Notes from an Enfettered Island: Freedom Fighters

On Monday I stood amidst a massive crowd protesting New Labour's second reading of its bill to control and ultimately to ban hunting in Britain.

For months, the campaign has been led by the Countryside Alliance, who famously mustered a half million people to march in London on Sunday, 22nd of September; many who marched then recognised that it would be the last peaceful protest that could be staged. There would be no repeating the pleasant, convivial atmosphere of half a million law-abiding people amassed to make their presence felt in the capital. The politicians that they targeted had cowardly skipped town that day; Parliament was not sitting on Sunday; and there would be no massive disruption to London's workday.

A half-million voices were raised for nothing though. The government, many of whom in its ranks had themselves been involved in civil protests in their youth, chose to listen not to our message. The otiose Minister in charge, the fool set up to u2018settle the hunting dispute', went ahead with the pre-arranged plans to effectively ban hunting through red tape. Like all power-mongering governments in the past though, the government has declared that it is being u2018reasonable', it is offering u2018compromise', it is presenting u2018a solution'. u2018Bollocks' is the colloquial reply.

Never trust a man waving a piece of paper – Neville Chamberlain was soon to find that out after coming home from a 1939 Munich conference with Hitler in which the latter had promised peace.

Freedom is not to be compromised – it is inalienable and indivisible.

So on Monday, a few thousand of us took time off work, lost pay, chartered buses, drove down, or bought train tickets to protest the reading of the bill with a barrage of noise and light. We brought whistles, drums, rattles, and of course hunting horns. We brought torches u2018to light up prejudice' and we brought banners reminding passers-by and MPs who had to run the gauntlet why the bloody hell we were protesting. The Countryside Alliance had misplaced its own crowd though – they started in Hyde Park, whereas many of us had had word from the angrier groups (the Union of Countryside Workers and the Countryside Action Network) to get to Parliament first in order to heckle the MPs who would take our freedoms away. The police had prepared to divert the primary march from Hyde Park, or to contain it – no one was really sure, but it ended up being a spontaneous strategy to keep the now two distinct groups separate. However, we in Parliament Square had wrong-footed the police. Protestors were able to stage a mass sit-in across the road and some almost managed to get through the open gates – it was the closest a protest group has ever got to the gates of Mordor! Next time we'll bring more hobbits.

On the ground, the anger and frustration was given physicality in the noise we created, with shrill whistles and yelps. Ironically – although I'm sure the mini-minded Minister in charge of banning hunting would not get why – the Minister inside the House of Commons called us tribalistic! From a socialist!! Whooohoooo! Of course, he's never been hunting and witnessed the last bastion of British individualism left in the land. He also asked the hunting community "to show the respect to parliament that I have shown to them." Respect? Is it respectful to abolish freedom and to attack one of the cultural cornerstones of this land?

"Respect me," is the phrase used by gang leaders who cannot earn anybody's respect – instead they enforce obedience at the point of a gun.

Blair enjoyed a wonderful reception from a part of the land he daren't now tread (i.e., anything outside of London). He prefers these days to stick to foreign tours and wars. Gossip in the Daily Mail reports him as saying that he wished that the whole hunting thing would just go away – his wife, however, she who famously dodged a train fair on her appointment to the judiciary, who u2018unexpectedly' got pregnant, whose eldest son was found and arrested for drunken and disorderly conduct; she who presides over meetings in Downing Street, and who recently has been plastered all over the British press for alleged mendacity in her own financial dealings (some judicial appointee, eh?!); she is said to have hissed – u2018you promised Tony [to ban hunting with hounds].' A distrustful bitch has a short life in a pack of hounds.

One witty placard pointed to her dealings: u2018If Cherie does not need a licence for her friends, why must I?' The wording of most placards had become increasingly belligerent, some deploying analogies to the last Civil War we had (1642–49): "Charles I went down for much less, Blair"; "Cromwell mustered 20,000 for his New Model Army – we mustered a half-million to march in London. Prepositions can change." "You wanted a war Tony? You've got one now."

Scuffles between the police and the protestors became inevitable when the police decided to practice an exercise in crowd control. The best and funniest tactic the police used was to deploy a mounted unit of around 8 horses to disperse the crowd. Oh, the laughter! Our entire membership ride, work with, have grown up with, raised, or have trained horses. They just stood still as the mounted unit approached, knowing full well how horses behave – many protesters then hemmed them in, and patted and stroked the horses, to the bewilderment of the urban police rides. One of the police chiefs later expressed dismay at our u2018unreasonable behaviour' – is it unreasonable to defend freedom? Another mentioned how the protest was u2018unauthorised,' oh, we're sorry, we forgot to call up the Ministry of Protests and ask for a bloody licence. Nonetheless, many of the policemen spoken to by us acknowledged their support of our campaign, and we stayed around long enough for them to enjoy some Christmas overtime pay.

The MPs inside, who could not be bothered to turn up for the debate, later marched like Orcs into the Commons to vote in favour of the bill; they just did not get why we were out there shouting and blasting horns to announce our increasingly angry presence. Which is why the next time could be nastier – what else do they expect?

Unlike many who demonstrate in London, we were not out for more funds from the Treasury – diverting the State's expropriations from the productive half of the country into their own pockets, be they students, firemen, or even the police. We were not there for special protection from foreign competition or to seek government grants of any sort – we were there to defend our right to be left alone and to live the lives we see fit. We were there to defend freedom.

Unfortunately, Blair's Britain does not like freedom: it seeks to regulate anything that moves, thinks, or breathes. It wants to dispense licences, issue decrees, prohibitions, and rules and directives from the EU; it wants everybody to work for the government – leaving, of course, a small minority to actually create the wealth needed to run the economy; it wants us all to become homogenous, politically-correct, socialist-bourgeoisie; ultimately, they want control.

Hence our presence in London on Monday.

The defence of hunting has become a symbol of so much more. It has become a defence of freedom and responsibility – two words that New Labour cannot abide. We had marched peacefully in September; we staged a noisy protest on Monday. Next time? I hear farmers willing to take the muck spreaders into the capital; I hear of plans to seriously block the motorway links; to disrupt the workings of the government machine at all costs; to hound anti-hunt MPs like they hound us. We are a minority though – and the CA recognises that it cannot win by the numbers game; indeed not – most people are too apathetic to defend other peoples' freedom. But it can win the moral game: the principle and the right lie with us and we shall blast it from the hill-tops.

On Monday, I felt what it must have been like to be a Bostonian in 1773.

December 18, 2002