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"Bloody hippies."
I'm sitting on the grass halfway between two rival events in the middle of the University of Sussex campus; on my right, the African Caribbean Asian Society sponsored bouncy castle. On my left, Tent State. Being of the politicized ilk, I’m here for the latter. My companions, with their despairing view of hippies, are too, but they can’t quite bring themselves to associate with it. So far, Tent State is a single marquee, various home-made flags and banners, and a few enthusiasts – not quite what they had imagined. “They have lots of good intentions,” one of my friends says, “they’re just so bloody disorganized.”
Sitting in the evening sun, having spent the afternoon in the marquee discussing nuclear weapons, direct action and how sub-Saharan Africa can fight back against a global economic structure that enforces its continued under-development, I have quite a rosy view of it all. This is just the kind of thing I like. However, their disappointment is palpable, and understandable. When Tent State Sussex was first conceived, it looked nothing like this.
Tent State is a grassroots movement that started in Rutgers, New Jersey, in 2003 to protest against war-funding budget cuts. The full history of the birth of the Tent State movement – named for Kent State University, Ohio, where 4 students were killed in anti-Vietnam protests in May 1970 – can be found on the movement’s website, www.tentstate.com. This is the first time it has ever taken place in the UK and unsurprisingly the first run reveals several kinks that need to be ironed out.
The most obvious problem lies in the disparity between name and reality – Tent State should be lots of tents…or at least more than one. A second becomes clear while I wait for the workshop on students and nuclear weapons to start: the schedule is an hour behind. While the marquee is lined with anti-war art by a local artist and literature and pamphlets on various topics, there is a certain chaos to the whole thing, the feeling that the organizers are not quite ready for it.
The chaos is comfy, and the enthusiasm genuine; I am also acutely aware that Tent State Sussex was almost stillborn, strongly opposed as it was by the university’s senior management (backed up by legal threats from Sussex Police) and the resulting lack of support from the Student Union. It was delayed by almost a month and cut from a week to three days, which caused a large number of planned events to be dropped.
“There was no negotiation,” Kuchenga Shenjé, one of the organizers, tells me, “every meeting it was just “Back down, back down!” It was really demoralizing coming out of those meetings (with the SU). I think it was because of the fear Tent State engendered.”
What sort of fear? “The university management had a false idea of the content of Tent State – I think they thought it was an attack on them, when we were really on their side, sort of. They thought it would jeopardize the students’ learning, that we’d all be on drugs…they probably feel a bit stupid now.”
Frankie Hutchinson is also one of the organizers who have been with the project since early on. We’re sitting on beanbags in the marquee while I ask questions and admire her turban. And how does she feel? “Happy. The numbers are lower than we’d hoped, but I’m not deterred. I’ve learnt things, the talks have been fantastic, everyone’s brought something different to the group, sharing experiences and thoughts in a safe, inclusive space. Next time we’ll do things differently, we’ll be more organized, we’ll aim for more inclusive subjects, make it social as well as political.”
The things that are missing as I enjoy the three days of Tent State Sussex are the usual casualties of curtailed student campaigns: originally graffiti and body-painting workshops had been planned, but these and others ceded to the two enemies of promise, disorganization and the SU’s demands for downsizing. In between the invariably late-starting talks I want there to be something to attract people, since the whole point of Tent State is that it offers an alternative educational space, a space where your sphere of learning is restricted only by your willingness to try something new, be it binary gender questioning or bongo playing.
There Tent State does succeed, because even without the trimmings that I long for it provides very engaging talks and workshops. Capitalist Realism, a discussion between Professor Andrew Chitty and blogger Mark K-Punk , delves into the complexities of a Kafkaesque system where the individual is forced to internalize self-policing in all areas of life.
The same evening a talk on patriarchy in everyday life sees us comparing how gender roles affect our voices and body language, while my personal favorite takes place next day: Gender Fucking or Fucking Gender? The workshop combines talks, theatre, games and linguistic exercises, and culminates in the most hilarious piece of explicit storytelling it has been my pleasure to enjoy for a long time.
On Friday evening after the last talk I sit in the grass with my companions from the first day. How are they feeling about it all? They grudgingly admit they enjoyed it, then spoil their reticence by being enthusiastic about the Capitalist Realism talk. “It was unfortunate it got branded as the traditional hippy student dropout event,” one opines. The words “stimulating”, “exciting” and “radical left politics” spring up with great enthusiasm.
Walking to the station, I’m thrilling with new ideas, new struggles, new ways to think. I feel differently about my body, comfortable in my skin. On the train I smile at people. I get home to find someone wants to talk to me about alternative politics on campus for Vision, and reply, “Of course,” before realizing that normally I wouldn’t be confident enough in myself to agree to such a thing. Tent State is a human, imperfect festival, but intrinsically hopeful, and highly contagious.
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