Fresh round of protests over the new Harrow mosque

In a repeat of the events of September, the protest group Stop the Islamification of Europe (SIOE) once again attempted to organise a rally outside the skyline-dominating Harrow Mosque. The group’s leader, Stephen Gash, had previously claimed that he would bring 2,000 anti-mosque protestors to the location.

Instead, on the ground were a pitiful 20 people who hid their faces behind scarves, hoodies and a copy of the Daily Mail. The police, mindful of the September protest which turned into a barely-contained riot, had laid down barricades and were surrounding the area in force. Mounted units, dogs, a helicopter and riot vans were all in attendance, along with British Transport Police at all local bus and railway stations.

A number of extreme-left groups, including the Socialist Party, the All-Union Communist Party of Bolsheviks, United Against Fascism and Workers’ Liberty gathered to oppose the SIOE demonstrators, including a hysterical woman on a PA system who felt it necessary to shout about concentration camps. Other, more moderate organisations including Unite the Union and the Brent branch of the Universities and Colleges’ Lecturers' Union, were also present, as were local Muslims from the mosque itself, led by Imam Ghulam Rabbani.

The day passed without incident, primarily because of the very heavy police presence.

"Anti-Muslim" protest turns violent after right-wing extremists fail to show

Yesterday thousands of anti-fascist demonstrators gathered in front of the new Harrow Central Mosque to protest against a planned demonstration by the group Stop Islamification of Europe (SIOE). Amongst the groups present were United Against Fascism (UAF), the Socialist Workers Party (SWP) and Unite the Union, alongside a sizeable majority of worshippers from the Harrow Mosque itself.



The estimated 2,000 protestors were outside the mosque to oppose the English Defence League (EDL) and SIOE's demonstration against the construction of a new 5-storey masjid (traditionally-built mosque with dome and spire) to replace the existing mosque, a converted house on the end of a terrace. However, reportedly fewer than 20 right-wing protestors made it to the area after police prevented them from gaining access to the area. A police source commented that, "If the SIOE demonstration started it would have resulted in serious disorder".

Once it was clear that the anti-Islam protestors were not going to attend, the mood turned ugly. The crowd, the vast portion of which was wearing Arabic headdress which conceals the face, began joining in with UAF agitators who encouraged the crowd to chant "Nazi scum - off our streets". Rival chants of "Allahu akhbar" began from the mosque, while Islamic leaders began herding people back onto the pavements.

An initial scuffle took place in the Civic Centre carpark. A young Somalian, Mohammed Hussein, 16, claimed to have "banged this white man" and further proclaimed he was "ready for war". A group of similar-aged Muslim youth around him readily agreed.

In stark contrast to this was Claire, a 33-year-old political history graduate who was attending with the Socialist Workers' Party. In response to Mohammed Hussein's aggression, she calmly stated "If someone's got a skinhead you can't just beat the crap out of them". Claire's measured reasoning was a stark contrast to the rest of the crowd, however, who were visibly becoming more and more agitated. In the words of one police sergeant, they were "chasing shadows".

Interestingly, in contrast to the usual press angle, the mosque elders were doing their level best to keep calm. A number of locals were mingling in the crowd, wearing hi-vis jackets, while calming the more inflammatory elements; this last including the UAF , who had brought a megaphone with them. It was a telling sight, seeing the imams directly telling the UAF to "shut up and go home" - the popular perception of Islam, as an organised front for violent extremism, bore no resemblance to these people who merely wanted to observe their religion in peace.

Violent confrontation was never far from the surface, however. Several hundred Muslims, believing they had seen a group of SIOE protestors (who, on the balance of probabilities, were actually the European reporters coming over the railway bridge), broke free of the thin police cordon outside the Star Club restaurant and charged over the bridge. There they met not far-right extremists, but a solid cordon of riot police. Stones, bottles and staves were quickly thrown and a full-scale riot came within seconds of starting as police deployed stun grenades to drive the Muslims back. One protestor next to this journalist claimed to have seen Nick Griffin standing behind the police, a palpably laughable claim when I identified a reporter from a well-known TV news channel. His only resemblance to the BNP leader was that he was white and wearing a suit.

Denied a confrontation with the police, who stood resolutely and shrugged off the incoming missiles, the youths turned on the press photographers in their midst, angrily screaming "No cameras!" Once again, violence was mere seconds away until the press relented and fell back to the relative safety of the police line. With all their targets now ignoring them or cowed into submission, the baying mob gradually fell back amidst shouts of "defend the masjid" [mosque]. Community leaders hastened the retreat, telling the more reluctant individuals "Fall back or they'll take our pictures and show how bad we are, we don't want that."

As the Muslim youths fell back - no sign of the trades union or UAF now - individuals started running at the civic centre. Spurred on by the thought of far-right blood to spill, the mob took to its heels once again. However, as in almost every other occurrence, there were no SIOE protestors - just shadows. The frustrated mob began slaking its thirst on the civic centre windows, with barriers being picked up and hurled. It took some minutes for more riot police to intervene and drive the mob back before the violence got out of hand.


The rest of the evening followed this pattern of the mainly Muslim mob chasing at shadows and the police wearily rushing after them to corrall them back in and prevent serious damage from occurring. As always, once the mob realised it didn't have a 'legitimate' target, it vented its anger on the police, who to their credit, stood fast and took the bricks and bottles. Community leaders did their best to stem the anger, but the mob was simply too large for them to effectively control.

All in all, yesterday's events showed the anti-fascists for what they were; a mob just as capricious and violent as the fascists they professed to oppose. The only creditable performances were from the police, who had clearly learned their lessons from the G20 demos, and the local Muslim religious leaders, who did their level best to stem the violence and calm the mob who rioted in their name.

See also: BBC, Sky, Times Online, Daily Telegraph


Postscript: On my way home I fell in with an Australian called Dav, who had attended as part of the UAF contingent. While we walked towards Harrow-on-the-Hill station together, we witnessed a large gang of masked and hooded Asians and Somalians throwing stones at a police van, shouting "white pig fascist scum". Some way further on, a gang of boys about 15 or 16 years of age followed us, shouting "BNP fascist" at Dav - who was as white as chalk and unfortunately suffered from baldness. To his credit, he stopped and clearly explained who he was and what he was doing there, which calmed the boys; yet had he been alone I would have feared for his safety.

On the ground at the G20 demos

Wednesday 1st April, 2009

The Canadian woman standing in line with the hundreds of other protestors on Threadneedle Street looked vaguely confused when asked “Can you please put your placard down? I can’t see.” Yet with a gracious smile, she said “Oh, I’m sorry” and lowered it, impervious to the fact that it proclaimed “Canada Out Of Afghanistan”. Above us, a police helicopter hovered, filling the air with its insistent throbbing.

We were in the City of London’s Bank district. Crowds stood ten, twenty deep, hemmed in by cordons of police in hi-vis jackets, jostling at the edges and being politely but firmly guided backwards every so often by the police. Drums rolled and percussion instruments played, lending an almost carnival atmosphere to the scene. Banners and flags (“MAKE TEA NOT WAR”) appeared from the middle of Bank concourse itself.

Most ‘protestors’ turned out to be ordinary people out for a laugh, such as Matt. He was on his lunch break from the office, along with a handful of his colleagues who’d “come to see the fun, watch a few crusties get beaten up,” at the hands of the police. The lost Canadian woman, Veronica from Vancouver, turned around and frowned. “Why aren’t you supporting withdrawal from Afghanistan?” Matt laughed. “I think you’re in the wrong place, love”.

Everyone laughed and joked together, cheering whenever a policeman’s helmet was knocked askew or a particularly rowdy protestor was forced back a few paces. It was almost a sporting atmosphere, neatly divided between the British love for the underdog and sympathy for the poor coppers caught in the middle of it all.

Then it happened. At 12.45, the percussion band, who had been quietly edging towards the police cordon, reached the edge and began to push. The police line tensed, like a muscle, and held firm. The band tried and tried again, aided by dubious characters dressed in black with scarves obscuring their faces. Matt looked worried. “I’m out of here mate, this is going to get nasty”. A female Eastern European voice behind me whined “Get the pigs!” Policemen swayed, batons were drawn, voices were raised. A tall, imposing figure in black at the front of the push fell and resurfaced with blood streaming down his head. The mood perceptively changed.

This was no longer a peaceful demonstration. This was a full-on Protest, capital emphasis and all. The police struggled manfully to hold the line, pushing us back (no “please can you move, sir” now), sweeping photographers back from the elevated ledges they were snapping from. Far above us all, an ornamental clock hung from the side of a building. From the window adjacent to the clock, a man emerged, as cool as ice, and nonchalantly watched the seething crowds swaying back and forth. Occasionally he called down and pointed at some key tussle within the crowd.

A sudden commotion began behind us and a hand in the small of the back pushing me face first into the stinking beard of the hippy next to me. Police reinforcements had arrived, led by a burly Inspector. Again, the Eastern European woman piped up with, “We don’t want blood”. You could imagine her whining the same thing after the failed 1990 August Coup in Moscow. The band broke through, to a wave of cheers, and the protestors surged towards the Royal Bank of Scotland’s branch on the corner of Threadneedle and Bartholomew Street. None of them seemed to notice the great big “To Let” sign over the door. That didn’t stop the mob – for that was what it now was, fuelled by timpani drums and the greedy lust of success – advanced on the RBS offices. Coloured smoke began to waft from the direction of the police lines as black-masked rioters burst through the police lines and started chanting “Our streets!”

Several things stood out at this moment: the number of cameramen gathered around RBS; urgent figures dressed in black pushing their way towards the bank’s offices; the number of smokers in the crowd; the weird old hippy still beating his drum in front of me. Such was the scene as the first window of RBS shattered, at precisely 1.32pm. Cheers went up from the whole mob, the police (now augmented by riot police with helmets and shields) backing off. A senior policeman came and looked round the corner at the shattered window, shook his head like a disbelieving parent and turned to walk away. A plastic bottle bounced off the pillar next to his head.

Once RBS had been breached, to the accompaniment of about fifty cameras recording every movement, the crowd lost interest. I moved back to Bank square and observed the peaceful half of the protest. Some people were waving banners – for some reason the Green Party were present inside the police ‘kettle’ – and more still were just sitting around chatting. Compared to the hardcore elements crowing over RBS, the majority here were either students or genuine believers in their cause. Public speakers stood in front of the Bank of England, exhorting the ills of the capitalist banking system. ‘Fun police’ offered weed to passers-by. Somebody started dancing, and before long an impromptu rave had begun. Couples kissed. Girls rode past on bicycles bearing flower power placards. The violence evident on Threadneedle Street was nowhere to be seen here; and tellingly, neither were the sinister people in black. No longer were the crowds expectant, merely venting their feelings.


A City of London policeman on the edge of the protests commented, “It’s good that we have the freedom in this country to protest peacefully, just a shame that you get the idiots who spoil it for everyone”. But what had the 'peaceful' protest achieved? Broken windows, road closures, bloody noses and a street party. Hardly the beginning of the end for Britain's megabanks.