Sideways News

So as the song says: what a difference a day made.

First things first, we have our oil back. Some of the grands fromages of French politics spoke to the mayor of Copenhagen, the French public phoned in to hassle the Danish police who seized it and maybe, just maybe, those same police started to feel just a little bit silly. Result: our bomb-making, recycled chip oil is once more in the hands of the collective – or rather we ordinary climate-concerned individuals have our fuel in place for the return to France at 5am on Thursday.

But before we think of leaving Shopenhagen, as some ad-busting wag dubbed it on a defaced poster I passed the other day, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. That same difference-making day has been a jam-packed 24 hours.

Starting from the beginning, I was out into the darkness at 7am this morning muffled up as if on a trip to the ski slopes. My destination was Tårnby station, kick-off point for the Reclaim the Power day of action focused on the Bella Centre. Our goal: the rather improbable one of penetrating the conference venue to stage a people’s assembly with those who came to meet us from inside.

Straight away there was the sound of sirens on the streets with little posses of police dotting the street corners. Having absorbed the last day’s news of mass, arbitrary arrests, tear-gassing and water canon use against all manner of people, I found it hard to feel well-disposed towards these fellow members of humanity. Not the last time that thought would come to mind today.

Once at my departure station, I bumped into an Englishwoman I was later to learn was Heather Hunt, a 63-year-old veteran of the Greenham Common Women’s Peace Camp of the 80s and 90s. Her gentle thoughts about how to interact with police aggression were to come back to me throughout the day, thinking she put into practice immediately we emerged into the morning gloom at our destination. Straightaway she was talking to a policeman who might have been her son, asking what weather was in store for the day. She was no soft touch though, quickly making clear her intention to protest peacefully and her right to the same, all with gentle, playful motherliness.

For her, the effects of climate change are already underway, quite possibly unstoppably, so what we need is to create grassroots local groups to cope while remaining attentive to our links with others around the world. “We are going to have to be generous, to take care of climate refugees, we are going to have to make an awful lot of local movements yet keep these links going with the outside,” she said.

And so to Kerry Burton, wearing a legal observer’s fluorescent jacket, who was over from Britain as part of the Climate Camp’s team. Her task and those of her colleagues was to keep protective tabs on the 500 or so Climate Camp participants over to demonstrate for the summit period. “I think the police have been heavy handed. There have been a couple of cases of minor criminal damage. They refused to let me observe on several arrests,” she told me.

So to the march, for me a commitment this time both to report in progress to the Indymedia coverage for the event and to demonstrate with my fellow French people. This was to be no gentle, joyful stroll in the style of Saturday’s show. It was a deliberate act of peaceful confrontation that drew on the collected experiences of many protestors for what was an organised act.

My group of nine or so were tasked to stay together, forming a chain at the back left of the group, facing out with arms joined to prevent the crowd being split by police along the way.

Time out, it’s 9pm and I’m tired after today’s drama and my lovely Danish host is waiting to accompany me for a drink with La Caravane Solidaire before we leave. Like some crappy Jackanory story, I’m going to have to tell you the rest tomorrow.