I passed a sign saying 'Freedom ->'. So naturally I got off the bus at the next stop and followed it. I was returning from an exam somewhere in London's East End - land of curry, eels and asymmetric fringes - and in the mood for proving my self-determination after being shuffled from assessment to assessment. So I followed my urges and the black and red arrows.
They led between two shabby shops, into a narrow alley between two recent, offensively perky red building, snaked round the left hand corner and entered a dim fire escape. Mounting the arabesqued carpet, I progressed up, wondering whether the arrows exempted me from trespassing charges, and entered a moderately sized-room with bookcases on all walls and a bespectacled young man with Sideshow Bob hair leaning nonchalantly on his chair while reading in the corner.
I may have deceived you, dear reader, into thinking I was bolder and more absurdist than I am. I had an inkling I was entering a radical politics zone by the black and red of the sign, and the fact I passed the ASS office (Advisory Squatting Service) on my way down the alley.
All the same, I tentatively approached the bloke and enquired if this was the anarchist bookshop. He said yes, and authorised me to browse. I flicked through a few magazines exhorting me to support anarchists in jail for hitting pigs, and wandered round lookng at the categories - feminism and anarchism, anarchism for children, historical anarchism, artistic anarchism - before trailing back and admitting I didn't know anything much at all about anarchism.
He asked what I thought of when people mentioned anarchism. I said "Men in beards sitting around slamming their fists on tables and demanding something ought to be done." He was shocked and hurt that I didn't associate it with action of any kind, and sent me off with a seminal work to read (Bakunin, I seem to recall. Central point seemed to be that as anarchism develops everyone will magically stop being a selfish bastard, citing a few studies that did not convince me when considered in the context of the entire history of the world, ever).
At this point an older anarchist with grey hair came in. We shall call him Dave, for no discernable reason.
Sideshow Bakunin greeted him in a distressed tone. "Those kids were hanging round here again, Dave. They were lobbing stuff at us."
Dave seemed to not share his worries, and explained that he had had some success talking to young delinquents, and through the use of sweet reason had persuaded them to pick up the litter they had left there.
"Yeah, well, litter maybe, Dave, but they were throwing big things. We have broken windows. One of them nearly hit Judy with a plank of wood, man! A plank of wood!"
"Did you try talking to them?" Dave repeated his faith in negotiation.
"They just kept throwing things! In the end I had to call the police..."
Bless their little black hearts, foiled by a load of violent yoofs not listening to sweet syndicalist reason.
--this is all 100% true, save the inevitable distortions of memory--
