Dubai: On Saturday morning of March 31, 1990, I made my way to Kennington Park in south London to take part in the largest march against the Poll Tax. I joined a crowd of more than 200,000 people, waiting in the bright sun of a warm spring day, for the stewards to direct us to start walking. Thousands of banners showed the incredible range of different people from all over Britain who came to demonstrate against the iniquities of Thatcher’s poll tax.
‘Grannies against the Poll Tax’ shared sandwiches with ‘Bikers against the Poll Tax’. ‘Liberals against the Poll Tax’ queued up with Socialist Workers Party activists to buy posters. The only political group missing was ‘Embarrassed Tories against the Poll Tax’.
We were all united in opposition to the new property tax the Conservatives were about to introduce in England. What infuriated everyone was the unfairness of the tax, since it charged every citizen equally, regardless of their ability to pay.
It takes a very long time for 200,000 people to get anywhere, so it was around 4pm when I was walking up Whitehall past the new Thatcher Gates at the entrance to Downing Street that the unpopular prime minister had put up to keep angry people away from her front door.
We had to squeeze past a knot of angry demonstrators, and it was then that I realised that the march had been infiltrated by militants. They were flinging stones and concrete slabs at the police, in total contradiction to the peaceful march that I had been happy to support all day.
By the time I reached Trafalgar Square, groups had climbed up scaffolding and set fire to a building site, and they had acquired rags and petrol from their cohorts with which they were starting to attack cars. We heard that the march had been called off. The marshals said that because of the growing violence, there would be no speeches.
I made my way north to St Martins Lane, opposite the National Portrait Gallery, but art was very far from my mind when I found my way blocked by rioters. Rather than make my way through this very dangerous mayhem I tried to return south to Charing Cross, but my way was blocked by a three-deep line of riot police.
I was stuck between two groups of people about to have a major confrontation so I cowered with other innocents in the large doorway of the Chandos pub. I watched with horror as young men and women leapt on cars, smashing their windows and opening their petrol tanks so as to set them alight. Eventually the police charged past us, and I was delighted to slip away to Charing Cross and get away from the Battle of Trafalgar Square.
It was only a few months later on November 22, 1990, that I was making my way to work in a crowded carriage on the Tube’s Central Line. The driver prepared to make an announcement, and the whole carriage waited with gloom since this usually meant that a train had broken down somewhere and long delays were expected.
He said: “Ladies and Gentlemen. I have announcement. I have just heard on the news that the Prime Minister has decided to resign.” The whole carriage erupted in cheers. No one in that random crowd of packed Londoners booed this news.
Thatcher was a transformative prime minister who changed Britain profoundly, but her deeply divisive politics damaged society, which led to the widespread popular resentment that in the end trickled back up to the MPs and led to her downfall.
