I recently attended a residents' meeting, held to coordinate opposition to a planned green belt development. Having never dabbled much before in local politics, I looked forward to a lively debate, and - with any luck - a bit of a ruck as well.
Imagine my disappointment.
The first clue that things might not quite kick off as I had hoped, was the venue: The local Methodist Church.
Now don't get me wrong. I have nothing against Methodists - no more than I do against any other Christian denomination, anyway - but I think it's safe to say that Methodists are not generally known for their rabble-rousing shenanigans. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that Methodists aren't really known for
anything.
On arrival, though, signs were initially more promising. A shifty-looking geezer was loitering outside the church hall entrance, shivering in the cold. He had a fistful of leaflets he was handing out to passers-by, which could not initially be discerned in the dark. As I drew near, I prepared to accept a leaflet. Just as I extended my hand, a terrible stench drew close around me, as if the gates of hell themselves had opened briefly to allow some excess sulphur to leak out. In the darkness, the BNP logo on the leaflet became apparent. I scuttled past.
I wish, now, that I had taken one. I'd love to see an insight into the BNP's angle on planning issues in rural Essex. I'd particularly like to see how they got the race angle involved, in what is possibly the whitest place I've ever lived. Sadly I may now never know.
The Methodist hall itself probably holds around 100 people. It was packed. I can only assume the live entertainment in the local pubs was pretty light this week. Maybe it was even karaoke. That would explain a lot.
The first part of the meeting consisted of the organisers of this little protest group introducing themselves to the assembled throng, and setting out the aims of the group - namely, to stop one particular development from going ahead. We were all showered with facts regarding flood plains, flight paths, traffic infrastructure and the lack of local school places - all good stuff, and strong arguments, but I did wonder whether any single person in the room didn't already know these facts. (Unless the BNP guy had got in, of course.) The proposed building site is indeed in a flood plain, and under a flight path... and it's on green belt land. So far so dandy - but we hadn't really learned anything yet.
All this would change in the second part; the open forum Q&A. This is the part we had all come for. Although admittedly in most cases it was because they had a question to ask. Rather than, in my case, because I hoped a particularly annoying question might result in fisticuffs.
Sadly, as you might expect, most of the questions - and answers - turned out to be pretty anodyne stuff. In fact, all bar a few questions were people asking whether we knew that the proposed development was on a flood plain, was under a flight path, was on green belt land, and did not have sufficient infrastructure to handle the additional traffic. Sigh. At this point I was beginning to wonder whether it might actually be me that started a fight, just out of sheer frustration. Fortunately, ennui just got there ahead of frustration, and I retained my inertia. I'm starting to develop a useful skill of remaining completely immobile while on hallowed ground. Just in case, you know. Just in case.
Most of the remaining questions were about other planned developments in the local area. Each one was dismissed on the grounds that this group was focussing on just this one development. Only. It must have taken a couple of dozen repetitions of this fairly simple concept before the questions dried up. I began to wonder if some people had come in here looking for salvation, and got lost in the talk of drainage solutions.
One contributor to the Q&A deserves special mention. Following a gentleman who described himself as an 'outsider' for living in the next town for the first 15 years of his life, I was initially surprised to find a besuited man stand up and claim to be a proper local resident, in a broad Scottish accent. He had a rant which he had prepared beforehand, plus visual aids. This could be good. This might even be 'it'.
But no.
Just as he'd got rolling, and was beginning to reach a crescendo of irrelevance, he was shouted down. "Excuse me sir, this is not a political forum" - we have polite hecklers out our way, you know. The man continued gamely for a few words, but the chorus of disapproval grew, and he sat down, chastened. A murmur passed around the assembled residents. I just caught the words 'UKIP' and 'idiot'. I wondered whether he had picked up a BNP leaflet outside. I also wondered whether a residents' meeting was the best place to canvass about the evils of the EU. I wasn't brave enough to raise my hand and ask, though.
And just as well. As the meeting began to draw to a close, we were all entreated to attend the council planning meeting next month, and to write objection letters to the planning committee in the meantime. The group organisers had brought some local councillors with them to help us understand some of the more arcane concepts relating to local planning law. What they didn't expect was to end up in a ten-minute bickering exchange on whether residents should support the Core Strategy or not. On such small matters can hang the success or failure of entire revolutions. So it was probably just as well that the matter was brushed under the carpet just before it got really nasty. Of course, nobody now knows whether they should support the Core Strategy or not, but hey - that's democracy. Or indecision. I forget which.
And so it ended. Or, more accurately, so it continued as I sneaked out. They might have still been going the next morning, for all I know.
So there it is. My first real contact with local activism. I don't know whether to be impressed with the protest group's confidence in the face of a vast development conglomerate, but I was expecting at least a minor scuffle. I hope Wolfie Smith would have approved.
