On 17th of August, members of the East Anglian Anarchist Federation and Social Forum gathered in Norwich to join a demonstration in solidarity with Joseph Ballard, an entertainer who runs story events for families performed in drag as Auntie Titania. A week earlier, a planned story-time at Norwich Library had been forced to cancel by the arrival of fascist protestors who accused the event of being a front for child abuse, and its organisers of being child molesters.
The event had been rescheduled for today and with advice from the organisers, queer activists, anti-fascists, and the general fucked-off public had been busy organising a counter demonstration to the transphobes, who’d promised to put in a stronger appearance this time.
Approaching the forum steps, we could see that our plan to take the space first was too late: there were already about 80 counter demonstrators in a crowd by the library, a scatter of fascists in front, heckling them. We rolled out our banner and walked past the fascists to join them, raising a cheer.
Our side was decked out in bright colours. Several had come in drag, and there was a vibrant array of pride flags waving above people’s heads, tied round shoulders, or being shaken in the spitting faces of the INN. So far, the Integrated Nationalist Network were the only fascist group who’d shown up, and they were clearly on the back foot. Their small group of middle-aged men were jeering at the counter demonstrators and had three cameras set up on tripods pointed at us, presumably to livestream the angry responses back to people wanking on 8chan. They were clustered round a makeshift pulpit from which one was sermonising on ‘Groomers’ to a camera. A comrade recognised him immediately, “That guy in the flat cap? Yeah, that’s Chris Mitchell, he’s sort of their leader.”
Standing to their left was a pair of older women looking very uncomfortable with their new friends: a whiteboard read, Not Homophobic, Not Transphobic, just care about KIDS. They shuffled further away over the afternoon and eventually disappeared completely. It gave me a bit of confidence to see that the moderate section of the protest was so small, and so easily disturbed to find themselves standing next to a bunch of Wetherspoons fascists. Tamer animals, who we got to watch realise, in real time, that they’d been grifted into coming.
The INN certainly weren’t prioritising onboarding for their new members: preferring to pick fights with people from our side. Chris Mitchell was calling the shots – walking up to our line in his best Arthur Shelby cosplay. These generally started as bad faith arguments but quickly turned into shouting matches with cameras pushed into faces, fishing for soundbites from flustered libs to put on their YouTube channel next to classic titles like ‘Anglo Joe talks National Socialism’.
Apart from the two women with the whiteboard, everyone else knew who to expect, and the chants were direct from the outset: “Fascist scum: off our streets!” Another group of antifascists showed up in black-bloc and tried to cover the INN’s cameras with a flag. The police intervened.
We were joined by other members of the EA social forum, who had come looking for our banner, and an exuberant onlooker, “I was just passing by, and thought I’d join in!” He borrowed a banner and ran up in front of the cameras to provoke the fascists, twirling the flag pole like a majorette and giving them the finger.
Past the front lines, there was a beautiful sense of carnival. A fierce determination to enjoy life despite existential opposition. Amongst so much colour and all kinds of people willing to turn out to stand in solidarity, there was a fleeting sense that we were inevitable, uncontrollable forces of historical entropy that could wash away these hateful pricks trying to crawl out of the 20th century. Of course we were winning, progress was winning, everything was going to be okay after all.
Around 13:30, the fascist ‘Patriotic Alternative’ arrived. About 20 young men walked up the steps behind a banner, shouting in unison. They had blue flags with a clean corporate looking logo, and plastic placards, showing a picture of a family huddling under an umbrella from rainbow coloured rain.
The shouting from both sides intensified as they marched up to us, dry heaving provocations; we were ‘groomers’, ‘protecting paedophiles’, we were assembled armies of evil, lascivious predators wrapped in pride flags and piercings. I felt the hate coming off them like heat.
A counter protestor leaned in and explained that these guys were the larger parent group of the INN, which had formed more recently from disillusioned ex-PA members. Sure enough, they ignored the INN, turning their backs and forming a third group. They seemed more interested in trying to address passers-by rather than confronting us directly. Both sides sent out leafleteers into the forum to give their side of what was going on, and to persuade the public to join them.
Our friend came back for more leaflets, smiled and shook her head: “I don’t think people even understand why they’re here”. It turns out, when they saw the public didn’t immediately throw off the shackles of their queer oppressors and flock to the PA banners, they lost their temper and began shouting at onlookers, even chasing some men who flipped them off down the street. But by now our group had swelled to around 200, and the fascists were looking hopelessly outnumbered.
We had the numbers to completely screen the library from the fascist demonstration, and organisers patrolled up and down the crowd, keeping clear channels open for the public. The police presence had silently increased as well, and officers were circling the fringes trying to move both sides on.
A bright-eyed old man sidled up to me and excitedly shared that we now had enough people to completely encircle them… “What, like the battle of Cannae?”
“Yes! We could go round and kettle them in with the police!”
Jesus Christ, I thought. Then what? I decided not to encourage the General in his plan to kettle a dozen cops and 30 fascists at a public library and changed subject. “So, are you here with a group?”
The General had got here by following a Samba band, and was now directing them via text, but before they could start playing, word was passed around that a funeral procession was moving into the church opposite the forum. This news cooled the mood on both sides, and in the lull, the PA finally lost their last bit of momentum. Police were snapping at their flanks, and they began packing up, looking dispirited.
When our side saw this, a great cheer grew, mocking and triumphant. Some of us walked with them in case they tried to relocate, and sure enough, the remainders of the fascist groups attempted to set up another picket in front of the Town hall, but were denied the space by counter-protestors – now loudly accompanied by the Samba band.
The Fascists finally moved into the side streets and the INN made one final stand at a crossroads, setting up their cameras and picking fights – the police had followed them too and formed a screen across the narrow street, keeping us apart. After the police arrived the final few fascists began to disappear behind the new barrier. A masked counter protester appeared beside me and gestured around us. Our crowd had shrunk, very few of us had followed to run them out of town, and the police lines were close and looking surly. It was time to go. We carefully slipped out of the side streets and wandered out free into the town to celebrate the day.
Later, we overheard a conversation that confirmed the story-time event had gone on as planned and had even been well attended. The PA and the INN had been hugely outnumbered, and firmly told by the public where they could shove it. It’d been a good day, and kicking back with a coffee I felt a rush that wasn’t just the caffeine hitting my synapses – it’s not often we get to celebrate an unambiguous victory like this: running the fascists out of town.
As we flicked through our phones, we saw that fascists had experienced more success elsewhere: they had pushed their way into the story time, in front of children, to harass parents and the organisers. Sadly, the need to organise consistently against these protests could not be clearer, the fascists must not go unopposed- and while we should take a moment to celebrate victories, we should also continue to improve our organising strategies to contribute as effectively as we can for the next time we have to stand up to fascists on our streets.
Solidarity,
SAL