This morning, my wife and I packed overnight bags and left East London for work, not knowing if the area would be safe enough to return to it in the evening. There is a 15-minute walk from the tube station to our house (right past the shiny new Olympic site…), and there’s every chance that walk could be filled with violence, rioters, muggers, police and burning buildings.

Overreaction? No. Last night we watched in amazement on TV as several districts around us, then all around London – then all around the major cities of England, turned into arenas of chaos, violence and looting. And flames.
News helicoptors flew from one enormous blaze to another, all night. England has seen nothing like this since Hitler was bombing us. From our lounge, we could hear the sirens all night.
We returned to England a few months ago, after 10 years in Australia, and are still coming to terms with what the country has become. We had no rose-tinted image of this troubled place; all the integers for trouble are there: economic problems, poverty and a steady rise in gun and knife crimes. But we had no idea what a tinderbox we’d moved back to. It feels like Redfern, on an especially bad night, but everywhere.
We are not alone, however. The police, the media and the public have also had to scramble to catch up. No-one expected this, and no-one can properly explain it. A few days ago, a possible gang member and drug dealer called Mark Duggan was shot dead in north London. Very few details are available, but the violence seems to have stemmed from that point. Swathes of Tottenham were torched.
But things are not what they seem.
I wish, strangely, that this was a simple case of oppressed youth reacting against society and the police, as they did in Brixton and Toxteth in the early 1980s. But these aren’t people out with placards. The Home Secretary has called it “sheer criminality”, and she may be right. What we have here are youths, out for a bit of a tear-up, organised into flocks by BlackBerry Messenger and Twitter, out to burn things and grab what they can. To me, this was the most depressing thing of all: the image of my country is now of hooded thieves.
There is no cause, no anger: hooded youths are coming over in gangs, from estates, so they can steal free phones and televisions, burning property, mugging people and attacking police, just because they can. Those in the communities affected are furious, as well as terrified. And these aren’t hand-wringing Mosman residents, but hard-nuts in tough areas, who’ve seen plenty, and can’t understand why these idiots would attack their own area.
But they aren’t of the community – they’re estate kids, and they can see the other side of the tracks, where there is stuff to be nicked and fun to be had. Reports and footage has emerged of residents out in force, pissed off to the gills, and protecting their neighbourhoods with makeshift weapons.
The root cause of all this will be discussed and dissected ad nauseum. You could blame the welfare state for rotting out the moral fabric of this generation; the lack of stable family life for providing a shower of feckless, greedy youths with no respect at all for authority; the recession for giving that generation no real hope of an employed future; the advertising industry for making shiny technology and fashion labels so very vital to own.
Whatever it is, I’m sat here in east London, with an overnight bag, wondering if I’ll be able to go home tonight, or even if I should just go back to Australia on the next plane.
Ivan Smith has a website. It’s www.ivansmith.co.uk. If you go there, and you are a prospective employer, you will discover what The Punch deputy editor Ant Sharwood learned while working with Ivan, which is that he’s extremely talented and hard working, the best exponent of the caption in human history, and occasionally amusing - even if inadvertently so.
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