Yesterday evening I returned to the Afghan occupation. As I arrived, some kind of demo was coming together in the university square, sharing the space with the Afghan guys. It was a pure black-dress affair of what one guy later estimated to be around 5000 anarchists, mainly students.
As the demo got together and set off, we stood by watching. One of the guys was tutting and their general reaction seemed to sit somewhere between fear, disapproval and awe. Fear, because times before, protests had happened outside the university that had brought trouble to their occupation in the form of a shit load of tear gas. Disapproval at the idea that they were mindlessly violent. Awe that they really shoved it to the Police sometimes. The overarching sense was that the people were thugs and their actions were nihilistic and therefore unpredictable. Glad that they were marching. More glad that they were marching away. I said my goodbyes and followed the march into the centre of the city.
The demo route cut through Athens city centre, blocking the arterial flow of traffic and rendering Athens at rush hour quiet. More than quiet, there was something like a tangible sense of holding your breath. As the march continued, it set off a Mexican wave of shutting shops, reopening again as it passed. There were very few other people around. Behind them, a small line of riot cops in green, in front of them, a huge banner, colour coordinated with the demonstrators in black. Loud, powerful chants, leaflets chucked all over the place, and a powerful sense of solidarity and possibility.
Possibly the single only person not wearing head to toe black, I joined the march and asked a guy what it was all about. They were calling for the release of anarchist comrade Simos Seisidis, held on charges of bank robbery, money laundering and attmepted homicide. During his arrest, he had been shot in the back and had subsequently had his leg amputated. The guy was languishing in jail with no end date. He said that as this was a small demo and it was unlikely there would be any clashes with police. As a group of only anarchists anything more than marching and the police would come down on them hard. They carried on marching, up towards Exarchia and I left the demo and headed back towards the city.
The difference between how the Afghan guys had viewed the protesters, and the friendly, fun conversation I had just had with the guy in the march was conflicting. As always the idea and the reality of anarchists were out of line. People believe in the idea of the scary mob. Of anarchists creating ‘anarchy’ because they believe their actions are thoughtless and therefore unpredictable. They see them on the streets and are afraid. Partly this is because people only get to see the end result. They don’t see the endless meetings or the deep thinking (I know you can’t actually see deep thinking. Call this poetic licence).
So, the big, black anarchist mass of people was totally awe inspiring to me (and amasing that 5000 people out on the streets on a Tuesday night would be considered a small affair), but it was also kinda sad to hear the misunderstanding and fear from the Afghan guys. It was also sad to see all the power the marchers generated together be so limited - their image both isolating them and limiting their possibilities for action. Its the age old conflict: by attempting to live in non-alienated and free ways, you end up creating your own alienation from the mainstream. Anarchists definitely suffer from bad PR.
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