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Facing Down The Party Police - What Happens When A Rave Gets Busted..?

“Turn your car around now!” bellowed the policeman.
“This road’s been closed off! Back up and take the next
turning on your left.”
Officers moved around, aggressively redirecting traffic while car horns blared. Arriving vehicles added to the congestion as drivers struggled to reverse, while
others, without a clue as to why a major road was blocked at six o’clock in
the morning, continued their relentless hooting. Although a few drivers
began pulling off the main road and onto the winding country lanes in the
hope of finding an alternative route, the police refused to compromise as
they enforced their blockade, bringing the traffic to a complete standstill.
Meanwhile, from beyond a distant row of trees, a continuous thud, thud,
thud could be heard. Moving forward towards the source of the noise,
through hedges and a field of grazing cows, the thudding intensified into a
booming sound that made the earth tremble. Closer still, the incessant kickdum
was soon joined by the percussive resonances of shakers and hi-hats.
Once on the other side of the tree-line, a steady roar of voices was heard
over the music, and then in clear view was a glorious sight of thousands of
all-night party-goers, jumping, gyrating, and waving their arms to the
synthesized melodies cutting through the air. Gorgeous girls gave it their
all, dancing as though their lives depended on it, without a care for their
hair, make-up, or nails. Carefree guys, some stripped to the waist, flung up
their arms and stamped their feet, adrenaline rushed, the next beat of the
music the only thing that mattered. A DJ leaned over the turntables,
conducting the wide-eyed crowd like an orchestra; each record he played
caused the mass to react with even more excitement and energy…
Despite this euphoria, back at the entrance to the party there was a
growing air of hostility, as security guards began to form a defensive line,
facing an army of agitated policemen dressed in riot gear. The security
men were mostly unlicensed thugs who had learned to harness their talents
for destruction. Now their job was to protect their new-found family, the
ravers.

The large group of officers glared at the security guards, who glared
right back, both sides aggressive and ready for anything. It had become a
stand-off. Onlookers gathered to watch what was happening. The tension
was extreme. Sweat beaded on foreheads, mouths became dry, trouble was
in the air. As the confrontation reached a critical point, the police drew the
first sword as a deafening megaphone squealed.
“This is an illegal gathering on government land!” yelled the tall, but
somewhat chubby Chief Policeman. “Whoever is in charge here, come
forward now, or we’ll have no choice but to remove everybody by force!”
Outraged, some of the onlookers started to hurl insults. The police stood
silent but ready for action as the senior officer awaited a reply. The
jeering got louder until a small group of people emerged from behind the
security guards. Two were muscular, mixed-race women, both pretty but
with a hardened look about them. They were closely followed by two,
average-sized guys and a young, confident man wearing a bulky, expensivelooking
fur jacket. The group joined the security crew, boosting their
numbers a little. Wide-eyed and smiling, the man in the large fur jacket
ambled fowards in a daze, as though taking a Sunday stroll.
For the benefit of the story, let’s call this stranger ‘Mr A’.
“What’s the matter, people, is everyone having a good time?”
he asked, nodding to the beat.
Puzzled by this question, the police chief turned to his fellow officers
and shrugged his shoulders.
“No! Things are not all right!” he growled, as he turned back, his pasty
face flushed. He pointed towards the boisterous party in the background.
“What’s all this commotion?”
“I was thinking the exact same thing, mate,” countered Mr A, gesturing
towards the large group of riot police.
“Don’t be cheeky with me, boy!” spat the chief. “Look at all this mess,
you can’t just come down here from wherever and act like you own the
place. This is Surrey and we don’t tolerate your rave nonsense here. Get
these people off this land, and STOP THIS PARTY RIGHT NOW!”
There was a brief pause, then Mr A roared back, “NO! You’re wrong!
We’ve got permission from the landowner. These people have been here
since ten o’clock last night. Look, thousands of people, yet there hasn’t
been any trouble, not one single incident. Everyone here is happy and
smiling, but you’ve come here with a hundred Old Bill in riot gear, ready
for a fight! Do us all a favour, mate, f**k off and find some real criminals!”

A few sniggers could be heard from the surrounding crowd.
“That’s what you lot are paid for isn’t it?” he continued. “Who’s
protecting the local villages while you lot are here harassing us?”
With these remarks ringing in his head, the police chief lost it.
“Don’t you dare try to tell me how to do my job! If you persist with that
language I’ll have you arrested for insulting a police officer!” he screamed
furiously, his cheeks now a glowing tomato-red. “You’re born over here
and think you can do whatever you want. You don’t own a farm! You’re
not from round here! As far as I’m concerned, you’re not even English!
Clear off and go back to wherever the hell you came from!”
There was a moment of stunned silence as the revellers considered what
they’d just heard.
“So tell me please, if I was an old, white farmer from Cobham, would
you have been cool with this peaceful celebration?” asked Mr A calmly.
“Just imagine, right now we’d probably be skipping down the street and
dancing hand in hand around the f**king maypole.”
“But NO!” continued Mr A. “We’re here having a good time and you
turn up with your bad attitude and racist insults. All you can see is
troublemakers from London and a black guy, who, incidentally, can outsmart
you and outdress you. In your mind, I’m the bad guy. Well, in that case,
don’t let me disappoint you. GO F**K YOURSELF!”
As Mr A turned and started to walk back to the party, the outraged
policeman lunged towards him, grabbing his shoulder, screeching -
“YOU BLACK BA**ARD! You’re f**king NICKED!”
The two men collided, punching and wrestling. There was a moment of
silent anger while the crowd watched their spokesman being overpowered
by several officers. A surge of rage washed over the onlookers as several
security guards leapt to rescue Mr A. The horde of officers rushed forward,
riot shields raised and batons drawn, charging brutally into the gathering
of security guards and the more vocal party-goers. A stampede of panicstricken
ravers tried to escape the sea of violence as a mass brawl erupted.
Punches flew in all directions, blood spattered on faces as noses were broken
and bodies bruised. Some wept as the crisis passed the point of no return.

What seemed like an isolated incident was the beginning of the end.

About the Author

Author: RaveStory | Total views: 4 0 comments
Word Count: 1324 Date: Mon, 12 Nov 2007 Time: 5:56 PM
Rating: Not yet rated

Spanish taslation

Otiz F Angel is the head of the LOVE Organisation - a network of nightclubs and bars with a socially-aware, ethical business agenda.






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