Protest

Automation is about to take over the world, apparently. But the fightback has begun. On a cold, blowy day a few weeks ago, I joined a stop-the-bots demonstration that marched through the Knowledge Quarter of King’s Cross where Facebook and Google have their headquarters. A group of 100 activists gathered on Pentonville Road for a warm-up rally addressed by a charismatic young woman in a leather skirt. ‘Can we trust the tech bros with our data?’ she cried into the mic. ‘No! Do we need regulation now? Yes we do!’ She congratulated us for ‘making history by joining the largest anti-robot march ever’. And she promised us a hot meal afterwards. ‘Who doesn’t like free food? No one. Am I right?’ The crowd didn’t reply.

Britain is beset by a bogeyman. A giant, mystical beast that the public are forever being threatened with. Remember last year when a young Welsh choirboy stabbed three young girls to death at a Taylor Swift-themed dance party in Southport? Long before we were allowed to know the name of the culprit – Axel Rudakubana – we were warned about a much greater menace: a rallying by the ‘far right’. After impromptu protests and some rioting broke out in various cities, we were promised on an hourly basis that the ‘far right’ was mobilising. Soon there were crowds of Muslim men organising to counter any such threat.

How important do you think it is to know what the Church of England thought about that ‘Unite the Kingdom’ march in London two weeks ago? There is a very good argument for saying it is about as meaningful and relevant as finding out what Bonnie Blue, that young lady touring the country flat on her back and welcoming anyone who fancies a bit of frictionless poking, thinks about the fractious border dispute between Thailand and Cambodia. There are many institutions in this country that are irrelevant to the great mass of citizens, but few more resolutely so than our established Church.

Tens of thousands of people turned out on the streets last week to protest against mass immigration. The protestors were promptly labelled ‘racist’ by their own government, ‘far-right’ by the New York Times and as having links to ‘neo-Nazis’ by the Guardian. The protests in question happened in cities across Australia, including Sydney – but frankly those sentences could have been written about similar protests in Britain and in almost any western country. Coincidentally, the past weekend also saw the ten-year anniversary of the German chancellor Angela Merkel opening the doors of Europe, saying ‘We can manage’ and allowing Europe to become the home of anyone in the world who wanted to move in.

‘I heard you want your country back. Ha, shut the fuck up!’ So yelped rap-punk duo Bob Vylan on stage at Glastonbury in June. That televised set became notorious for other reasons – for Vylan’s chant of ‘Death, death to the IDF’, which cost the group their agent, a string of shows and, presumably, another Glasto appearance. But part of me thinks that Britain wouldn’t have faced such a restive summer, rocked by grassroots patriotic protests, were it not for that cretinous tirade against the nation. That and the triumphant return of Oasis, who aren’t afraid of a flag. Everything that has happened since has felt like a defiant middle finger to the Bobs and the anti-pleb sentiment so often pumped out by the arts-schooled elites.

I’m one of the Silent People who sit on the sidelines of the great political events and debates of the present. We Silent People don’t sign on-line petitions or go on protests to show solidarity with this group or that one. We don’t tweet our outrage, or blog our bile. We prefer to keep what we think to ourselves. When a verbal punch-up erupts over Gaza or trans rights at a dinner party, I stay silent and wonder what’s for pudding. The thing we Silent People are most silent about is our silence. It’s easy to see why: the silent are suspect The thing we Silent People are most silent about is our silence. It’s easy to see why: these days the silent are suspect.

Early on Sunday afternoon at the Epping Bean Café, where a cutesy sign hangs from a wall reading ‘Coffee makes everything better’, a man is enjoying a roast dinner as the staff prepare for violence. Chairs and tables are moved inside, and a tall flagpole for advertising the café, which could be a very effective spear, is removed too. ‘Just in case we need to close down,’ says a waitress sweetly to the man. Epping isn’t used to days like this. The protests started on 13 July, after Hadush Kebatu appeared in court for the first time. Kebatu, 38, from Ethiopia, had allegedly tried to kiss a 14-year-old girl and a woman in the town.

Home Six people were arrested during a protest by 1,000 outside the Bell hotel in Epping, Essex, which houses asylum seekers; an asylum seeker had earlier been charged with sexual assaults in the town. The Conservative leader of the council said: ‘It’s a powder keg now.’ The number of migrants arriving in England in small boats in the seven days to 21 July was 1,030. The Lionesses, the England women’s football team, decided not to take the knee before winning their semi-final Euro game, after a player, Jess Carter, had been inundated with racist abuse on social media during the tournament.

‘Smash the gangs’ is the fascinating slogan that Keir Starmer’s government has settled on for tackling illegal migration. What is the government going to do to stop the hundreds – sometimes thousands – of people sailing across the Channel and coming into England each day? ‘We will smash the gangs,’ they say. The slogan is interesting for reasons beyond the tough-guy rhetoric. For it suggests, of course, that it is people-smuggling gangs that are the main problem. Perhaps our government sees them as being like press gangs back in the day, roaming around northern France, waylaying passing migrants and forcing them on to rubber dinghies to begin a new life in Britain.