Edinburgh – making poverty history

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Something extraordinary happened to me on Saturday. And it happened to around 225,000 others.

While Bob Geldof and chums stole the headlines, thousands of people from all over the world, and from every corner of the United Kingdom – a vast number of them attending their first ever political demonstration – crowded the streets of Edinburgh in an unprecedented show of public determination to end African debt, poverty and unfair trade.

The day was remarkable not because of the celebrities who took part, but because of all the remarkable people – more than 200,000 of them – who thought they could make a difference. This wasn’t the usual crowd of ‘professional’ protestors, pressure groups and gap-year activists. They were ‘ordinary’ families, great-grandparents, school children, teachers, mothers and daughters, fathers and sons – there were even a few adult educators in attendance.

These were the people who made the day what it was. They were there because people in Africa are dying and they wanted to stop it. And there wasn’t a rock star in sight.

Most of the people who got on the bus with me in St Helens at 6am on Saturday morning were attending their first march. Everyone was immaculately turned out in white, with the message of the Make Poverty History campaign emblazoned on their wristbands, T-shirts, scarves and headbands. Nobody minded the early start: there was a real sense that we were taking part in something special.

And so we were. Edinburgh was awash with white. Drums, claxons, bagpipes and whistles greeted us as we alighted from the coach. The organisers, having to cope with numbers far greater than anticipated, had to stagger entrance to the march so that the constantly shifting band of white around the city would remain in place for the seven hours of the rally. Some waited for more than two hours to begin marching. It was uncomfortable but everyone stayed calm. There was an atmosphere of carnival that never looked like lifting.

At 3pm silence broke out as the protestors reflected for a minute on the plight of the poor and hungry. In that minute, 20 African children died.

This was by far the largest public demonstration in Scotland’s history. It was big, no doubt. But it’s just a start. No victories were won. But with such a show of solidarity, uniting so many different people from every far-flung corner of the country, maybe we can yet make history.

Perhaps, in time, we’ll look back on this day in Scotland, now all but eclipsed by the brighter lights of Hyde Park and Philadelphia, as the moment when the tide began to turn.

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The grey-haired woman on the bus was carrying a peace flag. She wore the G8 Alternatives t-shirt and a Palestinian scarf. Her rucksack was bedecked with badges supporting the Anti-War Coalition and Pensioners' Action. Her wrist was swathed in bands calling for capitalism, as well as poverty, to be made history.

She was addressing the young man next to her: ‘Why do politicians suddenly become stupid once they get elected? It always happens. Those G8 leaders are the worst. Forget a ring around the city, I’d put a ring around their necks!’

You could see him trying to escape her onslaught until she finally pushed the right button. ‘How many hours a week do you work?’ ‘I can’t get a job’, the young man said. ‘I come from Sudan. I want to work here but your government wants to send me home’. This was a public service bus, taking tourists to the Royal Mile and locals up and down Nicholson Road, not one of the hundreds of charter busses carrying protesters to Edinburgh. The asylum seeker from Sudan got off the bus with the grey-haired woman and they joined the march together.

Incidents like this were taking shape all over the place. The thing about a mass demonstration, with an urgent and progressive design, is that it is bigger than the self-interests of individuals. It brings together lots of people from different walks of life, emboldened by the occasion and inspired by their mutual commitment, in the celebration of common purpose. For everyone who joined the march in Edinburgh, there were a dozen others cheering in the wings. It is not an awakening that will be silenced by platitudes and half-truths.

But whatever happens as a consequence of the Gleneagles summit, it is unlikely to be progressive. And despite all the hype about the one room in which eight men have the capacity to make history, the real decisions are already being made elsewhere. Some debt will be cancelled. Announcements will exaggerate an increase in aid. There will be fine words about education, the fight against HIV/AIDS and malaria. Our efforts so far have at least forced the politicians to do something.

When the G8 circus moves on, the most lasting achievement will be that significant and progressive protest has begun. A growing and diverse movement, drawn from civil society across the world, is now demanding social justice and a different kind of new world order. This is the kind of momentum Mandela talks about when he says that collective action is needed to eradicate poverty: ‘Sometimes it falls upon a generation to be great’. Increasing numbers of us now believe that we must be that generation.

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It was wonderful to be part of such a huge and disparate crowd – Edinburgh Council’s official figure was 250,000 people – who came from all over the UK, with one purpose. They were passionate enough to make fools of themselves, they cared enough to bring their grannies and their children, they brought their dogs and rabbits; some were in wheelchairs, others pushed wheelchairs, some dressed in strange and wonderful outfits, walked on stilts or carried their babies; almost all wore white.

Banners and placards called for Fair Trade, Drop the Debt and More and Better Aid. Some sang, others beat their samba drums; some danced and clapped, whilst others walked quietly and reflectively. It was an inclusive crowd, with room for everyone.

A continuous human band walked around the city for five hours and called upon the G8 to Make Poverty History. They then joined in a huge family picnic on The Meadows. No trouble. No violence. No acrimony.

Was anybody listening.

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