On Location

Buzzing in Bristol

Cancelled trains, closed roads, terrorism legislation and six flights of stairs: just some of the obstacles overcome by those that made it a full house in Bristol for UK Column On Location. Details of the venue itself were only made available to those that had bought tickets and, even then, with just a couple of weeks to go. A persistent theme for those in the business of organising or attending events under the heading of dissent, is cancellation. Usually, this comes about by the application of intense pressure by a small, very vocal and often unpleasant minority, and the owners of the venue fold like a deckchair.

Not always, of course. A few weeks prior, I had spoken at the Heritage Party conference in Reading (on free speech, ironically). The night before, some wag had chained the front doors shut, but hadn’t had the decency to leave a note explaining why. During the day itself, a couple of young chaps had presented themselves, with the apparent intent of causing nuisance. Fortunately for those in attendance, they were spotted early, by none other than David Kurten himself, founder and leader of the party. Even more fortunately, David bears a closer resemblance to Goliath than his namesake. A slow walk and a stern look, and the trouble was gone.

Thus, when it came to hosting an event in Bristol, perhaps the greatest concentration of woke in this sceptred isle, cloaks and daggers were duly drawn from the stores. It was alright on the night, and thank goodness. Since Brian Gerrish’s croaking throat had bumped me into the compère spot, I needed a contingency for disturbance. With several accumulated years of service in the army and the police, one or two immediate courses of action sprang to mind, but that would have been to miss an opportunity. Really, what one wants to know is why. Why would you turn up to an event and hope to ruin it; what would you achieve for your cause, and could you even articulate that?

My plan, in the event of an incursion, was to invite the interloper onto the stage and invite them to describe, as concisely as possible, what it was they perceived as threatening and how their actions would provide a material improvement to life. This is not made as a point of facetiousness, nor is it a bluff. In early 2023, I attended what was described as a protest against low traffic neighbourhoods, in Oxford. Had I a brewery, I would not have gone to the organisers to enquire about laying on a piss-up, but that’s another story. What I had discovered before parking and riding toward the dreaming spires was that there was to be a counter-protest by “Antifa”.

If you are new to all of this, Antifa purports to be directed against fascism. The reality is the opposite (as usual). No more clear was this made than on that day in Oxford. “Social” media is a double-edged sword, and finding out where this lot were massing was easy enough, so I wandered along for a look-see. What I saw came as no surprise: a gaggle of androgynous youths, clad in black, with masks of one description or another covering their translucent features. What was notable, though, was that they were receiving a briefing from an older man, with lank grey hair, who faded away as his part was done, releasing his charges to do their bit. Flanked by police, the mob struck off. Actually, they tallied only about twenty and, even in those numbers, a strong puff of wind may have presented severe difficulties.

They halted at the north end of Cornmarket Street, as though tactically. In fact, they were warned not to go any further by police, who must have outnumbered them by two to one at this point. Recording device in hand, I walked into the throng to capture some audio, and to get to the bottom of their abyssal philosophy. Of course, this was after being instructed not to by police, which I ignored politely. For a few minutes, I turned from ghoul to ghoul, asking them why they were there and what they hoped to achieve. Initially, none would even speak, which was fairly illustrative. Finally, after holding eye contact for a shade too long, one of them cracked, and spoke to me. It may appear that I am paraphrasing, but the limit of what he said is so: “We heard there was some fascism going on here today, so we have come to oppose it”. That was it. Even the BBC would have been hard pushed to pump that up. In other words, these deluded and vulnerable young things had not the first idea why they were there. A sad story, and one replicated up and down the land.

It was a different tale in Bristol, but that was no surprise. Never mind the “renewable” energy scam, just hook the grid up to the UK Column audience and speakers. The atmosphere really was electric, for nine and a half hours straight. There was laughter, and a lot of it. There were tears, and everthing in between. Goodness, there was even a Barry Manilow record (though it stayed well inside its sleeve). I spoke to a lady at tea time, looking fresh as a daisy, and she explained to me that she had only just arrived. Her trek had taken her six hours longer than planned, but there she was, back straight, eyes bright, and completely delighted by the swarm of peers all around her.

Though written only in scribbled notes, and never in any formal sense, the intent for the day had been to focus on those that are out there, doing stuff. To say that that had worked would be to overcook an understatement. Luckily for the reader, there is no need for me to invest your precious time into a precis of each speaker’s message. The ever-reliable team at Oracle Films livestreamed and recorded the whole shebang, which means you can watch it, whenever you like.

The great thing about writing something like this, and sending it off into the ether, is that it may land up anywhere. I hope it gets to the offices of the “I believe in free speech, but” brigade. On Location was humanity encapsulated. We did actually hug each other (surprisingly vigorously, with thanks to my strong and bearded neighbour (a man)). There were multiple references to faith, and to the paths made treacherous where there is none. That love and honour are the values of “far right extremists” is discordant, to say the least. People crossed the country to listen to speakers of sincere quality; to be stimulated, encouraged and educated, and to talk to the presenters whose news they take comfort from. Mostly, though, they wanted to be in the company of others, to create energy, from which to derive power, resilience and hope, and to leave enriched. That is exactly what they did. See you at the next one.