They came with their sound system, their bandannas and their carry-outs, protesting against the “gentrification” of the East End. Their target? The much-lambasted Cereal Killer Cafe, a small independent business attacked because it sell bowls of Coco Pops for around £3.50, and an estate agent letting out flats at the market rate.

As the helicopters swooped overhead, the party animals that go under the hashtag #fuckparade rioted on Brick Lane, a street on the outer City fringes that is the last frontier against encroaching big business, a street still fighting the chains and winning: a street that has welcomed immigrants over the centuries and saw them flourish as they set up small shops, cafes and restaurants.

But #fuckparade don’t like the new wave of young things opening up on Brick Lane. And they’re not that keen on brioche and gin bars either. Look a little further though, and it’s not just about quinoa: the xenophobic language of their manifesto echoes that of Britain First and the outer fringes of Ukip. “Our communities are being ripped apart – by Russian oligarchs, Saudi Sheiks [sic], Israeli scumbag property developers, Texan oil-money twats and our own homegrown Eton toffs.

Local authorities are coining it in, in a short sighted race for cash by ‘regenerating’ social housing,” they say. “We don’t want luxury flats that no one can afford. We want genuinely affordable housing. We don’t want pop-up gin bars or brioche buns – we want community.”

I have lived just off Brick Lane for 15 years. Every month it changes. It’s a fluidity of community that is historic. The Huguenots came from France and built beautiful houses, weaving their elaborate silks in light-filled lofts. The Jews came from Russia and eastern Europe, opening beigel shops, soup kitchens and other small businesses. The Bangladeshis came and did the same, purveying curry rather than chopped herring. Brilliantly, what is now a mosque has been a Huguenot church and a synagogue.

These days, Spitalfields is a vibrant mix, becoming more “hip” by the day as a diverse range of eateries, shops and art galleries pops up all the way down to Whitechapel and out into areas where a latte was previously unheard of (this is the same area that stood up against the march of Mosley and the blackshirts in the Battle of Cable Street).

In recent weeks a doughnut shop and a pop-up selling artisan ketchup have opened their doors, but is this gentrification or diversification? One man’s Heinz 57 Varieties is another man’s eco-sourced, additive-free bottle of tomato-ey joy, just as one man’s beard is another man’s bandanna.

In arguments on Twitter with some of the fuckparaders rioting last night on my doorstep, I was told: “They’re destroying where we live and rubbing our noses in it with stupid places like @CerealKillerUK… No attempt to fit in, or respect the people who live here, it’s an invasion, and so being treated that way.”

Yet when asked where they were born and where they live they refused to answer. Almost everyone in the East End is an invader, barring the original cockneys. But hey: “Trust find [sic] kids and posh twats taking over an area and destroying it for us – that’s a problem.”

While appropriating the language of Mosley, last night’s rioters made no significant mention of the massively controversial decision by Boris Johnson to call in the plans for the Bishopsgate Goodsyard , a sky city of luxury flats with very little social housing. The developers, Hammerson and Ballymore raise barely a mention; nor did the destruction of the beautiful Fruit and Wool Exchange in Spitalfields to make way for more City offices.

Yes, the East End is changing, and much of the development has no care for community, housing, affordability or social cohesion. But scapegoating hipsters riding fixie bikes, and more specifically, a couple of beardy brothers selling cornflakes, is hardly brave or intelligent. And setting up an Indiegogo appeal to pay for “music, pyrotechnics and cheeky banner drops”. Oh, the irony.