The police charged the Antifa demo, swinging their batons at the most unwashed of the demonstrators, throwing fire crackers at people’s feet and generally succeeding in sending a mass of anti-fascist protestors running in three different directions.
“This is unacceptable. Really. I am going to write a letter.” Declared Čaneski to Bob, whilst securing his cycle helmet as he sprinted up Petrin Hill chased by the heavily armoured law enforcers. It was May Day in Prague and, just like last year, the Czech Nazis held a march celebrating “Czechness” and Prague’s Antifa went to stop them.
”I don’t really think this is a good time to think about letter writing,” suggested Bob as he fell over his own feet in an attempt to simultaneously insult fascists, think of how such a letter would be worded and run away from the chasing pigs on an abnormally hot 1st of May.
”But a letter needs to be written to the authorities,” insisted Čaneski, “it is crazy to send out the city’s police to push all these anti-racist protestors off the street so that 50 skinheads can march through Prague,” he insisted as the pursuing police slowed down to take a breather. By the time Bob and Čaneski reached the top of Petřín Hill, the police had turned back, their ‘job’ was successfully done: handfuls of Antifa had been scattered and cornered in different places, a larger group was penned in like cattle at the bottom of the hill, the Nazis managed to stage their pathetic march and Prague’s tourists got a good story to tell their friends back home. All in all it took less than 15 minutes for the state to break-up a demonstration and allow ‘normality’ to return.
Strong State, Weak State Cardboard Box
”I wish the police would charge this demo and chase us up the hill again,” Bob mournfully sighed to Čaneski, “I’m bored.”
“I have wet shoes,” Čaneski added.
”I can’t see what’s going on,” said little Bianca who had joined Čaneski and Bob for this very rainy Antifa demo. Antifa, just like in May, had the aim of stopping the fascists from holding a march through the city. The nationalist demonstration had been officially called to “protest against the war in Iraq which is being fought for Israeli interests.” However the Prague authorities had decided to ban it because they noticed some weird coincidences:
1. The demonstration was on the anniversary Kristallnacht
2. The demonstrators wanted to march through the Jewish quarter
3. The demonstrators were mostly dirty Nazi bastards
But the Nazis decided to go ahead anyway, as they had already invited many friends from Germany and Austria who had already packed their sandwiches, passports and axes for the trip to Czechia. They assembled in Prague at the Českomoravská metro station and prepared to wake up the world to the International Jewish Conspiracy by marching through the town with weapons, unoriginal haircuts and angry scowls. However the police, just like in May, decided to stop everyone’s fun, detain them all in an enclosure, gently beat a few of the most unkempt ones and take away their axes, sandwiches etc.
Whilst Good Bob and Good Čaneski were standing around bored in the rain assuring Good (little) Bianca that nothing exciting was happening that she couldn’t see, a Nazi Bob and a Nazi Čaneski were having a strangely familiar conversation at Českomoravská metro the other side of town:
“This is unacceptable. Really. I am going to write a letter.” Declared Nazi Čaneski to Nazi Bob, whilst securing his cycle helmet as he was pushed up against the wall by the heavily armoured law enforcers.
”I don’t really think this is a good time to think about letter writing,” suggested Nazi Bob as he fell over in an attempt to simultaneously insult the police, think of how such a letter would be worded and hide the big knife down his trousers without damaging any of his brilliantly Caucasian sperm. ”But a letter needs to be written to the authorities,” insisted Nazi Čaneski, “it is crazy to send out the city’s police to push anti-war protesters off the street so that 50 Jews can hold a prayer meeting in the streets.” Meanwhile, a few fascists did manage to sneak away from the Police and venture in to town, but they were given a good kicking by the Antifa and were last seen running back to the police to beg for protection.
Proper Tea is Theft
”uunnnnuuurrrrggghhhhnnnnnnnnn” Bob snorted into his tissue, before examining with pride his snotty masterpiece.
”I’m sick too,” added Čaneski, pouring himself herbal tea and zipping up his jacket.
”I can’t see what’s going on,” said little Bianca. Its May Day again, the press excited by the idea of more fights and police chases are buzzing around the anarchist happening. However the anarchists have put some thought into this year’s proceedings. It seems that they have decided that as long as they are portrayed as extremists and freaks they will never get the numbers they need to hold the demonstration they want to: with enough numbers to both block the fascist march and not be contained by the state’s ‘keepers of the peace.’ So instead, after the obligatory and slightly boring speeches, there is a paper flower making workshop before a lively anti-racist concert on one of Vltava’s islands.
The press seem bored by all of this though and focus their lenses on ‘scary anarchists’ instead, snapping the few people who felt the need to mask-up their faces and have a certified exciting amount of piercings.
“Why don’t they film me?” Ponders Čaneski as his glasses steam up from the heat of his herbal tea.~
”You don’t look angry or scary enough unfortunately.” Bob says in an attempt to console him. “Maybe tea drinking isn’t an anarchist enough action?” Another May Day ends and it seems the ‘Antifa-Fa’ cycle will continue: only a handful of anti-fascists will come out on the streets to protest and, because of their low numbers, only succeed in blocking fascists if the state allows them to. Meanwhile the rest of the
population sits at home, letting the state decide whether next time the Nazis are allowed to march in their streets and organise in their communities. Bob, Bianca and Čaneski meanwhile will pack their Thermos, put on their normal clothes and turn up wherever the fascists appear.