Campaigning in Tower Hamlets. posted by Richard Seymour

"Cocking hell, where the Nigel Christ are they? Where in the name of fuck...?" I repeatedly muttered this mantra to myself as I stalked up and down Brick Lane looking for my co-canvassers. I eventually found them back at the Respect office, which was teeming with activity. It's a war office, folks, dispatching legions of valorous young recruits to the front lines, armed to the teeth with pamphlets, tabloid materials, maps, clipboards, rosettes, badges and other paraphernalia. A radio crackled with messages from the front line: "There's three men down in Spital Street, Colonel - they say their legs are fucking killing them!" The response was swift and urgent: "Send replacements immediately! Dem those Jerries! I want every publican in the vicinity to be on standby!"

There's possibly some exaggeration going on there. In my occasional bouts of electoral work, I always develop a profound sympathy for the postman. Everyone says that, but might I also add that my sympathies extend to the humble plumber and window cleaner and salesperson and pizza delivery man, and anyone so employed that they must find an address rapidly and without trouble. The chaotic torsions of addresses in London - and the East End in particular - are legion, and legendary. Enclaves of cramped and immiserated existence are secreted behind the most curious facades, particularly on commercial streets. To even get to the doors of one set of houses, we had to charm a builder or someone to let us through his garage and so out a side door and into a back yard. Don't ask about the nature of that charm, by the way. Suffice to say, I will bend over backwards, forwards and sideways to get Respect elected.

On which periphrastic note, I might add my endorsement of another cliche - the extremes of wealth and poverty are so dramatically evident to the eye in this part of the country as to be shocking. They exist, as it were, cheek by perineum. I must have said this a few times before, but this time I have pictorial evidence. Those few sad Doubting Thomas's who dared arouse themselves in skepticism about what was quite literally an observation will now have to whimper and recant. For instance, here's a street not very far from Liverpool Street station, with the infamous dildo-shaped building protruding in the background:



Here are some luxury flats just around the corner:



There are three thousand people in the City of London alone who earn more than a million pounds. Beneath them, a few strata of higher earners who get to have balconies and palm trees. I console myself with the thought that one day they will make fine street sweepers.

Here is a view from one of the blocks of flats I canvassed:



No more distance between council housing and city monuments to wealth and power than might be covered by your average rocket launcher, I should say. Here, for no reason other than interest, is the bottom of Brick lane:



I sense a question forming on your lips, like sweat agglomerating on an eager athlete's labial cavity: "What did you learn from your experience?" Well. First of all, I expect the turnout to be rather low. Just a hunch. Secondly, Labour are kidding themselves if they think all of the anti-Galloway invective they've been trying out is actually making the impact they would like. Aside from the Respect posters all over the place, (one or two shop owners had both Labour and Respect posters, it has to be said - spreading their bets in the hope that planning permission will not be denied whatever the majority in town hall), there was barely a whiff of hostility to Galloway or Respect on the doorsteps. This is not to say it doesn't exist - the borough is very polarised, with a great number of Respect votes in some areas and hardly any in others. It's just that they don't appear to have made any real inroads to our support. Like Marmite, we're either loved or loathed, and like Millwall, we don't care. Worth adding that some artistic scamps have designed posters which seem to be ubiquitous around the trendier areas featuring pictures of George Galloway "Wanted: For Refusing to Take Bribes" and "Wanted: For Crimes Against Inhumanity". Thirdly, if the goal is to take Tower Hamlets council, and it surely is, then this is a much more difficult fight than unseating Oona King. Local Labour councillors are, as far as I can tell, doing their best to back-track from support for the Crossrail project. This issue is not a strong point for them, however. They will also have some difficulty explaining their support for the privatisation of council housing, an issue on which Respect has been very strong. But they are perhaps not as compromised by support for the war as Oona King was, and it will simply not be the same kind of issue that it was in a national election campaign. So, it's a harder fight. But our organisation is strong locally, and I might add that our support is enthusiastic whereas I expect much of the support for Labour will be grudging and sullen. I seriously doubt that Labour candidates get supportive calls from passing drivers and young guys on the streets as we did. And our posters and banners are much more evident than theirs.

One last thing. My feet are fucking killing me. Why can't addresses make sense? Why can't the council make tower block lifts work? Why can't letter box manufacturers refuse to supply those fuzzy things that tickle your hand as you insert a leaflet? Why can't everything simply be handed to me on a fucking silver platter, dammit! Why can't the world accomodate itself to what I want, and what I deserve? Damn and blast it all. Vote Respect.