Fighting Against God

Drama was a complete understatement.

Stacey and myself arrived an hour before the protest was due to take place – as if these sorts of events have a starting time.

We were caught between thousands of chanting people, demonstrating against Ashdown and his government, the police cordoning off restricting areas from idiosyncratic radicals. Banners and signs filled the air, supporting Dues Mos, with Etah’s face everywhere you turned to look.

To be fair, Ashdown’s was too, but that was not without a heinous red cross streaked across it.

Colours of green and black painted the entire area outside of the Houses of Parliament, signifying the Dues Mos logo: the vivid emerald Christian cross, supported with a dark background. It lit up, the otherwise, damp, overcast morning, a chilly February breeze crossing over the Thames and gusting through my dull bronze hair.

I held Stacey’s small hand tightly, as we waded in and out of the ocean of protesters, fighting to reach an open spot to get a sufficient view of Etah when he made his way onto the small wooden stage, opposite the House of Commons; it was currently surrounded by riot police, beating back demonstrators attempting to jump onto it.

I heard Stacey shout something at me behind, the roars of crowd eating her every word. I turned to face her, struggling to pull my shoulders around through the density of the array.

‘Sorry?’ I called into her ear.

‘How much further?’

‘Anywhere where there’s space to get a pen and paper out,’ I loudly replied.

She nodded, looked over my left side, and suddenly pointed. I followed her finger, spotting a break in the side of the crowd where several newsreaders had set up their equipment, preparing to broadcast Etah’s speech.

Strongly pushing past a whiny, skinny teenager, we broke through to the open space, catching the eyes of several reporters looking up from pieces of paper, sat down on foldable chairs.

‘Can I help you, sir?’

I jumped in surprise at a policeman, with a strong London accent, who had quickly made his way over to us, despite his weight, no neck to be seen.

‘Hi,’ I returned. ‘No we’re fine, thanks, I’m a journalist for the Daily Mail. We came here to get a better view of the protest.’

Of course the story I wrote four months ago was sold to the Daily Mail; I had nicked their invitation, after all.

‘Sorry sir, but security is being tight. We’ve been told to keep the public away from the cameras.’ He took hold of both of my arms.

‘What?’ I angrily responded. ‘Why?’

‘You’re a journalist, you should know more than anything that the current public unrest is going to cause some damage today. We can’t trust anyone. And with the army turning up, it’s always the way - people against Etah are bound to use violence to try and be noticed above this mob.’

‘The army?’ Stacey joined conversation, shocked. What the fuck we're the army doing here?

‘The past few days have been more serious than we thought.’

All three of us turned to face a newsreader, who had just stood up, a Sky News microphone in her hand. Her thick high heels were heard above the crowd noise as they walked across the concrete, accompanied with a dull brown outfit, her dress just covering her knees.

‘I overheard you were a journalist? We’ve only just found out about the army coming too,’ she said, flicking back long black hair, speaking in a high shrill voice. ‘Turns out this is not just any ordinary protest. Etah has been silent all week about it, no interviews, no nothing. It looks like he’s planned something far more critical.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I yelled over the noise, which had suddenly begun to get louder. ‘What’s he planning? What have the army got to do with any of this?’

‘No one knows for sure, it’s just speculation. But with the amount of anxiety and fury over the USA declaring war any day now, Labour is more unpopular than it has ever been in its entire history. I haven’t met a single person, and I doubt I will, who thinks that going to war with America is a necessary evil.

‘If the army are joining Dues Mos in half an hour when Dominick Etah stands on that stage, he must have gained their support in the past week. He’s kept his cards very close to his chest, and winning the assistance of the army is huge news to everyone. There's definitely surprise on his side; he's caught everyone off guard - including the prime minister. The question we’re asking here is why has he done that?’

‘Hang on,’ I cut in, stunned at where she was leading with this. ‘You all think, he’s planning a coup?’

Her pause indicated I was right.

‘We think Etah might be planning to overthrow the government.’

‘What? That’s a really rash judgement. How is his small party going to achieve that?’ I laughed, though the apprehension in my voice was all too clear.

‘Look around you,’ she replied weakly, looking past my eyes at the thousands present. ‘Where are the protestors against Dues Mos? I haven’t seen any. Who’s happy with the prospect of fighting against America? In fact, who’s even the slightest bit happy with the government? We’re on the brink of war.

‘With the support of the army, Etah has risen from an unknown Conservative backbencher, to being a formidable threat to the government. How can Labour fight against America without an army backing? Etah has gained some serious leverage.’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How had it come to such extremity, that a single party, only supported by the public on one issue alone, was now a threat to Labour’s existence?

‘Well, good.’

Startled, I turned to Stacey, who had suddenly chirped up.

‘Pardon?’ I questioned.

‘Good,’ she repeated. ‘I don’t know about anyone here, but I support them. This country needs to be sorted out and they’re the only ones who speak sense.’

I opened my mouth to respond, but I found myself thinking exactly the same thing. How could I argue for a party who were dragging our country to the gallows. A party who promised a better Britain, but who were making it worse. Every other party were quick to criticise Labour, but none offered solutions. We’d just come out of a government of Conservatives and Liberal Democrats. What a shit job they did. No, it was time for something different, and I knew everyone who had turned up today was thinking the exact same thing. Dues Mos was the only alternative.

I completely agreed with Stacey. And as extreme as it was, I found myself supporting Etah in his conquest.

And, yet again, I heard Cunningham in my head:

‘With so many afraid of a threat from America, they will go to extreme lengths, in extreme times, to prevent this country going into further ruin. If that involves keeping the peace by supporting a ‘God group’ then so be it. We’ve just had a general election – the public cannot wait another five years if America scare the public into the prospect of another war.’

The economy was shattered. People were starving and homeless. Jobs were scarce with the amount of European refugees flooding into the UK. We were still at war with the North Koreans. Now, we were on the edge of a cliff ready to commit suicide. These were extreme times. Even if some of their beliefs were a bit peculiar, Dues Mos were the only option to keep this country alive.

And we can’t wait for another election. No wonder security was on high alert.

Suddenly, the crowd started cheering. The sonic wave spread like a ripple in water, blasting through my ears as it hit me.

‘They’re coming.’

The reporter quickly walked back to her news team, as above everyone’s heads, a large tank started to come into view. It rolled slowly down Victoria Street into Parliament Square, the whole road blocked off, as the intimidating machine was followed by hundreds of marching soldiers. Flags of the Dues Mos logo, were waving around frantically in the crowd, alongside the Union Jack.

But Etah was nowhere to be seen.

As the army procession continued, I lost all track of time. The event was mesmerising, catching everyone in awe at the enormous vehicles and the hypnotising traipse of the military.

Half an hour passed, as the capacious armed forces lined up, filling the best part of Millbank, Birdcage Walk and Victoria Street. Such was the vastness and intimidation, it was hard to believe such an insignificant man, in comparison, had won over the entire army.

The clouds parted, feeling the sun’s heat on the back of my neck. The smell of diesel was rich in the air, my ears burning from the protestor’s exuberance.

But still, Etah was nowhere to be seen.

Abruptly, a group of photographers jumped past us, running into the crowd, knocking me out of my trance and almost off my feet.

I looked down at my blank pad of paper, before looking behind me and seeing every single news crew was either packed up, or already gone. Throwing them into my rucksack, I kissed Stacey on the cheek before quickly following the photographers.

‘I’m off to find Etah,’ I told her. ‘I can’t see him anywhere, and I think they know where to find him.’

‘But he’ll surely be on the stage soon?’ she called after me.

I had no time to reply. Swallowed by the demonstrators, I maneuvered my way clumsily through, keeping an eye on one of the paparazzi group, just in front. It had past midday ten minutes ago now, and whether Etah was running late and Stacey was right, I didn’t know. But something was telling me that he was somewhere else of more importance.