At last, our garage is de-cluttered. The BHF charity came and took away the redundant furniture and furnishings. They wouldn’t touch anything electrical, so I took it to that well-known health-and-safety-exempt-zone, Tommy’s junk shop. I did keep a small bookcase, which I fettled up and installed in the block’s communal entrance, ousting the cardboard box perched on a chair that, since time immemorial, has served as our book-exchange facility. This action was, admittedly, more than a manifestation of my commitment to civic duty: the misappropriated chair offended my aesthetic sensibility. Whether my fellow residents agree remains to be seen, as I took unilateral direct action on the matter.
I cherish the book-exchange, despite the concierge’s pessimistic view that it’s just a dumping ground for unwanted volumes. I dip in frequently but, having migrated some time ago from print to e-books, I feel bad about not being much of a contributor. (E-books are more convenient for those of us who wish to travel light and leave a smaller carbon footprint, though on this latter point I am uncertain as to how the figures stack up. But it does seem likely to me that physical resources + the energy used in production and distribution for print exceeds that used for digitised books.) Whatever the medium of choice, nothing will stop me reading. By saying so, however, I am exercising privilege and assuming freedom.
Until modern times, literacy for the masses was discouraged – education was for elites – and even when reading became widespread, texts were routinely censored by church and state. Even as they lost their grip on this control, other sinister forces emerged: the ‘free press’, for example, being dominated by private interests and used for wealth-extraction and political influence. Even now, the government is seeking to appoint its own candidate as head of the broadcasting regulator, Ofcom, so that it can control the stories. To quote Jerry Rubin, “The power to define the situation is the ultimate power”.
It is with this in mind that I have decided, belatedly, to take to the streets of Bristol on Saturday (before they are all privatised) and protest with others at the incipient curtailment of citizen freedoms proposed in the government’s Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts bill, currently with the House of Lords. And since the garage is now properly equipped as a workspace, I have made a start on the all-important banners. They are designed to roll up and fit into a small rucksack, so as not to be an encumbrance on journeys to and from demos and, thinking ahead, to be undetectable to the police who, under the proposed new legislation, would have the power to confiscate them before they are even unfurled. The resulting banners are a triumph of ingenuity and workmanship, though my OH demurs, saying that they look too “professional”. Her preference is for the makeshift, folksy style – a legacy of her time on the streets with XR and its creative, free-form evocation of Nature. Yes, I say, but these banners need to speak legalese and, therefore, ought to look respectable, like a defendant in a suit.
Meanwhile, a debate rages concerning the effectiveness, or otherwise, of protests that ‘disrupt’ public affairs. But consider the fact that quiet, peaceful marches failed to gain votes for women, get the bomb banned or stop our government invading Iraq at the behest of the USA. And consider the fact that the incumbent controlling party seeks to own the definition of ‘disruptive’.
In all this, I have yet to write any slogans on the banners. I understand that they need to be short and pithy – PM Johnson has taught us that, at least – but this is not my forte and, so far, my best attempt is DON’T CRIMINALISE PROTESTORS (PRITI PLEASE). Whether my fellow citizens agree, remains to be seen.
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