There were riots outside my front door today.  This is not something I ever thought I’d say.

As I left my home office at the back of the house at about 6pm this evening I was surprised to notice the number of people lingering outside in the normally quiet side-street in which I live.  Looking down the street I was shocked to see police in riot gear.

The scenes that followed were not pretty.  The police were significantly outnumbered by the people on the street, who looked young, included many black men – and white men and women, too.  They started to seek out items they could throw – the local dustbins, wheely bins, items from front gardens (including mine).

Most of the projectiles were aimed at the police.  Soon, though, the small number of cars parked on the street became targets.  First one window was broken.  Then another.  Over time the cars went from being a side show to becoming the main attraction as it became increasingly clear that there was a determination amongst the rioters to set them alight.  Soon they had succeeded and, given the fire hazard, it was time for the rioters to move on.

For a while I sat indoors wondering if it was safe to be in the rooms overlooking the street.  Then I ventured out to ask the police if it was safe to pop down the road for some food and fresh air.  They encouraged me to stay safely at home, in case the rioters returned.  As I returned home, two young men were in front of my gate and I asked if I could come through and encouraged them to get away from the proximity of the still burning cars.  We got talking.

Were you involved this evening?  I asked.  No, not us, we’re good boys.  We’re just covering up our faces because we don’t want to risk losing our jobs if we’re seen.  But they (pointing to the police) – they’ve got to understand that if they keep taking our jobs away, we’re going to do something – they’ve got to understand.

When they announced there were riots in Lewisham on the 7pm news bulletin I knew to give my Mum a ring and to pop a status update on Facebook.  People have been leaving messages all evening and the phone has not stopped ringing.  It’s a touching reminder of the love people have for me.  As the evening has unfolded I have been watching the BBC 24-hour news of riots in Lewisham, Peckham, Hackney, Croydon, Birmingham.

The phrase “mindless thugs” has been used so many times.  The risk is clear.  Young people crying out to be heard are dismissed by the simple use of a label.  And because they are not being heard, they shout louder.  The police, seeking to do the best for their community, are also not being heard.  Neither side is able to see beyond the label – “police”, “rioters”, “thugs”… with each new label we become a little less human in each others’ eyes.

I want to be clear.  I do not favour the kind of action these young people took this evening and I want them to be held accountable.  At the same time, I want them to be heard.  It seems to me that this is a time for sorting the wheat from the chaff, until we have stripped away the acts of mindless destruction – perhaps even the violence on both sides – to understand the real concerns on all sides.

For me, though, right now, it’s time to sleep.  My dreams cannot be any stranger than the reality of this evening’s events.