August 30, 2009
Why we are all climate camp followers now
The atmosphere at the Climate Camp in Blackheath, southeast London, last week was resolutely good-natured
Giles Hattersley
It is the Thursday morning rush hour in Blackheath, southeast London. The roads around the park are clogged with commuters, and, overhead, planes are ascending from nearby City airport at an alarming rate.
Beneath a cloud of transport fumes lies Camp Climate, home to 1,000 slightly smelly, resolutely cheerful, mostly middle-class do-gooders who plan to save the world.
A passing motorist brings his Mercedes to a halt, lowers his window and sniffs disapprovingly. He takes in the rag-bag tents and the straw-bale urinals (not for the fainthearted) and catches the unmistakable whiff of boiling lentils. “Get a job!” he shouts to the assembled horde.
“Get a bike!” one shouts back. Both sides start to laugh. Then the wag dashes over to explain: “Actually, we’re not dirty gypsies, we just believe in a sustainable future for the planet.”
“Oh well, that’s all right then,” says Mr Merc, adding that he would love to pop in and have a look around if he did not have to get to work.
My, how the green movement has changed. Of course, they have always been less barking than the animal rights brigade, but judging by these well-spoken climate campers, the modern eco-activist is now so socially acceptable that he is just one spritz of deodorant from becoming mainstream.
Swampy was Genghis Khan next to this lot — at least if you go by the scatter cushions and porcelain tea set in the welcome tent — and the locals in the fabulous Georgian townhouses that line the heath do not seem to begrudge the invasion.
The camp was set up last Wednesday, after text messages were fired off revealing the secret location of the week-long event. In past years it has been held at the Drax power station in Yorkshire, and at Heathrow, but this year they chose Blackheath in a cute twist on the site’s part in the peasants’ revolt in 1381.
From Scotland, Cornwall, Newcastle upon Tyne and Manchester they came to pitch tents and join the leaderless utopia, to run activism workshops, swap tips on compost toilets and moan about capitalism. Nobody is drunk or getting stoned. They wash up, erect wind turbines and play impromptu games of footie. The vibe is far more Famous Five than Guildford Four.
“It’s a bit unsightly, and it might add some traffic, but I don’t think the residents mind,” says Kim, whose house is close to the pitch. The recycling bins stowed neatly by her neighbours’ front doors suggest why they are so accommodating. Like most of us these days, the residents of Blackheath are inclined to dig the campers’ cause, if not their crusty politics. Whether it is middle-class tokenism (reusing a Waitrose carrier bag) or more aggressive solutions (the solar-panel market is booming), the public mood has changed.
A recent international poll showed the UK is now among the more eco-minded nations on earth, with 77% of us wishing the government would do more to battle climate change. The campers may be a bit too tree-huggy for most people’s tastes, but watching new arrivals traipsing into Camp Climate in their Ted Baker sunglasses, brandishing iPhones, it is clear that it is no longer a simple case of “them and us”.
A couple of builders sit by their van drinking tea. “They seem all right, don’t they?” says one. “Maybe they can do something about all these bloody planes,” adds his friend, gesturing skyward.
The site has been divvied up by region, so people from the same counties stick together. There are a fair few families, but I would guess 65% of attendees are students, with the rest mostly over 50. Essentially, it is the sort of people most likely to have time off in August.
I am met by Kate, a twentysomething charity worker from London. “This is my summer vacation,” she says happily, showing me the kitchen tents and the “media centre” with its bicycle-powered speakers, all accompanied by the strum of guitars and the presence of breast-feeding mothers.
Police presence is low-key, although they have erected an enormous crane next to the site with two CCTV cameras on top of it, so that they can peer in. “It’s like the Eye of Sauron,” laughs Alan, a 24-year-old NHS admin worker, “but this isn’t Mordor — promise.”
Various campers are happy to share their views. “We have no leaders, no bosses, no hierarchy,” says Richard, 23, a recent Cambridge graduate. “We operate by consensus. This is not just a protest, with people marching and saying ‘No!’. This is our chance to say ‘Yes’ by demonstrating what sustainable living looks like.”
And to go to workshops to learn how to flashmob an office block or shut down a power station? “If you want to feed the homeless, there are two things you can do,” says Richard. “Either you can form a lobbying organisation and try to get the government to fund it. Or you can go feed the homeless yourself. We opt for the second.”
It is a nice line, but the tendency for more extreme activism clearly bothers some. Stephen Hadert, 53, a former IT troubleshooter for Deutsche Bank says: “When we arrived yesterday, we waited in the car for a couple of hours to make sure everything was safe. We’ll stay as long as it stays non-reactionary, gentle.”
The scenes at G20 in April scared him, he says. So why did he come? “Being a grandad helps — it’s important to pass along a healthy climate.”
Yet for others, it is not nearly extreme enough. “I tend to get peeved with the Greens,” says John, 65, from east London, who has moved down here for the week. “I’m an anarchist. I like direct action, and this lot can be too soft.”
The hopes and fears of those who may live to see significant climate change are evident in Alistair, a 16-year-old schoolkid from Glasgow whose dad dropped him off at the camp on the first day.
“In general, my school is middle-class, Catholic and slightly conservative,” he says. Would they come here? “Not a chance. They don’t care. They all laugh at me, even the teachers. Everyone calls me a communist. But the world is f***** and going downhill, and by the time everyone realises that it will be too late. So we need to do something now.”
With pretty girls sunbathing in tie-dye dresses and boys nipping to a nearby kebab van for a meat fix — all the food on site is vegan — you would be forgiven for thinking it was just another festival.
So, on a mission to the loos, I am taken aback when I round a corner to find a group of sinister-looking men in black balaclavas with “Evil” stamped across their foreheads, practising military manoeuvres.
They get a bit nervous and shoo me away, before then inviting me to join them on a march to nearby Canary Wharf. They are targeting Barclays today for crimes against the planet and support for the arms trade.
The police — terrified of any more bad press after G20 — are lurking out of sight as the crowd marches between the skyscrapers. Charlie Vietch, a 29-year-old Scot who worked in the City until four months ago, takes the megaphone to address the bankers who are peering down with curiosity from the windows above.
“I used to wear a suit and work in the City as well,” he yells. “You don’t have to do this. Come outside, rip your suits off, get naked and we will love you. We are doing it to save your souls from the devil. This is the love police!” The crowd starts to shout “Jump, jump, jump!” at the bankers, who wave merrily back at them, then it is off home for more lentils and socialising.
On the way to the Tube, a young banker who clearly started his bank holiday drinking early, grabs the megaphone from an activist and addresses the campers.
“I love you guys!” he tells the crowd.
“And we love you!” they shout back.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/environment/article6814856.ece
