So unless you’ve been on holiday on the Moon for the past few weeks, you’ll have been affected in some way or another by November’s strike action. Wednesday 30th saw an estimated 2 million public sector workers stop working for the day to protest about the government’s proposed cuts to pensions. Leeds was no exception, with more than 200 schools closed, and thousands taking to the streets to march alongside like-minded Leeds citizens, all angry and demanding change.
Despite having seen the headlines for years about protests, picketing and politics, I’d never got involved with anything like this. The opportunities for political demonstration tend to pass by my sleepy midlands hometown of Market Harborough. But having lived in Leeds for almost three months now – and starting to consider myself a fully fledged ‘student’ – I realised last week that the time had come to assert my beliefs and brave the streets of Leeds on a wintry Wednesday morning. I made it up, at a time which hadn’t seen me alive for most of the semester, to hear the radio already shouting about the school closures. Before I made it out of the door I knew that this was the biggest strike for thirty years. 58% of schools were shut, and the government were probably not helping matters by announcing that the strike was “inappropriate, untimely and irresponsible.”
So I made it to Woodhouse Moor for ten o’clock that morning, letting my feelings of ‘early-bird’ pride dwindle as I realised that most of the people there had clearly been doing it for hours. There was an impressive crowd building as we stood on the side of the road opposite The Library pub, with mega-phoned speeches blasting from across the street. I was beginning to understand the big deal about the feelings of ‘solidarity’ that people had always told me about. These were people who’s whole lives would be completely changed (and not for the better) by the government’s cuts. One woman’s placard sported angry red letters about the impact they would have on her – she’d work until the age of 69, and even then have some ridiculously small pension to get by on. My initial feelings of apprehension soon melted away as I realised that feeling like I didn’t know a lot about the deeper political issues here was immaterial. People were just here to fight for what they believed in, with whole families showing their faces to the chilly November skies for the sake of their livelihoods.
The march started about half an hour later, with the whole army of us traipsing down Woodhouse lane, police on horseback alongside us. What struck me straight away was how friendly everyone seemed. Having heard hundreds of horror stories about kettling, rioting and scary violence going down at large-scale demonstrations, I’d been far too quick to assume that all protests would end in some kind of brawl. But watching this kind of thing from my comfortable sofa on the TV news for years had given me a false impression. At the risk of sounding a little too hippy-ish, the cheery atmosphere was surrounding everyone, and the last thing on my mind was fear of getting caught up in anything black-eye inducing.
We made our way slowly through the city centre, congregating between Leeds Town Hall and the Art Gallery, where the rally soon got underway. A marching band that’d joined us for the march played their final strains, infecting the crowd with a joyful sense of camaraderie: we were suddenly united in placard-waving, whistle- blowing bliss. Having never realised how much fun being a part of something as serious and anger-driven could be, I was surprised at the amount of smiling faces lining the streets. It was beginning to feel more like some kind of parade, rather than my pre-conceived idea of a protest.
Leeds-based steel pan band the Foxwood Steel Bandits opened the rally, intensifying the shouting, dancing and singing. All this seemed somehow to heighten the crowd’s passion without giving way to any of the uncontrollable rage I’d been half expecting. The rally seemed to go by in a blur of shouts for solidarity and general anger at Mr’s Cameron and Clegg. But the sheer volume of people was enough to bring home that these cuts aren’t just something that might make life hard for you or your mum in a few years time. They’re something much bigger and scarier than that. Regardless of the facts, figures and statistics, anything which has the power to cause as big a reaction as this is something bound to have a pretty massive impact on our lives.
Going on the march made me realise how lucky we are to live in a country where we can demonstrate what we believe in with such freedom. Despite my anger at the government, I left the city centre that day feeling enlightened by and united with my fellow citizens, not just of Leeds but of the whole country. Passing Leeds University on the way home, we found police and security standing by the entrances, in wait of the rowdy, disruptive students who never came. Getting home and telling my flatmates about my day of political gallivanting made me proud – and the fact that no one could give students a bad name for anything that happened in Leeds that day was even better. So whatever happens with the cuts, the happy togetherness felt across the country that Wednesday was a sight to behold. Despite it being a shame that it only appeared because of such a negative trigger, the people-power brought out that day is something we shouldn’t forget, if ever we begin to lose faith.