A.J.Boyer
There’s something supremely un-British about door-knocking as a neighbour. That’s why I love it!
I’m originally from the southern great plains of Texas (trying to make Dallas sound as whimsical as I can); Wichita land, as well as Comanche and Tonkawa. For me, a lot of my pre-teen and teenage years were spent hanging out on the street, playing guitar at the park, and tossing a football around with neighbours. We didn’t all wear ten gallon hats, nor did we hoist guns or rope cattle. That being said – there was still a steady sense of Texan hospitality that radiated from nearly everyone in the neighbourhood. I’m not about to romanticise it, however. My hometown, like other areas, had issues (mainly social isolation, drug usage, and mental health struggles). And like any other person my age, I wanted out.
I eventually left the USA to work on cruise ships, fell in love and moved to England on a fiancé visa to get married and ultimately settle in Salford, Greater Manchester. Foolishly, I expected the UK to be similar to home, apart from the funny accents, grey weather and fancy buildings. Within a good few months after the novelty wore off, I realised something felt off about Britain. I was somehow consistently finding myself in situations where I was looked down on as rude or brutish. This was usually from speaking too loud, being too direct, or (heavens forbid!) being earnest.
Unfortunately, these little tensions were never sufficiently out in the open for me to realise or try to fix. It took years of me feeling this weird sense that something was off, while Brits (some, not all) would be polite to my face and scoff behind my back. Needless to say, this was heartbreaking! When I immigrated to this island, I viewed its residents’ attitudes as a reflection of my own self-worth. I hadn’t learned yet that Britain is a place that really requires a disclaimer: this is a place that still suffers from rigid social rules stemming largely from its Victorian era.
It’s probably not fun to read this critique coming from a non-English person, and certainly the USA has its own social issues. However, most of my validation for these thoughts came after reading ‘Watching the English’ by English social anthropologist Kate Fox. She maps out what she calls the ‘social dis-ease’ that England faces, and helped me realise that privacy and modesty are coveted on this relatively small chunk of land. ‘Home may indeed be our substitute for a Fatherland,’ Fox states, ‘but at another level, I would suggest that home is what the English have instead of social skills.’
Despite breaking plenty of social rules and having many awkward encounters – my ultimate test came during the Covid-19 lockdowns.
By then, I had moved from an urban environment in Salford to a suburban one in Cheadle. Like many, I was drawn into learning about mutual aid, social anarchism and how communities can organise together to take care of each other in times of crisis. Unlike Salford’s challenges of gentrification and housing, Cheadle’s issues were largely atomization and social isolation.Of course, I didn’t live near a squat or a university. My area had no activist hubs, social centres or scenes. Any mutual aid in my neighbourhood was going to require me to knock on doors and get it going.
It would require me to do the unthinkable: actually speak to my neighbours.
Neighbourliness is often winced at in activist scenes as un-cool; not radical. Usually, when I discuss the importance of neighbour networks it tends to give off less Russian Anarcho-communist Peter Kropotkin vibes, and more Ned Flanders (the annoyingly kind, clean-cut, Christian neighbour of Homer Simpson). Yet to this day, the neighbourhood pod I managed to scrape together in Cheadle remains one of the most radical and organic projects I’ve been involved with. It was a specific period where my door-knocking on English people’s ‘castles’ was met with curiosity. My usual intro was something along the lines of:
‘Hi, I’m Andrew. I’m not a politician, not trying to sell you anything. I’m your neighbour from down the street. We’re getting a little group together to look out for each other. Here’s a leaflet. Let us know if you want to join, or if there’s any way we can help.’
I went into it thinking I’d be cursed at, or would have doors slammed in my face, but instead, I saw isolated and scared neighbours finally have sparkles in their eyes. I had an amount of houses in mind that I intended to knock on, yet had to cut that amount in half because so many neighbours wanted to talk.
Some of these exchanges were funny. One resident in particular went through great lengths to tell me about her granddaughter who moved to America for work. A separate resident told me he loves watching westerns, and asked if I knew how to ride a horse. Another resident was utterly convinced that I was part of the council. No matter how much clarifying I did, she wanted to have her municipal grievances heard then and there! And, unfortunately, some were sad; an elderly resident fought back some tears whilst telling me about her son who passed away earlier in the year. I was her first visitor in over a month.
After a quick several days of knocking,a good handful of neighbours joined in hopes of benefitting from face-to-face connection that was so scarce in that specific point in time. Our first meetings were held online until lockdown lifted, then we began to meet at the local community centre. All that being said, our neighbourhood pod didn’t bring forth the revolution. But we managed some alleyway clean ups, mental health walks, and built a small, free library. It was enough to get us hooked on neighbourhood organising for the coming years. I’ve since moved to a new town, new area, and am gearing up to start it all over again.
Door-knocking and organising with neighbours is profoundly un-British.
Since becoming a bit more involved in activist scenes and spaces, I’ve noticed a trend of incredibly noble English activists who bravely traverse the front lines of demos and risk getting arrested – and yet are terrified of knocking on their neighbour’s door. I don’t say this as a call-out. I say it to highlight a much needed social issue that Britain struggles with; one that should be of concern to anyone who considers themselves remotely socialist.
To me, door-knocking represents more than just an exercise in prefiguration or mutual aid. Door-knocking is my form of eliciting culture shock. It’s my way of making my presence known that I am a neighbour, and that regardless of our nationalities, I have every right to knock on your door and see how you’re doing. It is my business to make sure we are all fed. It’s my business to make sure we’re all safe and mentally well. Most importantly, it’s my business to look other neighbours in the eye and remind them that there’s a life we can build outside of the doomscrolling on our phones and the fear-mongering slop of the state. ▪️ ️
A.J.Boyer is a jazz pianist, writer and communitarian anarchist based in Manchester UK. They’ve previously previously written for Freedom News, Tempest Magazine, Organise Magazine, Dissident Voice and The Manchester Meteor.
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