I’ve been on my share of peaceful protests – they should be part of any mature democracy

Democracies define themselves by their toleration of protest and the right to assemble and demonstrate. They do so because it is right to tolerate dissent – and because peaceful protest defuses tensions that might otherwise find more violent expression. Autocracies hate protest because it challenges their authority and may lead to their demise.

That simple distinction often does not survive contact with the real world. There are semi-democracies and semi-autocracies. There are peaceful protesters on one hand, and violent demonstrators and provocateurs on the other. Among them are varying degrees of tolerance for policing, and among the public varying degrees of tolerance for disruption. That is the murky world opened up by Priti Patel’s Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill.

The bill gives the police additional powers – beyond public order and other provisions – to ban or break up demonstrations which are deemed too “disruptive”: causing too much “disturbance”, including too much noise. In judging our response to the bill, we need to look not just at the history of British policing; but to the role demonstrations have recently played in marking the limits of democracy in the United States, Myanmar, Belarus, Russia, Hong Kong, Nigeria, India and elsewhere.

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Like many people of my broadly left-liberal persuasion, I have been on my share of demos and marches – from anti-apartheid vigils; to protests in the 70s and 80s over factory closures; to the massive marches against the Iraq War and Brexit. All I recall were well organised, decorous and good-humoured with professional and disciplined policing. The participants felt better for participating; few if any were arrested or hurt; nothing changed. Very polite. Very British.

The next level up in provocation to authority are the protests involving passive resistance and obstruction but which are non-violent. No-one gets hurt, including the police; but the demonstrators make a nuisance of themselves blocking roads or occupying buildings.

I was involved – at a safe distance – in the anti-apartheid Stop the Tour protests which, in hindsight, did make a difference though they enraged rugby fans at the time. The Extinction Rebellion movement is in that tradition. So are the demonstrations designed to shock and offend, like the naked bodies glued to the screens in the House of Commons visitors’ gallery. The perpetrators can expect, at worst, a night in police custody and a modest fine. Any mature democracy should not have much trouble accommodating such protest.

More difficult is the case of a non-violent demonstration, which knowingly taunts and provokes an angry response. Racist groups have made good use of the freedom to protest by organising marches in ethnically mixed areas. In Northern Ireland the annual parades in the marching season tested to its limits the right to demonstrate. But the police were right to uphold the right to march and to protest.

Then there is violence. Violence leads to people – demonstrators and police – getting hurt and killed. This is where the calibre of the police is really tested: to have the skill and discipline to minimise the trouble; to protect the public and enforce the law without inflaming the violence. It involves making the tricky distinction between the raw anger of people who have been provoked beyond endurance and those who cynically use violence to elicit a police response and to sow the seeds of insurrection.

We have seen examples of both types of violence in recent months from the Black Lives Matter protest in the USA – for the most part, they were dignified and peaceful, but did on occasion spill over into violence – to the organised, violent assault on the Capitol in Washington. And in Bristol in the last few days, we have seen the cross-over from genuine and respectful protest from a majority to concerted and destructive protest by a minority. In such situations, the police have to be given the benefit of the doubt.

But none of these protests require real courage from the protesters (though they may from the police). What does require courage is to take on an authoritarian government. The street protesters in Belarus and Russia can expect a bad beating or worse and have safety only in their numbers. The protesters in Myanmar know that there is a real risk of death by shooting. Even in democratic Nigeria, street protesters have learnt that demonstrations can lead to the police and army opening fire.

What keeps protest alive in many repressive countries is the hope that the authorities will be shamed into retreat or that martyrdom will inspire others. Sometimes there is a good outcome: the Sharpeville protests and killings led eventually to the collapse of the apartheid system; the Soviet empire eventually proved weaker than the protesters in Eastern Europe; British democracy eventually emerged from events like the Peterloo massacre.

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The mass protests in Hong Kong may or may not have a happy outcome: probably not. The authorities showed surprising restraint for weeks. Despite petrol bombs and vandalism and some deliberate provocation, the authorities held their hand and did not unleash the army. But when they decided to crack down it was with cold and pitiless ferocity leading to long prison sentences for those leading the protests or with the wider democracy movement. I suspect that the lights have been switched off for a long time.

When we look at those who risk their lives and freedom in public demonstrations around the world, it should reinforce our commitment to uphold those rights here.

Some of the proposed provisions in the draft bill are absurd and clearly haven’t been thought through: the maximum ten-year sentences for statue vandalism compared to the lesser and less enforced sentences for violent assaults on women; the potential for cracking down on protests involving singing and chanting which cause disturbance to someone; allegedly offensive single-person protests which can be stopped and prosecuted even though they harm no-one.

These are the kinds of petty restrictions that would excite pedantic and officious bureaucrats in police states and they will greatly diminish Britain’s reputation if enacted. Covid restrictions have already led to a mushrooming of such petty authoritarianism – like the £10,000 fine on the nurse who organised a small demonstration for more pay for nurses. But our indignation should be directed at the government, rather than the police.

The most insidious argument in favour of such powers is that they will rarely be used. If the police are vested with power to stifle dissent, they will feel bound to use it. Their role is primarily to enforce the law, not to pick and choose which parts of it to apply. As we saw in last week’s protests on Clapham Common, it becomes all too easy to blame police for enforcing laws and regulations designed by politicians who are looking to impress their supporters by looking “tough”.

The police have a genuinely tricky task treading the fine line between anger and deliberate violence, between provocateurs and the provoked, between underreaction and overreaction. The worst thing for both law and order and for democracy is to load the police with powers which, by their very nature, will cause resentment and resistance and bring the police into disrepute.

Good, firm and fair policing and the freedom to protest are twin pillars of democracy. Patel is no friend of the police by bringing the two into opposition.