[This article is part of ZNetwork.org‘s series, Activist Diaries.]

My chest is still sore like having done too many push-ups, or taken a knock. It’s from the shoves of the police “Get back” as they surround the vans leaving Court but we find a way to flow through them and tap the sides to communicate our support for those inside. I’m sorry it’s come to this, I’m sorry that you’re inside. It’s not fair, 4 and 5 years locked-up. For what?

I think it hasn’t sunk in yet? I call it peaceful protest. Wilful obstruction of the highway? Public Nuisance? Not conforming. 

Checking the papers later the judge decrees them guilty of “conspiracy to cause a public nuisance for coordinating direct action protests on the M25 over four days in November 2022”. And yet every mention of climate change inadmissible. “The end of the world is neither here nor there”. I cried when the news came out: 4 years for 4 of them and 5 for Roger. Cressida is only 22. The bitterness and hate that they will experience makes me sad.

I didn’t bring my phone so that if I was arrested they couldn’t tell who I was immediately. This wastes their time… and means they can’t arrest so many people. I didn’t think that there was a high likelihood of arrest, (I wrote Ruth’s number on my forearm, just in case). I wanted to be present, able to feel it, and also to make friends. To act in solidarity. These people are going away for 4 years, the least I can do is to turn up for an afternoon.

At the end of the road when the van pulled out into the traffic and hummings of the high street hustle-bustle, people stopped wide eyed and stared, “What is going on?” “5 years for peaceful protest!” We shout, “not democracy!”

Heart beating hard in my chest, police running at me from a long way off. I got separated from the crowd with one other man. The police man was trying to grab hold of me and I made it to a side street. After a short while afraid of arrest it quietened down. I made my way signless back to the front of the court. Wondering if anybody would be there still… and it was just like before, maybe just warmer in the sun. 

Dale Vince, Chris Packham hanging around with aides and organisers, the same faces smiling back. The police back behind the iron gate, catching their breath. I rehydrate, should’ve brought a banana.

The second van came out, we carried a song and chanted “we love you!” to those inside. Again drumming on the sides and shouting and whooping to show support. I saw some of the famous activists motion go for a drink. And was invited a couple of times to go for soup (you can get arrested for that). I’m tired, I’ve been enough of a nuisance on one hand and on the other not nearly enough. I go home. I shook a few previous-to-then strangers’ hands and shared a smile. I talk to a Covid masked lady on the tube, still doing outreach with her sign “Stop Jailing Truth Tellers” she has deep concern for the trees. I missed my stop, she apologised and I said “not at all”.

Debriefs are important and I watch the footage when I get back. It looks like quite a crowd, quite a nuisance, and again so sad. A victory for the elites, the string pullers, the point zero zero one percent. I watched it back with brother in law Simon and again, able to pick myself out. Great tactic from the man just lying in the road. He does it at least 3 times. The crowd like water… The police under-resourced just like the teachers, the doctors and the nurses. Only just hanging on. The illusion of power, that can crumble fast. The strength of the arm of the law pushing people away and moving along, like some kind of swarm defense of a sports team, the risky high press. I feel it now again in my chest, like Christiano Ronaldo, my pride muscle.

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This was written after the sentencing of 5 Just Stop Oil members that were guilty of being on a zoom call inviting people to join them in Nonviolent Direct Action, specifically climbing gantries on the M25.

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