Читать книгу A People's History of London - Lindsey German - Страница 7

Introduction

Joshua Virasami is twenty-one years old, black, and ‘born and bred’ a Londoner. He grew up in West London and, like most of his fellow students, was working to pay his way through college. His job was in Costa Coffee at Heston motorway service station on the M4. But on 15 October 2011 Josh wasn’t at work or college. He was in one of the oldest parts of his home city, the original site of the Roman Temple to Diana, the churchyard at St Paul’s Cathedral. He was about to have a remarkable day.

Josh and some thousands of others were at St Paul’s because it was the advertised starting point for a demonstration. The protestors intended to occupy the London Stock Exchange – hence the name ‘Occupy LSX’. But the police prevented them from doing so, and in the game of cat and mouse that followed through the streets of the City of London the demonstrators took their last stand back where they started: on the steps of St Paul’s Cathedral. There an impromptu rally took place and a tent city began to take shape.1 The protest grabbed the attention of the media, partly because it was one of many similar protests in eighty countries around the world, partly because it sparked a political crisis in the Church of England over whether the permanent protest camp that sprang up around the Cathedral should be forcibly removed. Not all of Josh’s fellow protestors will have been aware of it as they struggled to resist the attempts by the police to remove them that evening, but many other radicals over many centuries had stood where they now stood.

In the stillness of that night at St Paul’s, after the tents were erected, it was possible to imagine that the tolling of the bell was not that of the modern Cathedral but the sound of the Great Bell of the Jesus Tower, a free-standing bell tower in the courtyard of the medieval Cathedral, summoning the citizens of London to the one of the thrice yearly folkmoots at St Paul’s Cross, the open-air pulpit. Attendance was compulsory until the fourteenth century and here papal bulls, news of military victories or royal marriages, excommunications and proclamations were read out. News of the victory of Agincourt was read on the Cathedral steps. William Tyndale’s English translation of the Bible was burnt here, so were the works of Martin Luther. Martyred Bishops Ridley and Latimer preached here. St Paul’s Cross was only removed by order of Parliament in 1643 during the English Revolution.

Josh’s seventeenth-century precursors, the apprentices of the City of London, were at the heart of the mass mobilizations that made the English Revolution. The ‘apron youths’, as the Leveller leader John Lilburne called them, would swarm St Paul’s Churchyard. They were looking for print. By the time of the English Revolution St Paul’s churchyard was a hive of political radicalism, the very centre of the printing industry. The houses around the Churchyard contained stationers’ premises, including printing presses. Booths around the Cathedral itself sold the pamphlets and newsbooks that were pouring from the presses in unprecedented numbers. The printed declarations of the Agitators in the New Model Army could be bought here. So could the pamphlets of the Levellers. So could the revolutionary works of John Milton, resident around the corner in Aldersgate Street. The nave of the Cathedral was used as a cavalry barracks for Cromwell’s army, and the statues of Charles I and his father, which had stood in Inigo Jones’s portico, were destroyed by troopers. The Levellers had particular reason to remember St Paul’s Churchyard: one of their heroes, Robert Lockyer, was executed by a firing squad of musketeers for mutiny there in 1649.

It is unlikely that one of the actors in the drama of the Occupy movement, Canon Chancellor Giles Fraser, was not aware of this history. Long before he resigned as a result of his defence of the Occupy movement’s right to remain outside St Paul’s he was based in St Mary’s Putney, the venue for the great ‘Putney debates’ in which the Levellers and their allies in the New Model Army confronted Cromwell over the future direction of the revolution in 1647. He remains a supporter of the Leveller Association.

In the late 1830s the first great working-class movement, the Chartists, adopted an unusual agitational strategy: mass attendance at Sunday sermons. St Paul’s Cathedral was one of their targets. On Sunday 11 August 1839, some 500 Chartists assembled in West Smithfield and marched to St Paul’s. They wore, as protestors still do today, ribbons in their buttonholes to show support for the cause. At first they refused to take off their hats as they entered the Church but ‘after some remonstrance from the Vergers, they submitted’.2

Not all protests at St Paul’s have been as peaceful as the Chartists or the Occupy movement. In 1913 the Suffragettes planted a bomb under the bishop’s throne in the Cathedral. It failed to explode because the clockwork arming mechanism had been wound in the wrong direction. The Morning Post for 8 May 1913 reported that ‘there is no doubt in the minds of the authorities that the contrivance was designed and placed there by someone associated with the militant Suffragist movement’, since it was ‘carefully wrapped in brown paper and in part of the recent issue of the militant newspaper The Suffragette’. In the light of this careful police work there was, of course, outrage. The bishop of London preached a sermon in which he gave ‘our thanks to Almighty God for taking care of His own Cathedral (cries of “Amen”) against the machinations of some miscreant who tried to wreck it last night . . . it was only an accident that the lever was turned by mistake to the right instead of the left . . . and therefore, we know that those who set themselves to do the Devil’s work often even cannot do that right.’

An unusual amount of London’s history has happened in and around St Paul’s. But there is barely a street in inner London that cannot tell at least one tale like this. Here we set out to capture just some of this past. Partly we try to do this through describing the social circumstances of the poor and the working class in London down the centuries. But this is not in the first instance a social history; it is mainly the story of London as a theatre of political activism, told, as much as is possible, with a focus on the lives, actions and words of the actors themselves. Why does London have such a history of radicalism?

LONDON AND GOVERNMENT

The things that make London a centre of wealth and power have also made it a centre of dissent and radicalism. As the home of national government, London is the focal point for protest. This has made London politics peculiarly volatile. In Roman times London was a seat of imperial government and from then on, with the exception of the Saxon period, it has been the site from which the national and international power of the nation’s ruling classes has been projected. Any seat of government and power will dictate much of the political discourse in the city. As a result the city’s churches and chapels, mosques and synagogues, coffee houses, taverns, meeting halls, parks and squares have all acted as hotbeds of dissent.

Controlling a city the size of London requires a high degree of repression and regulation. The historian E. P. Thompson describes how by the late eighteenth century ‘the British people were noted throughout Europe for their turbulence, and the people of London astonished foreign visitors by their lack of deference’.3 Those who controlled the wealth and power of the city ensured that those who did not were aware of the penalties for infringement of legal codes. Repression was met by resistance.4 Prisons loomed large in the popular imagination, especially Newgate (which met the same fate at a similar time to the Paris Bastille, but with rather different political consequences). It was very easy to get into prison if you were poor, and pretty easy to be hanged. ‘In the years between the Restoration and the death of George III the number of capital offences was increased by about 190 . . . no less than sixty-three of these were added in the years 1760–1810.’5 By the mid nineteenth century there were the beginnings of a modern police force, aimed at preventing at least some crime from taking place, and centrally involved with the protection of property. Their role, and that of the law more generally, seems to have remained constant from that time on – up to and including the student protests of 2010 and the London riots of 2011.

London government is not only the national government, however. London politics has long had a peculiarity that no other city in England can boast: the City’s own local government exists alongside the national government. And London local government is not just any local government. The modern all-London authority rules the richest and most populous city in the nation. The older government of the City of London, roughly the ‘square mile’ of the modern financial centre, arose from the elders of the city that King Alfred established when he repopulated the area within the old Roman walls. This ‘council’ developed into the medieval City administration which came to represent the commercial interests of the traders and manufacturers of the area, chiefly the interests of the richest of them. City government was not, even at the very beginning, all of London’s government. It did not exercise power outside the City walls. Westminster, growing from 1066 as the centre of national government, was obviously beyond its power. So too was Southwark, facing it on the south bank of the Thames just across London Bridge. And the areas which grew up beyond the walls, the Tower Hamlets in the east, the ribbon development along the Strand towards Charing Cross and Westminster to the west, were also beyond City jurisdiction. Even within the walls, the City authorities had powers over some aspects of life but not others – and where City ‘liberties’ began and ended was a matter of repeated conflict with the Crown and the national government.

This relationship between Crown and City was not always contentious; quite often they needed each other. Monarchs needed City money, and the City needed a stable and effective national government that could control the environment in which money was made from trade, manufacture and commerce. But if the City was never really democratic in the modern sense it did at least, for long periods, have a more representative structure than the national state. And when conflicts over City rights and liberties did erupt with the Crown, wider social forces might find themselves with the political space to mount a more serious challenge to the status quo, both in the City itself and in the nation as a whole. Such was the case in the revolt of William Longbeard, in the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, during the English Revolution and in the Wilkesite reform movement of the eighteenth century.

Once the franchise widened in 1832, the site of struggle between Londoners and government changed. The creation of the London County Council in 1889 (which still excluded London counties such as Middlesex and Essex) and the rise of borough councils meant that conflict between local government and national administration took on a popular form that was impossible when the City was the main repository of local power in the capital. The successor to the LCC, the Greater London Council, became the focus for one of the great contests between central government and London authority in the 1980s. Ken Livingstone’s Labour administration’s confrontation with the Thatcher government led in 1986 to the Tories completely abolishing any London-wide local government – probably the greatest single destruction of London’s local government since Edward I humiliated the City in the late thirteenth century. Only in 2000 was the Greater London Authority, with its elected mayor and assembly, established by referendum as a new all-London authority, although with fewer powers than its predecessor.

A WORKING CITY

London does more than many capitals: it combines a centre of national and local government with a financial centre, a port, and a vast retail and entertainment hub. Goods were imported and exported from Roman times, and work grew up around related trades. For most of its history London has been pre-eminently an international port: within living memory many of its jobs were still connected with the river, the realm of dockers, stevedores, lightermen, warehousemen, shipbuilders and seafarers.

In addition, the streets of the city of London and many of its old buildings reflect its trading origins in the profusion of drapers, fishmongers, ironmongers, butchers, bookbinders, cordwainers, candlemakers, tailors, carpenters. Before the industrial revolution, London was a city of buyers and sellers, of workers in the ‘trades’. Nevertheless, the artisans were highly protective of their trades and employed apprentices who usually lived in the masters’ houses for long years until they had learned the skills. From the English Revolution the artisans and more especially their apprentices played a prominent role in London organization and politics. Time and again, carpenters, shoemakers and tailors took the lead in political organization. Francis Place, the great figure of the eighteenth-century reform movement, was a tailor in the Charing Cross Road. Thomas Hardy, one of the founders of Chartism, was a boot-maker in Piccadilly. The Spitalfields silk-weavers and their apprentices ‘had long been noted for their anti-authoritarian turbulence’.6

The Industrial Revolution and the subsequent development of an industrial working class took place for the most part away from London. But while the workshop of the world developed outside the capital, its goods had to be traded on an unprecedented scale. These goods helped to create the financial wealth of London, to expand its port and to give impetus to the railway building which so transformed London’s geography. London was a huge importer city, gathering in from the empire an increasing array of goods. The port offered a particularly dramatic spectacle. The young Friedrich Engels wrote in the 1840s:

I know nothing more imposing than the view which the Thames offers during the ascent from the sea to London Bridge. The masses of buildings, the wharves on both sides, especially from Woolwich upwards, the countless ships along both shores, crowding ever closer and closer together, until, at last, only a narrow passage remains in the middle of the river, a passage through which hundreds of steamers shoot by one another; all this is so vast, so impressive, that a man cannot collect himself, but is lost in the marvel of England’s greatness before he sets foot upon English soil.7

By 1880, as the author of early tourist guides, Fritz Baedeker, said: ‘Nothing will convey to the stranger a better idea of the vast activity and stupendous wealth of London than a visit to the warehouses, filled to overflowing with interminable stores of every kind of foreign and colonial products.’8

London’s port was a cradle of radicalism and dissent. The vast number of jobs created on and around the river, the centrality of the docks to commercial life, and the huge mixture of races and cultures which came to London on ships from across the world, all contributed to a consciousness formed by living in the city itself. The East End of London, formed out of the docks and their industrial hinterland, peopled by immigrants both from within the rest of Britain and from China, Russia, Germany and Ireland, has a special place in that history. Time after time the Tower Hamlets such as Limehouse and Stepney feature in the history of London: the Levellers organized here in Wapping, the biggest strike waves in London were here, Communist and left-wing MPs were elected here. The river was the boundary of other radical areas: Southwark and Lambeth to the south, and further upstream Battersea, a notorious site of industrial radicalism.

While London workplaces were often small, they could still be organized. The London tailors struck in 1889, linking up West Enders with their East End counterparts. The dock strikes of 1889 and 1911 brought together workers from different firms and across trades. The bus workers of the 1930s organized across the whole city’s workforce, as do the tube workers in the twenty-first century. The gas workers unionized the big gas employers throughout the East End and westwards to areas such as Battersea in 1889. The newspaper printers organized in and around Fleet Street – this concentrated handful of streets contained as many printing works and as much machinery as factories in many industrial towns.

Out of this organization came ideas of collective change to achieve greater social and political equality. The early shoots of ideas about equality for all, audacious notions of free love, and protests against property first surfaced in the English Revolution. William Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft and William Blake returned to them during the French Revolution, and the ideas of utopianism took hold in London in the 1820s and 30s. It was only late in the nineteenth century, in the early 1880s, that socialism was properly reborn. While the socialists played a big part in free-speech agitation against the police and in organizing the unemployed, the real success of socialists and radicals came with the fight for the new unions. All the major strikes centrally involved political figures – the radical journalist Annie Besant in the match girls’ strike which began the strike wave in Bow in 1888, John Burns, Will Thorne and Tom Mann in the dockers’ action, Eleanor Marx with the gas workers and other major disputes of 1889. The battle for the new unions in 1888–89 was much stronger and more powerful in London than anywhere else in the country. The strikes of the unskilled London workers in those years wrote a new page of working-class history, and their organization led to the establishment of the two main general workers’ unions, which today are the GMB and Unite. A sign of the success of the movement was the election of the Scottish socialist Keir Hardie as MP for West Ham. John Burns was also elected for Battersea in 1892.

Women have become an increasingly visible part of left-wing, working-class politics in London. Even at the end of the nineteenth century and beginning of the twentieth, the importance of London for the ‘new woman’ – educated, self-reliant and emancipated – was becoming clear. The big city gave young women the space and freedom to develop away from family or the confines of village or small-town life. This privilege was initially felt only by middle-class women, but increasingly at least some working-class women who were branching into white-collar work gained some of this benefit. Single women benefited from London’s public spaces – not just shopping streets, parks and gardens, libraries and public halls, but public transport, especially the Underground, which gave women opportunities for social interaction unknown by previous generations. Women trained as typists, schoolteachers and clerks. Women today are a growing part of the London working class; it is impossible to study the working class without seeing women.

What the working class looks like today is very different and London probably has the most varied working class in terms of race and nationality of anywhere in the world. The generations of Afro-Caribbeans and Asians who played such a big part in building unions in transport, health and the manufacturing industries such as Ford have been joined by militants from across the world – and most of the overt barriers to entering certain trades have broken down (although invisible and institutional barriers still remain). Successive generations have asserted their right to live and work in Britain and to be treated equally; in a sense, the riots of 1981 marked the young black working class demanding an end to racism and to be accepted as part of society. While divisions of race, nationality and gender remain real and can sometimes be exacerbated, the common experience of class in London is a powerful countervailing factor.

THE MOB AND THE POLITICS OF THE CITY

London’s mob, a term for the mass crowd which assembles in London over a wide variety of issues, was capable of laying siege to Parliament, demonstrating, rioting and attacking the rich. The mob was also a means of communication where news and information seem to spread like wildfire. The term ‘mob’ comes from the Latin term mobile vulgus, coined in the eighteenth century to describe the labouring poor. Peter Linebaugh has suggested that it could be translated as ‘movement’, which has less pejorative overtones and places it in the context of protest.9 The campaign in the mid eighteenth century in support of John Wilkes and his attempts to be re-elected as an MP, while king and Parliament did their best to stop him, saw repeated mobilization of the mob, their cry being ‘Wilkes and Liberty’. There was a complex relationship between the mob and sections of the upper and middle classes, some of whom at least partly licenced and tolerated it for their own political ends: ‘the Londoners who mobbed the carriages and broke the windows of the Great knew . . . that they were acting under licence.’10

Most famous of the actions of the eighteenth-century ‘mob’ were the Gordon riots of 1780, shortly before the impact of the French Revolution on London helped to change the nature of protest. The threat to privilege and property that erupted across the channel in 1789 shook the British ruling class, and over the next four years events frightened them even further as the French monarchy and aristocracy were overthrown and executed. ‘Church and King’ mobs were licenced by magistrates and clergy to attack supporters of the revolution, although in London they never took off. Repressive laws were aimed at crushing dissent. The French wars and this period of repression of politics marked a watershed. Never again did the city’s political elite unleash the mob to behave in this way. By the early nineteenth century the city’s aldermen and politicians could not risk the assault on property and the rule of law that the mob threatened, hence the establishment of a London police force. But the mob did not entirely disappear, resurfacing with the demonstrations in 1886 and 1887, when window smashing in Pall Mall frightened the extremely wealthy ruling class with the threat of a rising by the poor. The mob took to the streets in the mass strikes of 1888 and 1889, and in the great unrest of 1910–14. This time however it was channelled into a growing and militant labour movement. It surfaced again in the 1930s with the great demonstrations of the jobless, many of which turned into riots when attacked by the police.

In 1981 young black Londoners (along with their counterparts elsewhere in the country) rose up against racism and oppression, rioting in Brixton and being joined by white youth in these most working class of areas. In 1990 the mass demonstration against the Poll Tax turned into a riot across central London, which, along with general non-payment of the tax, succeeded in getting rid of Margaret Thatcher as well as the tax itself. The student demonstrations at the end of 2010 showed many of the characteristics of the traditional mob. Large numbers of young and relatively poor people gathered quickly, since the use of new media allowed them to communicate from the furthest suburbs to central London, thus breaking down some of the logistical difficulties presented by the geographical spread of London; they expressed an unrelenting opposition to the government and elite, and targeted hated buildings (Tory HQ and the Treasury).

In the summer of 2011, the riots which erupted across London were denounced by politicians and media as the actions of a criminal mob, or ‘feral youth’ as they were described. Criminality could not explain many of the actions, however: they started with the death of a young black man shot by the police in Tottenham, spreading to Hackney where police harassment was a major issue. The shops which were targeted were mostly chain stores, much of the looting was one-off opportunism, symbols of expensive consumerism such as a Notting Hill restaurant were attacked, and those who responded to questions about their motives repeatedly expressed anger about lack of a future, unemployment, inequality, racism and police harassment.

RICH AND POOR

London’s mixture of extreme poverty and exploitation, the expansion of working-class districts especially in the East End, the radicalism of the intellectuals who tended to congregate there and who developed alternative ways of thinking, like the women who pioneered the figure of the ‘New Woman’, all combined to create a sympathetic atmosphere for socialist and radical ideas. London also became a seedbed for municipal socialism, with the settlements, housing schemes, education pioneers and health radicals all creating an infrastructure upon which Londoners still rely today.

London’s radicalism has not traditionally been based, as in other British cities such as Manchester or Glasgow, on strong industrial organization with large concentrations of workers. It has rather relied on its sheer size and on its capacity to centralize dissent by virtue of its targets. The fact most frequently commented on by visitors to London since its earliest days is the immensity of the place. The Roman city was the largest in the country. After it was rebuilt in the early Middle Ages it became, again, the largest urban area in Britain. Soon it would become the largest city in Europe. Until the 1950s it was one of the three largest cities in the world, alongside New York and Tokyo. Its population grew from half a million in 1750 to a million by the dawn of the nineteenth century. A hundred years later, it stood at 6 million, the hub of an empire on which ‘the sun never set’. Numbers peaked in 1939 at nearly 9 million, and, despite quite dramatic falls in the second half of the twentieth century, the population of London is now almost 8 million again.11 The geographical mass of Greater London (the term was recognized long before it became an official government entity in the 1960s) spreads out across the entire map of south-eastern England.

London’s size alone suggests an impersonality and lack of community which would seem to work against radicalism. So too would its pace of life: the speed with which people move around, the hurrying crowds, the callousness often noted at the centre of the city, all give it an air of unfriendliness, even cruelty, remarked on especially by outsiders.

It is also a city of phenomenal wealth. The scale of the wealth today, as of the poverty which is its opposite, is greater than at any time since the eighteenth century when plantation owners flaunted the riches created out of chattel slavery. It is impossible to ignore this wealth throughout central London and in its richer inner residential areas. There are many other parts of London where it is impossible to believe that such riches exist. The poverty in the eastern half of inner London boroughs is on a par with anywhere else in Britain, and many inhabitants rarely leave their local areas.

Yet London is almost unique in the proximity with which rich and poor live together.

It is hard to find social statistics as extreme and environments as different but so close together as are found within the hearts of London and New York. The intertwining of rich and poor neighbourhoods is far greater in the centres of these two cities than anywhere else in the rich world.12

All of the elements which contribute to the alienation of so many from London are also the source of much of its radicalism. London’s size in relation to the rest of Britain gives its working class and poor a clout which, when they care to use it, has a major political impact. The impersonality of the city forces its inhabitants to come together in all sorts of different ways to try developing community, organization and civil society so as to alleviate some of the worst features of city life. And the wealth of the London rich is a source of daily resentment for the vast majority of those inhabitants who help to produce that wealth. It is they who ensure that a city of this size continues to function, but who are rewarded by levels of inequality which are all the more staggering since they are in such contrast to the riches on display.

There may be as many discontinuities as continuities between the Roman city and today’s metropolis. Indeed, as we shall see, there is not even a physical continuity of the same inhabited area which lasts over that span of time. But there are nevertheless some long periods where similar patterns of development are identifiable, long-term causes which explain the shape of the city and the nature of its radicalism.

The London of the twenty-first century is reproducing the conditions that gave rise to radical and socialist ideas in the past. Glittering skyscrapers are transforming the London horizon more quickly than ever before. The city is moving east again, creating a huge pool of poverty bordered by wealth in the City, Canary Wharf and the new Olympic development in Stratford. But this is only the most visible form of the inequality that is growing across the metropolis.

Going by most measures, indeed, London has more than its fair share of disadvantage compared with the rest of Britain. In 2011 over one million Londoners lived in low-income families where at least one adult is working. That figure has increased by 60 per cent over the last decade. Housing costs are a critical factor in explaining why London has the highest poverty rates of all England’s regions. Taking housing into account, the poverty rate in London is 28 per cent, compared to 22 per cent in the rest of England. Again, the gap has grown in the last decade. Nearly 50 per cent of young adults are paid less than the London Living Wage. The unemployment rate among young people is at its highest level for nearly twenty years (23 per cent) and rising. Despite, on average, being better qualified than young people in the rest of England, young Londoners are more likely to be unemployed.

Inequality in London is staggering. The poorest 50 per cent have less than 5 per cent of financial or property wealth. The richest 10 per cent have 40 per cent of income wealth, 45 per cent of property wealth and 65 per cent of financial wealth. Babies born in Southwark, Croydon, Haringey and Harrow are twice as likely to die before their first birthday as those born in Bromley, Kingston and Richmond. Adults in Hackney are twice as likely to die before the age of sixty-five as those in Kensington & Chelsea.13 ‘As a rule of thumb, life expectancy falls by one year for each stop that is travelled east from Westminster on the Jubilee line.’14

As the 2012 Olympics open, motorcades of dignitaries, politicians, company CEOs and celebrities will sweep through East London on the specially cleared executive super-highway to Stratford that is only open to them. A few yards away, in damp and overcrowded blocks of flats, Black, white, and Asian workers will be preparing to go to work, if they are lucky, in jobs that pay a pittance. Perhaps they will be serving coffee to, or clearing up after, those very same people. For centuries in London such contrasting conditions have produced riots and radicalism, strikes and socialism. That history is unlikely to be over.