My uncle Glen R. “Bob” Young of Corbin Kentucky, a pilot, flew 78 missions for the R.A.F. and the U.S.A.F. before he was killed, aged 23, in the Great Patriotic War against the Nazis. I have tried all my life to life to live up to the example that he and the other members of my family set in their fight against Tyranny.
We face a weak and tyrannical government which will undo, if we let it, what my family fought and died for.
The Police and the Army will be called to defend a government which believes that the answer to poverty and vulnerability is the systematic murder of the poor and the vulnerable.
We owe it to our predecessors to defend liberty with the same, sane, disregard of our lives.
Monday 24. July.
A demonstration of disabled and poor people is called outside a company contracted by the Government to minimize the cost of its failure by applying methods that will give the rich living space and reduce the threat of the poor.
The pre-demonstration meeting produces no plan. Arriving at the demonstration we find a crowd of a hundred claimants and disability activists. We move towards the company office. I insist that the overthrow of this government requires us to broaden the struggle across time and space and propose that we should reverse our line of advance and block the Euston Rd/Tottenham Court Rd cross roads. A couple of demonstrators come with me. They stand on the pavement whilst I sit in front of a bus giving the Red salute. The driver grins and stops his bus. A PC arrives and asks what I am doing. She calls for reinforcements which is all I want. I stand up and ask my two comrades what is holding them back. One says he has to be at work in ten minutes the other says he has to give out leaflets. I suppose that’s when I start to cry. I wander round the block and sit down in front of the other traffic lane. The same PC comes up. We have the same conversation. By this time I can hear the sirens of Law and Disorder. Job done, I join the demo in front of the Hire-a-Nazi HQ
A hundred demonstrators are standing outside the building contemplating a half a dozen coppers. I hold up my NatWest credit card and walk through the line of Blue. Inches from the door I run face to face with a vast sergeant. I sit down. Someone wheels up and informs them that I am a 67 year old Cardiac Cripple. As they carefully drag me to the side lines I demand a kicking so that I can die like my glorious ancestors in the defence of freedom. The sergeant props my limp form against a lamppost and offers to call an ambulance. I decline and they lead me back to the now kettled demonstration. I am humiliated. I will not be kettled. I break out and go home.
We, the people of this country, have a constitutional duty to form an opposition if Westminster fails. I will do what I did again, without violence and without rancour towards the police, who are aware that they too are the People.