One Last Hurrah at the London Freedom Rallies
The author interviewing a fellow protestor. All photos by the author
Our latest foray to central London as SCUM MEDIA took us back to the streets of Westminster for our third installment of the Unite For Freedom Rally on June 26th. Now a monthly staple in our nation’s capital, the Freedom March—or March For Freedom or whatever it’s called—has joined together an unprecedented coalition of hippies, right-wingers and conspiracy theorists, who protest in the thousands against COVID-19 restrictions and the New World Order.
While the media is doing their best to ignore this growing movement, our little gang of misfits has been documenting everything we can. Nick (UNWASHED) has been penning our write-ups so far, and is the driving force behind our new channel, but once in a while I need to throw in my two cents (or pence, to those reading at home).
It’s no secret that I’m not invested in the rallies. The consensus is that I should care more about the good old cause but—try as I may—I can’t. These days I think little of politics, vaccines, free speech, or suspicious basements under pizza parlours. No—when work is over I simply wrap myself in post-punk mixtapes, put on a nice candle, and smoke a spliff in the garden.
“My short, explosive time working in dissident politics has taught me that, above all else, it’s unlikely that these actions will change anything.”
After years of marching the same routes, oohing and aahing the same smoke bombs, elbowing photographers out of the way to get the same shots of the ruckus against the gates of 10 Downing Street, you tire of it. Different banners, same bollocks. I’m reminded of a scene in Stephen Fry’s film The Bright Young Things where two 1920’s aristocrats dance at a party, surrounded by glamor, only for one to declare mid-twirl “I’ve never been so bored in my life!”
My short, explosive time working in dissident politics has taught me that, above all else, it’s unlikely that these actions will change anything. A pessimistic statement—not what one wants to hear—but regardless it hangs in the air amid the purple haze. I spent five years of my life thinking of nothing else but how we defeat the paedophilic new world order: making contact with the biggest names to ask their opinions, hear their stories, and discuss issues holding us back.
Being a woman in the thunderstorm of dissident politics is quite the experience. I often advise people not to do it. I barely have an upbeat, positive phone call with any of the women in these movements I encounter—instead swapping horror stories on the latest attacks and indignities thrown our way under the silent watch of the “leaders.”
“Being a woman in the thunderstorm of dissident politics is quite the experience. I often advise people not to do it.”
It’s such a shame. I really wanted us to win—whatever winning even meant—to my detriment. My jihad spoiled friendships, career prospects, and leaked into my dating life like a ghost at the feast. And yet I always feel a yearning for the battlefield whenever I try to move on. And so it’s with a heavy heart that I pop on my sunglasses and attend these rallies. There is still some part of me that wants to see the mission through, to break the curse of the satanic cabal once and for all. But how? Will marching work? Will the power of positive friendships work? Will freeing Britney work!?
I don’t know. What I do know, and what gives me some glimmer of hope, is that for the first time in my life I’m able to chat with strangers of all backgrounds about this spiritual battle. The thirteen-year-old emo girl watching Alex Jones videos would be jumping for joy at the idea of standing outside Buckingham Palace with hundreds of thousands of based and woke individuals wanting to tear down the globalist cabal. The woman here feels...cold.
But—not to leave on a bum note and with the wider picture in mind—I will say this. Watching thousands of people dressed in tie-dye, hugging each other, dancing to drum and bass and telling the BBC to fuck off on a beautiful summer’s day in London has its moments. Was anything solved? I don’t know, but it was a day out, a nice one, together.
If anything, they reminded me that there is still joy—that the spirit of punk still beats on through the UK. If, like me, you’re feeling a bit knackered and benumbed by it all, there’ll always be a smiling glittery face popping out of the crowd reminding you to smile. And you know what? It’s a start.
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