The complicated and often ugly relationship between punk rock and racism has provided ample material for musicians, academics, and filmmakers alike. From the lyrics of The Dead Kennedys to Shane Meadows’ This is England, the genre of music has repeatedly tried to confront its unfortunate associations with white supremacy. White Riot captures a key moment in that confrontation, charting the foundation of Rock Against Racism up to its 100,000-man march against the Nazi League in 1978. A march that culminated in an open-air concert featuring the likes of X-Ray Spex, Steel Pulse and of course The Clash, playing their titular hit.
Before that though we land smack dab in the middle of London at a time when (shockingly) hostility towards immigrants and ethnic minorities was finding a following in British politics. When Enoch Powell was talking about forcing migrants onto boats and the National Front was rising in the polls. It was not simply that racism was a fringe political issue that governments acted upon behind closed doors. The kind of thing only followed by the local pub gammon or middling television actors. No less that David Bowie spoke in favour of a fascist government in Britain (albeit at the height of his drug addiction). Eight years on from the ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech Eric Clapton was on stage urging support for Powell amidst a regurgitation of racist rhetoric. In 1976 racism was thoroughly mainstream.
This is why the connection to the punk movement seems, at an ideological level, so jarring. Punk was against the mainstream. Punk was anti-authority and what could be more authoritarian than a fascist state? It’s a dissonance shared by both director Rubika Shah and the founders of Rock Against Racism. While the film tries to take a broader focus on the subject of racism this is primarily a small, intimate story taking place within the tight-knit community of punk rock fandom. One founded by photographer and filmmaker Red Saunders with help from fellow rockers Roger Huddle and Kate Webb the movement started as little more than a call to arms. A response to Clapton’s outburst that saw publication in NME and eventually evolved into the radical fanzine ‘TempoRARy Hoarding’.
It is only when we get to RAR’s first gigs that we see the input directly from the black communities. Agreeable figures such as the Reggae band Matumbi, harking back to the genre’s Black origins with Ska music. They push the inclusivity of rock and the positive optics of performing alongside white bands like 999. Others such as singer Pauline Black are more confrontational, calling white punks out on their inaction. Treating our shock at finding racism in the punk scene akin to Captain Renault’s at discovering gambling in Casablanca.
While the brief, but exciting history of RAR is certainly one to be celebrated there are too few contributions like Black’s. Too few people challenging the movement; from the genre’s colonising of black music or the use of the Swastika as a shock tactic. The most critical element of White Riot is that at least the documentary is self-aware. Acknowledging that the mainstreaming of racism was less a phenomenon in UK society and more of a recurring wave.
White Riot is, unashamedly, less of an accurate historical account and more of a thrill ride. A passionate, heartfelt story of fandom at its very best. A head-banging testament to the power of rock to unify and lead the charge against hate. Which, in these troubled times, is more necessary than ever.
