The interview starts badly.

I was just thinking we could go to Nero’s?

Nero’s… I mean, I know we aren’t super tight yet, but I thought it was obvious I’m a champagne socialist. I only drink my coffee if it’s been roasted, ground, and barista’d by some dungaree-slash-adjustable-corduroy-beanie-clad hipster.

“Oh no… Nero’s is full…” Sad meow.

I’ve only been to Manchester twice, and I already have a couple of favourite haunts – but then again, I’m just the right side of millennial to justify spending my imaginary house deposit on coffee.

I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Let’s rewind.

St Peter’s Square hosts a single table stall: Manchester Friends of Palestine, handing out flyers. I stop and have a chat before excusing myself to find a toilet. It’s been a long morning on trains, and I’m glad I’m early. Starbucks will do… Does pissing in a Starbucks without buying something break the boycott, or just add insult to injury? The Canary: here to tackle the big questions in society. [Insert finger guns emoji. Pew pew.]

The crowd has started to grow when I get back:

These Palestinian liberation marches have become a staple of life over the last few years, and Manchester is no different:

Except it kind of is – and that’s why I’ve come down today. Manchester is home to the Manchester Drummers 4 Palestine – a group of passionate individuals who have found a sense of shared community in the echo of reverberating drum skins. I’m here today linking up with several of the founding members.

It isn’t long before a steady crowd has turned up. Siren’s late, the trams aren’t running – even the local infrastructure knows that nothing left-wing starts on time.

Manchester marches again

I can’t see many drums yet, but I know what’s coming. I met the drummers in London last October for the national demo. I travelled down with a coachload of activists, and it was without a doubt one of the most awe-inspiring experiences of my life.

As I made my way through the procession, you could feel the tension building. If you haven’t been to a proper march with thousands of people standing alongside you, it’s something you really have to feel to understand. Every protest is different – they all have their own distinctive flavour – and as you move through the crowd, you find different pockets of energy.

By the time I rounded a corner and caught up with what was causing the commotion, I found myself trapped in this bubble of deafening noise. A band of absolute firebrands banging those skins, the sounds echoing in the narrow, tall streets. Wild shit:

Hundreds gathered

I think I got more photos of them than I did of the entire rest of the march. One of the things I love about photography is getting people their pictures back and I had a Google Drive link ready to go in short order. Since then, I’ve been following the guys on social media, and when I got the opportunity to come down and have a chat with them, I jumped at the chance.

These protests happen in Manchester every week. They set off from the front of the museum in St Peter’s, snake their way on various routes through the city, and make their way back to the museum.

Hundreds gathered this Saturday, filling the square as speeches echoed across the sheltered steps, while even more braved the persistent morning drizzle. It’s inspiring to see so many whose determination doesn’t waver in the wind or the rain.

The speakers chant, and the drums reply quietly in the background. Siren & co have landed, and they’ve assembled themselves, ready to slot in behind the banner leading the march through the streets, following the glistening tramlines:

Banging drums as an outlet for collective trauma

MD4P have been described as the heartbeat of the movement on numerous occasions, and it’s easy to see why. The drums bring an air of confidence to the rest of the protesters. You aren’t there alone; you can’t hear your own voice.

It strips away self-consciousness – you stop caring that people are standing on the side of the road, staring, gawping, sometimes laughing. It’s okay. They just aren’t ready to take that step off the curb and into the streets yet. And at one time, that could be said for everyone who has now taken that step.

When you’re in it, that’s all there is. You can’t help but be touched by it. Human beings have been banging drums for millennia. This is tribal. It’s in your bones.

It was poignant to end the march by returning to the beginning and finding a demo for Sudan, and it was heartening to see the leaders of the Palestine march immediately direct that energy toward the newly assembled group. Palestinian liberation is – and will always be linked to the wider fight for racial and social justice:

Buddies

Back to the important part… the coffee! I won. 200 Degrees slaps. I have to compromise on the clear lack of corduroy or dungarees; before we know it, I’ve been conned out of two coffees, a cup of tea, and a cheese toastie.

Disclaimer: me and Siren are buddies enough that I can tell she’s nervous. Me too.

“Oh dear… this feels very uhhh…”

“Oh yeah, this is going to be really awkward,” I laugh:

It’s gonna be awkward for me, awkward for you, and we can all just live together in this awkwardness and see where it goes… Because I met you guys a month and a half ago and yeah, how crazy that we’re sitting here now doing this… Let’s just start at the beginning.

A fledging movement

“Okay, so a year ago, MD4P was born…” It’s one of those awesome stories. Seven people who knew each other through a local samba class all decided that they wanted to do something to express themselves. Nothing big or fancy.

“We’re just self-funded,” Siren explains. “One person in the group got us a rehearsal space so we could make a sound and so we could work out what we wanted that sound to sound like…” After that came social media – WhatsApp and Instagram.

Shiba chips in:

The Instagram was actually great, because everyone had seen us at demos, so there was loads of footage to tag us in.

It’s our first time meeting, and I can tell she’s wary of me – sometimes I forget that I’m a stranger in these communities. A lot of these people have been doing the work for years, while simultaneously living the experience. It’s such a privileged position, in many senses of the word, to just rock up and be allowed into these spaces.

“I think when the Instagram formed, that’s when we thought we needed to expand,” The group started actively advertising for drummers and buying second-hand drums on Facebook Marketplace.

I’m curious – were any of them drummers beforehand? Nope. The seven founding members had never even touched a drum.

It’s truly remarkable, and it’s what I love about this story. Seven people have made this whole thing happen – it’s now literally spreading across the area:

Unassuming – yet spreading

“I’ve seen a few on socials since October – there’s a Liverpool branch, yeah?” I ask.

“There is a Liverpool one!” Robin says, grinning. She’s great fun to watch in the march — usually with the shadow of a laugh playing across her face – and despite her protestations, she’s one of the founding members too.

Initially, they were invited to Yorkshire to an event. The organisers liked them so much, they asked them to come back and run a workshop so they could learn. They copied the formula that worked for Manchester, and it helped them grow. Next came Blackburn. “And then Leicester – we went to Leicester as well,” Shiba adds warmly, beaming. “And then obviously people from London started reaching out…”

For the first time, there’s an element of doubt. “We aren’t quite sure how to go about that… it would be great, there’s just so many drummers…”

No limits in Manchester and beyond

I’m not convinced; having met these guys, I don’t think there’s any limit to how much they can grow this movement.

I’m really struck while talking to them how unassuming and grounded they are. When I suggest to them that this is impressive, there’s almost an air of confusion like this sort of thing is just normal. They don’t seem to realise what they bring to the protest. Their rhythm is the pulse of the march. It elevates everyone. The drums fill the silence that can echo in the background when you’re in between chants.

It’s a difficult environment if you’re not supremely confident. It’s always incredible listening to the people who lead the chants – that total air of zero-fucks-given would sell for big money if you could bottle it. That’s exactly what the drums give me. I wonder if they realise the impact they have.

“Where we are in the demo, in London, I imagine it’s very different being outside looking in,” Robin says thoughtfully.

“When I don’t drum, it always shocks me,” Shiba adds:

Because when you’re drumming, it sounds completely different. It gives me goosebumps every time.

A fitting accompaniment

The whole thing fits the protest so well – it’s such an emotional affair. I have to sit here as a journalist and pretend there are actually two sides to a story, which is super easy at home. Sometimes. But when you’re in the middle of a protest it’s often hard to stay objective on the inside. It’s dynamic – you don’t just hear it, you feel it. You get trapped in this little bubble of noise, and I don’t know about other people, but that’s a bubble I sometimes want to live in.

It’s strange writing this piece in such a positive light, knowing the root of it will always be the ongoing genocide in Palestine.

“This group came out of something so awful and so tragic, and collectively it’s so emotional…” Siren acknowledges seriously:

But knowing that actually all these people I’m drumming with are drumming for the same thing – they believe the same thing I do. They believe in liberation, they believe in freedom, and that’s all they want for the Palestinians. When we go to rehearsals, it’s like – I’m going to be with my people.

“It’s cathartic,” Robin agrees. “I try to talk about it… sometimes I think I don’t have the words. Drumming feels like I’m doing something – bringing energy and bringing attention to it. I don’t know what else to do.”

Shiba adds:

It’s a really good way to get emotion out. I find drumming to be meditative… obviously I’m doing it for a reason, but it really helps with the stresses. How do you process those images you see on Instagram otherwise?

“You’ll be marching and turn left and there will be someone you’ve never seen before in your life”

Activists have said to me before, it’s been a long few years. People have have husbands and wives; children – some of them opportunistic cheese toastie wranglers – people have real lives outside of trying to make the world a better place. It’s vital to centre the fact that these two years haven’t been easy. They’ve been long, requiring the time and effort of ordinary men and women up and down the country – organising, agitating, working to keep this “conflict” central in the eyes of the public.

“It’s hard work,” Siren says. “But I always remember, this isn’t as hard as it is for the people in Gaza.”

She’s right.

It’s such a shame I don’t have more time to share our conversation in greater detail. I could honestly write for days about these incredible group of people – and it really is the case, authentically and genuinely, I think they’re incredible.

I couldn’t make it down for the last national march, and I remember chatting with Siren about it. We were both in the same boat for different reasons. We both sort of said, “Well, I’ll see you at the next one anyway…”

A sort of dark humour you have to employ – of course there was always going to be another national march…“It’s mad because I love drumming,” she says. “But I don’t want to drum for this anymore. Not because I don’t want to drum. Because I don’t want to have to.”

A whirlwind in Manchester

It’s been a whirlwind day and its time for my train – I have been assured that there is a handsome cat called Stephen and a beer waiting for me at my Airbnb and it almost slips my mind as we leave – to ask, what’s next dude?

To keep doing what we’re doing. To take to the streets. Until liberation. Until Palestine is free… even if that’s not in our lifetime.

I feel like we’ve got this collected trauma and banging drums has given us an outlet.

There’s certain older members who, they don’t go out unless its rehearsals on a Tuesday or Saturday for a demo.

You’ll be marching and turn left and there will be someone you’ve never seen before in your life.

Featured image and additional images via the Canary

By Barold

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