When crisis hits, we always want to know how we can help. Those of us that can, must listen.

When Hull flooded in 2007 people carried their elderly neighbours to safety. When people of colour were penned in by rioters on Springbank this Saturday, strangers got in their cars and did shifts driving them away to safety. When the riots left a trail of destruction behind them, the community rolled up their sleeves to clear away the rubble. By Sunday afternoon, our city was as clean as it's ever been.

In the eye of the storm, we all want to show up and be of service. And this weekend, Hull showed up in so many ways we can be proud of. But what is our responsibility after the fires are extinguished and the glass swept away?

For us, showing up means going beyond simply condemning the violence.

First let's see what actually happened in Hull, not through the soundbites of politicians who were nowhere to be found, but through our own stories. On Saturday we spoke to people who came out on the streets for many different reasons. There were angry, Islamophobic men who came to do harm; there were the organisers on the podium, attempting to distance themselves from the men hurling bottles all whilst fueling their anger; there were ordinary people, angry that their fears around immigration have been ignored and they as people have been vilified as fascists; there were the counter-demonstrators, angry and scared that Muslims and people of colour are not safe on our streets; and there were the police, underequipped and jumpy, sweating in the midday sun.

Then there were the kids who came later in the evening, more bored than angry, sensing an opportunity to feel powerful for a moment. There were the Kurdish, Turkish and Romanian shopkeepers standing outside their businesses all along Springbank, waiting patiently and prepared to fight back. And there were a few of us moving between it all, trying to listen.

“It feels like the whole world is angry,” someone wrote in our group chat on Sunday, when the city was reeling. Well, it’s felt like that for a long time. Where, then, should the story begin?

We could start with the murder of three girls in Southport by a sick teenager, but the speeches on Saturday barely mentioned them. We could start with the pandemic, time spent alone and afraid with the algorithms feeding our mistrust. We could look back through years of austerity and watch the doors closing on libraries, theatres and youth clubs all while the price of simply staying alive rises unbearably. People knuckling down, staying home, looking after their own.

We could go back to the steady decline of northern industries and see how these riot towns have been crushed under the boot of capitalism for generations. We could go back and back and back and through it all we’d see politicians and newspapers rattle off the same excuses, the same scapegoating, the same cuts, the same blame. Now that we’re here in this part of the story, we have a responsibility to acknowledge the complexity of the moment even whilst we condemn the racist aggression on our streets.

This story did not start with the first small boat crossing and it will not end when the last rioter is sentenced. Whether about immigration or food shortages, riots will continue throughout this decade, because the systems we built to look after us, to maintain law and order, to keep us fed and connected and fulfilled are collapsing.

One billion people will become climate refugees by 2050. They will be black, brown, Muslim, Christian and everything else. How do we show up for them, now? How can we organise in a way that both staunchly defends black, brown and migrant members of Hull’s community and addresses the fears of the people chanting ‘stop the boats’?

We don’t have all the answers. But it’s clear that we have to listen more and shout less. That is the essence of people’s assemblies and it’s what Cooperation Hull is built on. We know that not everyone will be able to do this work in the same way; we are not asking the victims of hatred and violence to listen calmly to their attackers, but those of us that can, must.

To the people blinded by racism and calling for blood: you are starting a fight you cannot win. Whilst we can try to understand your reasons, we will never stop organising to defeat your vile and dehumanising actions.

To the people listening to the speeches with tears in your eyes and anger in your heart: you will not get what you want if you continue to walk this road with violent men. You are right that this society is breaking and things are getting worse. You are right that there are solutions. But they are not as simple as we’re being led to believe, and none of us can do it alone. We need more hands on deck, not less.

And to the people calling for us to bash the fash: a warning sign of fascism is the clamping down on dissent. There are currently 21 nonviolent protestors in British prisons serving record sentences and it’s the government that put them there, just as it was the government who popularised the slogan stop the boats. We do need to defend against the rise of the far right which we have seen across Europe and in our own communities, and we must be clear on who the enemy is.

On Saturday, carnival continued a stone's throw from the burning tyres. As the rioters inched closer to this gathering of migrants and people of colour there were no police, no politicians, no journalists or mayors to turn to, so we turned to each other. There was fear, yes. But there was also love.

We danced. We filled our bellies. We laughed, we sang and we built bridges because organising for a better world starts today and it will start again tomorrow, and all we can do is keep showing up.

The revolution starts in Hull. With love.

Here now,

then everywhere.

05 August 2024

By Cooperation Hull