Love and Pride can conquer prejudice
FIFTY years ago there was a Happening called The Summer of Love.
Which, depending on how groovy you were back in 1967, was either seen as a coming of age for Western youth who turned on, tuned in and dropped out, or a shower of degenerate, unwashed layabouts avoiding haircuts and National Service.
Even though I was a kid, it felt like a good time. Black and white post-war austerity burst into glorious technicolour as the Sixties swung. There was satire on the telly, Sergeant Pepper’s on the wireless, kaftans, beads and miniskirts on the streets, the Pill on prescription and a Labour government offering optimism and hope for all. Love was in the air, man. Fast-forward half a century to this summer and love seems in very short supply.
Home-grown ISIS terrorists murdering innocents, social housing tenants burning in unsafe tower blocks simply because they’re poor, refugees shunned like lepers, a government bribing a fundamentalist sect to keep them in power, and a nation split so deeply, and so generationally by Brexit that 61% of those who voted Leave admit their detestation of all things EU is so intense they don’t care if it significantly hits our economy and puts a family member out of work.
But before we conclude that all is lost, and 2017 should go down as The Summer Of Hate, let’s look at some of the Happenings on today’s streets that put the hippy Summer of Love to shame.
There are the Pride marches that now take over most British cities, which keep growing in size to the point where London’s attracts million-strong crowds. A friend from Newry, in Northern Ireland, was
telling me how their Pride march has become a muchloved annual event, which he finds astonishing as, when he left there for England in the late 70s, no gay person would admit their sexuality for fear of violent reprisals.
Indeed, when Sergeant Pepper’s was released in June ’67, male homosexual activity was illegal in the UK, and men were often jailed for having consensual sex with one another.
I was at my local Pride Festival last Saturday, where 50,000 people took over Liverpool city centre to show support for the LGBTQ community.
The best moment came when a group of objectors – holding placards which told of God’s disapproval of sodomy and yelling warnings like “there will be no dancing in Hell” – were treated to kisses by big men in angel wings and thongs, and showered with rainbow-coloured confetti.
It reminded me of a scene on the same streets earlier in the summer when the English Defence League came to town to spread their hate.
Back in 1967, when the National Front was formed, thousands of racists were allowed to march through cities, virtually unopposed, chanting about repatriating all blacks, their views legitimised by politicians like Enoch Powell, who warned that the presence of immigrants would lead to “rivers of blood”.
When the EDL turned up this June in Liverpool, they were massively outnumbered by protesters, leaving them kettled by police and unable to spew bile on their planned march. And as they were herded prematurely back to Lime Street station, The Benny Hill theme tune Yakety Sax blared out through a loudspeaker as hundreds of protesters clapped along, cheering and laughing them out of town.
So be optimistic, folks. Look past the vicious, mean-spirited, narrowminded negativity that pollutes much of our public debate. And realise that although haters are always gonna hate, half a century on from 1967, people are taking to the streets in bigger numbers than ever and living out the words of that summer’s anthem: All You Need Is Love.
Objectors treated to kisses by big men in angel wings