Gogmorgen! That’s Danish for good morning. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to use it yet, as I’m surrounded by pretty much every European nationality other than Danish.
The Journey is always a very British thing to talk about, so I’ll start my first update with that. It was long. Very long. 24 hours on a coach sounds bad, but you have no idea how unpleasant it can be until you try it. In all fairness, it wasn’t as if the coach was falling apart, it was rather comfy. But there’s something so unsatisfying about waking up in a new country and just going through the routine of pee, smoke, eat crappy salami sandwich.
Things got very interesting on the German/Danish border, where we were stopped for over an hour and subjected to a bit of light frisking. Some more than others. Especially if they are carrying an army helmet with ‘Press’ stamped all over it because they thought it would be a good idea. Here’s a pointless fact for you; it is illegal to wear body protection at a demonstration in Germany, or if you are traveling through Germany to a demonstration.
I did not know this, but thankfully PC Schmidt (no, i’m not being racist, that was his real name) believed my plea of ignorance and let me off with a caution and a nice letter for my landlady to pick up. I’ve got to hand it to the Climate Camp legal team, when they saw I may be in a spot of bother they explained that they were in charge I wasn’t a protester. This is the first example of the sharing-and-caring attitude I’ve been experiencing more and more.
After arriving in Copenhagen to many cheers, we were very quickly shut up by seeing two police coaches (yes, coaches, with blues and twos) rammed full of protesters. Rumours were flying everywhere about the arrest number which ranges from 300-700 yesterday alone. But,compare that to the supposed 130,000 activists here, and it’s pretty small fry.
After a cock up on the buses, it took 45 minutes to get to our squat. Well, I call it a squat, but to be honest it’s palatial. There is central heating, showers, a kitchen, and you don’t even notice that you’re sleeping on a wooden floor. I have the distinct feeling that I’m not really doing this right.
Last night meant a walkabout into town to see some of the ‘convergence’ spaces. These are other squats like the one I’m staying in where activists from different countries and ideologies meet to eat, sleep and smoke. If I’m honest, it wasn’t the most welcoming place I’ve ever visited, and it soon became pretty clear that there were certain divisions between the activists.
Lolling around, smoking joints and sharing bottles of wine were the Greens. The pro-environment, anti-capitalist activists. These guys tend to be friendlier, more relaxed, and less political – more along the lines of ‘be excellent to each other’. The other groups were slightly more worrying, namely the Black Bloc Anarchists. Now it sounds scarier than it is, but they really don’t help their rep by huddling in corners wearing all black. They also don’t help their rep by smashing the hell out of (and setting light to) pretty much everything in sight when they’re out demonstrating.
I was told that the most hardcore of activists were the Italian Anarchists, supposedly because they have to be prepared for torture upon capture in their home country. It was hearing that, and seeing graffiti of a certain well know separatists group all over one wall, which really hit this home to me. I’m in quite a dangerous place.
WHAT TO DO NOW?