Once upon a time, Charlie Landsborough had a famous hit with a song called, ‘What Colour is the Wind?’
Recently, another question that’s very difficult to answer has been dancing around in my mind.
“What’s the sound of resistance to injustice?” For me, it is not – and has never been – weapons of war.
Usually, it’s the peacemakers who resolve conflicts, addressing the deeper issues that have caused them.
Right now, in both Ukraine and Palestine, we’re seeing a lot of death and destruction, particularly in Gaza.
Sadly too, the same people who say, “We must do something for Ukraine” will say “What can we do for Gaza?”
I suppose the answer to that is that we can resist and refuse to accept the narrative that there’s an inevitability about war in the Middle East.
Sometimes, of late, it feel as if we’re living in the sort of world George Orwell imagined in 1984 with his famous quote of how: “War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.”
Last week, whilst watching the BBC Parliament Channel on TV, I listened to a debate in which politicians across the spectrum talked about China.
During that debate they spoke about Xinjiang – where China is accused by many of committing genocide against the Uyghur people – as if it’s on a par with what’s happening in Gaza and Lebanon, when in reality it’s something closer to acts of internment without trial.
The thought shrieking through my mind was: “These politicians are insane!”
I heard one parliamentarian suggest that the people of Milton Keynes are terrified of China!
It’s as if they’re children lying in bed at night terrified of a big, bad bogeyman coming through the door.
And maybe, just maybe, I could sympathise with their fears if we had a peaceful world.
Then it might make sense to fear somebody coming along and disrupting the calm of the world order.
But the world’s Orwellian right now – as mad as wasps in a burning nest.
Yet somehow people still look away from the brutal reality of Gaza towards the smoke and mirrors of what-might-be, not what is.
Even the veteran DUP politician Sammy Wilson was amongst those who were apoplectic with rage in the House of Commons.
Ironically, for all his rage against China’s treatment of its Muslim population, Sammy is a regular cheerleader for Israel’s way more and incomparably brutal treatment of the Muslims in its midst.
But, taking politicians out of the equation, how can so many people so easily turn their heads away from what’s happening in Gaza?
And how can those who care get others to care about the situation in the same way, rather than looking away or seeking out other bogeymen?
Recently, I was involved in an activity with a group of people who do care very strongly about the situation in Palestine and Lebanon.
These were members of a Palestine Action Group pushing for an end to war, and a resolution of the conflict in a socially just manner.
They’re ordinary people from all walks of life and all cultural backgrounds.
On a very windy Sunday a couple of weeks ago, we gathered at a particularly significant location to show solidarity by ‘Flying Kites For Palestine’. And at such an event, the wind was significant too.
Kites require wind in order to fly, and wind is usually at its strongest in the heights.
That’s why we chose Blackheath – an elevated part of south east London between Lewisham and Greenwich.
It’s a place not just of high winds, but also a deep and rich history of resistance.
There are actually very few places in England that have seen as many rebellions as there have been at Blackheath. These include three instances of working men rising up against the establishment.
They begin with a famous Peasants’ Revolt of 1381 which was crushed in as brutal a fashion as anything ever done in the name of Empire.
Then came ‘Jack Cade's Rebellion’ of 1450, of which less is known. That’s because the leader of it got erased from history.
And then, in echoes of northern England’s strikes in the 1980s, the ‘Cornish Rebellion’ of 1497 saw tin miners march on the capital to protect their industry and their workers.
There too, the rebels got brutally crushed, although like the Irish Hunger Strikers of the 1980s, some of their political demands were eventually granted.
So Blackheath is symbolic in many ways. It’s not just a place that’s symbolic with resistance, but a place where resistance has been beaten down and battered out of anyone who rebelled.
The facts of that and other battles, including Peterloo up in Manchester, have scarred the Working Class psyche into one of keeping your head down and not resisting authority, lest you get into trouble.
At the same time, there are a great many people in Britain who do stick their heads above the parapet and call out injustice.
But just like those rebels of the past, they’re up against the weight of an establishment that has the practice of crushing resistance down to a fine art.
Regardless of that, we gathered on Blackheath to fly our kites, hoping to bring attention to the cause.
On this particular day though, the winds were gale force, like a winter’s day out on Lough Erne.
If the wind was a colour, it was moving too fast to see. It was more of a sound than anything else.
But it was good for the kites, which were also significant, because there’s nothing quite so English as the flying of kites.
That’s because, despite appearances in everything from ‘Peter Pan’ to ‘Mary Poppins’, kites actually originate in China.
So many symbols of Britishness, from Saint George to those Three Lions on the football shirt, come from somewhere else.
And so there we were, trying to make people think of what was happening somewhere else.
A place where they’ve more to worry about than a bit of drizzle in the wind. They’re facing a daily rain of death in Palestine and Lebanon.
But despite that some of us are still fighting their corner for the sake of peace, for all concerned, including the hostages.
Blackheath after all was the home and place of worship for former British hostage Terry Waite – a man who has resisted violence his whole life, despite his suffering.
And that’s where the sound of resistance comes in. It’s the sound of flags and kites rippling in the breeze, standing firm against the mighty wind, continuing to represent hope, refusing to bend and be broken.
That soundtrack, that simple music of resistance, is a force more powerful, more personal and more lasting than the roar of the military machine causing that rain of death to fall on the Middle East.
We need not just peace, but resistance to the silence around war.
Paul Breen is @paulbreenauthor on X.
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