Despite no cars on Waterloo Bridge I walked on the pavement, through habit. Pockets of police-persons stood sentry on the road up to the protest site.
Beyond them was a crowd. I’d preferred to have written barricade, to continue the street-battle language peppered through media and anecdotal accounts — “We’ve held all sites overnight”, and the like — but to do so would be disingenuous. Instead there were just people chatting, laughing, singing, and playing music.
The man at the information tent with leaflets and literature looked surprised when I asked how things were going. “We didn’t expect to be here so long! This is the fourth day, we thought we’d be gone by Monday evening”.
A food tent gave out free and delicious meals; an adjoining rota-based washing-up station and compost bin kept things tidy. “We take everything away with us”, said one of the cooks.
I found my friend in the crowd. They’re involved in ensuring people adhere to the non-violence at the core of the Extinction Rebellion philosophy. It is a movement with no hierarchy; no leaders. Anyone can join, as long as you agree to non-violence, accountability for your actions, and keeping alcohol and drugs off site.
“Do the right thing, do the right thing, do it all the time!” Not a particularly controversial message.
I asked my friend if there were undercover police, as well as the fluorescent ones. “There could be”, they said, “but it could be worse. There could be undercover Daily Mail journalists!”. Then they wrote a solicitor’s number on my wrist, in case the police made any particularly concerted efforts to break up the site that day.
There was such a surreal quietness on this road, right at the heart of London. Instead of the usual traffic throngs, bees flitted between trees and flowers brought in to line the highway. People milled about, interspersed by different contingents: Reggae, Krishna, Mormon. (I’m aware Reggae isn’t a religious movement, as are the other two. This contingent was just two guys blasting reggae from a huge speaker).
I wandered to the other end of the bridge, and loud city chaos resumed. Honking cars, hordes of people, and noise. So much noise.
Then I wandered back, right as protesters atop a parked truck stood and shouted: “ARRESTABLES TO THE FRONT, PLEASE! POLICE INCOMING!”. My heart started pounding; adrenaline started rushing. I stood on a barrier and watched the scene:
Three police vans were slowly reversing up the road. Police in hi-vis walked alongside, and a few reconnoitred the crowd. The arrestables sat down, many others sat down in solidarity. A slow, ominous drum rhythm began: a rhythmic barometer for the changing atmosphere.
Those not putting themselves forward for arrest moved back, or stood. An XR member moved through the crowd explaining the process of being arrested in great detail, “it’s really not as bad as it sounds, trust me”. Another member moved through the crowd offering sun cream; another snacks.
Folk chants began to accompany the drums, with lyrics on the theme of Climate Justice Now. Police approached the front row of arrestables and calmly explained to them, one at a time, that they were being placed under arrest. Legal observers looked on, documenting proceedings so that both sides could refer to this neutral evidence later. Cameras leaned in from all sides: police chest cameras, designated police recorders, media outlets, XR members, the public. Footage to hold both sides accountable; and footage for all sides to weave narratives around later.
Each arrest attracted a cheer. “We love you!” people chanted, directed to the police as much as those under arrest. The adrenaline settled. The drumbeat slowed. The chant changed again: “do the right thing, do the right thing, do it all the time!”. Not a particularly controversial message.
There was a mutual respect that held strong through all the arrests. The non-violence XR is built on did not waver, nor did it ever come close. In turn, the police were polite and cordial. Kids chatted casually to police people just beside the front line. At one point Nick Robinson, Radio 4 presenter, arrived. He cut ahead of the police and began interviewing the front line of protesters: The arrestables.
A loud chant picked up from further back in the crowd, and someone near Nick stood up. “Can you chant more quietly, please? We’re trying to have a conversation”. The chanters obeyed, and turned down the volume: “Whose police? Our police! We love you police!”.
Everything was cordial. Nothing was sinister. There was dialogue, courtesy, and respect. Apologies were made to members of the public frustrated at having to squeeze through crowds, and attempts were made to explain why XR felt this was necessary. And you know what? Many people seemed sympathetic.
Not everyone, though. As I left I heard someone say, indignantly: “I just think it’s entitled”.
To what, exactly, I’m unsure.
