FACELESS PALESTINE PROTEST AT THE TOWER OF LONDON

Michael Dickinson

On Tuesday morning at 11.15 I was attacked by police outside the Tower of London. They threw me to the ground, forcibly twisting my arms behind my back, handcuffing them tightly, then dragged me to a waiting police van and locked me in the back before driving off. My backpack and placard were with the cops in the front. The words on the placard read ‘FREE PALESTINE – END ISRAELI OCCUPATION’…

Flashback to Friday afternoon in the square in front of the Houses of Parliament where I arrived to spend a couple of hours protesting about the Israeli massacre of Palestinians in Gaza. I’ve been doing it almost daily for a couple of weeks now, but the lollipop placard I usually held up had been snatched from me the day before by police in Piccadilly Circus as I’d been passing through. Saying that I had to have permission to protest there, an officer had wrested the placard from my hand, broken the pole over his knee and crumpled up the cardboard message condemning Israel’s attacks on Gaza. Luckily I had another poster with the same wording at home, but no pole, so I stuck it to a large board and carried it in my hand as I walked through the street to Westminster.

Instead of the usual groups of tourists lounging on the sun-parched grass of the square, or having their pictures taken against the Big Ben background, the lawn was quite crowded by a demonstration of black people demanding restitution. Drumbeat sounded out and banners and flags of red, gold and green were stretched out in the air. I was delighted to see others using their right to protest in Parliament Square.

After a smoke on the steps in the shade of the trees at the far side I nipped behind a statue (ironically Disraeli’s) to don the latest addition to my protest guise – a black cotton scarf which I found discarded in the street last week. I tie it round my whole head and face, so that nothing is seen but a black blank. On top of this I wear a black takke (Muslim prayer hat). Apart from that, I’m wearing black trousers and a black shirt, open to show my FREE PALESTINE t shirt, bought in Jerusalem a couple of years ago.

I soon realised that my guise made me stand out as I walked among the crowd. I got many a second glance, several people asked to take my photo and approved of the message I was carrying. Others asked why I had covered my face and one man got quite belligerent, telling me to “Take it off! Take it off!” until calmed into reason by a sensible woman who said she ‘knew where I was coming from’, but it might be more adviseable if I kept myself to the perimeter of their demonstration, as they didn’t want to confuse issues. I saw her point, and did so.

After they had all moved off in a procession towards Brixton I took up my customary solitary position facing the gates of the Parliament building across the road, holding up the billboard above my head for passing traffic to see. It’s amazing the number of cars that flash by with blacked-out windows in that area. Funny to think that, although I can’t see the passengers’ faces, with my new black mask, now they can’t see mine either. However, I’m sure I recognized Prince Harry looking out as he passed the other day.

One consequence of being told to take the scarf off my face has made me more determined to exercise my rights, and I’ve recently taken to wearing it about the streets. I can see (darkly) and breathe quite easily, and it’s quite a relief not to be judged on the features of your face. People see nothing there, and their eyes go to the flag and message on my t shirt and the billboard I hold – to which they react in different ways, the positive always giving hope and confidence, the negative always shocking. Children laugh and point at the man with no face. Maybe in a few years I won’t rate a second glance. Perhaps everyone will be wearing them by then. The perfect way to be anonymous.

On Sunday, on my way homeward after voicing my anger at Israel's bloody slaughter at Speakers’ Corner, I stopped for a snack in the park in front of the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square. As I was sitting on a bench with my face uncovered to eat, two policemen on motorcycles entered the park and stopped opposite me. They asked if I was all right. I said I was fine. They said they’d had a message from the embassy that a suspicious masked man with a backpack was in the vicinity, but they soon realised I was harmless.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” said one before they roared off. “There’s no law against covering your face in Britain.”

On Monday night I went down to Westminster Abbey, where a service attended by Mayor of London Boris Johnson and Camilla Duchess of Cornwall was being held to commemorate the beginning of the First World War one hundred years ago. While I stood among a small crowd on the pavement opposite holding up my billboard I was approached by a couple of police officers who asked if they could help me. I jokingly told them I would appreciate if they joined along in a chant of “FREE FREE PALESTINE!” but they declined, and advised me not to start. I said I wouldn’t. I didn’t fancy being arrested at that time of night, or any night in fact, for as long as I can manage it. They asked me to uncover my face while speaking to them, but I politely refused. They didn’t push it. I left after a while, rather than wait for an hour for the hypocrites to come out of the Abbey. They would have had difficulty reading the message on my billboard anyway, as most street lighting had been dimmed to symbolize the famous words of wartime Foreign Secretary Edward Grey’s that “the lamps are going out all over Europe.”

And so, back to Tuesday morning, when, on learning that there was to be a ceremony at the Tower of London where at 11 am, Prince William, Kate and Prince Harry were to add ceramic poppies to an art installation in the moat there to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Britain joining the Great War, I set off swiftly on foot across town to try to get there on time.

As I was nearing the Tower I was suddenly approached by a young couple in modern dress who stopped me and flicked open their wallets, showing police identification. They asked me where I was going. I told them the Tower of London. They asked why my face was covered, and if I would remove it to speak to them. I refused, and told them I didn’t have time for a chat as I didn’t want to miss the ceremony. I walked on and soon found myself on a paved square overlooking the Tower building and the moat.

Quite a crowd had gathered, and I walked along looking for a place where I could hold up my billboard for attention. The poppy display seemed gruesome, like red blood pouring out of a hole in the Tower wall and spilling like a spreading pool into the dry moat. Looking down, I could see the small figures of the Royal guests and their entourage walking slowly among the flowers with a load of cameras trained on them. It was as good a spot as I could find, and I held up the placard as high as I could, hoping that it would be seen.

Almost instantly I was approached by two uniformed policemen who asked what I was doing and told me to show my face. I said I was simply holding up a placard and I didn’t have to show them my face. Suddenly they both grabbed my arms and started pulling me away. Alarmed that I was to miss the ceremony, I shouted out “FREE PALESTINE!” at the top of my voice in the direction of the little Royals in the moat. I’m sure my message would have reached them.

The police took me over to a wall in the square and began questioning me. No, I wouldn’t give my name or show my face. As a British citizen I had that right, but I did keep insisting in a loud voice for them to take their hands off me. Impatient, they dragged me around a corner, where they pointed out that a surveillance camera was trained on us. Still holding me tightly they said that I could be arrested under a Public Order Act, charged with behaviour likely to cause distress. I said that I’d had enough and wanted to go for a coffee, but they got more violent, ripping the placard from my hands, pulling off my backpack, turning me forcibly round and down on my knees while they handcuffed my wrists very tightly. I called out for them to be loosened as they were hurting me.

“Good!” said one PC, who began trying to rip the cover off my face. I shouted that I was wearing glasses and he was going to break them, so he left off. Then a police van arrived and they dragged me towards it. Taking my last chance, I roared “FREE PALESTINE!” at the top of my lungs several times before they bundled me in to the back. Off we drove to the nearest police station at Bethnal Green.

Once there, after the handcuffs and veil had been taken off, I was told that I had been arrested,but not yet charged with an offence, and I could be held for 24 hours. I handed over my passport, gave my hostel address, changed my shoes for slippers and my trousers for longjohns (because of the thong waist belt). My belongings were packed in plastic cases, and after being fingerprinted and mug-shotted I was shown to a blue and white tiled cell with a matress and metal toilet, where I was served a microwaved package of tuna and macaroni and a cup of coffee, it being about noon, lunchtime.

While waiting to see what happened next, to kill the time I started reading a Gideon’s Bible I’d asked for at reception, after seeing a cupboard with ‘korans and bibles’ written on it. I started from the beginning. What a load of - !

I slept and read, worried about my deteriorating eyesight, although the light on the ceiling was also weak. Then I was called to speak to a solicitor who had been sent for, and we had a private chat together before a taped interview with the police. He was a young Asian guy, but quite sympathetic to my cause. We warmed to each other. He said a female cabinet member in David Cameron’s party had resigned that day because he refused to condemn the Israeli government for their attacks on Gaza.

In the police interrogation room, the interviewing officer told me as he put in the cassette that a copy would be given to me if no charge was brought. Then the questioning began. According to the evidence of the arresting officers I had been shouting “Free Palestine!” several times before people started complaining, and that’s why they detained me. I said that I had not spoken a word until they had laid their hands on me.

I explained that I had held up my billboard at the Tower of London Ceremony to make the people who were remembering the carnage of a war a hundred years ago to think also of the women and children and babies being killed in a bloody massacre in Gaza today, and that the British government should condemn the tyrannical apartheid-ridden cruelty of Israel.

After the interview I was told that a decision about my case would be made after discussion with another superior officer. I was sent back to my cell, along with a drink of water I asked for.

I was awoken a while later by the heavy cell door opening, and the interviewing officer telling me that I was being released without charge. Gratefully, I collected all my things (except I forgot to ask for the tape) and was escorted out of the station by the inspector who had made the decision about my release. I asked why they had decided not to prosecute.

“I’m a great believer in this quotation –“ he answered. “I can’t remember who said it, but I learnt it at school and it stuck with me – ‘I may not agree with your opinion, but I’ll defend to the death your right to make it.’”

“It was Voltaire,” I told him.

I walked out, relishing the fresh evening air of Bethnal Green and the wide open sky. It was 8.30 pm. I had been in custody for about nine hours. I had a smoke in a nearby park, and then set off walking at a brisk pace through the streets in the direction of central London. It feels so good to be able to just walk at will after forced captivity.

On the way I found a shiny pink polythene child’s kite on the pavement. I stopped and tied the black scarf back over my face again. Then, with the kite floating in the air behind me as a kind of celebration of my release, I tramped fast, on and on, acknowledging the occasional salutes of solidarity from sympathetic passers-by in agreement with the words on my billboard –

“FREE PALESTINE! END ISRAELI OCCUPATION!”

Free the world!