THE NERVE CENTRE of the new anti-war movement in Britain is a small room in a renovated former brewery off Brick Lane in East London. As nerve centres go, it is pretty unimpressive. I had imagined that the offices of the Stop the War Coalition, whose website lists scores of local groups around the country, would be largish and buzzing. Instead it is a claustrophobic cell populated mostly by empty chairs. They fill the room, arranged higgledy-piggledy like bumper cars having a picnic. At the back of the room, beyond the chairs, are two people in front of two computers.
Can this really be the Stop the War HQ?
“Yes, here we are!” says Lindsey German, as she extricates herself from the picnic to shake my hand. “Small, isn’t it?”
Yes it is; but also, perhaps, perfectly formed for our times. The 18-month-old Coalition does not need much of an office, for the internet has made it possible for this to be almost a virtual movement, a tidal affair that comes together for set-piece marches and then disperses to places such as Mold and Bath and Totnes. Its last major demonstration attracted some 300,000 and the next one, on February 15, is expected to be bigger. “People say, how can you stop the war, it’s just a demonstration, nobody listens to demonstrations,” German says. “But that isn’t true. It’s just not true.”
She says this in a voice tinged with wonder, as well it might be. After years on the fringe, the anti-war movement is coming centre stage, not least because the British people, confused and anxious about a war with Iraq, want to hear the arguments. The movement is also using new and highly visible tactics, as in today’s mass lobby of Parliament, in which activists are coming to Westminster to talk to their MPs in person.
Last week the Today programme even described the movement as “powerful”, which must be another first. But then, this is a movement of firsts. The Church of England has not spoken out like this since Suez. Nor have humanitarian aid agencies, such as Save the Children, ever given such explicit warnings. Meanwhile a new generation of protesters, weaned on the politics of globalisation, have transformed the terms of analysis.
The new anti-war movement is still emerging, with the two most obvious strands being the Establishment and the grassroots. This makes for some very strange bedfellows, who include retired generals, old peaceniks, former ambassadors, anti-globalisation protesters, Labour activists, trade unions, the Muslim community and, of course, Rory Bremner. “The movement is more widespread but not so deep,” says Paul Rogers, professor of peace studies at Bradford University. If they were all invited to the same dinner party, bread rolls would fly; but for now, the breadth remains impressive.
The Stop the War Coalition was formed two weeks after September 11, when a surprising 2,000 people came to a meeting. Its demands are simple — stop the war, don’t be racist, defend civil liberties — and it’s an umbrella that reaches wide. “It was very important for us in building a big coalition to get the Muslim community on board at an early stage,” German says. “We could have had — and this has happened in a number of countries — a Muslim anti-war movement, a trade union and leftie anti-war movement and a pacifist movement. That would have weakened all of them.”
The various parts are easily separated out, with the old guard being the most obvious. For the past 12 years, every Monday at 5.30pm, there has been an anti-war protest on the pavement of Whitehall. Last week the protesters were four people whose combined age was at least 300. I ask Richard Krump, aged 79 with a Santa Claus beard, why more people aren’t there. “They are probably at work,” he says, entirely unfazed.
Or, if you walk up the road to Parliament Square, you will meet Brian Haw. He has been living in the Square since June 2001, surrounded by anti-war placards and horrific pictures showing the effects of sanctions and war on the children of Iraq. Brian, who is 54, will not give in to the cold or the loneliness (his wife is very fed up). “It’s time people listened to the message. People have tried to turn me into a personality. They want to know where I sleep, where I got to the toilet, what I do when it rains. Blah, blah, blah, blah. They are not paying attention. My message is about mass murder.”
Brian gets mail, usually from America, delivered by the House of Commons postman. He is a symbol and, as we talk on a freezing cold night lit by a crescent moon and a beaming Big Ben, there are regular honks of support from motorists. His friend Abdul Qavi, aged 67, joins the protest every Tuesday for a few hours. “Brian is a very good example of what a single light can do to dispel the darkness,” he says. “He is a beacon in that way.”
The anti-war voice of which Tony Blair is most afraid comes from across the bridge at Lambeth Palace. In a war in which so many people are claiming God is on their side, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Rowan Williams, has the advantage of actually looking like a holy man. His natural authority makes him a dangerous foe and, though he is not giving interviews now, he will as his enthronement approaches next month. But the 52-member House of Bishops has also found its voice, arguing that a “preventative” war would cause immense suffering and that to date Iraq does not fit the criteria for what Christians call a “just war”.
“The traditional peacenik was against war and he wasn’t supported by the churches or the development agencies who thought he was rather radical, but now the base is much wider,” says Bruce Kent, 73, vice-president of CND, former priest and long-time radical. “The anti-war movement is far advanced from where it was 18 months ago. People weren’t really ready for Afghanistan. This time the difference is the churches. I think they’ve played an enormous part.” He lauds Rowan Williams, “somebody who is clearly a Christian first and a political figure second”, and adds: “It is great that he has been as clear as he has been.”
