LONG AGO, when I was young and headstrong, I rushed to the cinema with my friend Rebecca to see Spike Lee’s second feature, Do The Right Thing. The film, which takes place over one oppressively hot New York summer’s day, details the way in which a row between the owner and the delivery boy in a pizza parlour simmers through the afternoon into a local riot. I thought the film was a masterpiece, while Rebecca did not like it at all. We bickered all the way home to Brixton, Rebecca trenchantly repeating that violence could never, ever be condoned, and me dogmatically reiterating that the film wasn’t necessarily concerned with justifying violence – though it was certainly possible that it might be – but was hugely valuable in its explanation of how, given certain conditions, uncomfortable and unfair situations will inevitably breed physical manifestations of frustration and rage. The film should not be condemned because it ended in violence, it should be applauded for offering a meticulous dissection of the social mores which foster the violent disorder that we couldn’t deny was happening all around us.
Except that the discussion wasn’t quite that civilised. I became angrier and more aggressive in my exhortations until at last Rebecca stopped me in my tracks White-faced, she started hissing at me to calm down This had gone too far Everyone on the bus was looking at us. I was hurting her.I realised that I’d been grabbing at her wrist so hard that there were red weals appearing round it.
No wonder I could see how bad feeling as depicted in Do The Right Thing could escalate into violence. I was capable of resorting to violence just to ensure that my reading of a movie was the one that prevailed during the post-screening deconstruction.Then as now, I was shocked at my own behaviour, but also struck by the incident’s perfect symbolism. While it was a living illustration of my own argument, it was at the same time the most apposite vindication of Rebecca’s view that she could have wished for. When passions run high, it is easy for situations to get out of hand.
Once that has happened, the person who resorts to violence has lost the moral high ground, regardless of the merits of their viewpoint.Although I resent the fact that if I were inclined to visit Stonehenge to watch the sun rise at the summer solstice I would not be able to, the pictures from early yesterday morning scarcely give the impression that a trip to this ancient site would be a tranquil and spiritual experience. The people clambering over the stones and lolling about on top of them suggest that, despite all their protestations, this world heritage site does need to be protected from the tender mercies of the rag-bag of vulnerable innocents, charismatic troublemakers and disturbed drop-outs who have become known as new age travellers.And while I feel no empathy with the pagans and druids who this year were granted access to the stones for a morning of neo-neolithic play- acting, I do think it’s a shame that their hard-won, though mildly barking, right to fart about in robes during the Stonehenge solstice has been thwarted.It would have been a fine thing if their cod ceremonies could have gone off without incident, not for their own sake but because it could have been the beginning of a detente around Stonehenge, paving the way towards a less authoritarian protection of the standing stones. Instead, violence has as usual achieved the very opposite result to the one that was aimed for. The eco-warriors who wish to gain access to the site have simply proved that they – just like any other ravaging group in history – are fighting to gain control of land for no higher purpose than to see their own will prevail.Coming as it does in the wake of the more serious disturbance in the City of London last Friday, this outbreak of violence will be read as more evidence that the only alternative to the neo-liberal tyranny, which is all that mainstream politics has to offer, is chaos and anarchy Again the marginal have marginalised themselves yet further.