This gem was posted on Urban 75 by someone called Liam and sent to me by a mate:
“It is my recollection of one small little incident which, for me, captures the mood and atmosphere of the times and also had a fundamental ripple-out effect…
One Saturday afternoon in 1989(?) a meeting was called at the Red Rose in Finsbury Park to re-launch AFA. There was much residual (and mutual) suspicion between Red Action (and their fellow-travellers) and the semi-state sector (Newham Monitoring Group and various ‘right-on’ lefties) from previous history – but it was a political and operational imperative that a way to work together was found.
In fairness to those centred around the NMP, there were some very capable, principled, hard-working activists among them, but there were fundamental political, tactical, strategic and social differences between them and us – and there were also some of (what we saw as) the worst examples of hysterical, white middle-class, lifestyle lefties .
Thus we were all on our best behaviour even though it was clear that some of our essentially white, middle-class ‘comrades’ were bristling with self-righteous indignation and just looking for an excuse to walk out shaking their heads at what they perceived to be the somewhat rough and ready manners and manner of our lot.
The NMP and their allies turned up with somebody new in tow. He was a young black community activist from Broadwater Farm. I think his name was Rupert. It was clear that he was their new working class champion… and he was black too don’t you know. Tbh it was a bit embarrassing watching them fawn over him and he had obviously been fore-warned about us. I was immediately struck at how their reactions to, and behaviour around, him were at odds with their hostility to many of our own, more hairy-arsed, comrades and the only difference I could see was skin colour.
Our reaction to him – as it was to anybody else – was to see what he had to say and offer rather than making any such judgements based on where he was from or his colour. If he was sound then he was a sound no matter – and equally, if he was a prick then he was a prick and we could not really give a fuck what estate or background he was from. He looked and dressed like a Norf London geezer rather than a Lefty, but he did arrive wearing a beret .
Anyways the meeting got underway and was very polite to begin with as we all danced around the sensibilities of others and various differences in strategies and tactics, but the underlying tension was never far from the surface. The MNP were at pains to get Rupert’s input and opinion on everything , on account of him knowing the word ‘on the street’ and everything (I assume they thought we lived in a reservation for lumpy proles or something. But then we were mostly white so what would we know about the problems ‘the black community’ faced).
Still progress was made over the next (interminable) hour and a half as each side outlined where they felt things had collapsed in the past and how mutual ground must be found. It seemed to me that every time one of our mob spoke the reaction was to their language and speaking style rather than what they said. I fell foul of this when I referred to something as ‘clearly a load of old bollocks’. Some of us may have included a ‘fuck’ or two as well but only as conversational punctuation, certainly not directed at any person. At this point a particularly shrill middle-class woman jumped up and interrupted me (which was something we had been at pains not to do to them).
She started banging on about swearing, how offensive she found it and how she could not imagine sending the likes of me in to speak to a Asian women’s group. I replied neither could I and why would anybody send me to do a job that would obviously be more suited to a woman and probably an Asian one. Surely this was a matter of horses for courses and that was the idea of this meeting? We felt that in the past the Left had concentrated far too much on aiming it’s activity and propaganda at the victims of racism. We were proposing that as well as this AFA should work in and among the potential recruits of racist organisations – the disaffected white working class – and that required a different skillset and language.
Neither was it a matter of either ‘jaw, jaw’ or ‘war, war’ but of both. Not of propaganda Vs street activity but of both together. I finished by saying I was sorry she did not like the way we spoke but that we all had roles to play, I did not see mine and her roles overlapping too much and if she was so offended by a couple of swear words then frankly I did not give a flying fuck.
There was uproar and I caught a sideways-look from some of our senior people as I had set off the very thing we had all been told to avoid – and it was now in full swing.
A shouting match broke out and the Chair (one of them of course, as they would have sulked if it was one of us) struggled to hold it together and to ‘Chair’ rather than join in on one side. Suddenly Rupert arose from his front row seat. Immediately the Chair demanded silence for his new Comrade from the Farm. Given that about a dozen people were all waiting to speak this was not exactly how things should be. But this was Rupert. He was from Broadwater Farm. He was working class AND black which made him ‘special’. The NMP lot fell silent as their champion held the floor.
In fairness we were all interested in what he had to say too.
“ I tried to come to this meeting with an open mind. We are all in this thing together, y’know what I mean? So despite what I was told about people beforehand , I come to meet people, make friends and find ways we could work together. I have to say I am absolutely gutted by what’s gone on here today.” Well said Rupert they enthused and nodded knowingly to each other.
“From the very start there was a bad atmosphere and a bad attitude from some people in this room. Look at it now – you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. This ain’t no way to carry on, people.” And on he went. By now the murmurings of enthusiastic endorsement were becoming more pronounced and they were clapping his every remark as he warmed to his task.
“It’s obvious that one group in here are genuine. One group are ready and willing to work together. But the other group don’t wanna listen to no-one else, they just think the other mob are wrong all the time. They’ve basically got a BAD attitude. They are just insulting. It’s pathetic and it’s just plain wrong”. By now they were besides themselves with glee and cheered his every word as he tore into the ‘bad guys’.
Until, that is… when Rupert turned round… looked at them with a look of pure “WTF” and said “What’s the matter with you people? What are you lot clapping for? I ain’t talking about THEM… I’m talking about YOU!”
This stopped them in their tracks and they sat open-mouthed as he continued (they could not interrupt him of course, or shout him down. How could they? After all he was THEIR champion. He was working class, he was black and (I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this but) he was from Broadwater Farm.
“All you lot seem to care about is if people use big words and talk like you or not. If they don’t, you don’t listen. Why can’t you just listen to what they’re saying, instead of how they say it? My first experience with the NF was when I got hit on the head with a bottle and called ‘nigger’ on Tottenham High road – by some geezer who two days before had been in our flat fitting the gas. Now if those days are coming back with the BNP, I know who I want watching my back and it ain’t fackin you lot… ”
The loud silence was by now only broken by the laughter we were all doing our best (unsuccessfully) to hold in. All I could see was the shock on their faces, the anguished looks of betrayal – and the shoulders of several burly men shaking as they tried to restrict themselves to a polite chuckle instead of the belly-laugh such a turnaround deserved.
He finished by apologising if he had hurt anybody’s feelings but said this shit was too important to let people’s feelings get in the way and sat down to a big round applause – from us.
Strangely, this frank reality check had a very positive effect on the proceedings. Of course some of them would never get over their own prejudices and offended sensibilities but it sort of shook the best of them from their self-constructed cocoon and they began to engage positively. I doubt this would have happened without Rupert’s intervention.
The relationship between RA, DAM etc and those in the ‘nicer’ anti-racist sector was always a little strained, but good people from both sides found ways to work together in common cause for a considerable length of time.
Funnily enough, I don’t recall ever seeing Rupert in their company again.
But if you are reading this Rupert, I salute you and I still laugh like fuck when I recall the moment you – spurred by honesty and an ability to see and state the blindingly obvious – turned on your ‘sponsors’.”
I do not need to add much more to this other than incidents like this have not changed and became more commonplace, particularly when we are faced with activists of a middle class hue. It is absolutely spot on and an indicator of how patronising the left is.