Deeper than the pipelines – Oil exploitation in the Niger Delta and the legacy of Ken Saro-Wiwa

Written for the Free Word Centre- 30/05/2015

The average life expectancy in Nigeria is less than 50 years

– United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP), 2011

“It is genocide. I accuse the oil companies of practising racism because they do in Ogoni what they do not do in other parts of the world.”
– Ken Saro-Wiwa, 1993

The story of oil exploitation in the Niger Delta is one of severe injustice.

Before oil was first discovered in commercial quantities by Shell in 1956, the Niger Delta, home to approximately 31 million people and over 40 ethnic groups, was sustained by a system of rich agriculture and natural resource. Inhabitants also benefited from one of the largest and most important wetlands and marine ecosystems in the world, with an estimated 75% of the Niger Delta population relying on the environment for farming and fishing as a means of sustaining their livelihoods.

It is crucial to remember that though oil production began in 1956, imperialist structures, stemming from the beginning of the twentieth century, facilitated this process. In 1937, under the rule of the British Empire, Shell was given exploration rights to the whole of Nigeria. Therefore, though the discovery of oil was thought to increase the wealth of Nigeria, in a global market desperate for crude oil, the move to oil production wasn’t based on the needs of the indigenous communities of the Niger Delta, but rather part of the expansion of British imperialist powers, which have continued to the current day.

 To date, over $600 billion has been generated from Nigerian oil exports since 1960 and yet the majority of people from the Niger Delta have been left impoverished. The infrastructure implemented for oil production was prioritised over the region’s agricultural dependence, with pipelines built in front of homes and across farmlands. As the pipelines have aged and have been poorly maintained, the area has suffered from constant oil spills, leading to farmlands and forests covered in oil, severely reducing the capacity for growth of crops.

In Ogoniland, an area in the south of the Niger Delta, there were an estimated 2,976 oil spills between 1976 and 1991. Despite the vast quantities of oil being produced in the area, Ogoni villages have no clean water, little health care provision and have received no form of reparation, leaving locals with neither the revenue from oil production, nor the agricultural resource afforded to them previously.

The heavy pollution of water sources has led to a loss of the biodiversity that the Niger Delta was so renowned for, as well as contaminating water used for cooking and bathing, with drinking water containing carcinogens up to 900 times above World Health Organization standards.

Also, contrary to Nigerian law, Shell burns off excess natural gas, a by-product of oil drilling, which creates walls of flames so large that some can be seen from space. Some of these flares have burned non-stop for over 40 years, leaving locals to contend with the constant heat and light from the flames, which among other ailments, can cause sleep deprivation and insomnia.

Unsurprisingly, this has led to catastrophic detrimental health affects for the people of Niger Delta. With an average age expectancy of under 50, people are significantly more prone to suffer from respiratory problems, gastro-intestinal disorders, malnutrition as well as various forms of cancer.

Ken Saro-Wiwa and Ogoni protest

The Ogoni community have historically led fierce opposition against the resource exploitation undertaken by Shell. A well-known figure who was pivotal in peaceful protests against Shell was writer, satirist and environmental activist Ken Saro-Wiwa. In 1990, as president of The Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People (MOSOP), he was central to the creation of the Ogoni Bill of Rights which called for the self-determination of the Ogoni people and which shone a light on imperialist structures at force. The Bill also paved the way for other indigenous communities worldwide to produce similar manifestos.

Moreover, MOSOP, led by Ken, mobilised 300,000 people to protest against the actions of Shell, calling for environmental justice and reparations for the damage done to Ogoniland. This was the biggest protest of its kind against an oil company, forcing Shell to stop oil extraction in Ogoniland in 1993. However, in response, Shell allegedly colluded heavily with the Nigerian military government, who consequently accused Ken Saro-Wiwa and eight other Ogoni activists – Saturday Dobee, Nordu Eawo, Daniel Gbooko, Paul Levera, Felix Nuate, Baribor Bera, Barinem Kiobel, and John Kpuine – of murder, conducting a bogus trial for their condemnation. They were executed in 1995. After a lengthy legal battle lasting 14 years, Shell finally paid $15.5 million in compensation to the families of the Ogoni activists killed.

Legacies of Saro-Wiwa

The legacies of Saro-Wiwa and the eight Ogoni activists (otherwise known as the Ogoni nine) leave a heavy but hopeful burden. Whilst their execution was and still continues to be a devastating and terrifying loss, they pay testament to the strength of community leadership and activism. The protests of the Ogoni people prevented Shell from returning to area and have provided inspiration to communities around the world who continue to resist multinational companies. Moreover, protests do continue and organisations such as Social Action, the People’s Advancement Centre, and Environmental Rights Action continue to campaign with and for Nigerians affected by multinational oil exploitation, striving to keep the issue on the international agenda.

However the challenges persist and evolve; the execution of the Ogoni nine showed the extent to which the military are involved in Shell’s operations in the Niger Delta and research has shown how Shell regularly colludes with armed militants, offering financial incentive to violently suppress opposition to the oil operation.

Though there has been no oil production in Ogoniland for over 20 years, oil spills still occur regularly. Though the chief executive of Shell, Ben van Beurden, has recently paid lip service to cleaning up the region, the company continues to show no real commitment to doing so, ignoring the report from UNEP in 2011 which confirms that the Niger Delta has been extensively damaged by Shell’s actions.

Moreover, the reputational damage incurred from the execution of the Ogoni nine means that Shell has adopted the language of sustainability, referring to ‘alternative’ and ‘clean’ sources of energy, under the guise of corporate social responsibility. This serves to soften their image and cultivate a veneer of respectability. In considering the challenges of oil production in the Niger Delta, Shell’s focus on the crude oil theft in the region, without considering the root causes, is again an attempt to stretch the narrative beyond their own corruption. This is further compounded by their association and sponsorship of cultural and educational institutions which, again, serves to soften their image and encourage us to disassociate them from their actions in Nigeria.

Whilst considering the challenges that continue to plight the lives of people in the Niger Delta, it’s crucial to contextualise the situation within the neocolonial structures at force. How has Shell been able to continue these actions for the past 50 years with the complete disregard of the Nigerian people? With more oil spilled in the Niger Delta each year than that of the 2010 oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, whose lives continue to be more important than others and why? How would we react if a similar situation were happening in Norway, for example, or Scotland?

The people of the Niger Delta are living in a state of paralysis. Being denied the benefits of their own land and means of livelihood is keeping them, as Saro-Wiwa described, in a state of slavery. What was so powerful about the protests of MOSOP and the Ogoni nine was that they called for more than an end to oil exploitation, but for the real autotomy of Nigerians – they called for Nigerians to be seen and heard. And this remains the biggest threat to the current neocolonialist structure, which remains rooted in the archaic notion that the people of Africa cannot and should not be in control of their own land. It is this fear; of the loss of neocolonial powers and the notion of meaningful autonomy for the people of Niger Delta, benefiting from their own resources, that runs deeper than the pipelines

Review: Assata, An Autobiography

Written for Red Pepper - 16/11/14

Assata Shakur is the US government’s hangover. Many black political activists of the 1960s and 70s were systematically targeted by the FBI, falsely convicted and at times killed in order to destabilise the black power movement. However, after being convicted of killing a police officer in 1977, Assata’s escape from a similar fate remains a defiant and symbolic act of resistance. Though the evidence of the murder trial, both forensic and medical, is overwhelmingly in Assata’s favour (there were no traces of gun residue on her fingers, no fingerprints on the gun in question and with the injuries sustained from being shot at three times it would have been impossible to shoot at the police officer), she is considered a threat to the US government and is on the FBI’s most wanted terrorist list. Forty years on, Assata Shakur is still a dangerous woman.

With this in mind, it’s clear that Assata: An Autobiography, republished by Zed Books in July, is as imperative a read and powerful a defence against the FBI’s ongoing claims as it was in the year of its original publication in 1987. The autobiography begins at the shootout involving the police officer and from there Assata takes us through her subsequent legal battles. This is interspersed with emotionally charged poetry and recollections of formative experiences throughout her life, which lead up to her political awakening and involvement in the black power movement. In the final chapter, she brings us up to the 1987 present day – having escaped from prison, she is living in Cuba.

Through Assata’s experiences, we are invited to look directly into the mechanisms of power and the measures the US government has taken to uphold its winners and subjugate its losers. She shows us how the police, backed by the FBI, operate with impunity under the guise of neutralising ‘black nationalist hate groups’, while Assata, much like her black radical counterparts of the time, is systematically targeted and vilified for an array of fictitious crimes. The language used by US officials offers a critical case study in systemic power and denigration. The parallel between the public depiction of Assata and her eloquence and compassion is palpable throughout the autobiography. Words used by the police and media to describe her, such as ‘threat’ and ‘enemy of the state’, create a reductive caricature of a woman seeking justice and equality.

Angela Davis, in the foreword, recalls how Assata asks in an open letter to the Pope, ‘Why, I wonder, do I warrant such attention? What do I represent that is such a threat?’ The reality is we were never supposed to hear Assata’s story; the criminal plastered on every ‘wanted’ poster wall in 1970s New York was the only side of her we were ever supposed to see. The danger she poses to the US government, therefore, lies in her freedom and her disruption of this mainstream narrative. Assata has lived in the bowels of a corrupt and oppressive legal process but she has lived to tell the tale. Her unapologetic critique of the system that tried to crush her and her beliefs exposes the hypocrisy behind the principles of equality and freedom that the US believes its ideals were built upon.

Assata’s autobiography is a book that should be irrelevant now, a historical flag post of the struggles of our revolutionary forebearers. Instead, the picture she paints is strikingly similar to the deep-rooted structural inequalities we are familiar with today. Her accounts of police brutality and impunity, the communities of colour disproportionately imprisoned and the selective character defamation all have resonance in the injustices of Trayvon Martin, Mariss Alexander, Mike Brown and the ongoing struggle in Ferguson. For all of the misguided assertions that we are living in an Obama ‘post‑racial’ climate, these continuing cases of racialised police brutality, as well as the ongoing attempts made by the US to denigrate and convict Assata, signal a systemic prejudice as raw and as visceral as it was in the 1960s.

 There is much to learn from this book. As personal as it is political, it has vital lessons for any activist committed to challenging social injustice and fighting for global solidarity. Assata’s reflections as an activist in exile are also important; she is both in the centre and the periphery of the struggle, which breeds insightful and nuanced considerations.

 Assata’s sense of hope, even in the most dire of situations, is striking. She talks about the creativity and power borne out of hardship and her poems within the book, often written during the bleakest of times, seem to give testament to this. For her, there is still beauty and truth even in the darkest moments of struggle. In her words:

I believe in living.

I believe in birth.

I believe in the sweat of love

and in the fire of truth.

And I believe that a lost ship,

steered by tired, seasick sailors,

can still be guided home

to port.

Give young people a voice in the EU referendum debate

Written for the Guardian -31/05/13

Ukip’s recent rise in popularity and the increased fervour behind talks of an EU referendum has placed the matter of the UK’s future within Europe at the forefront of the mainstream agenda. But when I read these headlines, something just doesn’t ring true. David Cameron’s claim that the people of Britain are unhappy with the relationship between Britain and the EU does not reflect my own experiences – or those of my peers.

I studied as an Erasmus student in both France and Italy. Not only did I come away fluent in two languages, but this experience informs my outlook in all kinds of ways – whether by informing my ability to translate reports for work or by giving me a lasting sense of snobbery for inauthentic Italian restaurants back in the UK.

A recent report from the Fabian Society shows that the majority of the 18- to 34-year-olds surveyed claimed they would vote yes to EU membership in a referendum. Far from donning rose-tinted glasses about the current state of the EU, the report reveals that the majority of young people, despite economic instability and the burgeoning eurozone crisis, still feel positive about the UK’s involvement within the EU.

What’s clear here is there is a discrepancy between Ukip’s and the Tories’ anti-Europe rhetoric, and the views of the pro-European majority among the younger UK generation. Why do rightwing political parties continue to dismiss young people’s views – and the potential to be gained from staying within the EU for younger generations?

My Erasmus year instantly placed me within a network of young people from 27 countries and reputable universities to study in. To be exposed to so many different opportunities, cultures and people (and given a grant for the privilege) all under the umbrella of “Europe” connected me to the EU in a way that makes the overly simplistic makings of the EU referendum derisory.

The reality is that young people are less likely to vote – and issues surrounding Europe are no exception; only 29% of people aged 24 or younger voted in European elections in 2009. However, it would be lazy to mistake this lacklustre political presence among youth for apathy. The young may be disillusioned with the democratic process, but for most of us, the EU serves more of a cultural function than a political one. But because this level of engagement doesn’t translate into a cohesive or valuable entity in political terms, it’s all too easily dismissed, and for the right to continue to portray the UK as an aloof and distant cousin within the European family.

Many young Brits are currently facing limited opportunities, so why is shrinking them further by UK withdrawal being discussed? As youth unemployment rises and hideous terms like, “benefit scrounger” and “Neet” bounce around current day vernacular, youth engagement within the EU presents a mass of opportunity. EU schemes such as the Leonardo Da Vinci programme and the European Voluntary Service allow young people to work and live abroad as well as encouraging young people from disadvantaged backgrounds to apply. It’s crucial that the chances for young people are widened, not limited, and our views taken into account (and where have we seen this before?) instead of being disregarded for the ideas of the privileged few.

It’s a chilling and all too familiar story, to listen to the constant stream of white middle-class rightwing politicians claiming separation from the EU would be best for the country as they prove time and time again that they do not speak for me or the majority. When Cameron speaks for the supposed majority about Britain’s overburdened relationship to the EU, he undermines the fruitful experiences and voices of those who reject the sovereign and individualistic mentality that surrounds the EU debate. Instead of flailing and jumping to the drum of Ukip, it’s time the Conservatives listened. We need Europe and future generations should not be left bearing the consequences of decisions they did not make and outcomes they did not vote for.

REVIEW: Black Power Mixtape

Written for Red Pepper - 17/12/11

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The film Black Power Mixtape is a look back in history to the struggles of the US civil rights movement, with footage from 1967 to 1975. Retrieved from the depths of Swedish television archives, the film is a collection of interviews, images and commentary by Swedish journalists of the time. Directed by Göran Olsson, it pays fitting tribute to the power of documentary and, from a contemporary point of view, demonstrates the dividends of documentation in the midst of struggle and political activism.

Using footage shown in chronological order, the film gives an insight to the visions of different pivotal activists in the black power movement. Interviews and speeches with leading figures prove both touching and powerful. Activist Stokely Carmichael’s sharp turn of phrase, in the context of an intimate interview between him and his mother, forms part of an invaluable historical snapshot. The interview demonstrates, directly and personally, Carmichael’s rise above the generational passivity and rhetoric that preceded him.

The film also covers contemporary reactions to the vilification of the black power movement. Angela Davis’s eloquence is noteworthy as she outlines, with righteous incredulity, the often one-dimensional discourse of violence associated with the black power movement without reference to the barbarism and violent culture initiated and perpetuated by white America. Interviews such as this, alongside speeches and other footage, give the viewer a real sense of the notion of black power and the different approaches activists and leaders took in their fight for equality.

Black Power Mixtape has its limitations, however, and its narration is at times lacking. It is striking that although we are given a vivid feel for some of the activists of the American civil rights movement, the modern-day counterparts providing commentary in the film are mostly of musical standing. While the contributions from artists such as Erykah Badu, Talib Kweli and Questlove are often thought-provoking and have their place, the absence of current academic and political figures is noticeable and robs the documentary of important perspectives and flavour.

The irony in Erykah Badu’s comments about black people needing to document and tell their own stories is that Black Power Mixtape is told essentially from a Swedish perspective. Commentators such as Badu and Questlove are given the platform to comment but the structure is driven by the Swedish footage available.

The documentary also covers such a large range of topics that the subject matter is almost too big for it to handle and it suffers a loss of depth. While this is inevitable to some extent given the time constraints of a film of just over 90 minutes, some issues are just too important to leave aside. The lack of reference to the often misogynistic nature of the black power movement, for example, leaves a gaping hole in the narrative and its discussion of notions of black power.

For a film so seemingly political, Black Power Mixtape manages to raise weighty issues born of the civil rights movement without properly acknowledging the proximity of these events and how their effects are still being felt today. Instead, as a conclusion, we are told in a passing, somewhat stereotypical statement that the black power movement’s legacy can be found in certain forms of hip hop, reducing the issues raised by the film – and the movement – to a musical genre.

The lack of modern-day context in tackling such an important issue leaves me with a raised brow, particularly when considering that Talib Kweli’s hip hop company Blacksmith Records was involved in the film’s production. Even the use of the word ‘mixtape’ in the title, while on the one hand referring to the mix of different footage in the film, points ambiguously to the hip hop soundtrack and music in general.

Although Black Power Mixtape is invaluable in the rare footage and insights it provides, the film’s relative lack of contemporary academic and political analysis leaves it incomplete. Though the film offers powerful commentary from the past, it is as telling in what it lacks as in what it offers.

While it is made clear from the content that oppression gives rise to what Talib Kweli describes as ordinary people ‘standing up for themselves’, the film leaves the impression that the struggles and achievements of the civil rights movement have done little more than reap a politically conscious group of contemporary hip hop musicians. Is this the real power that civil rights activists fought for?

Oppressing the ‘oppressed’ – What good can come from the banning the burka?

Written for Women's Views on News- 26/05/11

 April saw the much debated burka ban come into effect in France. With reported acts of resistance already underway, the ban means that women seen wearing the burka and niqab (full Islamic veils) in public can receive a €150 fine or a French citizenship course.

Considered a violation of human rights and a slur against Muslims by many of its critics, the law in itself makes no explicit reference to the burka or niqab. In fact it’s the absurd elephant in the room as the law, labelled‘prohibiting the concealing of the face in public’, oddly makes no direct mention of women or the veil in what can only be assumed as a misguided attempt to appear neutral.

However there is no doubt that the estimated 2000 Muslim women who wear the burka in France have been targeted here. Deemed a ‘sign of subservience’, by French president Sarkozy, the niqab and burka have been growing sources of contention in France for years.  With many other European countries such as Belgium and Holland threatening to jump on the bandwagon, we have to ask ourselves; will this ban actually solve anything?

One of the main arguments for the ban is that the burka is a method of ‘debasement’ that only seeks to oppress women. Sarkozy, that well known trooper for women’s rights, claims that these women are, “prisoners behind netting, cut off from all social life (and) deprived of identity”  Moreover, with no solid mention in the Qur’an, another recurring argumentfor the ban is that there is no religious standingon which the burka should be worn.

Amidst the backlash, the mainstream media has given us a few examples of strong Muslim women who’ve expressed their outrage against the ban, many considering it a betrayal from a country they call home.  Many have asserted their right to wear the burka, deeming it a personal and spiritual choice. These voices seem to be the part-remedy to the conservative rhetoric that would have us believe that all women wearing the burka are shackled to abusive relationships. However imperative this insight, the voices of the women that are truly oppressed are unlikely to make our newspaper columns and could even remain unaffected by the ban.  Abusive and oppressive relationships are controlling by their very nature. Surely an abusive man forcing his wife to wear a burka would have his wife stay at home rather than abide by a law he has no control over. This would further exacerbate the problem and isolate the woman from the community, rendering the ban irrelevant.

The French feminist group, Ni Putes Ni Soumises, (translated Neither Whores or Submissive) begs to differ on this take and are in full support of the ban, calling the full veil the ‘ultimate paroxysm of machismo’ and launching the campaign, ‘Ni Voiles Ni Burqa’  (Neither Veil or Burka) in the run up to the ban. However these vocal advocates seem to have missed the point. True emancipation cannot come by force.  If the burka is symptomatic of powerlessness and oppression, legally controlling these women and restricting them from wearing the burka will not help either. How can you berate and yet employ the very same methods as the oppressor you criticise?  Is this hypocrisy the antidote?

Regardless of the reasons and rationale behind the ban, what remains is that the women discussed needed to have been a pro-active part of the legal process. Where have they been?  Only one niqab wearing woman was part of the 6 month French parliamentary inquiry which produced a report recommending the ban out of a total of 211 people.  Yet again, we find the male minority exerting their power over a decision they do not have to live by. It’s a time old problem that seems to be stuck on repeat.  There are plenty of intelligent Muslim women with an array of opinions on the burka and niqab, how much more insightful and richer would that report be with their input? Not to mention more credible.

Despite Sarkozy’s apparent concern for these women (nothing to do with upcoming elections, of course), this law shows no real respect for these women. They’re the children in the back of the car while politicians muddle over who should be in the driving seat. France hasn’t really fully broached the issue of the burka and niqab because it hasn’t provided any real way for these women to have access to any power and have their voices heard. Real respect comes from horizontal consultation with opportunity for education (that works both ways) and interactive discussion in a public forum, not a law that these women have had no part of.

So the rhetoric of releasing women from a ‘male prison’ just doesn’t wash- whether it’s the ‘abusive partner’ at home or the 210 male parliamentary committee members, it’s seems that at best these woman have just been transferredfrom one 'prison' to another. Some freedom.

John Pilger’s ‘The War You Don’t See’ – What do we actually know?

Journalist John Pilger’s film, The War You Don’t See, is a fearless exploration of the media’s role in war in Afghanistan and Iraq. Dating back from the First World War, Pilger examines the relationship between the government and the media and the origins of propaganda and government spin.

Much like the First and Second World Wars, on some level we’ve still been conditioned to associate war with heroism and a fight for a ‘greater good’ and the war in Iraq was no exception to this. Behind the tired rhetoric of threats of weapons of mass destruction was very little actual evidence and a growing and disproportionate level of the number of Iraqi war casualties.  Pilger questions why the media, particularly in the UK and America, allowed itself to be manipulated by the government and become the mouth piece for its dishonest agenda.

It’s sickening food for thought when you think about the extent to which the news we read is filtered and how the ‘selected’  few set the agenda while the rest of us either create or fall victim to the spin. Also without a public framework of accountability, it’s shocking to consider the level of political immunity that exists which sends the message that as long as you’re in a suit and have an Etonian background, you can pretty much get away with anything (Tony Blair, anyone?)

The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are striking examples of how embedded journalists can unwittingly (or wittingly) collude with the government, ironically keeping the public away from the truth that they deserve to have access to. If the media did play a part in the war with Iraq, and Pilger presents a pretty rock solid case for us to believe this,  then we need to acknowledge that they could have also helped stop the war by asking the necessary questions at the time. Journalists willing to ask the right questions have such an influential power and can bring the truth to attention. During the film Pilger reveals that just before the Iraqi war, an American journalist checked every ‘dangerous’ site in Iraq mentioned by the government and found none of the claimed sites had weapons of mass destruction. However his story was not picked up by the mainstream media – what would our history look like had this not been the case?

What’s clear is that the reputable voices and news sources we’ve been brought up to rely on are often subjective and flawed. Pilger questions the bigger media players such BBC2’s head of news gathering, Fran Unsworth, and David Mannion, ITN’s chief of news who , despite being slightly defensive, are mostly contrite about their indirect collusion with the government in the war in Iraq. This admission is an overdue but promising step but is also unnerving especially given the impartial pedestal they both strive to place themselves on.

This also paves the way for a bigger question; how does our reliance on the mainstream media shape the way we think?  If we readily believe all the articles we read, ingest them as the truth and in turn spread these messages around, then we’re all forming our opinions from the same limited and biased sources and bouncing them off each other.  Are we too just unwitting puppets that spread government agenda? Where does the truth begin and the spin end?

In a society that is dominated by PR spin, The War You Don’t See is an important film for the 21st century and is definitely imperative viewing for present and future generations. It also comes as a warning for journalists and writers to bear the powerful responsibility that comes with the job and to not just accept the information that is handed to them. It’s also a sobering warning for the reader as it is clear that we too should be investigative in the news that is given to us and see beyond the copy and paste.

For further commentary on this, check out Sarah Cheverton’s excellent piece on Women’s Views on News .

The politics of protest: The emergence of an ‘alternative’ breed of protester

Written for Hackery Blog - 11/04/11

26 March saw several thousands of people from all backgrounds protest on the streets of London. Organised by The Trades Union Congress (TUC), many came from near and far to voice their disdain over the government’s manhandling of UK public services.  With protesters ranging from students to pensioners, 26 March exhibited the kind of unity last seen in the anti-Iraq war march of 2003. People from all kinds of professional and political persuasions stood shoulder to shoulder to voice their anger and to, ‘March for the Alternative’.

Deemed as an all-round success, no one can deny that the events in the day were mostly peaceful and paid tribute to the stella organisation skills of the TUC. However as the day moved on, a more aggressive form of ‘protest’ developed. We’ve all read about the backlash and many heard of the ammonia filled light bulbs that were thrown at the police.

As shocking as this was, this violent undertone of protest is unfortunately nothing new. There will always be a violent aspect to larger protests whether from a minoritygroup of ‘protesters’ or the aggressive actions of the police, Ian Tomlinson being a fitting example among many others.  People looking to cause trouble will always gate crash other people’s causes and use it as a platform to justify their own violent behaviour.

However can the same be said for the minority involved in the Black Bloc movement, a masked group who vandalised symbolic property throughout the march?  Their anonymous interview in the Guardian was telling. Far from the yobs and misfits the government would have us label them; they spoke articulately about their cause and motivations and were able to voice this to the mainstream media without sacrificing their anonymity.  And for the group to do something seemingly spontaneous (although this is a bit too hard to believe) and still out-fox the police indicates that this required more than a black hoodie but actual brain power.

As misguided was these actions were, they brought the demonstration and the nature protest to the top of the agenda. Granted, with up to an estimated 500 000 people protesting for such a topical and important cause; it was always going to attract media attention. But rightly or wrongly, to what extent would this have happened without the actions of these alternative movements such as the Black Bloc?  Although for the most part the media was clear that the main demonstration was a success, the debate that lingered was over the nature of the violent protests. What does this say about our society when it is violence and damage that attracts more headlines?  Do you remember the fire-fighter’s protest last September or the recent protests in Germany against nuclear power? These were peaceful protests that didn’t stay in the media spotlight for long, presumably because respectful people protesting in the streets en mass and then going home isn’t sexy media fodder.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to don my balaclava (and in this weather?!) and hoist a paintball gun on my back. I saw the damage done to those shops and the fear these actions inflict on others who have nothing to do with the government. Despite the Black Bloc’s intention to, ‘send a message’ I couldn’t help wonder who they actually thought they were hurting.  Something tells me that Phil Green isn’t about to roll up his sleeves and start scrubbing the paint off the walls of Topshop. It’s the underpaid worker that has to deal with it which only maintains the vertical structures we live in where the ‘poor’ cleans up after the mess of the rich.

But what actually are our alternatives? When nothing in society tells us we have a say worth listening to. With no overall majority during the 2010 elections, the coalition government was formed based on back hand deals and sly manoeuvres we’ll presumably only know about when some backbencher memoir is released years down the line, demonstrations see the police kettling and manipulating protesters, thus stifling their right to protest, tuition fees are soaring thus excluding a good chunk of people in to their right to higher education. The list goes on but the point is, now more than ever, our government is sending out signals that majority has no say over the society we live in.

Politically, on the day of the march we had Ed Miliband as a speaker for the ‘alternative’.  However he compared the anti-cuts struggle to the civil rights movement (let’s just let that one go), didn’t really seem to offer an alternative and just rode the bandwagon placed before him.  When we push Ed’s awkward clichés aside, there doesn’t seem much hope in the Labour party leading the way to genuine change.

March 26 seemed to confirm this new era of protest we are entering based on our frustrations. The rise of groups that pioneer direct action tap into this feeling that to actually gain the attention of the government and wider public alike, you’re going to get your hands dirty. However, how this can and should be interpreted is another question. Groups such as UK Uncut and Climate Rush protest in a way that doesn’t inflict fear on Joe Bloggs walking down the street minding his own business. Instead Joe might even be inclined to watch the theatrical means of protest those groups employ and actually question what the fight is for, as opposed to fleeing from wayward shards of glass from broken windows.

On looking back at the media reaction from the march, I’m left feeling unsure by how much the demonstration would have made the news had the protests ended at Hyde Park with the majority of the other demonstrators. It’s a sad state of affairs when we need to ponder on this, but do we need the tactics of the Black Bloc ilk to push forward our agenda? The idea of this makes me feel uncomfortable and goes against my principles. And yet it seems like while society looks down on this kind of violent action, it readily engages in the necessary debate associated with it. Contrast this against peaceful protests, where coverage remains fleeting and limited.

In light of an age where more people are looking for their voices to be heard and to express their anger against the government, what message does this send out to people wondering how to protest?