Mayday has always been workers day though you might not know it. The commercial machine, for unsurprising reasons, hasn’t exactly jumped on it like Valentines, Mother’s, Father’s, Second Cousin’s Day and the only representation of it most normally see is the twee remnant of its earlier incarnation as a pagan festival – maypoles (symbolic representations of erect cocks) and morris dancers (once a training for warfare).
But every year many places have solidarity marches for workers and, these days, none workers too. I’d heard of one taking place in Newcastle so decided to go along. I faltered a little I admit. A wee leftist spat had sprung up in the comment section of the Indymedia site as the march advertised clashed with the regular mayday socialist workers march and the latter took umbrage. This led me into a collision of acronyms which took a little while to decipher and almost kept me at home. The SWP were unhappy with the FRFI and the RCG and I discovered these stood for Socialist Workers Party, Fight Racism, Fight Imperialism and Revolutionary Communist Group – the latter two being the same group as far as I can gather.
Anyway, as it was the SWP who started the spat and as I only knew anything was going on due to the FRFI/RCG advertising it I decided to join up with them – they were all meant to be getting together later anyhow. However, turning up at Grey’s Monument 10 minutes before the kick off and seeing only half a dozen people putting up banners I skulked past and went down to the Life Centre to see if the traditionalists had drummed up more support.
Fortunately they had. A couple of hundred people of varying ages and groups. Unionists, Marxists, Peaceniks and the like. Some veterans from earlier, probably better attended, marches to wee bairns carrying flags their parents had shoved in their hands, all headed by a smartly suited brass band. A colourful bunch it was and a better turnout than I’d anticipated.
The police were helpfully closing off roads and informed the organisers that they’d had to change the route a little as the path beside Haymarket was too narrow due to the renovation works there. Honestly that was the reason. It wasn’t to divert the march just before it passed the Northern Rock building, I’m sure it wasn’t. Only a paranoid cynic would think such a thing.
There were no complaints though and the band lit up and we set off. Myself mainly running around taking pictures but feeling I was doing my bit as at least another pair of feet on the ground. The procession wound its way through the town, up Clayton Street, passed Grainger Market to Monument (where the FRFI/RCG joined in) then up Northumberland Street heading toward Exhibition Park where a small rally was to be held. All the way Saturday shoppers stopped and gawped, ‘woss ‘appenin?’ An elderly marcher pointed at some as we passed and shouted, ‘we’re marching for you! This is for you!‘ And he was right, it was, though most of the pointed at wouldn’t have known what the fuck he was on about I imagine.
The march was bright and noisy enough, if not exactly united. The loudspeakers tended to compete with each other rather than howl a unified chant and after the FRFI/RCG joined their was a palpable sense of animosity from some. The FRFI/RCG seemed to be partly comprised of anarchists despite the ‘Communist’ appellation in the acronym and some of the marchers didn’t like this. One woman berated her husband with ‘I told you we should have walked with the unions‘ after finding herself stuck behind the black banners.
The anarchists themselves were stuck behind banners from the Passport and Identity Services Union who were getting wound up by the ‘no borders!’, ‘free movement!‘ yells from behind.
‘Don’t let them get to you‘ one banner holder soothed another, who looked as though she was about to start swinging with the business end of her banner. I’ve no idea if the anarcho/commie hybrid bloc were deliberately winding up their fellow marchers but it was pretty funny anyway. Even funnier when they dropped their leaflets and half of them started scrambling around to salvage as many as they could, getting in everyone else’s way.
The procession ended up in exhibition park where a marquee had been set up hosting tressles full of leaflets and leftist literature. Nearby a small stage was erected and various speakers and musicians played and speechified for a crowd in the springtime sun.
I found it all pretty edifying all in all despite the collisions of opinion. The odd heckle to the stage from a contrarian at least revealed passion and there’s a desperate lack of that about out there in the Land of Cowell. Of course I could write here about how the left won’t get anywhere without unifying blah blah blah and maybe I will later but right now I’m just going to leave it as positively as my malcontented mind will allow. The police this time weren’t brandishing clubs at least and though I doubt the affair will even make the local evening news, let alone shift the political spectrum on its horns, it was good, again, to see a bunch of people daring to believe they can make the world a fairer place for more people.
What’s to criticise in that?
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