PAXTON: Michael, let’s go back to the police. Are you suggesting a catastrophic mismanagement of this situation? From the very start?
* * *
MICHAEL KING: As a peacekeeping force, they’ve failed us. They failed us when they shot Mark Duggan. And they failed us on Saturday night when they disrespected the wishes of the local community.
* * *
PAXTON: Can you elaborate?
* * *
MICHAEL KING: The riot police turned up before anybody was even rioting. They tried to push us back from the police station and a young girl was knocked over. The police struck this young girl repeatedly. I saw it happen - four officers hitting one girl just because she didn’t back off. It’s disgusting.
* * *
Paxton turns to the camera.
* * *
PAXTON: Let’s go now to Jack Coren, who’s waiting to join us over in our East London studio. Jack is the Deputy Chair for the Metropolitan Police Federation.
* * *
A heavyset, bearded man appears on a large screen behind Paxton. He stares blankly at the camera, dusting down the jacket of his brown suit as he waits for the link-up to start.
* * *
PAXTON: Jack Coren, thank you for joining us.
* * *
JACK COREN: It’s my pleasure James.
* * *
PAXTON: Jack, you’ve been listening to Michael here - do you accept that relations between the police and young people are somewhat lacking?
* * *
JACK COREN: Well, what I will say is this - there’s been an enormous improvement since the late eighties when the relationship between ourselves and the -
* * *
PAXTON: An improvement? (Laughs) It doesn’t look like it, does it? In fact, it looks like the police haven’t got a clue how to deal with this situation.
* * *
JACK COREN: I disagree James. I think that, since the eighties, an enormous amount of effort has been put in by our local police services to engage with their communities and that they’re working hard to keep those relationships going.
* * *
PAXTON: (Leaning closer to the screen) Well it’s not working, is it Mr Coren? The streets are overrun with rioters and everyone’s asking the same question: where are the police?
* * *
Coren’s face slightly reddens.
* * *
JACK COREN: The police are doing their best to contain the situation James. We are dedicated to putting a stop to all of this, but the reality is that there are finite resources and -
* * *
PAXTON: How does this affect police morale? You’ve got more cuts looming, three commissioners have resigned in a relatively short period of time, and then there’s the Olympics next year. Are you worried Jack? I’d be worried if I was you.
* * *
JACK COREN: I think the government can support us better than they are currently doing. Cuts aren’t going to help ahead of the Olympics. But despite this, the dedication of the officers on the streets tonight is absolutely without question.
* * *
PAXTON: Thank you very much Jack Coren.
* * *
Paxton turns back to Michael King.
* * *
PAXTON: Michael, you say that your grievance is with the police. But tell me this - how does looting the local convenience store or newsagent - how does ruining some poor guy’s business, raise awareness about the police?
* * *
MICHAEL KING: You’re wrong. We’re not mindless criminals. I was there and initially, no private homes were targeted and no local businesses either. The targets were big corporate entities and any buildings associated with the corrupt police and law system.
* * *
PAXTON: But what about the furniture store that was burned down in Tottenham? There were twenty-six flats above that building. These were people’s homes and families occupied them - families with small children. I mean, what do you have to say about that?
* * *
MICHAEL KING: It was getting too big to control. But people checked that building out and others too before they were torched. We’re not looking to kill people. We’re trying to make a point and the point is this - if the police keep treating us like shit, we’re going to fight back.
* * *
PAXTON: So it was a show of power?
* * *
MICHAEL KING: It was many things. Unfortunately for you lot - the media - these riots can’t be defined by one simple explanation.
* * *
PAXTON: What do you mean by that?
* * *
MICHAEL KING: The London riots are a complex issue with deep roots. People aren’t necessarily rioting for the same reasons. In Tottenham, the riots are anti-police. But in Croydon and Ealing, it’s more about class because the targets down there are cars, posh cafés, properties and businesses in the middle class areas. And yes, in other areas it’s about sheer opportunism. The point is that the media just bundle it all together and call it mindless criminality.
* * *
PAXTON: So what’s the answer? How do we fix it?
* * *
MICHAEL KING: (Shrugs) I’m just telling you why. I don’t have all the answers.
* * *
PAXTON: Let me ask you about Chester George. He’s released one clip on YouTube and already he’s something of a Messiah figure amongst the rioters. Who is he?
* * *
MICHAEL KING: Chester George speaks for us. We are the ‘Good and Honest Citizens’. That’s all you need to know.
* * *
Paxton reaches down to his notes and pulls out a photo tucked in between the pages. He hands it to Michael
* * *
PAXTON: Look at this Michael. This is a picture of Robert Hart, a forty-year-old man who was punched by rioters as he tried to stamp out a fire in west London yesterday.
* * *
MICHAEL KING: I know what happened.
* * *
PAXTON: Well for those who don’t, let me finish please. Mr Hart’s head hit the ground when he fell and suffered what doctors described as ‘catastrophic’ brain injuries. He is not expected to recover. Now this is a husband and a father of three young children. There he was, not getting in anyone’s way, but simply trying to prevent a fire spreading – and one that had been started in a wheelie bin by rioters. What would Chester George have to say about that?
* * *
MICHAEL KING: I’m sorry for the man and his family. And to all those who don’t want to be a part of this, I’d say this - leave the city now. Because this thing is far from over.
* * *
PAXTON: You’re sorry? Is that supposed to be good enough? Mr Hart had nothing to do with the police or the government or even the media. Would you be willing to sit down with his family and tell them why you feel his death is justifiable?
* * *
MICHAEL KING: If they’d like to, yes I would be willing.
* * *
PAXTON: You would?
* * *
MICHAEL KING: The objective is not to kill. It is to teach the police and government a lesson about people power.
* * *
PAXTON: And you think you’re winning, do you?
* * *
Michael King leans forward, a smile forming on his lips.
* * *
MICHAEL KING: Tell me something James. Would I be sitting here tonight if we weren’t?
Chapter 16
10th August 2011
* * *
Croydon was falling.
A massive crowd had amassed on the fringes of the town centre. They were at that moment, in the midst of running battles with the riot police who, although outnumbered, were desperately standing their ground, trying to seal off the central areas of town from the masked invaders intent on breaking through.
“Jesus Christ,” Mack said. He lifted the peak of Sumo Dave’s baseball cap from his eyes. Then he pulled the hood of h
is light grey hoodie over his head, leaving enough room for his eyes to take in the action up ahead.
The four teenagers from Tottenham stood on the outskirts of the standoff, watching the action unfold up ahead.
The signs had been there from the start - that things were getting worse in Croydon, something that hadn’t seemed possible to those who were there the night before.
How could things get worse?
Mack, Sumo Dave, Tegz, and Hatchet had arrived at East Croydon train station at just after six in the evening, only to be welcomed by a recurring tannoy announcement informing passengers that trains wouldn’t be running past nine o’clock, which was less than three hours away.
Due to the ‘disturbances’ the man said.
Outside the station, George Street had been packed with people – almost all of them with their faces covered by hoods and masks. The smell of stale smoke hung in the air. Like something big had burned down.
The vast majority of people outside the station were on the move, making their way towards Church Street and the town centre. Others stayed put, lingering in the doorways of ruined shops, watching and waiting.
Mack noticed that some of these people on the sidelines were injured. Several had even sat down on the pavement while their friends tended to their wounds. Amongst those who had taken off their masks, Mack saw some nasty looking head wounds. One young lad, who couldn’t have been much more than fifteen, appeared to have a massive haematoma forming on the side of his head. Just above his left ear. When Mack saw it, he grimaced and turned away. Shit. It looked like the guy’s head was about to explode.
He had to forget these things. Otherwise, he wouldn’t make it anywhere near the town centre.
Might as well go home now boy.
On Church Street, the rioters were throwing police helmets into the wall of riot police. Those who hadn’t managed to steal a helmet during the running battles had to make do with the usual, bricks as well as other improvised missiles, such as burning bottles stuffed with paper.
At the same time, four masked figures carrying baseball bats were clambering onto the roof of a white Transit van. The van must have been abandoned there recently, as the only vehicles left on the streets that weren’t police cars or vans - were burned out wrecks.
Once on top of the roof of the van, the rioters started jumping up and down, screaming with delight, much like overexcited children on a bouncy castle. They pummelled the roof with their feet and taunted the watching police with one and two fingered salutes. About a minute later, the four masked figures started smashing at the windscreen with their baseball bats.
“Right, let’s get our TV back,” Tegz said. He was pointing at the standoff that stood between them and their prize. “How are we going to get past that lot?”
“Wandle Park is down that way,” Hatchet said. “That means we’ve gotta get through that mess. Somehow.”
Mack shook his head. “Forget the TV lads,” he said. “Just forget about it, eh?” He pointed at the rioters up ahead. “Look at all those people. Some of them have been here for days, probably been sleeping in Wandle Park too. The TV’s gone.”
“Fuck do you know?” Hatchet said.
Little Mike Tyson took a step forward, assessing the obstacle up ahead. “That TV’s still there,” he said. “I can feel it in me bones.” He turned to Tegz and grinned. “We’ve just gotta find another way through little man.”
“Take the long route,” Sumo Dave said.
“What’s the long route?” Tegz asked.
Sumo Dave pointed away from the crowds. “Through the back streets,” he said. “Shortcuts through gardens and private property. Ain’t nobody at home, not with all this going on. But no slipping yeah? If the old bill see you, they’ll nick you just like that. You’re black and you’re out on the street in the middle of a riot – thank you very much says the old bill.”
Tegz shook his head. “I need a spliff,” he said, pulling out a bag of Rizla from his back pocket. “We need to think about this.”
Hatchet snatched the packet out his hand.
“There’s no time for that shit,” he snapped. “Or thinking. We gotta get that TV out of the park. Now!”
Ahead of them, the rioters were picking up steam. The four teenagers looked on as the crowds rushed forward in a clumsy unison, repeatedly charging at the ranks of the more organised, yet outnumbered police.
Mack saw the police lines wobbling, shifting further back.
Tegz let out a whoop of delight. “Holy shit!”
Sumo Dave tapped him on the arm. “Quit standing around here wasting time,” he said to Tegz. “If you’re going to get that TV - go and get it now. And hide it somewhere good this time, like a fucking cemetery.”
“You ain’t coming with us?” Hatchet said.
Sumo Dave shook his head. “Nope. It’s your buried treasure. You deal with it.”
Tegz and Hatchet tried pulling up a map of the area on their phones, but found the signals jammed. Finally they decided to head south on Old Palace Road. From there, they said they would cut off and try and veer left towards the park without being seen by anyone in a uniform.
“Good luck,” Mack called out, watching them set off.
Tegz turned back, giving them the thumbs up.
A little later, Sumo Dave and Mack were standing outside the ruin that used to be Shoe Zone. Although the shop hadn’t been burned to the ground, its front window had been smashed in and the shelves plundered and toppled to the ground. Looking through the rectangular gap where the window used to be, it was clear that there was nothing left but wreckage in there.
“We’ll give this a miss then,” Sumo Dave said. “Who needs a new pair of shoes anyway?”
“Aye,” Mack said. “There’s not much left worth grabbing in this town, is there?”
The two teenagers started walking back towards the centre. The rucksacks over their shoulders were still empty.
“I’m getting fed up with this,” Sumo Dave said.
Mack nodded. “Aye, this is a bit shite mate. What’s the point of going looting when there’s fuck all left to loot?”
They could hear the rioters chanting in the distance.
“Bloody hell,” Sumo Dave said. “I’ve been to a lot of Spurs games at White Hart Lane mate. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard us chant as loud as that. And I’m talking about thirty-five thousand people.”
Mack looked towards the noise.
“They’re going to send in the army,” he said. “The police
Sumo Dave nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “But what are the army going to do different, eh? They can’t shoot us all. That’s genocide or whatever it’s called.”
Mack pulled his phone out of his back pocket and checked the time. It was 7.51pm.
He looked over at Sumo Dave. “They’ve been gone for over an hour now.”
“I know,” Sumo said. “I don’t know what they’re doing mate. Probably still looking around every corner of Wandle Park for that TV.”
All of a sudden, Sumo Dave burst out laughing. It was one of his usual, high-pitched, almost feminine shrieks.
“I can just picture ’em running around the park,” he said. “Looking under every fucking bush for that TV.”
Mack quickly put a hand to his mouth, but he couldn’t hold it in either. He doubled over at the thought of Tegz and Hatchet, prancing around the park in distress over a flat screen TV, while all around the rest of Croydon fell apart.
Sumo Dave wiped the tears from his eyes. “Hey we shouldn’t laugh,” he said. “Maybe the cops have got them. They’ve been gone for - ”
Something cut him off in mid-sentence. It was the sound of a man screaming.
The two teenagers turned around. Up ahead, they saw five or six dark shapes bundling something down the street. Mack took a closer look and as his eyes adjusted to what was coming their way, he saw that the ‘something’ being bundled was wearing a police uniform.
“Oh shit,” he said.
“Dave, that’s…”
“I know.”
The police officer’s assailants had covered his head with a T-shirt. They were kicking him repeatedly to the body as they dragged him towards the alley. Others in the gang picked up random objects on their way and struck the helpless victim on the ground. As the two boys watched from a distance, one of the dark shapes grabbed a plank of wood from the other side of the road. He ran over to the gang and started hitting the helpless policeman with it. Mack heard the man’s muffled cries for help, loud at first, but getting weaker with each strike.
The rioters dragged the man towards a nearby alley. As they disappeared out of sight, the policeman’s cries for help faded.
Moments later, everything went silent.
Sumo Dave took a step forward.
“That’s it,” he said. His voice was low, calm, and deadly serious. Mack had never heard Sumo Dave talk like that before. “Let’s go Mack,” he said. “This is getting real nasty. People are going to die and no one gives a fuck.”
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