MEET THE ANTI-CAPITALISTS WHO HAVE PITCHED UP IN HIGH STREET, LEICESTER

This article is published in today's Leicester Mercury:

Meet the anti-capitalists who have pitched up in High Street, Leicester

A thoroughly modern protest: The anti-capitalists have pitched up in the high street - literally. Lee Marlow went along to try to make sense of it all

It's the fag end of November. The expensively slabbed streets of Leicester are paved with rain and litter and there's little here to suggest here, on a wet weekday dinner time, with the city shrouded in grey, that the season of goodwill is nearly upon us.The temperature gauge is beginning to drop. Cold winds are coming in from the east, threatening more rain and possibly snow. This is no time to set up a little tented village in the middle of the city centre.

And yet, as you may know, this is precisely what is happening. A little commune of tent-dwelling protestors is sprouting up along High Street.

This is Occupy Leicester. You might have seen them. If you haven't seen them here, chances are you've seen others in your newspaper or on your TV screens in London or New York.

Well, this is our version of that, says well-spoken protester Anthony Farrow, 22, a student at De Montfort University and part-time worker at Boots.

New York. London. Nottingham. Leicester. Leeds. Edinburgh. Newcastle. Camps like this are now established in 2,500 cities around the world.

It's global, he says. Change is coming. It has to, to save us from ourselves. This, says Anthony and his pals Kieran and David, is where it begins: a row of damp tents outside HMV.

So what are they there for? It's hardly the Arctic tundra, this bit of grey pavement along the bottom end of High Street, but it's surely an inhospitable new home for anyone used to even the most modest of home comforts.

"We're here because want to take a stand against corporate greed," says Kieran Murray, 22, who set up the camp last week after a quick recce from the Nottingham camp. He's based there, really, he says.

Kieran is a call centre manager. How does he fit it all in, the protesting and the call centre managing?

"It's not so bad," he says. "With internet wi-fi and smart phones."
Still, it's nice to sit down in a warm office now and then, he admits. Work is easy next to this wintry protesting lark.

Kieran isn't just here because he wants to take a stand against corporate greed.

He also wants to take a stand against corrupt governments and the corrosive and all-powerful monetary system which is destroying the fabric of our society and threatening the future of millions of normal, everyday folk.

Meanwhile, the richest two or three per cent grow ever richer. "How can that ever be right?" he says.

David Jordan, 24, nods along. David works full time at a well-known American firm in the Highcross, which he'd prefer me not to mention. He comes along when he can.

But could a little camp outside HMV in Leicester's High Street really bring the wheels of the capitalism machine grinding to a halt? Will anyone actually notice?

"Well, that's what it's about," says Anthony. "All we want is to make people sit up and take notice. We don't really want to foist our opinions on people. We just want people to look at what we're doing, come and have a chat. Turn off your TV sets. Switch off X Factor. Look at what is happening around you."

It's going well so far, says Anthony.

Most people, he says, are supportive. They come along and stick their thumbs up, sign their petitions and nod when Anthony or Kieran or David get onto the topic of banks.

It's only a minority, says Anthony, that are troublesome; the drunks, the Saturday night lager boys full of beer and belligerence.

"We take it in turns to sleep," says Anthony. "We have a rota, but we're quite strict about that on weekend nights."

I'm in no position to question Anthony's version of events but, for the time I was there at least, it wouldn't be quite right to say that 90 per cent of people were supportive.

Instead, 90 per cent of people merely walk on by, most utterly unmoved by it, some shaking their heads in a "what is the world coming to" kind of way.

About five per cent stop and chat, or put their thumbs up and sign petitions and say how proud they are of them. Keep up the good work, and so on.

The other five per cent swing in for a bit of a row.

Megan Sullivan, a 14-year-old student, falls into the latter camp.
Megan is a proud capitalist and nihilist, she says, matter-of-factly, as if this is what most 14-year-old girls are into, capitalism and nihilism, rather than One Direction and Rihanna.

"Don't you think this would all be better if you had rules?" says Megan.

But we do have rules, says Anthony.

"We're not anarchists. We're not proposing revolution, the overthrow of the state," he says. "We just want things to be better."

"I don't think this is the way forward," continues Megan. "I don't think things are as bad as some people say. The situation has been exaggerated."

Megan thinks there will always be inequality, rich and poor, a pecking order. It's life. We need to get over it. They agree to disagree and Megan walks away, unconvinced. That's ok, says David.

"At least she came over, at least she has views," he says. "I sometimes think it's worse that a lot of people don't."

Some people have asked them to do more, as if the site of some pitched tents in Leicester city centre should be a one-stop shop for the city's aggrieved.

They've had people asking them to take a stand against the police. But the police have been great with them, says Anthony.

The city's mayor, Sir Peter Soulsby, came down the other day. He was great, too.

There are nine tents here today. Two are used for food and cooking equipment – they have their own gas stoves – and the rest are used for sleeping.

The tents are sited on pallets and insulated with cardboard.
More are coming, says Kieran. They've been told they can go from one end of High Street to the other. Imagine that, says Anthony. A long line of them. That would be brilliant.

The day starts here in High Street at 6am, as the first tranche of street cleaners arrive. It's like an inner city alarm call, says Anthony. He's lucky. He can sleep through more or less anything. Some of the others are not so fortunate.

Anthony has a girlfriend. She's Italian and lovely, he says. She doesn't really want to get involved, but she's happy for him to do it. She comes over, now and again, bringing food and warm words.

His parents are supportive, too. They think it's good that he's making a stand.

In fact, all of the protestors' parents and families are supportive, he says. It would be hard to do it if they weren't.

"One of them, Isaac, is planning to have his Christmas dinner here. He's getting his mum to drop it off for him."

Will Anthony be here at Christmas?

"I'll be here on Christmas Eve, then I'm going home for Christmas. I'm quite family- orientated so it wouldn't really be fair on my parents if I was here."

It transpires that although he's here today, Anthony wasn't here last night. He won't be here tonight, either.

"I'm at home tonight," he says. "I've been here a fair bit, the past few days."

He has a presentation tomorrow, he says. So he'll sleep at home.

I'm bemused as to how this works. I thought they were out all night, every night, all of them, whatever the weather, hardcore, tent-living protesting.

But they have a rota, a shift pattern, if you like; three or so nights on, one night back at home. It's the best way, they agree.

Except David. He has his job at the Highcross. He sleeps at home.
"I like to spend as much time as I can here, though," he adds.

Anthony lives about 10 minutes away, "so I nip home for a shower or to change my underwear," he says.

Some of the other lads live in London Road. They also nip home for provisions or a shower. This protesting lark, it seems, is not always what you think.

Anthony looks perturbed. He doesn't want me to think it's a cushy number, bringing down the capitalist system. It isn't. Take Adam Smith.

"Adam was one of the first people here," says Anthony. "He was here night after night. He collapsed the other day, he was so tired and cold."

Adam spent his first night at home after that.

Anthony, it transpires, has a lot of toothpaste. Lots of free samples, a perk of the job. They clean their teeth with the free toothpaste over a nearby drain.

They use the toilets at the Showcase, McDonald's or the Highcross for their ablutions. A man from a pub in Churchgate comes over most mornings with a pan of boiling water.

"We have to use these facilities," says Anthony. "I know some people might criticise us for it, but we have to use what we have, to use it from the inside. I think that's justifiable."

"I don't think people can question our commitment," says David. "I'm committed to this."

But David works in the Highcross, the very altar of conspicuous consumption, for a company he forbids me to name, that pays his wages and is a well-known cog in this capitalist machine.
That's a tricky circle to square, isn't it?

David says it isn't. "This is a cause I believe in, but inevitably you have to prioritise," he says. "I can't just stop living my life and do this. It's not practical. We do what we can do. You can't chose the system you're protesting in. You just have to use those circumstances to your advantage.

"Besides, where do you draw the line? Should I not be wearing clothes?"

Anthony nods along and takes up his thread. They're using the system to bring about change, he says. Nothing wrong with that.

Except, he won't use McDonald's, he says defiantly. That would be a step too far.

And, then, in the very next breath, he admits he went to McDonald's this morning.

"Yeah, I had to really," he says. "We had an interview. I had to use their toilets and we had a bit of food while we were there."

Ah. I see. What did you have?

"Just a hash brown," he says, a face etched with shame.

How was it?

"It was greasy," he says. "I didn't like it."