XR Machynlleth post-London healing debrief session

By Beth Maiden, XR Machynlleth regenerative culture group

Almost everyone I talked to in the wake of April’s rebellion in London described taking part as ‘overwhelming’, even if they had a great time (which most had)! Actions like these are very intense and complex, and it’s hard work for most of us to participate. Hard work physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Suddenly, for days, a week, two, we are like a tiny pop-up nation, requiring systems for decision-making, communication, care and support, and more. Feelings run high as we co-create community, trying to respond collectively to a fluctuating, unpredictable environment that can change in an instant.

Then, just as suddenly, we are home, coming down from it all. Trying to make sense of what just happened, how it felt, what worked, what didn’t. What was joyful, what was painful. The whole roller-By Beth Maiden, XR Machynlleth regenerative culture groupcoaster of feelings we’ve just ridden.

We’re often so focused on the ‘action’ part of activism that we forget that driving it all is emotion. We act because we feel something. And when we are acting, we keep on feeling – highs, lows, joy, grief, anger, love, hope, elation, and of course the comedown after.

And so we need space to process. Space to share all that comes up for us – the common ground, and the different experiences. Space to celebrate. Space to release grief and pain. Space to gather back in all of the parts of ourselves that are so easily lost in these big overwhelming actions and in the fight of everyday life. Space to be witnessed as whole, imperfect, feeling beings. Space to witness each other.

Regenerative space.


A regenerative culture is one that is committed to creating those spaces, so that we can process and heal and ultimately, stay in the movement and not burn out.

Here in Machynlleth, members our Regen group hosted a healing/debrief session for local folks who had gone down to London.

I’m sharing a simple template of what we did for other groups to use/copy/adapt if wanted:

We weren’t totally sure what the session would be like – we just knew that we wanted to hold space for activists to get together and share process all they had seen and felt and experienced in London and since returning.

We booked a community room in a local church for 3 1/2 hours. We advertised the session as a debrief specifically for folks who had been to London. We encouraged people to bring along food to share, cushions, blankets. We also invited people to bring a small object that represented how they feel or felt about the action, to create a temporary community altar.

We had three of us to hold the space – two who had taken part, and one who had not (to hold the space while and allow for the other two to participate).

  • We had time to grab a cuppa while we arrived and came to sit in a big circle. There were about 20 of us from the local area. We agreed that this was a safe, confidential space.
  • For the first hour we simply went around the group. Each person took a few minutes to introduce themselves, talk about what they did in London, sharing thoughts and feelings while the group listened.
  • Then we ate together. This was really special – some folks hadn’t seen each other since the action, whilst in London everyone had felt very close. It felt really powerful and important for activists to be back together again, revisiting the experience with others who ‘get it’ about what it was like. We also lit candles on the altar.
  • After food, we worked in pairs, taking turns to share and offer active listening. One person would talk for one or two minutes, whilst the other would listen closely, without interrupting or strongly reacting. Using a timer to ensure we all got the same amount of talking/listening time, we asked three questions: How did I feel at the action? How am I feeling now? and What are you hoping for going forward, what seeds have been planted?
  • Then we joined pairs, to make ‘pods’ of four. Again using a timer (five minutes each), each group took turns to talk and listen. This time, the question was ‘What do I need?‘. This might be what I need right now (touch, words, silence…), or what I need more generally – from my community, from XR, from my self – to feel supported and remain a part of this movement.
  • Lastly, we had a closing circle to once again move round the group and share reflections on the action as a whole. Each person took a few minutes to share ideas on what was great about the action and its aftermath, and what could be done better, and we wrote these up on flip-chart paper for future planning.

Feedback after the session was that it was healing, nourishing and really necessary. As it was a dedicated space for people who had shard a very specific experience, people generally felt safe to share a wide range of emotions, they knew others would listen and understand. And whilst not everyone understood the purpose of the session at the beginning, we found that everyone had a lot to say once things opened up! There were tears and a lot of laughs, and the whole thing felt very profound. We intend to host these kinds of sessions after every action, to keep offering space for the regeneration that is so important to the sustainability of XR.

My weekend with Extinction Rebellion

Extinction Rebellion protest

Image Credit: Creative Commons: Julia Hawkins

By Tyrone Scott

This passing bank holiday weekend, I felt it was important to attend the protests launched by Extinction Rebellion in the name of preserving our planet and species. As a member of the Young Greens Executive Committee, I am passionate about the environment and was keen to get involved. I left my house early Friday morning to travel to Parliament Square, little did I know I would still be on Waterloo Bridge singing my heart out at 4AM Sunday morning!

The power of love

I have been involved in many protests in my young life, but I have rarely seen anything so well organised, so effective and so purely wholesome as this. From the first moment I stepped onto Parliament Square to the second I left Marble Arch the resounding feeling I felt was love. Love for our planet. Love for my fellow demonstrators. But most importantly, love for every human being on this planet.

Whether that be the few counter-protesters or the police trying to break us up, the important theme was that we showed love to everyone who approached us. With this approach, you avoid the pitfalls of isolating people who are not yet on board, and nothing is achieved if a significant portion of society feels isolated, and Extinction Rebellion identified and managed this to perfection.

Preventing shut down

I saw hundreds of arrests, from activists braver than I, yet the chants “We love the police” and “Who’s police, Our police!” continued to ring out until the moment I left the protest. What Extinction Rebellion understands is that the police are not the problem in this scenario, even if they are the facilitators for the will of the establishment.

What else Extinction Rebellion expertly did was make all zones alcohol and drug free. Whilst some people in attendance quite rightly fancied an ice cold can of beer in the blazing heat, everyone understood that we did not need to give the police, the right-wing press or anybody else an excuse. An excuse to shut us down. An excuse to demonise us. Or an excuse to not take us seriously.

The clear out

I spent Saturday daytime with the remaining activists on Oxford Circus, many of whom were arrested as the police scrambled to clear the junction. I watched in awe as the police used a vast array of power tools to try and free the activists who had managed to completely secure themselves to the concrete floor. The smell rising through the air of burnt tarmac. Sparks flying off the ground as they saw through the locks. Dozens of police surrounding each peaceful activist secured to the floor. This felt absolutely surreal against the backdrop of thousands of shoppers, giant brands and luxury cars. It was incredible.

Eventually, the police cleared the square however not without igniting the wrath of the protesters with some unashamedly non-environmentally friendly decisions. A large rubbish truck enters the Oxford Circus junction and all of the sleeping bags, duvets, cardboard boxes and everything else was unceremoniously discarded without a moments thought as to what could be recycled. If you could choose one crowd you would not want to watch that, it would be a large crowd of environmental activists.

As the sun went down, I moved to Waterloo Bridge for one of the most powerful evenings I have had the privilege to experience. With knowledge the police were looking to reclaim the bridge, hundreds of activists descended for an evening of music, talks and togetherness. A candlelit vigil was held whilst talented musicians played beautiful music on a wide range of interesting instruments against a backdrop of dozens of Police.

As the skatepark was dismantled, fairy lights taken down, trees torn up, we sang. As the fire brigade came to sturdy up the truck, so the police can cut protesters down to carry them away, we sang. No matter what negativity they tried to throw our way, to dampen our spirits, we simply sang.

It was clear by the end of the night the police did not expect this sheer determination and resilience from and it was evident the bridge was not being cleared tonight. Victory, for now. And yes, the bridge was cleared the following day, but not without a fight.

The morning after

Sunday brought more magic as hundreds marched from Parliament Square through to Marble Arch. A funeral procession with activists dressed in black, brass band in tow, led the rebellion forward as we marched past Buckingham Palace right into Marble Arch where Greta Thunberg delivered her rousing and inspirational speech. After days of activism, much walking and losing my voice completely, I thought I would take Sunday night to myself. Of course, my favourite band Massive Attack played a impromptu show, of which I then missed, so we are not going to talk about that.

Five Early Lessons From Extinction Rebellion

By Chris Taylor

How the new movement for ecological justice is reimagining the world by reimagining the art of protest, protection and healing. By Chris Taylor / filmsforaction.org / Apr 25, 2019

Five Early Lessons From Extinction Rebellion

Photo: Ruth Davey/Look Again – Photography for the Wellbeing of People and Planet (www.look-again.org)

Like many in the UK I have jumped feet first into the Extinction Rebellion movement. It has captured something in the zeitgeist, bringing together people across cultures and generations in a movement for fundamental global change. It’s not just about climate change. It’s about a revolution of love, deep ecology and radical transformation.

There is a long way to go. Victory will be secured over years rather than months. This is the struggle for the heart and soul of the human species, not for a quick fix climate solution. But even at this early stage we are starting to see trends and approaches that are making the difference – and that show how world-changing movements will operate in the coming global transition.

  1. This is a Self Organising System. XR is based on careful study of mass movements for civil disobedience and disruption. Local groups are free to plan and implement their own actions so long as they stay within the movement’s guiding principles. The sites occupied in London had the same freedom – to organise actions, events and activities as they saw fit.

The whole movement runs on self-organising interlinked circles connected through virtual platforms including Basecamp, Google docs and WhatsApp.

The focus on self-organisation releases untold amounts of energy and creativity. It builds agency and ownership and avoids the traps and delays of hierarchy.

  1. There is a very strong set of guiding principles. Rebels are able to navigate how to act because of ten core values. These include a shared vision, absolute non-violence, welcoming everyone and every part of everyone. Because these values are upfront and out there, they build a shared culture, which mirrors the world we are trying to create.
  2. XR’s organizational culture is “regenerative”. It aims to be nourishing and sustaining for all members. There were “welfare” tents at all London action sites offering space to relax, recuperate, meditate, practice yoga, as well as providing medical care as needed. This regenerative culture avoids burn-out and is attractive to the general population. The police were at a loss as to how to deal with such friendly protesters. Commuters grew to value the calm brought to the city, the festival atmosphere and the decrease in traffic.
  3. The movement is paying attention to its ultimate vision. XR publicly declares three concrete short term demands: governments should tell the truth about the climate emergency, they should go carbon net-neutral by 2025, and there should be a citizen’s assembly to explore and devise solutions.

But this is just the short term. Alongside this is a much longer term transformational vision, which takes its map from “the map of the human heart”. This is a vision of radical social transformation and a rebalancing of humanity’s relationship with nature. That’s the ultimate goal.

5. At its core this is a profoundly spiritual movement (with a small “s”). It is jam packed with muslims, sufis, christians, jews, quakers, buddhists and people of no faith, all exploring thier common beliefs, beyond religion. What we have found is a yearning for deeper meaning, for the magic and mystery of life, for a felt connection to the entire eco-system of this Earth. XR is alive with ceremony, contemplation and a careful, conscious action in honour of life, love and abundance. We are becoming nature protecting itself, experiencing its own beauty and evolving into its higher self.

How this will all play out is not easy to see. The movement in the UK is taking a pause, to regroup, recuperate and shift to some serious political horse-trading. What tactics will be needed to bring about both short-term policy change and long-term global transformation, only time will tell. But for sure, we’re off to a great start.

As one activist friend of mine, Nikki Levitan, put it:

“At the core of my experience this last week I see that this is the first ever activism that is heart-led, no blaming or shaming, just taking action from a place of love and collective responsibility. 
A community of all generations who care and are able to self organise. 
It is amazing when humans step out into the world and really do something and be the change, it unleashes so much creativity, possibility and courage.”

Mao once said “The Revolution is not a dinner party”. XR is showing it might just start with a street party instead.

Earth Day, 2019: Some Of Us Have Seen What’s Coming

By Cody Petterson
For the first time in 15 years, I sat down in my car the other day and broke down sobbing. On the side of a dirt road, surrounded by mountains. Waves of sadness, frustration, rage, and despair welling up.
I’d spent the day planting and watering seedlings, which I’ve done for half a decade now. We have 300 acres on the north slope of Volcan Mountain, between Julian and Warner Springs. The property got hit by the Pines Fire in 2002, which killed two-thirds of the conifers. I grew up hiking in Cuyamaca, before the fires, and I got it in my mind to restore the conifer forest on the property. It took months to figure out what was what, heading up to the mountain once a week, taking pictures, coming home and trying to identify all the species, reading late into the night about botany, and forestry, and silviculture. I collected thousands of cones. I learned how to get seeds out of them and to stratify, germinate, and pot the seeds. I started growing seedlings in the backyard. I put together a working group with US Forest Service, US Fish and Wildlife, CALFIRE, and the US Natural Resource Conservation Service. We collected and sent 30 bushels of fresh cones up to the USFS nursery in Placerville, and I eventually got a thousand seedlings from those seeds.
I planted every which way I could, learning something new each time, year after year. The first year I planted in the open. The seedlings baked. Next in the shade. They baked. I learned to water every two or three weeks, which isn’t easy across 300 acres of steeply sloped terrain. The pocket gophers ate them from below. I caged the bottoms. Rabbits severed them at the base. I caged them above ground. Rodents climbed up and down into the cages and defoliated the needles. I caged the tops. The rodents ate the needles on all the branches that protruded from the cage, and the hardware cloth cages heated up in the sun and the metal killed all the branches and needles that were in contact with it. 
And all the time, the relentless heat and dryness killed any seedling left without watering for more than two or three weeks. Winter rains are good, but there’s no snow-melt anymore, and a winter rain doesn’t help a seedling survive in October when there hasn’t been a drop of rain in 8 months (the second half of 2017 was the driest on record here). In spite of thousands of hours of thought, and worry, and work, and care, I’ve lost probably 650 out of the 700 seedlings I’ve raised from seed and planted with my own hands over the last 5 years.
That day, after a long, dirty, hot day of planting, I walked to one of my favorite spots, a ring of granite boulders sheltered by a huge, gnarled Canyon Live Oak. There, lying shattered and rotting in the middle of the ring, was half the 60 foot tall tree. The other half was still standing, but covered in the telltale, tiny D-shaped holes of Gold-spotted Oak Borer (GSOB), a beetle that gets into the phloem, xylem, and cambium of our native oaks and kills them rapidly. GSOB arrived in San Diego on firewood from southeast Arizona fifteen years ago and has been slowly advancing north, laying waste to our native oaks. It’s killed maybe 80,000 so far. I wandered around to a dozen nearby trees, all big, ancient oaks. The trunks of every one were spotted with GSOB holes. I stood there stunned. The whole millenia-old forest was dying, as far as the eye could see. I wandered back to my truck, numb.
I sat down in the driver’s seat, staring out the window. At the oaks, dying in mass. At the stately, hundred-foot-tall Bigcone Douglas Fir, towering above the oak canopy. Each Bigcone drops maybe two hundred to a thousand cones, depending on size, every three to five years. Each cone has around 100 viable seeds in it. Maybe 40,000 seeds on average per tree, every few years. Times a few hundred trees. An average of somewhere around a million seeds a year fall on our stretch of mountain. And yet there’s not more than a dozen saplings growing naturally on the entire property, 300 acres. I sat there thinking about what that meant, year after year, a million seeds dropped and maybe one or two survive, and those only on the dampest, darkest parts of the mountain. It meant the days of the Bigcone are done.
I sat thinking about those thousands of oaks on all those slopes, and ridges, and hills. Dying. I thought of the Shot Hole Borer, working its way up through our canyons, killing all San Diego’s Coast Live Oak, and willow, and sycamore, and cottonwood. I thought of the Bigcone pushing their way up through the oak canopy. Last of their kind. I thought of all my seedlings. The hundreds I’ve planted over the years and the hundreds filling my patio and yard. I’ve lost too many to count, but I can somehow remember the moment I first saw each one had dried out, or been pulled under by gophers, or stripped bare by rodents, or gnawed by rabbits, or trampled by cattle from the neighboring reservation.
I’d thought about it all a thousand times. I’ve lain in bed so many nights trying to wrestle with it. I don’t know why, but that afternoon something in my mind buckled under the weight of it. I thought, ‘How do I tell my kids?’ and I started to cry. They’ve grown up with me storing seeds and acorns in the refrigerator, germinating seeds, potting seedlings, watering them, five hundred at any given time in the backyard, working in the greenhouses, unloading all my dusty tools and empty water bottles from the truck when I get back in the evening from the mountain. Their dad working in any spare moment on reforesting is all they’ve ever known. I thought of this photo we took a couple of years ago, sitting in front of all our hundreds of seedlings. So happy. How do I tell them that I don’t know what to do with the six hundred seedlings in the backyard? That if I keep them potted in the yard, they’ll get root-bound and slowly die, and if I try to outplant them on the mountain, they’ll die even faster? That there’s no place left in the world for these trees they’ve grown up with? And then the question that was probably there the whole time, waiting to surface: How do I tell myself? I think of all the love I’ve put into saving that forest. All the years. All the thousands of hours. All the thought, and worry, and hope, and faith. How do I tell myself that it’s all gonna die? I’ve spent so long among those trees. It’s not like trees in a park you visit. I don’t go to a different trail or campground or mountain every week. I go to the same mountain, every time. I know every corner of those three hundred acres. I can see the whole forest when I close my eyes. Those trees are like friends to me. I know their peculiarities, their personalities. I can identify some of those trees by their acorns alone. It’s honestly too much. To know they’re all doomed. And if my forest is dying, the same thing is happening everywhere on earth. My mind leapt back 20 years to when I was doing fieldwork up in Kenai, Alaska. I remembered driving past hundreds of miles of conifers dying from Spruce Bark Beetle, which had exploded without the cold winters to keep its population in check. I must have blocked it out for twenty years. But it was right there, just below the surface of my consciousness, foreshadowing.
The sadness, the fear, the despair comes over me in waves when I think about it. The whole biosphere, sixty-six million years of adaptation and speciation, is dying. I took personal responsibility for repairing, conserving, stewarding my half-mile square of it, and it finally hit me–what I’d been wrestling with unconsciously for a long time–that I can’t save it. No amount of wisdom, or sacrifice, or heroism is going to change the outcome. It’s been wearing on me for years, but when you’re raised on Star Wars and unconditional positive regard, you think that no matter how long the odds, you’re somehow gonna pull off the impossible. It’s been years of working, day-in, day-out, against odds that were unimaginably long. Only, they weren’t long. They were impossible.
And at the crescendo of sobbing and loss, the saddest thought I’ve ever had came to me: I wish I didn’t know. What else can you say, when faced with a catastrophe of such vastness, with the unravelling of the entire fabric of life on earth? I mean, we need to fight to save what we can, but the web of life as we know it is done. All the beautiful things we saw as kids on the Discovery Channel. The forests I grew up in. The mountain lions, and the horned owls, and the scat and the tracks in the washes. We’re so early in this curve, and the changes that are already baked in will be so profound. I don’t think humans are headed for extinction. We’ll survive, though many of us will suffer and many die. But all this life with which we’ve shared the planet, much of it won’t make it. I wish I didn’t know. I wish I didn’t know those ancient trees dying up there on the mountain. I wish I’d never hiked through Cuyamaca before the fires. Wish I’d never looked beneath rocks for lizards in the canyons before the bulldozers came. Or heard the frogs singing.
Some of us have seen what’s coming. Some of us feel, deeply, the oneness of all life, feel its fabric fraying. On the first of April, 2019, just after 3 o’clock, some faith–some fantasy inside me–died, and I felt despair for the world I’ve known and loved. We will not save what was. The world, the systems, the interrelationships, the densely woven tapestry, the totality we were raised to love will collapse. My responsibility now is to my children–to all our children–and the world that will remain to them. To rescue as much as we can from that global conflagration, from the catastrophes of famine, and flood, and fire, and conflict, and exodus, and extinctions that await. To end our dependence on fossil fuels, immediately. To dramatically change our food production, our transportation, our land use. Our way of life. To defeat anyone and anything that opposes or hampers that work. If there were ever a truly holy war, this struggle–to save the whole of life from ourselves–is it. There can be no compromise. No increments. No quarter. There is nothing left, but to go forth–with the grief, and desperation, and granite-hard determination–and transform the world. Utterly. Immediately.

Dr. Cody Petterson is an anthropologist and environmental activist. He is president of the San Diego County Democrats for Environmental Action and serves on the boards of the San Diego River Conservancy and the Resource Conservation District of Greater San Diego. He lives with his wife and two children in La Jolla, California, where he enjoys his passion for native habitat conservation and restoration.

Extinction Rebellion Tie-in Die-in, Kendal

By Lawrence Freiesleben

On Wednesday 17th April, members of Extinction Rebellion South Lakes staged a Die-in around Kendal market place. The weather was beautiful and who is ever going to complain about that? Unfortunately, far too many people still seem to share demagogue Donald Trump’s delusion that all global warming amounts to is lucky people in temperate zones getting more sun. As a recent casualty of increasingly unstable weather systems, the population of Kendal and villages nearby must be uneasy about this. Yet it’s always been amazing, how sunny weather and the onset of spring is apt to ameliorate or dim our fears – as if us and our beautiful landscapes with their trees in blossom and the cheer of daffodils will be here forever. Despite the broken bridges that remain broken, left behind by Storm Desmond, we are all too easily reassured. The body is simple in its reaction to warmth and light and the attractions of market day.

Setting up signs and banners in three different parts of the square, chiefly outside the low chains protecting the war memorial, at first, we passed unnoticed – the colourful signs and lettered flags taken for a precursor of carnival? Careful not to conceal any information already present on the windows of two untenanted shops, our own placards were propped or masking-taped to the glass. When we left, the only real sign of our presence would be the chalked lines around the fallen bodies, including those of children who spontaneously joined in. The only damage that occurred was caused by an officious security guard to whose initial crocodile smile we had granted a charitable benefit of the doubt. Taking advantage, while we were dying elsewhere in the square, he ripped down Wendi’s banner, also throwing her treasured bicycle to the ground – all part of the job, only doing his duty . . .

By contrast the community police officer who chatted with us a while, cheerfully agreed we were doing nothing he considered illegal: the disused shop was ‘a civil matter’.

With various members of the South Lakes group away for the duration of the main Extinction Rebellion event in London, our numbers were limited. Arrest however, seemed unlikely and the greatest block in many of our minds may have been embarrassment – that classic British trait?

Never underestimate the effect of embarrassment. If it wasn’t for crippling embarrassment, you never know, I might have taken up ballroom dancing, or any type of dancing. Or learned languages freely.

A Cornish friend of mine ,an eco-activist since the 70’s – who held secret midnight discussions with Swampy in the 1990’s and was an invited guest at C40’s 2011 conference in Sao Paulo – was adamant that action needs to be taken at every level, from every possible angle.

The thought that the Home Front is just as crucial as the Front Line, was one I kept in my mind to deflect disappointment at not being able to get to London – a regret of other members too. But if some considered Kendal a soft option, others were not convinced.

One interested office worker, who soon became a member, said she’d been down in London and felt quite comfortable joining the throng: the largeness of the company making her feel safe. In Kendal our group fluctuated at around 16. Crowd support and back-up were, to say the least, limited. That, she felt, would have made her think twice.

By contrast, a lady who died there and then, wished she’d known in advance that an expensive trek to London wasn’t necessary – nor incurring the irony of extra carbon to get to an event protesting against it!

Though I admire all those resolute, tireless, folk who walked to London, my ideal would have been to cycle. And maybe next time, if things don’t change fast, there will huge columns of cyclists all across the country, legally blocking routes everywhere – a wheeled echo of the Jarrow marchers. With enough warning there need be no idling engines. Everyone will know to put their cars and lorries away and stay at home.

In provincial towns, many of the public appear to know little or nothing about Extinction Rebellion. To them, it’s just a story on the news about some “pesky protesters” far away, “down in London”. Seeing Kendal residents they recognise – many of them pensioners with no experience of making a spectacle of themselves or braving abuse, determined for the sake of their grandchildren to make their point and explain what XR is about – really opens their eyes. It becomes personal rather than a fleeting headline. Our purpose in Kendal was not to disrupt ,but to try to publicise and explain, and although we had two or three hysterical people railing against us, generally, there was interest and support. Even the stallholders trying to make a living, were not all hostile.

Not wanting to disadvantage any of the stallholders in particular, after an hour we altered one of the locations of our dying. I asked the trader on the vegetable stall if he minded us dying nearby and he said not. Taking a leaflet to read at home, he only cautioned us against the shifting shade.

Undoubtedly, there is a vulnerability felt in lying on the pavement. With eyes shut, all the passing comments of support or scorn, impatience or contempt, become magnified. Yet talking was harder for me . . . at least at first. Others went through this same transition. My partner, who tends to be reserved in interactions with strangers, quickly warmed to the task. By the end she felt empowered. At last she was doing something instead of just worrying – and if things turned nasty we had a plan to ensure at least one of us would be free to pick the children up from school.

I’m not sure I felt empowered, but I did eventually manage to engage a few sceptics – who hopefully walked on with at least some idea of the crisis we are in.

“When you lot can do something about over-population let me know!” One woman challenged, and it was tempting to emphasise how wars, plagues and famines linked to climate change are already common and will only get worse. It’s always difficult to avoid the temptation towards fatalism that underlies the go-for-broke mentality so prevalent all over the world.

Throwing leaflets straight in the bin or refusing eye-contact were probably less common than the polite statement “I’m O.K. thanks” to proffered leaflets – a reaction which riled some of my comrades – struggling perhaps to resist the retort of “Not for long!”

The dilemma of how forceful we should be – purely verbally – stays with me. Long arguments with bitter opponents absorb valuable time, as does preaching to the converted. The background hope is that some people between these extremes, will later usefully reflect on a few points gently made.

The role of chief hysteric went to a woman ranting about our lack of respect for the war memorial. This, we stayed outside and fixed nothing to. We merely lay down nearby. Personally, I saw this more as a homage. What was the point of all those soldiers dying, only for us to trash the world they died for?

The war against extinction, against apathy over climate change and our own careless consumerism, is more urgent even than the fight seventy years ago, against the Axis powers.
(Photos by Kirsten Freiesleben April 17th 2019)

From XR Die-in, Seattle

By Rob Lewis

I am lying on sunlit bricks before the Henry M. Jackson Federal Building. I have died, and now look up at a twisted rectangle of sky framed by glass-sided buildings. A single branch waves overhead, reaching from a tree rising from a square of trucked-in soil. About twenty people have also died around me, and lay in the positions they fell in. We will stay dead for about twelve minutes.

That’s how many years we have to prevent climate hell on earth, at least according to the last fleet of studies.  Twelve years is not a lot of time. Perhaps I should have better things to do with mine. But then I realize, arms splayed out, looking slantwise up at the diamond-pointed sun, I’m doing precisely the thing I should be doing and want to be doing. I am dying into the truth of my time. I am dying into the dying. And it feels strangely restorative

The sea is near. I can smell it. And I begin thinking of orcas, in particular, one named Tahlequah. Last August, with her dead calf draped across her nostrum, she heralded her calf through the sea for seventeen days and nights? She made us look. She made us see what life is like behind the word extinction. It’s hunger, loss, attrition. Extinction lowered its mask of data and revealed a broken-hearted mother, grieving on a scale beyond our ken, a grief as big as the ocean. I am thinking I am lucky to be able to lie here and grieve for her, and for all of creation, really. I am thinking of how long I have needed to do this.

Those who can’t lie down join in standing-death. I can’t see anyone though, just this strange, powder-blue fragment of sky. On this chilly April morning the bricks are surprisingly warm, laying a deep bed of deep quiet amidst the clanging jack-hammers, staccato horns, rhythmic sirens. The city thrums on and I realize we are the lucky ones. We at least have found an off-ramp, a brief side exit from the techno-industrial race to ruin.

Though we appear to be sleeping, we are actually waking. We are shaking off an industrial drowse, grieving for a distracted humanity. There’s a feeling of honour to it, a solemnity. This is necessary work. It helps that the sun warms our faces. It helps that we decided to just do this, as awkward as it might have felt at first.

And now here we are, dying into something beyond ourselves, into orcas, snow geese, yellow tanagers, glacier-fed streams, snow-fed glaciers, salmon and seasons. Climate refugees, hurricane victims; we die for them too. By our bodies we have cleared and planted a small plot of human atonement, and inhabit it with a mood akin to prayer. A cloud’s view would see a city swirling around a spot of stillness. Is it a wound or a flower?

It is surely both.

Earth March Diary from Colchester

By Ness

Day one. Boudicca the litter collector of Colchester. We collected a dustbin sack full of cans, plastic wrap, fag packets, plastic bottles… Mostly all plastic. Sadly we filled a sack within a quarter of a mile, before we had to stop to recycle it. It actually felt like an ocean we couldn’t content with. We ceremoniously marked the sealing of the first sack by advertising the work of #extinctionrebellion in the form of wall papering a bus stop with some beautiful XR posters – You’re welcome.


Theresa, Janet and myself walked on, leaving the town behind for the main road out of Colchester, before leaving the beaten track for the tranquility of birdsong from hedgerows in country lanes; far less litter here. We passed a farm, with three tractors planting potatoes on a very small field; disproportionate for three machines; the three of us just watched, no words needed…. Shared yet unspoken calculations regarding pollution, energy and yield. The maths just doesn’t add up; the answer certainly doesn’t benefit us.

Day…. What day is it? Thursday 11th. After a tough walk to D’Arcy yesterday, i slept brilliantly. Fab campsite, hot showers and in bed by 7:45 – the only way to stay warm. Q: What’s the one thing every peri menopausal woman dreads whilst camping in the freezing cold? A: surprise period! Excellent. Luckily, i did pack two bullets for my pistol, just in case. Even luckier, our next door neighbour in the caravan managed to find a random tampon in her make up bag. Lady, i am eternally grateful. This may be an overshare; get over it. This has made me think about what it’s like for women sleeping rough; just something else bloody awful to contend with (‘scuse the pun). It was a bloody cold night, but it was mouse free and i slept really well. Theresa and i got ourselves packed up and set off at 10 this morning, as we were to part company at Tolleshunt Knights. On arriving there we discovered the bus service had been axed, but a kind Catalonian woman in the form Gloria, (79, district nurse) gave Theresa a ride to Tollesbury, after a great discussion about the Franco regime and introducing us to her friend Ines who serenaded me on the pavement with a Spanish song, before bestowing a leaflet about Jesus on me. Simply blown away by random acts of kindness.

Day four. Friday 12th. Danbury – Writtle. Despite it being only 7.5 miles, I’m being forced to take the day off. After 13 miles yesterday I’ve developed two really awful blisters, which are incredibly painful, preventing me from walking. Today I have no choice but to rest at my friend’s house with Poppy keeping me company. Due to this, my plans changed from camping tonight to sofa surfing courtesy of Miriam, an XR friend in Chelmsford. It also seems that I may not have dodged the bug…. I’m about to go back to bed in the hope I can shake this off a dreadful headache, sore throat and streaming nose. If I surface in a couple of hours feeling better, I shall make my way to Writtle, as the plan tonight is to meet up with Chelmsford rebels to make banners and keep warm before Miriam rescues me and let’s me sleep on her sofa. Fingers crossed this is just fatigue. I’m not done yet.

Day 5 – Saturday 13th – back home, currently game over. Ended up having to come home. It seems I didn’t escape Sophia’s bug. It was a hard decision to make, my best friend Bee looked after me in her home brilliantly, however there’s no place like home when you develop a temperature of 39 degrees. Those of you that know me well will know that my default position on everything is nearly always confrontational; I fight; but when it comes to health I believe that when your body shouts loudest you should listen; it’s your vehicle that will get you to your destination – so requires love and care. I’m glad I listened, because this morning I don’t feel well at all.
Part of the capitalist rhetoric – the “no pain, no gain” ethos is in stark contrast to regenerative culture; it is non compassion at the deepest level; something I am trying to change in nursing culture; a concept that formed a book chapter to inspire change in the way we socialise students into the profession.
So here I am, after a night of rigours and sweats; grateful to be warm in my home with my family, and not suffering the cold and damp in my tent.
Today, I would have been walking from Writtle to Kelvedon Hatch, having met up with fellow travellers Bob and Colin. Colin has taken the baton from me now, and Bob has sorted me out a place to sleep tomorrow night if I’m back in the game – which I intend to be. I want to thank so many people for their support, effort and care….. Too numerous to mention in my current state of being; you know who you are – all of you XXX