last of the hippies an hysterical romance a4

8/12/2019 Last of the Hippies an Hysterical Romance a4

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Penny Rimbaud

Te Last Of Te Hippies AnHysterical Romance

1982


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Inthis cell that is ours, thereis no pity,no sunrise onthe cold plainthat is our soul, no beckoning to a warm horizon.

All beauty eludes us and we wait.

No answer is in itself an answer.Oriental proverb.

Onthethird ofSeptember 1975,PhilRussell,alias PhilHope, aliasWally Hope, alias Wally, choked to death on his own vomit; blackberry,custard,bile, lodgedfinallyandtragically inthe windpipe. Blackberry,custard, bile, running from his gaping mouth onto the delicate paernsof the ornamental carpet.

He died a frightened, weak and tired man; six months earlier he hadbeen determine,happyand exceptionallyhealthy; ithadtaken only that,short timeforHerMajestysGovernments HeathDepartment toreducePhil to a puke covered corpse.

efirst dreamthat I remember is ofmyselfholdingthehand ofan olderman, looking overa beautifuland peacefulvalley suddenlya fox broke cover followed by houndsand strong horsesridden by red-coated huntsmen. e manpointed into the valley and said, at, my son, is whereyoure heading. I soon found that out, I am the fox!Phil Russell, 1974.

Phils death marked, forus, the end ofan era. Along with him diedthelastgrain of trust thatwe,naively,had hadinthesystem, thelastseeds of hope that, if we lived a decent life based on respect rather thanabuse,ourexample mightbefollowed by thosein authority.Ofcourseit

was a dream,but reality is based on athousand dreams of the past;wasitso silly thatwe should want to add ourstothefuture? If the poweror protest had dwindled, the power of rock was showing no such faintheart. By the mid sixties, rockn roll ruled and no partyconference wasgoing to bring it down. Youth had found its voice and increasingly wasdemanding that it should be heard.


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Loud within that voice was one that promised a new world, newcolours,new dimensions,newtime and new space. Instantkarma,andall at the drop of an acid tab.

My advice to people today is as follows: If you take the gameof life seriously if youtakeyournervous system seriously.youlltake your sense organs seriouslyifyou take the energyprocess seriously you must turn on tune in and drop out.Acid prophet, Timothy Leary.

Societywas shocked,desperate parents backed offastheir lile dar-lings tripped over the ornamental carpets. Hysterical reports that acidcaused everythingfrom heart-burntototalcollapse ofdecentsocietyappeared almostdaily inthe press. Sociologistsinventedthegenerationgapand whenthelong haired weirdoflashed aV-sign at themtheygotthat all wrong as well, it was really a peace sign, but, either way arounditmeant fuck off. Inthe greycornerwe hadnormalsociety,andintherainbow comer sexndrugsnrocknroll, at least thats how the mediasawit. e CNDsymbolwas adopted as an emblem by the evergrow-inglegions of rock-fans whose message of love and peace spread, likea prairie-fire, world-wide. e media, in its desperate need to label andthus contain anythingthat threatensto outdo its control,namedthisphenomenonHippyandthe system, to whichthe mediais numberonetool inthefightagainstchange,setabout initstransparent,butnone-the less effective way, to discredit this new vision.

By thelate sixties,straightsocietywas beginningtofeel threatened bywhat its youth was up to; it didnt want its grey towns painted rainbow,the psychedelicrevolution waslooking a lile bit toorealandithadtobe stopped.

Books were banned, bookshops closed down.Offices and social centreswere broken into and their files were removed, doubtless to be fed intothe police computers. Underground papers and magazines collapsedunder the weightofofficialpressure,galleries and cinemas had wholeshows confiscated. Artists,writers,musicians and countless unidentifiedhippies gotdraggedthroughthe courtsto answer trumped-up charges


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ofcorruption,obscenity,drug-abuse,anythingthatmightsilencetheirvoice; but nothing could, it all maered too much.

As oppression became increasingly heavy, public servant bobby be-came known as public enemy piggy; war had been declared on the

peace generation, but love wasnt going to give in without a fight.We are a generation ofobscenities. e mostoppressed peopleinthiscountryare not the blacks not the poor,but the middle class. eydonthave anythingtorise up againstandfightagainst. We willhavetoinventnew laws to break. . .the first part of the yippy program is to kill yourparents. . .until yourpreparedto kill yourparentsyoure not ready tochange this country. Our parents are our first oppressors.

JerryRubin, leaderof theYippies(militanthippies),speaking atKent

State University, USA.Within a month of Rubins speech, the university was in uproar. emostly white, middle class students, to show their objection to the wayin which boththeircampus andtheircountrywere beingrun,had stagedinnumerable demonstrations and burntdown partof the university. eauthorities called in the army to restore peace, which they did in truemilitary fashion =A5 by shooting dead four students.

Aer the shooting stopped, Iheard screams andturned andsaw a guy kneeling holding a girls head to his hands. eguywas geing hysterical,crying, yelling,shouting, osefucking pigs, they shot you. A Kent State student aer the shootings.

e system had got in first. What Rubin hadnt accounted for, althoughpast history should have been a lesson to him, was that parents wouldbe prepared to kill their children rather than accept change.

Mother: Anyone who appears on the streets of a city likeKent with long hair, dirty clothes or barefooted deserves tobe shot.

Qestion: Is long hair a justification for shooting some-one?


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Mother: Yes We have got to clean upthis nation,and wellstart with the long-hairs.

Qestion: Wouldyou permitone of yoursonsto be shotsimply because he went barefooted?

Mother: Yes.

A motherspeaks aer the shootings atKent. e days of flowerpowerwere over; the piggies were out grazing in the meadows

Im very proud tobecalle d a pig. It stands for pride, integrityand guts.Ronald Reagan

By the end of the sixties, throughout the western world, the peoplehad returned to the streets. e dream was cross-fading with the night-mare. In France, the governmentwas almostoverthrown byanarchiststudents; in Holland, the Provos made a laughing stock of conventionalpolitics; in Germany Baader-Meinhof revenged itself on a state still runbyageing Nazis; in America,peace became a bigger issuethan war; inNorthernIreland, the Catholics demonstratedin demandforcivil rights;

in England,colleges and universities wereoccupied,embassies stormed.People everywhere were calling for a life without fear, a world withoutwarand were demanding a freedomfromthe authorities whofor yearsthey had dismissed as almost non-existent. e system, for far too long,had haditall its own way. Amongst the peoplethemselves,however,along standing animositywas becoming evident =A5 the conflictinginterests of anarchism and socialism.

Disagreements aside, the movement for change continued. Anarchist,

socialist, activist,pacifist, working class, middle class, black, whiteone thing at least united them all, a common cause, a universal factor, ashared flag good old rockn roll

Inthelate sixties,Woodstockin America,and Glastonbury in Britain,created a tradition in rock music that has now become part of our wayof life the free festival. Free music, free space, free mind; at least that,like once upon a time, is how the fairy story goes.


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Manyof the clashes betweenthe authorities andtheyouth movementinthelate sixties and earlyseventies were,broadlyspeaking,ofa polit-icalnature, leistplatformsforsocialdiscontent, rather than anarchicdemands by individuals for the right to live their own lives e free

festivals were anarchist celebrations of freedom, as opposed to socialistdemonstrations againstoppression and,as such,presentedthe author-ities with a new problem how do you stop people havingfun? eiranswer was predictable stamp on them.

Windsor Park is one of Her Majestys many back-gardens and whenthe hippies decided that it was an ideal site for a free festival,she was notamused. e first Windsor Free had been a reasonably quiet affair andthe authorities had kepta low profile. Next year things were different

and the Qeens unwanted guests were forcibly removed by the policeandtheroyalcorgis were,no doubt,suitably relieved, free once moretowander undisturbed.At thefront of the clashingforcesthat year,dressedvariously in nothing,ora pairof fadedjeans and a brightlyembroideredshirt emblazoned with the simple message Hope, was one Phil Russell.He danced amongst therows ofpolice asking, Whatkind ofgentlemenareyou?,ormocking, Whatkind and gentle menyou are. e boysin blue were probably men, but they were neither kind nor gentle. Phil

came away from Windsordisturbed;he hatedviolence and was sickenedby what he had seen. Love? Peace? Hope? It was shortly aer this thatwe first met.

Formany years we had beenrunning an open house,we had spaceandfeltwe should shareit. We had wanted a place where people couldget together to work and Live in a creative atmosphere rather than thestifling, inwardlookingfamilyenvironmentsin which we had allbeenbrought up. It was inevitable that someone Like Phil would eventually

pass our wayPhilHope was a smiling,bronzed,hippywarrior. His eyes werethecolourof the blue skiesthathe loved,his neatlycuthairwas the goldof the sunthathe worshipped He was proud and upright,anarchisticand wild,pensive and poetic. Hisideas were a strange mixture of thethinkings of the people whom he admired and amongstwhom he hadlived. e dancing Arabse peasantCypriotse noblelasai e silentand sad North AmericanIndiansforwhom hefelta realcloseness of


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spirit. Philhadtravelledthe world and had met fellowthinkersin everyplace that he had stopped, but always he returned to England. Perhapsit was his love of the mythical past, King Arthur and His Knights, thatbroughthim back,orperhaps hefeltas we do, that realchange can only

be effected in the place that you most understand home.Philcouldtalk andtalk andtalk. Halfofwhathe spoke ofseemedlike purefantasy, the otherhalf like pure poetry. He was gied with astrange kind of magic. One day in our garden, it was early summer, heconjured up a snowstorm, huge white flakes falling amongst the daisiesonthelawn. Another time he created a multi-rainbowed sky itwasas if he had cut up a rainbow and thrown the pieces into the air wherethey hung in strange random paerns. Looking back on it now it seems

unbelievable but, all the same, I can remember both occasions vividly.On our first meeting he described Windsor Free; we had alwaysavoided festivals, so our knowledge of them was very limited. Philoutlined the histories and then went on to detail his ideas for the future.He proceeded to unfold what was, to us, a ludicrous plan. He wanted toclaim back Stonehenge (a place that he regarded as sacred to the peopleand stolen by the government) and make it: a site for free festivals, freemusic, free spacefree mind;at least that, likehappilyeveraer, is how

the fairy story goes.It is sad that none of that freedom was evident when we aemptedto playat the Stonehenge Festival tenyearslater. Since Phils death, ithad been a dreamthatone daywe would play thefestivalas a kind ofmemorial to him. In1980we hadthe band andthe opportunity to doit.

Ourpresence atStonehenge aracted severalhundred punksto whomthefestivalscene was a novelty, they, inturn, aractedinterest fromvarious factions to whom punk was equally new. e atmosphere seemed

relaxed and as dusk fell, thousands of people gathered around the stagetolistentothe nights music.suddenly, forno apparent reason,a groupof bikers stormed the stage saying that they were not going to toleratepunks at eir festival. What followed was one of the most violent andfrightening experiences ofour lives.Bikers armed with boles,chainsand clubs, stalked around the site viciously aacking any punk thatthey set eyes on. ere was nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape to;allnight we aempted to protectourselves and other terrified punks


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fromtheirmindlessviolence. there were screams of terroras peoplewere dragged off into the darknessto be given lessons on peace andlove; itwas hopelesstryingto save anyone because, inthe blackness ofthe night, theywereimpossibletofind. Meanwhile, the predominantly

hippygathering, lost inthe soblurof theirstonedreality, remainedoblivious to our fate.Weekslatera hippynewsheetdefendedthe bikers,sayingthat they

were an anarchist group who had misunderstood our motives somemisunderstanding! Some anarchists!

IfPhilandthefirstStonehengefestivals were our first flirtations withreal hippy culture, this was probably our last.

Dream filled hippies were a phenomenon of the early seventies, lost

souls whose brains were governed more by dope and acid than by com-mon-sense. eywere generallya bore,waffling on abouthowthingsweregoingto be in aboutas realistic a wayas snow describing howit will survive the summers sun. For all his strange ideas, Phil seemeddifferent. Drugs, to him,were notsomethingtodrop outwith,butacommunion with a realityofcolourand hopethathe activelybroughtbackintothe world ofgreyness and despair. He used drugs carefullyand creatively, not for escape, but to help realise a means of escape.

In many respects we could neverhave been described as hippies. Aerthe usualsmallamountofexperimentation we hadrejectedthe use ofdrugs because we felt that they confused thought and generallyinterferedwith relationships rather than contributing to them.

We had opened up ourhouse atatime when manyothers were doingthe same. e so called commune movement was the natural result ofpeoplelike ourselves wishingto createlives ofco-operation,understand-ing and sharing. Individualhousingis one of the mostobvious causesfor

the desperate shortage ofhomes,communal livingis a practicalsolutiontothe problem. Ifwe couldlearnto share ourhomes,maybe we couldLearn to share our world and that is the first step towards a state ofsanity.

e house has neverbeen somewhere where peopledrop out,wewanted somewhere where people coulddropinandrealisethatgiventheir own time and space they could create their own purposes andreasons and,most importantly, theirown lives. We wantedto offera


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place where people could be somethingthat the system neverallowsthemto bethemselves. In many respects we were closer to anarchisttraditions than to hippy ones but, inevitably, there was an interaction.

We shared Phils disgustwith straightsociety,a society thatputs

morevalue on property than on people, that respects wealth morethanitdoes wisdom. We supported hisvision ofa world wherethe peopletookbackfromthe state what the state had stolenfromthe people. Squaingas a politicalstatementhasitsrootsinthatwayof thought. Whyshouldwe have to pay for what is rightfully ours? Whose world is this?

Maybe squaing Stonehenge wasntsuch a badidea. Philkeptcomingbacktothe house with new plans. His enthusiasm wasinfectious andfinally we agreed to help him organise the first Stonehenge Festival,

Summer Solstice, June 74.

en called KingArtherwithloudvoiceWhere here beforeU5 the heathen hound who slew our ancestors now marchwetothem. . .and when we cometothem myself foremostof all the fight I will begin.Brut Layamon

By the beginning of 1974 we had printed thousands of hand-outs andposters for the festival and Phil had sent out hundreds of invitations tosuch varied celebrities as the Pope, the Duke of Edinburgh, e Beatles,the British Airways airhostesses andthe Hippies ofKatmandu. Needlessto say,notmanyof theinvitees turned up onthe appointed date,butPhil was happy that a motley crew of a few hundred hippies had.

For nine weeks Philandthose who were prepared to brave the in-creasinglywetsummer,heldfortat the old stone monument,watchedin growing confusion by the old stone-faced monument keepers.

Wood-smoke drew into the damp night air, grey smoke against greystones. Leapingflamesilluminatedthe story-tellers who sat, rainbowsplashes in the plain landscape, telling tales of how it was that this firewas lit in this place, at this time, on our earth.

Our generation is the best mass movement in history experimenting with anythingin now search for love and


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peace. Knowledge kicksreligionlife butevenif it leads usto our death at least were all trying together Our temple issound wefightourbales with music drumslikethundercymbals like lighting banks ofelectronic equipment like

nuclear missiles ofsound.We have guitars insteadof tommy-gunsPhil Russell, 1974.

Rocknroll revolution,day in,dayout, thetalk wenton, therain camedown and if this year thered only been a baered old cassee player topump out the sounds, next year theyd do beer.

Eventually, the Departmentof the Environment,keepers of the oldstone-faced monument keepers, served the Wallies of Stonehenge no-tice to withdraw from government property. e various inhabitants oftheforthad agreedthat,shouldthe authoritiesintervene, theywouldanswer only to the name of Wally; the name originated from a lost dog,much sought aer at the Isle of Wight Festival of many years back. eludicrous summonses againstPhilWally,Sid Wally,Chris Wallyetc. didmuchto set the scenefor the absurdtrial that followedinLondons HighCourts.

Government enquiries are frequently used to lead the public intothinking that something positive is being done about situations wherethe system has been seen to step out of line. ese token gestures allowthe authorities to commit atrocious crimes against the people whilesuffering no real fear of reprisal e tactic has been employed in casesof military and police violations in Belfast, Brixton etc.; environmentalviolations such as deadly radiation leaks from power stations like Windscale in Cumbria; compulsory purchase orders, official the, on land formotor ways, airportsandmorenuclear plants, all ofwhich are more likelyto be a partofgovernmentplansfor the eventofnuclearwar thanto befor the convenience of the public;other mistakessuch as corruption bygovernmentofficials, the maltreatmentof inmatesin prisons and mentalhomes, violence by teachersin schools,whenever, infact, the authoritiesneed a cover-up for their activities.

osein governmentare perfectlyawarethat theyandthe authoritiesto whom they have been given power, daily commit crimes against the


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public andyet,unlesstheyare exposed by thatsame public,whorightlymight fear for their own well-being, nothing is done.

In cases where the public do become aware of inexcusable behaviourby the authorities, the government sets up its own enquiry to investigate

the issue. Something appears to be happening and the gullible, silent,violentmajorityare satisfiedthat justice has been done. e crudefacthowever, is that the government will have done nothing at all except tohave produced and printed a few White Papers that hardly anyone willread and no one will take any notice of. Meanwhile the official crimescontinue, unhindered.

Wally Hope came away from Windsor bruised and depressed. Onceagain he had danced amongst the boys in blue in a vain aempt to calm

them with his humourand his lovehe had been beaten up for hisefforts.Isawthe police dragging awaya young boypunching and kicking

himI saw a pregnantwoman being kickedinthe bellyand alile boybeing punchedintheface. An aroundthe police werejust layingintopeople. Iwent to one policeman who hadjustknocked outa womansteeth and asked him whyhed doneithetold metofuck offor Id get thesame. LateronIdid. FleetStreet lovedit, there hadntbeen anysuitably

unpleasantmurders, rapes,wars or naturaldisasters,sothe Wallies,withtheir leaderPhilWallyHope,becamethis weeksdisposablestars.e grinning heroes appeared daily inthe pages of the papers, flashingpeace-signs and preachingthe powerof love,next tothatdaystitsnbums an old message in a new seing.

Having lost the case and been ordered to immediately vacate theland, Wally Hope jubilantly le the courtroom to face waiting reportersannouncing, We have won,we have won Everybody loves us,we have

won,Everybodywas, ifnot inlove with,certainlyconfused byWallyand his disposable statement. All the same, fora dayor two, the Wallieshad been good copy. In a way theyhad won, theyhad moved on,buttheres always a next year and a tradition had been born. In a way theyhad won, but the system doesnt like being made a fool of; the traditionhas now become one of the only yearlymajor freefestivals. So, in a waytheyhad won, butWallyHope had pushed athorninthe side of thesystem and the system wasnt going to let him get away with it again.


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From Stonehenge the retreating Wallies moved to Windsor. is yearthe festival had aracted the biggest gathering ever. Tens of thousands ofpeople had come to ensure that Her Royal Majesty remained unamusedand she, in turn, was waiting in the guise of a massive police presence.

Tension between the two factions existed from the start and eventuallythings exploded when the police staged a vicious early morning aack onthe sleeping festival goers. Hundreds of people were hurt as the policerandomlyand brutally laidinto anyone unluckyenoughto beintheirway. People were draggedfromtheir tentsto betreatedto a breakfastofbootand abuse. Protesting hippies were pulled away to waiting BlackMarias to be insulted, intimidated, beaten up and charged.

e media pretended to be shocked and the government ordered a

public enquiry, neither of which did much to improve the condition ofthe hundreds of injured people.WallyHope,aer the partywas over. Bitbybit,we werelearning.

e days of flower-powerwere over, the pigs were outgrazinginthemeadows. Ourparents,at least theirpublic servants,are our firstop-pressors. e daisies w. . .being eaten. e nightmare was becomingreality.

Wheretodayarethe manypowerful tribes ofourpeople?ey have vanished before the greed and oppression or theWhite Man, as snow before the summers sun,Indian Chief.

ings dontseemto change much. We should have known. Bitbybit, we were learning.

Inthe winterof that yearWallystarted work onthe second Stone-henge Festival; posters, hand-outs, invites. is time round he had thequestionable success of thefirst festival to point to,sothejob was easier.Word ofmouth has always been a powerful toolof the underground andalready people were talking about what they would do to make it work.

Wallyspentmuch of thefirst two months of 75handing out leafletsinand around London. Dressed in his combat uniform, a bizarre mixtureofmiddle-eastern armygearand Scoishtartans and driving hisrainbowstriped car complete with a full sized Indian tepee,a large multipoled tent,


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strappedtotheroof,he was a noticeable and colourfulsight,a sight thatthose greyer than himself, in appearance and thought, would certainlynothave missed. In May,heleourhouseforCornwall;we had doneall that we could to prepare for the festival and Wally wanted to rest up

in his tepee until it began. e day of his departure was brilliantly hot;we sat inthe garden drinkingtea as Wally, glorifyingthe golden sun,serenaded us andit, with a wild performance on histribaldrums. Hewas healthy, happy and confident that this time round hed win again.

As the rainbow coloured car drew away from our house, Wally leantthrough its window andletoutan enormous shout,somethingin be-tween an Indian warcry and the words freedom and peace, he was toofar away to be properly heard. e next time that we saw him, about a

monthlater,he hadlosta stonein weight,his skin was white and un-pleasantlypuffy,he wasfail,nervous and almost incapable ofspeech Hesatwith his head hung on his chest,histongueran across hislips asif itwere searching out thefaceto whichithad once belonged. Histear filledeyes had sunk,dulland dead, into his skull like some strange Halloweenmask. His hands shook constantly inthe way thatold mens do on acold winters day. e sun which he worshipped had darkenedforhim,he was unable to bear its light or its heat. Every so oen he would take

pained, involuntary glances around the walled garden in which we sat.Occasionally our eyes would follow his and always they were met withothermore sinistereyes watching us from acrossthe perfect lines ofthe neatlycutgreenlawns. WallyHope was a prisoner in one ofHerMajestys Psychiatric Hospitals,a man with nofuture but theirs. istime round he was not winning

A couple ofdays aer Wally had le us he had been arrested forpossession of three acidtablets. e police had mounted araid onthe

house atwhich he had stopped for the nightclaimingthat theywerelooking for an army deserter. It just so happened that while they werelooking for the deserter they decided, for no reason at all, to look throughWallys coatpocket. Ofcoursetheyhadntnoticedtherainbow colouredcarparked outside,norweretheyaware of thefact that the ownerof thatcoatwasthelaughing hippyanarchistwho had made such an arsehole ofthe courts onlyayearbefore,or thathe wasthe same colourfulcharacterthathad been handing out leaflets aboutStonehenge 2inthe streets of


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Londonjustafew days ago. e police dontnoticethingslikethat; theirjob, aer all, is to catch fictitious army deserters.

Whereas most people would have been given a large waggle fromthetrigger-fingerand a small fine,Wallywas refused bailand kept in

prison on remand. He was refused the use of the phone or of leerwriting materials, so he had no way of leing people or the outsideknow what had happened to him. e people from the house in whichhe was arrested did nothingto help, presumablybecausethey fearedsimilar treatmentby the authorities. He was alone and hopelessly ill-equipped for what was going to happen to him.

Aer severaldaysin jail, he appeared on parade wearing pyjamasclaimingthat the prison clothing,which he was obligedto wear,was

giving him rashes.Rather than suggesting the simple remedy ofallowinghimto wearhis own clothes, the warden,clearlyan expert in medicalmaers,senthimto seethe prison doctorwho, in hisinfinite wisdom,had no trouble at all in diagnosing the problem as schizophrenia.

Just because they say that youre paranoid, it doesnt meanthat youre not being followed.Unknown hippy wit.

Sincethe beginning of time,mental illness has been a powerfulpo-litical weapon against those seeking, or operating, social change. A lotof the definitions of madness are bogus inventions by which those inauthority are ableto dismissthose who dareto questiontheir reality.Terms like schizophrenia, neurotic and paranoid, mean lile more thanwhat any particular, or not so particular, individual chooses them tomean. ere are no physicalproofsforanyof theseconditions; the def-initionsvary from psychiatrist to psychiatristand depending on whichis considered undesirable orsubversive,aretotallydifferent from onecountry to another. Because of these differentstandards, the chancesofbeing diagnosed schizophrenicin America arefarhigher thantheyare in Britain and this led one psychiatrist to suggest that the best cureformanyAmerican mentalpatients would beto catch a flight to Britain.elabelof mental illness is a method ofdealing withindividuals, from


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unwanted relatives to social critics, who, through not accepting the con-ditionsthatareimposed uponthem byoutsiders,are seen asnuisancesand trouble makers.

e works ofpsychologists, notablyFreud, Jung, andthe schoolof

perverts whofollowtheir teachings,have,by isolatingstates ofmindand defining some of them asstates ofmadness,excluded allsorts ofpossible developmentsin the way in which we see, or could see, ourreality.Byallowing peopletolearnfromthe experience of theirso calledmadness, rather than punishing them for it,new radical ways of thoughtcould berealised,new perspectives created and new horizonsreached.How else hasthe human mind grown and developed? Nearlyall themajoradvancesin societyhave been made bypeople who are criticised,

ridiculed,and oen punishedintheirowntime,only to be celebrated asgreat thinkers years aer their deaths. As mental and physical healthbecomesincreasinglycontrolable with drugs and surgery,we come evencloser to a world ofhacked about and chemicallyprocessed Mr. andMrs. Normals whose onlypurposeinlife with beto mindlesslyservethesystem;progress willcease andthe mind-fuckers willhave wontheirbale against the human spirit.

Oncelabelledmad,a patientmaybe subjectedto a wholerange of

hideous tortures politely referred to by e Notional Health Service ascures. ey are bound up in belts and harnesses, strait jackets, so thattheirbodies becomes bruised andtheirspirits beaten. eyarelockedupin silentpadded cells sothat the sound of theirown heartbeatandthe smellof theirown shitbreaksthem downinto passive animals. eyareforcedtotake drugsthatmakethemintorobot-like zombies. Onecommon side effectof longtermtreatmentwiththese drugsis severeswelling of thetongue; the onlyeffective cureis surgical thetongueis

cutout whatbeerway to silencethe prophet? eyare given electricshocksinthe headthatcause disorientation andloss ofmemory. ECT,electro-compulsive therapy, is an idea adopted from the slaughterhousewhere,before havingtheir throats cutopen,pigs are stunned with anidentical form of treatment ECT is a primitiveform ofpunishmentthatowes moretothetraditions of the witch huntersthanitdoestothetradition of science. e ultimate cure, tour de force of the psychiatricprofession, is lobotomy. Victims of this obscene practical joke have


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knives stuckintotheirheadsthatarerandomlywaggled aboutsothatpart of the brain is reduced to mince-meat.

Surgeons performing thisoperationhave n o precise idea what they aredoing; the brain is an incredibly delicate object about which very lile

is known, yet these butchers feel qualified to poke knives into peoplesheadsinthe belief that theyare performingscientific services. Patientswho are giventhistreatment frequentlydiefromit; those who dontcan never hope to recover from the state of mindlessness that has beendeliberately imposed upon them.

Disgusting experiments are daily performed on both animals and hu-mans in the name of medical advance; there is no way of telling whathorrific newforms of treatmentare at this momentbeing devisedfor

us in the thousands of laboratories throughout the country. In NaziGermany, theinmates of the death camps were used bydrug companiesasguinea-pigs fornew products. Nowadaysthe companies,some ofwhich aretheverysame ones,use prisonersinjails and hospitalsfor thesame purposes.

Mental patients are constantly subjected to the ignorance of both thestate andthe generalpublic and,as such,are perhapsthe mostoppressedpeopleinthe world. In everysociety there arethousands uponthou-

sands ofpeoplelocked away in asylumsfordoing nothing morethanquestionimposedvalues;dissidents dismissed by thelabelofmadnessand silenced, oen for ever, by the cure.

Wally was prescribed massive doses of a drug called Largactil whichhe was physicallyand oenviolently forcedtotake. DrugslikeLargactilare widely used not only in mental hospitals, but also in jails whereofficially theiruseis notpermied. e prison doctorstreatment forschizophrenia reduced Wally to a state of helplessness and by the time

he was dragged into the courts again he was so physically and mentallybound upin a druginduced strait jacket thathe wastotally incapableofunderstanding whatwas going on, letalone ofoffering anykind ofdefence for himself.

Whenfinallywe did hear from Wally, an almost incomprehensibleleer that looked asif it had been wrien byafiveyearold child,hehad beentakenfromthejail,herdedthroughthe courts where he was


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sectionedunder the MentalHealth Actof 1959,and commied, foranindefinite time, to a mental hospital

Sectioning, compulsory hospitalisation, is a method by which the au-thorities canimprison anyone whotwo doctors are preparedto diagnose

asmad. It is notdifficult,naturally, tofind willing doctors,since prisonhospitals are riddled with dangerous hacks who, having sunk to theboom of their profession, are willing to oblige.

Once sectioned, the patient loses all normalhumanrights,can betreatedin anyway that the doctors seefitand,because appealagainstthe courtdecisionis almost impossible,stands no chance of release untilcertified cured by those same doctors.

Recently Britain was forced by the European Court of Human Rights

to allow patients, prisoners, the right to appeal against compulsory hos-pitalisation.Althoughthis mightappear to be animprovementon whatexisted in Wallys time, patients still have to wait six months before theappeal will be heard, by which time, like Wally, they are liable to be soincapacitated by the treatment that they have received, that the appealprocedure would be impossible for them to handle.

Sectioning enables the state to take anyoneoff the streets and imprisonthem, indefinitely,withoutanycrime having been commied; it enables

the state, within he leer of the law, to torture and maim prisoners andsuffer no fear of exposure.Compulsory hospitalisation is the ultimate weapon of our oppressive

state, a grim reminder of the lengths to which the system will go to con-trol the individual Whereas the bomb is a communal threat, sectioningviolates concepts of human rights in its direct threat to the freedom ofpersonal thought and action.

When we heard ofWallys fate,we wereconvinced that the experience

would destroy him; some of us indeed, were convinced that the author-ities intended to destroy him. Inevitably, we were assured by liberalacquaintancesthatwe werejustbeing paranoid about theintentions ofthe state; those same liberals say the same about any of the horrors ofmodern technological society, from the bomb to computer systems, thattheyare afraidto confrontwithinthatsocietyandthemselves. Paranoidor not, we made efforts, firstly legally, then, illegally, to secure Wallysrelease. All of our aempts failed.


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We spent days on the phone contacting people whom we thoughtmight be ableto help or advise us. e most useful and compassion-ate help came from organisations like Release and BIT,undergroundgroups, some of which still operate today helping people over all sorts

ofproblems, from housingto arrest. Critics of thehippygenerationwould do well toremember that the majorityofsuch organisations,plusalternative bookshops,printing presses, food shops,cafes,gigvenuesetc., are still run, for the benefit ofus all,by those same hippies; oldmaybe but,because of the enormous efforts manyof them have madeto give hope a chance, not boring.

We found that appeal was as good as impossible and realised, in anycase, that to follow normal procedures could take months and by then

wethought itwould betoolate. We employed alawyer to acton Wallysbehalf, but the hospital made it impossible for him to contact Wally;leers never got through and telephone calls proved pointless. epatient was always resting and messages were incorrectly relayed tohim.

When we aempted to visit Wally in hospital we were informed thatno one but his close relatives could see him. His father had died and hismotherand sister,neitherofwhom would have anythingto do with him,

were abroad. Gambling onthe chancethat the staffknewlile abouthisfamilybackground,one ofus,posing as Wallys sister, finallygainedaccess to the hospital e aim of the visit, apart from simply wanting tosee Wally,was to plan a means Orkidnapping him sothat Itcould betaken somewhere where he could recover from his ordeal

On our second visit, two of us were able to see him without arousingsuspicion. We had hopedtofinalisethe kidnap plan,butwefound himin such a bad state that we decided it could be damaging to him to have

to deal with the kind of movements we had planned.What none of us realised at the time, was that his condition was thedirect result of the treatment that he was being given rather than thesymptomsofmental illness. e sad shuffling half-peoplethatcan beseenthroughtherailings ofanymentalhospitalarelikethatnotbecauseof theillnessthat theysupposedlyhave,butbecause of the curesthattheyare being subjectedto. e socialstereotype of the grey-raincoatedloony is a tasteless twist more worthy ofa B movie than a civilised


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society. e stereotype is onethat isforced,surgicallyorchemically,byan uncaring system,ontothepatientwhosemoronic andlifelessappearance is used,by thatsame system, toprove the patientsillness.

Since his admissioninto hospital,Wallyhad beenreceiving pillsto

cure his illness and injections to counter-act the side effects of thepills. Naturally, he had been slipping the pills under his tongue andspiingthem out later. einjections were unavoidable, the hospitalnurses were mostlymale and considerablystronger than Wally,so politerefusals werentmuch use,but in anycase,astheywereto curethe side-effects, theydidnt reallymaer. Whatneitherhe norwe knew wasthatthe hospitalstaffhad deliberately liedto him aboutwhich medicinewaswhich. e result was that the injections, of a drug called Modecate, of

which he was receiving doses massively above those recommended bythe manufacturers,were creatingincreasinglyserious side effectsthatwere not being treated. It should have been obvious to the staff thatsomething was going amiss, they must have realised that Wallywasgobbing out the pills,but that,aerall,was partof their cure he wasbeing made into a mindless moron.

Meanwhile, Stonehenge 2 took place. is year thousands of peopleturned up andforover two weeksthe authorities were unableto stopthe

festivities. Wood-fires, tents and tepees, free food stalls,stages and bands,music and magic. Flagsflew and kites soared. Naked children playedin the woodlands, miniature Robin Hoods celebrating their materialpoverty Dogs formed woofing packs that excitedly stole sticks fromtheinnumerable wood piles andthen scrapped over themintumbling,rolling bundles of fur. Two gentle horses weretetheredto atree andsilentlywatchedthefestivitiesthroughthe dappledLight thatdancedacrosstheirbodies Old bearded men squaed ontree stumps muering

prayerstotheirpersonalgods. Smallgroups ofpeopletended puffingfires upon which saucepans bubbled and bread baked, the many richsmells blending across the warm air. Parties of muscular people set outin search ofwood and wateraccompanied always byaline of laughing,mimicking children. Everywherethere was singing and dancing. Indianflutes wove strange paerns ofsound aroundthe everpresentbird song.e beat of drums echoed the hollow thud of axe on wood. Old friendsmet new, hands touched, bodies entwined, minds expanded and, in one


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tinyspot on ourearth, love and peace had become a reality. Just tenmiles down the road, Wally Hope, the man whose vision and hard workhad made that reality possible, was being pumped full of poisons in thedarkness of a hospital cell.

A couple of days aer the last person had le the festival site. Wallywas, without warning, set free. e great- I..en hau lept the smiling,bronzed, hippy warrior from his festival and now, having effected theircure, ejected a nervous gibbering wreck onto their grey streets.

It took Wally two days to drive hisrainbow coloured car fromthehospital to our home. Seventy miles in two days, two days of terror.Hefound himself incapable ofdrivingforany length of time and hadto stopforhours on endtoregain his confidence. No one knew ofhis

release and,maybetorestore some kind ofdignity forhimself,he wasdetermined to do it alone. When he finally arrived at our house he wasin worse condition than when we had seen him at the hospital; he wasbarelyableto walk and eventhe mostsimple of tasks wasimpossiblefor him. It is hardto believe that he was able to drive those seventymiles atall is pale shadow of the person who we had once known nowfound it agony to sit in the sun, his face and hands would swell up intoa distorted messe sunthathe worshipped was now alldarknessfor

him. Atnighthe wouldlay in his bed and cry;quiet,desperate sobsthatwould go on untildawn,when he wouldfinallygoto sleep. Nothingseemedto help his pathetic condition. Wetriedtoteach himto walkproperly again, but he was unable to co-ordinate and his le arm wouldswing forward with his le leg, his right with his right. Sometimes wewere abletolaugh about it,but thelaughteralways gave way totears.We couldnt understand and we were afraid.

Finally, in desperation, we got Wally to a doctor friend who diag-

nosed his condition as being chronic dyskinesia, a disease broughtabout through overdoses ofModecate and similardrugs. Wallyhad beenmade into a cabbage and worse, an incurable one.

Bitbybit therealisationthathe was doomedtolivein a half-world ofdruginducedidiocymadeits way into whatwasleofWallys brain. Onthethird ofSeptember 1975,unabletoface anotherday,perhaps hopingthatdeath mightoffermoreto himthan whatwasle inlife,WallyHope


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overdosed on sleeping pills and choked to death on the vomit that theyinduced.

Intherelativelyshort timethatwe have onthis earth we probablyhave contact with thousands of people with whom we share lile more

than halfsmiles and polite conversation.We arelucky ifamongst thosethousands of faces one actuallyresponds to u s with more thanpredictableformalities. Real friends are rare, true understanding between people isdifficult to achieve and when it is achieved it is the most precious of allhuman experiences.

Ihave beenlucky inthat Iam partofa group ofpeople whoI regard asfriends and with whom I can share a sense of reality and work towardsa shared vision of the future. I have met many people whose only aim,

because of their own cynicism and lack ofpurpose, appears to be topreventpeoplelike ourselvesfrom expressing ourown sense ofourownlife; I see peoplelikethatasthe dark shadowsthathave made ourworldso colourless.

Wally was a genius, I cant pretend to have completely liked him, hewas far too demanding to be liked, but I did love him. He was the mostcolourful character that I have ever met, a person who had a deep senseofdestiny and no fear whatsoever in pursuing it. If friends are rare,

peoplelike Wallyarevery very rareindeed. IdontsupposeIshallevermeetsomeonelike him again;he was a magical,mystical, visionarywhodemonstrated moreto me about the meaning of lifethan all the greynobodiesthathave everexisted could everhopeto do. Wallywas anindividual,pure energy,a greatbig silver light thatshoneinthe darkness,who because he was kind,gentle andloving,was seen,by those greypeople, as a threat, a threat that they felt should be destroyed.

Wallywas notmad,nota crazy,nota nut,he was a human being who

didntwant to haveto accept the greyworldthatwe aretoldis allweshould expect inLife. He wanted more and setout to get it. He didntsee whywe should havetolive as enemiesto each other. He believedas do many anarchists, that people are basically kind and good and thatit istherestrictions andLimitationsthatareforced uponthem,oenviolently, by uncaring systems, that creates evil


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What evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst.Phil Russell 1974.

WallyHope had boththe strength andthe courage ofhis own con-victions,but like ourselves had been hopelessly ill-informed about theworkings of the state. He demandedtheright tolive his ownlife andwas metwith savageresistance.He was killed bya systemthatbelievesthat it knows best. It is that system and hundreds Like it, that oppressmillions ofpeoplethroughout the world. Le-wing oppressionin Poland,or right-wing oppression in Northern Ireland, whats the difference?

e prisons and mental hospitals of the world are full of people whodid nothing but to disagree with the accepted norms of the stateinwhich they lived. Russian dissidents are American heroes, Americandissidents are Russian heroes; the kele simplygets blacker. To defeatthe oppressor,we must learnits ways,otherwise we are doomed, likeWally, to be silenced by its fist.

Wallysoughtpeace and creativityas an alternativeto warand destruc-tion. He was an anarchist, a pacifist and, above all, an individualist, butbecause of the times in which he naively lived, and innocently died, hewas labelled a hippy.

Inthe coroners court, the police officer responsiblefor investigatingWallys death dismissed him in one sarcastic sentence, He thought hewasJesus Christ,didntheWallycertainlydid not think ofhimself inthat light, but judging by the way in which the state dealt with him,theydid. e sameinspectorclaimedto havethoroughly interviewedeveryone who had had contactwith Wally fromthetime ofhis arrest tothe time of his death.Although we had twice visited Wally in hospitaland he hadlaterstayed with usforaroundtwo weeks, this guardianof thelaw had notonce beenintouch with us. efew witnessesthatwere called had obviouslybeen carefullyselectedtotoethe official line.Amongst them was one of the doctors who had been responsible forWallys treatment. roughout his statement hetoldlie aer lie andthen, rather than being subjectedtothe possible embarrassmentofcross-examination,wasreminded by the coroner thathe mustntmiss histrainnod nod, wink wink.


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e courtpassed averdictofsuicide with noreference atall totheappalling treatment that had been the direct cause of it. We loudlyprotested from the back of the courtroom the grey men simply met ourobjections with mocking smiles.

Wallys death and the deceitfulway in which the authorities dealtwithit, led usto spendthe next yearmaking ourowninvestigationsintoexactlywhathad happened since heleusthathotday in May. Ourenquiries convinced usthat whathad happened was not an accident.e state hadintendedto destroyWallys spirit, ifnothislife,becausehe was athreat, afearlessthreatwho theyhopedtheycould destroywithout much risk of embarrassment.

e story was a nightmare web of deception, corruption and cruelty.

Wallyhad beentreated with complete contemptby the police who ar-rested him, the courtsthatsentenced him andthe prison and hospitalthatheld him prisoner. Ourenquiriesled usfar from Wallys case;as wetriedto get tothetruth ofanyone situation,we would be presented withinnumerable newleads and directionstofollow.We gotdrawn deeperand deeper into a world of lies, violence,greed andfear. None ofus werepreparedforwhatwe discovered, the world startedtofeel like averysmall, dark place.

Wefound evidence ofmurdercover-ups,ofpolice and ganglandtie-ups,ofwrongfularrestandimprisonmentontrumped up charges andfalse evidence. Welearntof the horrific abuse,both physicaland mental,of prisoners in jails and mental; hospitals, doctors who knowingly pre-scribed whatamountedto poison,who were unableto seethe bruisesinflicted, by courtesy ofHer Majestys officials, on an inmates bodywardens andinterrogating police arerequestedto punch belowthe head,wherethe bruises wontbe seen by visitingrelatives. Welearntofwar-

dens who, to whilethe dayaway,set inmates againsteach otheranddidgoodturns inreturnformaterial,and sexual favours. Welearntof nurses in mental hospitals who deliberately administered the wrongdrugs to patients just to see what happened;who, for kicks, tiedpatientstotheirbeds andthentormentedthem. e official line, that the purposeof prisons is reform and of mental hospitals is cure, is total deception the purpose is punishment; crude, cruel and simple punishment.


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Beyond the world of police, courts, jails and asylums, we were facedwith the perhaps even more sickening outside world. Within this world,respectable people, smart and secure, work, day in, day out, to maintainthelie. eyknow about the abuse and cruelty, theyknow about the

dishonesty and corruption, they know about the complete falsity ofthereality in whichthey live,but theydarent turn against itbecause,having invested so much of their lives in it, they would be turning againstthemselves, so they remain silent the silent, violent, majority.

Beneaththe glossysurfaces ofneatlycombed hairand straightenednylons,ofpolished cars and sponged-down cookers,ofpub on Fridayand occasional church on Sunday, ofwell planned family and beerplanned future, of wealth and security, of power and glory, are the real

fascists. ey know, but they remain silent.

First theycamefor theJews andIdid notspeak outbecauseIwas notaJew. entheycamefor the communists andIdid notspeak out becauseIwas nota communist. entheycamefor thetrade UnionistsandIdid notspeak outbecauseI was nota trade unionist. entheycameforme and there was no one le to speak out for me.Pastor Niemoeller, victim of the Nazis.

ey remain silent when the windows of the house across the streetare smashed in, thewalls daubed with racist abuse.Silent when they hearthe footsteps at night and the beating of doors and the sobbing of thoseinside. Now,perhaps,a whisper, the quietestwhisper, eyreJewsyouknow or Catholics, West Indians, Pakistanis, Indians, Arabs, Chinese,Irish, Gypsies, gays, cripples, or any minority group, in any society,anywhere theyonlywhisper itonce beforethe warmth of the duck-down continentalquiltsoothes away theiralmostaccidentalguilt. Silentagain as they hear them led away into the darkness. Silent, as throughthe cold mist of morning, they hear the caletrucks roll by. And whenthey hear of the death-pits, of the racks, of the ovens, of the thousandsdead and thousands dying they remain silent. Because security istheirgod and complianceis his mistress, they remain silent. Againstall the evidence, against all that they know, they remain silent, because


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convention decrees that they should. Silence, security, compliance andconvention the roots of fascism. eir silence is their part in theviolence,a huge and powerful,silent voice ofapproval thevoice offascism.

It is not the NationalFrontor the British Movement that representsthe right-wing threat; they, like the dinosaur, are all body and no brainand because of that will become extinct. It is the general public in theirwillingness to bow down to authority, who pose the real fascist threat.Fascismis as muchinthe hearts of the people asinthe minds of theirpotential leaders.

e voices ofsilence, at times, made our investigations almost im-possible. e respectable majority were too concerned about their own

security to want torisk upseingthe authorities by telling us what theyknew. ey did know and we knew that they knew, but it made nodifference they remained silent.

Fromthe enormousfile ofdocumentationthatourenquiries produced,we compiled alengthybook onthelife and death ofWallyHope.Duringthe enquiries we hadreceived death-threatsfromvarious sources andwerevisited several times by the police wholetus knowthat theyknewwhat we knew and that they wanted us. . .to remain silent.

We felt alone and vulnerable. Finally our nerve gave out and one fineSpring morning, one and a half years aer Wallys death, we threw thebook and almost all the documentation onto a bonfire and watched theflames leap into the perfect blue sky. Phil Russel was dead.

As nearlyall the documentationthatwe had on Philwas burnt, thisarticle has been wrienlargely from memoryAs aresult,some of thefine details exact periods of time etc., may be slightly incorrect. e restof the story is both true and accurate.

roughout the hippyera we had championed the cause ofpeace,some ofus had been onthefirstCND marches and,with sadness,hadwatched the movement being eroded by political greed. roughoutthedrop outand cop outperiod we hung onto the belief that realchange can only come about through personal example, because of thiswerejected much ofhippyculture,notably the emphasis on drugs,asbeing nothing but escapism. I t is sad that many punks appear to beresortingtothe same means ofescape whileintheirblind hypocrisy


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theyaccuse hippies ofneverhavinggot it together neitherwill thesenew prophets of the pipe dream.

We had hopedthat through a practicaldemonstration ofpeace andlove, we wouldbeable to paint the grey world innewcolours; it is strange

that it took a man called Hopethe only realhippywith whom we everdirectlybecame creatively involved, to show usthat thatparticular formofhope was a dream. e experiencesto which ourshort friendshipled made us realise that it was time to have a rethink about the way inwhich we should pursue our vision ofpeace. Wallys death showed usthatwe could notaffordtositbyandlet ithappen again. In part,hisdeath was our responsibilityand although we did everythingthatwecould. it was not enough.

Desireforchange hadto be coupled withthe desireto workfor it, if itwas worth opposingthe system, itwas worth opposingit totally. Itwasno longer good enough to take what we wanted and to reject the rest, itwastimeto getbackintothe streets and aack, to gotback and shareour experiences and learn from the experiences of others.

AyearaerWallys death, the PistolsreleasedAnarchy inthe UK,maybetheydidnt reallymeanitmaam,but to usitwas a bale cry.When Roen proclaimed that there was no future, we saw it as a chal-

lengeto ourcreativity we knewthat there was afutureifwe wereprepared to work for it.It is ourworld, it is ours andit has been stolenfrom us We setout to

demanditback,only thistimeroundtheydidntcallushippies, theycalled us punks.

Penny Rimbaud, London, jan/Mar., 82.


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The Anarchist Library

Anti-Copyright

March11,2011

Penny Rimbaude LastOf e Hippies An Hysterical Romance

1982

is was scanned in from a copy of this essay printed by DS4A, it originallyappeared in booklet that came with album Christ the Album by CRASS

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last of the hippies an hysterical romance a4

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