At the student protests, the ancient cry of 'Tory scum' once again echoed out

It is a cosy cliche of demonstrations that the 'unrepresentative minority' spoil a good-tempered protest. Today this was true

• 
• • Michael White
  • guardian.co.uk, Wednesday 10 November 2010 20.19 GMT
  • Article history

 

Students and teachers gather in central London to protest against university funding cuts and Government plans to charge up to £9,000 per year in fees from 2012. Photograph: Steve Parsons/PA

 

 

Right on cue, exactly six months into David Cameron's premiership, the ancient British roar of "Tory scum" echoed across central London again. In honour of the coalition's deal on higher tuition fees, student protesters spliced their message with cheerful abuse of Nick Clegg. After almost 100 years of apathy Lib Dems can hold their heads high – hated at last.
It is a cosy cliche of demonstrations that get out of hand that the kind of "unrepresentative minority" which attacked the Millbank Tower and its squat neighbour, 30 Millbank, had spoiled an otherwise good-tempered protest. Today this was true.
Nobody riots in the rain, so the weather must share some blame. As hundreds of student buses converged on central London the sun shone provocatively from a blue sky. Streams of students poured into the Strand, the LSE contingent louder, as usual, than those from nearby UCL. "Banks don't cure disease", declared one gentle placard; "Science is more useful than duck islands" and "Ancient Norse is not a luxury," said others.
The aggressive note struck by the inevitable Socialist Workers party's "F**k the Fees" poster was a hint of things to come, although the SWP asterisks hinted at tactical restraint in a way that the chant "Nick Clegg/We Know You/You're A Fucking Tory Too" did not.
Shoppers, bemused tourists and non-graduate building workers in hard hats showed little hostility. David, a graphic designer from Devon, who has been "paying more than my fair share of tax" since graduating in 1966, was disdainful: "There is no such thing as free education. It is paid for by our taxes."
In Trafalgar Square an irate bus driver confessed: "I was sympathetic until they blocked my bus. Where are the police?" Good question. Parliament itself, key Whitehall ministries and Lib Dem HQ in Cowley Street were well protected, but this was a decidedly under-policed demo – until it was too late.
The first and more violent Grosvenor Square demo against the Vietnam war in 1968 attracted a reported 60,000, the poll tax riots of 1990 three times as many, the Chartist demo in 1848 even more. Yesterday's estimates ranged from 30,000 to 50,000, angry but polite. Diane Wheeler, a sixth-form teacher from Milton Keynes, carried a banner on behalf of her students. "Mrs Wheeler says No to higher tuition fees", it read.
The students of 2010 seem much better dressed than the soixante-huitards. Old ideological certainties have also faded, but the crowd reflected the multicultural face of modern Britain. There were brand new Oxbridge scarves ("only six of us from St Anne's: I'm afraid everyone's too busy working"), six busloads from Canterbury's assorted campuses and four teenagers from Manchester sporting neat hijabs and a "Don't Crush My Dreams" poster.
Creative arts students seemed especially fearful that their courses might be axed. Public school students ("my father's a diplomat, so I can afford the extra fees") declared solidarity with talented but poorer colleagues who might be squeezed out. "Cut fees – or we'll cut off your balls", declared the poster held by a young woman in pink trainers.
The idea was that, after lobbying MPs – Cheltenham's Martin Horwood was the only Lib Dem MP to risk venturing outside – the throng would arrive outside Tate Britain for stirring speeches from the NUS leadership, many of whom will be MPs too in due course.
But the unrepresentive minority had heard that the Millbank complex (in an earlier building the birthplace of Tony Benn) housed the Tory party HQ. Bare-chested, masked and armed with staves, they set about smashing windows. Why? "Tory HQ, property of the capitalist state, mate," explained one. Anarchists, street gangs, Trots or undercover police provocateurs – plenty of theories about the assailants' identity bounced around the crowd.
Few took part, but many cheered. Inevitably they broke into both buildings. Eggs were thrown along with looted flowers. "Some twats have just decided to spoil it for the rest of us," cried Dan Hamilton, a mature student from Leicester. Only when the vanguard had reached the roof and started throwing things ("that's a fire extinguisher, completely out of order") did the Met's tactical support group appear in sufficient numbers to get a grip.
Outside the Tate a female police officer nursed a badly bleeding head, a colleague a sharp blow to her face. Seven protesters were hurt too.
Leaving their banners outside, some opted to duck out of the ruck and into the Tate's tranquillity for soup of the day (£3.85) and this month's special exhibition: the 18th-century Romantics – another group of frustrated young people breaking free of their elders. It seemed appropriate.
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