Occupy £ondon

Yesterday I visited Tent City. For the Zonies, Tent City means something quite different here. There's no Sheriff Joe or men wearing pink underwear. In Tent City London lives the prisoners of capitalism—those protesting the elite 1%.

The Occupy protestors have been camped outside the beautiful St. Paul's Cathedral for two months now. Their post has caused quite a controversy in London. The city has tried desperately to evict the protestors, causing discord among the St. Paul's clergy and even prompting the cannon chancellor of St Paul's Cathedral Reverend Dr Giles Frase to resign because he didn't want to see the protestors removed by force. He soon became the poster child for the movement, prompting a discussion on "ethical capitalism" that never really caught on.

The protestors were issued an eviction notice for last week. However, they refused to move and now will become embroiled in a months-long legal battle over their encampment.

Anyway, in search of a "human interest" story for my reporting class I tagged along with a classmate who was headed to St. Paul's to speak with some protestors who she thought might have an interesting story. I was excited. I hadn't spent much time around the Occupy Movement and I was very excited to hear what these people had to say.

However, I was very disappointed by what I saw: the anti-capitalist protestors dodging into Starbucks for their morning coffee to charge up their Mac and Toshiba laptops, others sneaking home to take proper showers in clean flats. Are they so entrenched in the capitalistic society that they can't even recognise themselves as the products of the very idea they wish to abolish?

Speaking of "ideas," the protestors have adopted Guy Fawkes as the symbol of their anti-capitalist movement. The protestors can be seen wearing Guy Fawkes masks (like V wears in V for Vendetta). But as far as I can remember, V knew a thing or two about protesting and inspiring a revolution. You have to have an idea you believe is better than what the current establishment supports. Of those protesting, few can articulate anything beyond  that they are "anti-capitalism" and seek to "reform the banks." What does that even mean? They don't know, so don't ask further questions.

The majority, and I do not mean all, only most, have not thought about what they are protesting and how they plan to bring about reform. It's a real shame because they have supposedly been living in tents for two months to make a point, a point that they cannot intelligently support. Even their sympathisers are losing interest in their plight  because they have so obviously failed to come up with any sort of idea or reformative plan.



Later that evening, after being kicked out of someone's tent for asking too many questions, I was back near St. Paul's for dinner with some friends. One of my friends had tried to take money of the HSBC around the corner but the door to the ATMs was locked. A man  passing by said, the bank had to lock its doors because the protestors were sleeping in the banks at night. SLEEPING IN THE BANKS! What kind of a message does this send? We hate bankers, but let me take shelter from the cold London winter in a bank.

Then, as we were eating our dinner at Pizza Express, which is directly across from Tent City, we noticed three protestors casually walk into this national pizza chain and sit down for dinner. Midway through our dinner we saw a crowd gather around a Waitrose truck parked outside the restaurant. Onlookers said a female protestor had thrown herself under the truck and refused to move. When the ambulance arrived she jumped up and ran away.

I agree massive reform needs to take place, but if these are the people leading the movement then I'm afraid I've really lost faith.

The 5th of November

Remember, remember. The 5th of November. The gunpowder, treason and plot.

Last night was Guy Fawkes Night, or Bonfire Night in England.

It commemorates the day in 1605 when a man named Guy Fawkes was arrested after he was caught guarding explosives that were to blow up the House of Lords. This was known as the Gunpowder Plot, a failed conspiracy plot by the English Catholics to assassinate the protestant King James I. The plan was foiled, but if you've seen the 2006 film V for Vendetta, the idea was not.

 The English people were allowed to celebrate the        king's survival with bonfires. Hence, Bonfire
 Night.

 The English still celebrate this holiday on the 5th  
 of November with big bonfires and fireworks  
 displays.

 I attended the bonfire and fireworks show at  
 Battersea Park in London. There was an
 unbelievable amount of people crowding in this
 park to celebrate the 406th anniversary of the
 infamous Gunpowder Plot.

To be honest, the bonfire was anticlimactic. Someone simply set fire to a pillar of wood. After watching the wood burn for a few minutes, the crowd turned its attention to the firework display, which was spectacular. The fireworks display was really beautiful, but the coordinated music selection  was a bit of a joke. From Nelly's It's Getting Hot in Here to Adele's Set Fire to the Rain,  a propos as it started raining during the song, people were laughing with each new cheesy song that had the world "hot" or "fire" in it, including Owl City's Fireflies.

My Friends from Uni and I at Bonfire Night. From left: Laura,
Me, Francesca, Silvia, Joel and Nora.

During the grand finale, set to the sounds of Kings of Leon's Sex on Fire, the crowd 'ooh'ed and 'ah'ed as brilliant, glittery lights illuminated the sky.

"We're simple people," my British classmate whispered.

I smiled and nodded in agreement. Simplicity is something the Brits do very well. And so a simple night with friends and fireworks turned into one 5th of November that I will always remember, remember.

Bottoms up!

Thursday night I attended Them and Us: A Special Relationship? featuring BBC Today Programme presenter and former Washington Correspondent Justin Webb in conversation with the New York Times'  London Correspondent and author of my favourite book on the British, The Anglofiles, Sarah Lyall.

At this lecture the journalists discussed the differences between the US and the UK— the conclusion being that we may only share a common tongue, and even then, we have a hard time understanding one another.

The biggest difference between the US and the UK? Drinking. This was the frist thing Webb noticed when he moved back Washington DC to London. 

"Everyone on the bus was pissed," Webb said. "And not in the American sense."

Webb said he remembered going to his first big-wig party with Washington's elite thinking this should be a smashing good time. When he got there he was shocked to find that this was a "dry event." No alcohol. A term that doesn't even exist in the UK where bars can be found on every corner and in every establishment, including universities, movie theaters and the House of Parliament. 

Lyall, who wrote about the same phenomenon in her book, said she is surprised how many romantic partnerships start with two people getting incredibly drunk.

"There's another way?" Webb deadpanned. 

But this isn't just a joke. Britons have a serious drinking problem. 

In the 90s, the mortality rate from liver disease nearly tripled since the 1960s, at the same time the rate declined in all other European countries. 

To combat this problem the government mandated bars close shop at 12am on weekdays, and any place with an alcohol license must enforce a strict drinking age [18] and some places will not serve people who look under 21 without a license. 

MPs (members of Parliament) are no longer allowed to be drunk in Parliament— and some people have gone so far as to suggest the bars in the Palace of Westminster stop serving alcohol! [But in this country, politics without pissed MPs is sacrilegious.] Webb said on many occasions Members of Parliament are drunk when they give speechs and vote. 

Webb said this is a serious issue that continues to plague British cultures, despite attempts by government to address the issue with laws and mandates. 

Iago: Your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander-- drink ho!-- are nothing to your English. —Othello, 2.3