediately
defended by black youths and all eyes look around for the idiot thrower.
|
| A nearby friend has transport and as I go to
seek its availability a black guy bearing an old grudge grabs me, revenge
in his eyes. Before he can find an excuse to brick me (was the brick which
hit the other guy meant for me?) I make it plain that assistance is needed.
Van not available. Questions from friends. Tune in to police radio. They
are out of their heads. Sounds of windows going in on Coldharbour Lane.
Back onto the streets. In Coldharbour Lane an SPG van is on its side like
some stranded whale. |
| A boutique has its windows simashed and twisted
dummies litter the pavement. Crowds of onlookers. Glass smashes in Electric
Avenue. A jewellers is looted. Another further up. Black and white youths
kick their way through the roller shutters. I watch out for cops on Brixton
Road, announce to the passing shoppers, who are all eyes, that free jewellery
is available should they want it. Am ignored. Notice that the jewellers
is, perfectly, next door to a consumer advice centre. Necklaces, bracelets,
rings and watches are thrown into the pavement. Jewellery in the gutter.
Great! I have a game of football with so me bracelets, a game I can't lose.
There are some squabbles over loot. Depressing. |
| Moveout onto Brixton Road. Burton's tailors
is done in and a dummy set ablaze. Magical sight. Cops arrive. Pull dummy
onto pavement. The tube station is closed but Brixton Road is still open
to traffic. The motorists and bus passengers look on in confusion as looting
spreads to both sides of the road. A black youth kicks in plate glass windows
as if he is swatting flies. More cops. Burglar alarms scream out to deaf
ears. More and more cops. Running battles. More looting. Then I notice there's
no more traffic. The cops have sealed the main road off from the cop shop
to the Town Hall. Looting and smashing now all along Brixton Road area,
the market area and up Acre Lane. My name is called out. Another comrade.
We shake hands muttering 'Great! Great!' I give him a garbled resume. Bulk
of crowd now around Brixton oval. Woolworths smashed and looted. Television
sets, stereo, carted off. Some smashed. Occasional cop van races through
and is smashed. |
| Many in the crowd realise cops have to pass
us to get into the battle area so crowds line up on either side of Brixton
Road with bottles and bricks. 'Here's another' Smash. 'And another' Smash.
A proletarian fairground. 'And the next one please!' Smash. Everyone a winner.
Cops wise up and a convoy arrives, stops and a horde of meanies piles out,
truncheons thrashing. Crowd splits up but sniping still possible. A charge
and we escape up a side street. All casual, like, we call into a pub for
a drink. A rumour goes round that a cop has been kidnapped. My comrade and
I smirk into our glasses. We decide to go to the Frontline. |
| It is now dark and we worm our way through back
streets, avoiding cop cordons. We approach the top of the Frontline along
Kellett Road and are met with an unbelievable sight. Three rows of cops
stretch across the Frontline, facing into it. A non-stop hail of bricks
batters their shields. Then suddently a molotov (the first I've ever seen)
comes up and over and smash! lands on some shields, which are hurriedly
dropped. Look down Mayall Road and see the Windsor Castle (pub) ablaze. |
| The Frontline is barricaded with burning vehicles.
I'm elated and pissed off. Elated that the Frontline is a no go area and
pissed off that I'm now cut off from defending it. I look around. Exhausted
and injured cops sitting on the ground smoking fags. The fires, the cops,
the atmosphere. Class war. 'Will they bring the army in?' Belfast. |
| We detour to the south end of the Frontline,
which is also sealed off. Watch a shop blaze. The sub-post office has disappeared.
Back to the Town Hall area. Cops now holding strategic positions- the big
junction at the Town Hall, the cops station, etc. Still looting. More friends
arrive. Talk. Back to the Frontline. All fires out by now. It's getting
on for midnight. Things much quieter. Cops slowly regaining control. Up
to cop shop. Barricaded with cop vans. Under siege. Cops attack us and force
people down a back alley. Beatings. Arrests. We are split up. |
| I wander back along Brixton Road surveying damage.
Only a few civilians are about now. Cops are in control. Get off the streets.
Talk to friends for hours and then back to Frontline for celebratory drink.
One last look at the blitzed Frontline in the dawn light and then sleep.
I dream of cops, cops and more cops. |
| Sunday 12th. Tired, hungover. Rage at the newspaper.
Commissioner McNee and others have the gall to blame 'outside agitators'.
(The cops were the outside agitators.) The Frontline is crowded with people
debating. Lots of cops patrolling warily. Firemen inspect damage. Discuss
events with friends. News of arrests. Early evening. More trouble, but more
easily contained, as over 1000 more cops are in the area. Brixton is sealed
off, up as far as Kennington Oval. Fascist attack in Villa Road (famous
squatted street). Cop station again heavily protected. Cops use 'Nightsun'
helicopter for the first time. (Can light up an area the size of a football
pitch and is fitted with infra red cameras.) More cops. They're gaining
the upper hand. |
| Since the weekend there has been confusion and
paranoia. The gutter press stress not only 'outside agitators' but also
'white anarchists conspiracy'. Comrades are raided. (Who's next?) Where
are they held? Which court will they appear in? First fines are heavy-£200.
Hassles about getting bail. Newspapers print photo-graphs showing faces.
(Who's next?) Frontline now quieter than usual. Massive police presence
but this isn't immediately visible. Coaches in side streets, up to 2 miles
away. |
| Reports filter back about treatment of those
arrrested. Heavy. Can't sleep. (How can the people of Northern Ireland have
survived 10 years of this without cracking up?) The black community is divided.
The rally for Easter Sunday is called off. Recriminations. The Brixton Defence
Committee and Lambeth Law Centre are organising counter-information and
compiling a list of cases against the police. It's still early days yet.
|
| Easter Weekend. Frontline much quieter than
usual Brixton still occupied. All varieties of political groupings trying
to colonise the local initiative. (The worst I saw was Militant,
with the headline 'Brixton Blame the Tories'.) Difficult to judge the atmosphere.
People having to re-think, trying to get these extraordinary events in perspective.
It is now a higher level of confrontation. All the shops in the market and
main road areas are hoarded up. For how long? There is talk of more 'aid'
for the community. Sticking plaster for leprosy. Class society is rotten
through and through. Where will the next eruption take place? The struggle
here is far from over. |
| From We Want to Riot, Not To Work,
Riot Not To Work Collective, 1982. |
| Back To Chronology. |
