The march was divided into three sections – the Unions, the religious and political groups and the anarchists. Due to the size of the march, each group would take a different route towards the convention centre where the IMF were meeting to plan the future of the world. Around a quarter of a million people had turned up.
Carrie was in a crowd of a few thousand. Many demonstrators had been there for some days preparing banners, costumes and other eye-catching creations ready for the demonstration. There was a large planet earth made from bamboo sticks covered in painted fabric, which would be rolled through the streets, symbolising how the world powers play with the planet. The bizarre banners and people in costume grew as the morning wore on. Although Carrie had been on numerous demonstrations in England, this was new to her, and her group was tense at what was likely to happen. The riot police might swoop at any moment making a pre-emptive strike or maybe they would hold off until people started rioting. There were little pockets of anarchists all over the place. They weren’t difficult to spot, dressed in home-made combat gear, mainly black, with covered faces; the only thing they lacked were big arrow-shaped placards pointing down saying “I’ve come to start a riot.” Their manner was blatantly conspiratorial, lurking in corners, hiding things under their jackets and looking over their shoulders. There were occasional glimpses of gas masks.
Carrie’s group were deciding which section to join. The other guys were anarchists and decided to go that way. She was nervous; it was the unknown. She was going way beyond the limits of her previous experiences, but that was what was so interesting. Compared to the experiences of people younger than her who might have been in the forces, or maybe even fire-fighters or police, it wasn’t really that much to write home about. Eventually she decided to go with the anarchists. She wanted to be there. She wanted to witness events. Something inside her at this period was craving new input, to learn and to grow; subconsciously she knew that was why she came. That and to turn the IMF around.
Eventually, after much loitering the signal came to move. The bamboo world was pushed to the front of procession and the crowd very slowly started moving down the street. Immediately a few of the anarchists with balaclava’s started spraying messages on some buildings. Carrie’s senses became sharpened. She wanted to avoid being beaten or gassed or attacked by a dog if she could manage it. As they went on she kept an eye on all the side streets looking for the authorities’ certain backlash against the impending battle. Most of the walk was peaceful, and police were curiously absent. Just a few of the extreme activists with their paint cans were causing trouble. When they sprayed one shop, the owner came out to stop them. A couple of other anarchists grabbed the man to keep him away while the painting was completed. It went against Carrie’s beliefs, and she wasn’t proud to be associated with the damage.
At the head of the anarchists’ march was a mock-military salsa band. They had made a kind of uniform with bear-skin hats, cross-over chest bands, and army-green clothes. Several of them had drums strapped on as might have been carried by military bands of the 19 th century.