On Resistance Street
A film by Clash Fans Against The Right documents music's historical fight for racial harmony.
I grew up in a racist society.
Thankfully, the formative years of my London life were relatively free of prejudice: in the early 70s reggae and soul music had as big a presence on the British pop charts as glam, my mum made friends with the West Indian and Asian immigrants she taught in South London comprehensive schools, my surrogate big brother Jeffries did his best to turn me on to influential new Black music, and no one around me at my primary/elementary school (which took in kids of all demographics) was ever heard spewing racist slurs.
That changed when I went to secondary school in Kennington, just south of the Thames, in 1975, aged 11. Despite (because?) of the presence of a few Black kids at our school – and there would have been more, given our location in Kennington/Brixton, had we not been attending a selective grammar school – a number of pupils were vocally supportive of the National Front, the openly racist, pro-repatriation political party. In many ways, this just reflected wider society, in which the NF was gaining steady strongholds at the polls and in the streets, preying on white working-class football supporters and anyone else who wanted scapegoats for their problems in life. These racist pupils around me probably learned the insults and lies at home where quite apart from possible parental influence, all they had to do was switch on the TV, where BBC and ITV hosted shows like Love Thy Neighbour and Till Death Us Do Part, which utilized every racist colloquialism under the sun (any retroactive claims at satire going well above the audiences’ heads), and “comedians” like Bernard Manning told jokes about Pakis and odour-eaters and everyone laughed. No wonder a lot of these kids at school turned out racist: they didn’t know any better.
Somehow, I did. While I don’t remember my own family having discussions around the dinner table about skin color, it seemed to go unsaid that racism was wrong, like stealing and killing was wrong. I’m not suggesting for a moment that we were holier than thou, that we weren’t capable of generalizations and occasional lapses of terminology, and I have horrible memories of how my school class bullied a frail, timid Indian kid when he showed up around our Fourth Year (I probably took personal relief in the fact that at least someone was being treated worse than me), but generally speaking, my personal clan knew where it stood
This might explain why the first issue of my fanzine – called In The City that one time out – contained a stick-figure drawing by YT of the infamous NF March through South London’s Lewisham in the summer of 1977, at which it was confronted by a solid wall of anti-racists who had decided it was finally time to meet force with force.
And it certainly explains why I attended the Anti-Nazi League /Rock Against Racism rally in Trafalgar Square on April 30, 1978, before joining the march to Victoria Park in Hackney where a crowd of up to 80,000 eventually gathered to hear music by The Clash, Steel Pulse, the Tom Robinson Band, X-Ray Spex and Patrick Fitzgerald. The Clash performance, in particular, was incendiary, going down in history as one of the most momentous moments in punk rock history.
But while the music that day was memorable, the Carnival Against the Nazis was also a watershed moment in British racial politics. As one of the many voices heard in the new film On Resistance Street explains, and I paraphrase but mildly, “Some people may have come ‘only’ for the music, some because it was a free festival, but not one of them would have left without understanding the message.” All over the UK, you can still meet people for whom the March to Hackney was their own Road To Damascus: Billy Bragg, who himself is featured briefly in On Resistance Street, is just the first name that comes to mind.
Unfortunately, the success of April 30, 1978, and the other RAR/ANL Carnivals, club and college shows that followed, did not eliminate the threat of the National Front overnight, and there were some horrendous years to follow as an outwardly Nazi skinhead revival gathered steam and served to terrorize gig-goers and everyday people for the next several years. Indeed, if the election of Thatcher’s rightward-lurching Conservative Party in May 1979 served to dissipate the National Front’s own appeal at the polls, it also led to a more overtly violent street movement called the British Movement, for which these skinheads were the stormtroopers, often to the point of sporting BM and swastika tattoos, as well as DM boots with steel toe caps that they were all too willing to test on the skulls of their victims. We can look back on the peak period of 2 Tone as cultural glory years if we want to, but for anyone who witnessed these skins Seig Heiling while dancing to the Selecter (a band that had only one white member), as I did in the summer of 1979 at the Electric Ballroom, those memories are laced with a form of nostalgic arsenic.
Nonetheless, as Thatcherism came to dominate the 1980s, combining a directive of up-by-your-bootstraps self-serving capitalism with a calculated decimation of working-class institutions, the new wave moved leftwards accordingly. The Jam dropped the Union Jack, sang about impending nuclear war, and claimed to embrace socialism. The 2-Tone groups fought, sometimes literally in self-defence, to unite black and white, and launched an unprecedented number of home-grown inter-racial bands into the Top 10. Political bands like Hull’s The Housemartins topped the charts singing openly socialist anthems while demanding nationalization of the record industry. The miners’ strike of 1984 further galvanized musicians up and down the land. And the decade ended with an embrace of Chicago house music and Detroit techno, the birth of the Balearic/Acid House/Madchester/rave movements, and the near-universal embrace of ecstasy, which not only united kids on the dancefloor without the hassles of the 2 Tone era, but temporarily turned the football terrace fighters into inflatable-banana-waving loved-up charmers.
Still, you can safely argue that before the events of this previous paragraph, and influencing so many of them, there was The Clash. The same group that had the “audacity” to cover Junior Murvin’s “Police and Thieves” on their debut album, proving that punk and reggae could mix musically as well as culturally, and who followed it up with “(White Man) in Hammersmith Palais,” still one of the most important singles in British history, then headed to the States and embraced hip-hop, electro, the blues and all other forms of influential Black music. (I have been listening to Sandanista while writing this review; it gets better every year.) And in case anyone still got the wrong end of 1977’s breakout single “White Riot,” Joe Strummer was unequivocal in his own beliefs:
“We’re anti-fascist, we’re anti-violence, we're anti-racist and we’re pro-creative” he told the New Musical Express in 1976. “We’re pro-creative.”1
It is the anti-fascist legacy of The Clash, especially, that forms the basis of On Resistance Street, which I saw at the Gate Cinema on The Clash’s former home turf of Notting Hill this last Wednesday, on the occasion of its formal London premiere and accompanying day of music.
The film, highly impressive for its non-linear narrative, its educational message, and its excellent editing, begins its story in that mid-1970s nightmare that greeted me at secondary school. It homes in on the egregiously racist statements of the cultural colonizer Eric Clapton at a 1976 concert in Birmingham where his invective, though apparently unrecorded by audio, was documented by many witnesses and led to the formation of Rock Against Racism. While celebrating the events of April 30, 1978, and the subsequent spread of RAR and the ANL across Great Britain, the film does all of us a service by highlighting its forgotten predecessor, The Stars Campaign for Interracial Friendship, formed in the wake of the 1958 attacks on West Indian immigrants by white thugs in Notting Hill Gate. (The film features author Rick Blackman, whose two books on these matters I am adding to my reading list; in the meantime, I will always recommend Colin MacInnes’ novel Absolute Beginners for the best barely fictional account of those days.)
Set up by a variety of black and white British-based entertainers including chart-topping Winifred Atwell, skiffler Russell Quaye, jazz musician John Dankworth and essayist Geoge Melly, with Laurence Olivier as chairman, the SCIF was able to additionally enlist statements of support from the new skiffle/rock’n’roll crossover stars Lonnie Donegan and Tommy Steele (all the more important given the number of ‘Teddy Boys’ involved in the 1958 attacks), as well as from the Americans Frank Sinatra and Paul Robeson. It even opened a Harmony Club in the heart of Notting Hill, albeit sadly short-lived.
After connecting the battles of 1958 and 1977 to the unfortunate legacy of Britain’s own would-be Hitler, the 1930s British Union of Fascists and upper class populist Oswald Mosley, On Resistance Street then springs forwards. It ably links and documents the rise of a more populist right-wing in the 21st Century, as led by the equally elite and privileged carnival barkers Boris Johson and Donald Trump, whose cartoon characteristics did not prevent them gaining the highest offices in their home nations.
Specifically with regard to the film’s eventual creation, in November 2019, in a party campaign video, Boris Johnson, the Conservative Prime Minister at the time, a well-known racist and anti-immigrant whose championing and eventual execution of Brexit can be credited with destroying Britain’s economy, claimed The Rolling Stones and The Clash as his favourite bands in a political campaign video. (See above; I have lined it up to the exact moment.) This followed previous Prime Minister David Cameron’s attempts to appropriate both The Smiths and The Jam for himself, each of these right-wing leaders by extension seeking to attract potential Tory voters from the ranks of those groups’ fans.
It was perhaps a mark of how far Britain had lurched into right-wing populism by the end of the 2010s, that while Cameron’s reactions created an immediate backlash – it was the only time in recent decades that Morrissey and Marr appeared in public agreement – Johnson’s calculated reference to The Clash led in a different direction. Existing Clash fan groups on Facebook suddenly starting sporting Johnson-supporting posts, with one particular “essay,” which obscenely argued that Clash fans should be natural Conservative voters, traced back to Peter Hall, an Australian financier, coffee shop pioneer (Flat White and Milk Bar on Berwick Street are his), and a Top 50 major Conservative party donor. When the FB page’s admins failed to “clampdown” on this obvious hijacking of the Clash’s crystal clear “anti-racist, anti-fascist” political message, a number of the longest-term and most fully informed fans felt no choice but to jump ship.
Launched by long-term Clash confidante Robin Banks alongside Richard David, the new Facebook group Clash Fans Against the Right demanded insistence on polite and respectful language but declared equally firm values. (You can read the rules if you apply for membership here; understandably, this is a closed group.) In an article in the second issue of the free new creative magazine/fanzine Spinners, David describes how early discussions with Banks posited “a platform for bands and solo artists, writers, artists and poets to post their own work,” “live music events (with) political speakers”, “a Radio Show series on Portobello Radio” and eventually, a “feature length documentary that chronicles the development of it all.” The fulfilment of all these ambitions is testament to the old saying, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” and is detailed within the documentary itself as evidence that social media, while it can be used for anonymous trolling and provocative prejudice, can also be a positive force for uniting more peaceful, positively pro-active people across the world.
It is therefore understandable that, having summarized the past and the present so successfully, much of On Resistance Street – it feels like the whole last half - is devoted to Clash Fans Against The Right’s own story. The film producers journey to Belfast, where Good Vibrations founder Terri Hooley details the horrors of the sectarian violence of the 1970s, and the role that punk played in bringing a young generation of Protestants and Catholics together.2 It journeys to New York, bringing me face-to-screen-face with my Hudson Valley neighbor and friend Carolyn Marosy, who was also sitting in the row behind me, having flown over to play an afternoon show alongside other bands and musicians from the film. Carolyn, one of the only openly gay people in the movie, shines as a clear example of a Clash fan carrying the band’s message firmly through middle age. (Check out her video for “1000 Angels” here.)
The film’s last voyage is to Liverpool, where former Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn speaks to a CFATR audience and Chantelle Lunt talks about Black Lives Matter. While On Resistance Street never hides that it is partly about itself, the film is way too long at two hours, and would have benefited from cutting this self-documenting down.
Where the film really succeeds is in highlighting the ongoing threat of the populist right wing and the manner in which the racism that is officially banned in modern British and American societies has in fact infiltrated the highest offices of power. On Resistance Street connects the massaging and messaging of Dulwich College old boy and Brexit pioneer Nigel Farage (despite never having won an election to Parliament with his UK Independence Party, Farage was given a disproportional British media platform similar to that of Trump in 2015-16), to the violence of working-class thugs like Tommy Robinson and his 2000s version of the BM, the Britain First party.
Similarly highlighted is Donald Trump’s overt racism, homing in on the Charlottesville “Unite the Right” march of 2017, after which he defended the anti-Semitic marchers as “good people.” Trump’s election led to an overuse of the term “woke” by well-meaning, mainly white people on the left, and its subsequent, ongoing co-option as a dog whistle by those on the white right; On Resistance Street does an admirable job of documenting the word’s long history in Black cultural politics which, just like that of SCIF, is one I was unaware of.
And this brings me to the use of dog whistles of all kind, because if the collective “we” can no longer publicly scapegoat people for their color or for being gay, then as contemporary British and American tabloid papers and ageing rock stars like Alice Cooper are demonstrating, the collective “we” can certainly get away with scapegoating refugees and/or Trans people on our newspaper front pages and talk shows. There will always be a scapegoat to deflect the downtrodden from attacking those in power who truly damage their lives, and always people like Cooper who should know better but don’t.
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And so we return to the reason for Clash Fans Against The Right in the first place: the problem of ageing punks leaning towards populism. The blatant abandonment of punk’s initial values by some of its once finest is highlighted with a clip of a fat Johnny Rotten wearing a ‘Make America Great Again’ shirt and praising Trump, juxtaposed by Glen Matlock, long considered the more conservative of the Sex Pistols’ founding members, arguing firmly and clearly for punk’s original anti-fascist values.3
Specifically absent from the film are the voices of former Clash members Mick Jones and Topper Headon, and while Paul Simonon is shown briefly appearing to endorse the project, On Resistance Street is very much a tribute to Joe Strummer, whose lyrics and other quotations are peppered throughout the film. Accordingly, the film strives to be culturally inclusive, and we hear from London grime artist Lady Shocker, Aswad drummer Tony ‘Gad’ Robinson, BLM Merseyside’s Chantelle Lunt, and the youthful Mexican union organizer Fernando Luna, as well as (for me) familiar faces like Strummer biographer Chris Salewicz, musician-poet Atilla the Stockbroker, Paul Simmonds of The Men They Couldn’t Hang, Ray Gange from the film Rude Boy, and Mark Chadwick of the Levelers.
Perhaps the most interesting voice of all is that of Mykaell Riley, who was percussionist and backing vocalist for Britain’s leading reggae band Steel Pulse in its influential 1977-78 years, and whose inclusive politics are at odds with leading member David Hinds’ notoriously anti-gay stance. Riley is now a Senior Lecturer, Director for The Black Music Research Unit (BMRU), and Principal Investigator for Bass Culture Research at the University of Westminster. With a list of credentials longer than Johnny Rotten’s list of about turns, Riley is also the co-curator of the exhibition 500 Years of Black British Music, the very title of which carries considerable cultural weight, and which opens this Friday April 26 at the British Library.
Along with a focus on contemporary movements like Love Music, Hate Racism, On Resistance Street strives to end on a positive note. But because it recognizes that the fight against fascism and racism within and outside of music is one without a finish line, it ends, appropriately, with voices of resistance. The final word goes to a 17-year-old Clash fan (at the time) from west Yorkshire, Lewis Marden, who vows to carry on the battle with the new generation. If Joe Strummer is turning in his grave, it will only be so he can sit up and say, “Good on ya’!”
A soundtrack to On Resistance Street should be available later this year. Per Richard Davis’ article about the film in Louder Than War here, “Any Trade Unionists or Anti-Racism activists wishing to inquire about organisational political screenings should contact: Resistance Street Creatives +44 07751 837 704.”
More reading: .
https://louderthanwar.com/stealing-the-clash-millionaire-tory-donor-propagandist-hiding-in-plain-sight-on-clash-fans-forum/
https://louderthanwar.com/stealing-the-clash-part-2-the-new-online-fascism-radical-rock-clash-against-the-right/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oswald_Mosley
https://irr.org.uk/article/society-in-black-and-white/
https://morningstaronline.co.uk/article/when-punk-took-prime-minister-story-resistance-street
https://socialistworker.co.uk/socialist-review-archive/rock-and-roll-against-racism/
Though I have yet to see an exact reference to the date of this quote, this article pins it down to a ‘manifesto’ Strummer “wrote” to the NME in 1976.
While the Undertones are referred to as a Belfast band when they were most clearly from the city of Derry, an important distinction for political as well as geographical reasons, this is perhaps the only mistake I spotted in an otherwise factually accurate though openly opinionated film.
I can’t find this exact clip online but there is enough of Lydon/Rotten justifying his vote for Trump to make any self-respecting expat ex-UK punk with additional US citizenship like myself vomit.
When Boris Johnson became PM in Dec 19, immigration to the U.K. was 788,000. When he left in Sept 22, this figure had risen to 1,192,000, an increase of over 50%. Why does Tony call Johnson anti-immigration ? Tories are usually pro immigration because it keeps down the wages of those already here, something that most of my fellow Leftists don't seem to understand. Anyway, please give me your answer Tony.
"Police And Thieves" is a song that is still sadly relevant (and not just in England or Jamaica). I prefer Murvin's version- Lee "Scratch" Perry was a marvelous producer.