Lips: Exactly Where I Needed to Be
Lips: In court and exactly where I need to be
As Greta Thunburg, the female teenage activist takes the world by storm, my forthcoming single ‘Lips’ is centred around a spontaneous moment of non-violent resistance to the destruction of our earth.
The coach was booked for 4.15am from Bristol. We were legally required to be at City of London Magistrates Court by 9.30am. But having packed my bag, made my lunch, folded my clothes neatly and (apparently) set my alarm for an early start, I opened my eyes to sunlight. For a moment I was confused; I turned over to look at the clock.
“It’s five to seven!” I gasped, almost pushing my husband out of bed.
“Get in the car...now,” was his only response.
The whole of our conversation consisted of those eight words and five minutes later we were pulling onto the motorway; me still in my nighty, clutching my toothbrush and aforementioned clothes and belongings.
It was 7.00 and with the traffic, we would never make it straight to the courts in time.
“The train?”
“Reading”.
Our monosyllabic conversation continued.
My phone told me there was a direct train leaving Reading at 8.21 which would get into Paddington at 8.50, giving me time to make the tube journey to Bank. Google Maps said we could get to the station by 8.26. We could shave off 5 minutes, I was sure of it.
A supernatural calm descended on me, despite the irony of burning down the motorway to attend a court hearing for protesting government inaction on Climate Change.
I was settled in my head that I would plead guilty. I had discussed my options at great length with my lawyer from Hodge Jones Allen, a firm specialising in representing activists (apparently I am one of them now!) If I pleaded guilty but went into the court unrepresented, I would have the chance to read a statement and have my voice heard without having to go forward with a trial at this time; it felt like the right thing for me to do.
I arrived at 9.29am, just in time, to a foreboding building which I was thankfully distracted from by the welcoming sight of people waiting in support, smiling and greeting me and my fellow activists appearing in court that day.
It was busy. Everyone seemed to be in the same boat, nervously chatting and sharing stories. People were handing out fruit and chocolate and someone went out for coffees – and then suddenly I was called –
“Samantha Lindo, guilty plea, unrepresented”.
The next thing I knew I was sitting on the back row of three tables in front of the judge. A whole row of people behind me – legal advisers, other defendants and media volunteers. A lady was just finishing off her not-guilty plea, discussing the details of the court date with the judge.
I sat with a dry mouth. Was this really happening? Not just the fact that I was there, but that the earth and us as humanity face this reality. I’d always known it, felt it, lamented it quietly, but this outward experience of the state of things sent a new wave of crushing disbelief and grief through my bones. Thinking back to that Easter morning service where this had all began, perhaps, like all paths in Jesus’ life were leading to the cross, all the paths in my life had been leading to this. The cost of telling the truth and acting accordingly. The judge invited me to take a seat at the defendant’s table.
I was asked my name, address, date of birth and plea. A man adjacent to me, who I soon realised was the prosecutor on behalf of the police, started to speak, recalling all the details of my arrest.
I had joined the protest straight from an Easter morning service at St John’s Waterloo. The female curate (who had been hosting activists in the crypt all week) had given a moving sermon in support of Extinction Rebellion, celebrating the radical love of Mary Magdalene, the devoted woman who watched and waited with Jesus until the end, unafraid of facing the parts of reality that many would rather turn away from. We witnessed the baptism of a small, innocent child, a child that had no knowledge of the situation we face, yet who will reap the consequences of our choices now.
As we arrived onto the occupied bridge, an Brazilian indigenous woman, who held the crowd in the palm of her hand with her words and songs, told us how when they march to protect the last parts of the Amazon, their home and indeed, the very lungs of the earth, they are met not just with the police, but with the military. The privilege of our democracy and our right to protest safely shone in my mind and I felt compelled to use it.
Suddenly, an army of police officers descended with orders to move us to the legal protesting site at Marble Arch. At that moment, I looked around to what seemed like a sea of women (men too, but for some reason around me, predominantly women) sitting in the road, refusing to move, to be in solidarity with this woman and indeed all women, men, children, animals and plants who face extinction if inaction continues.
Later in the police van, a female officer, who was chatting to us and giving us Haribo, commented on how many women had been arrested. I replied instinctively –
“Well, one hundred years ago, we would have been getting arrested for the vote.”
She agreed and nodded. Myself, the officer and the two other ladies who I’d been arrested with shared a smile and a quiet moment of solidarity.
In the court room the prosecutor read the words of my arresting officer which described in detail how he had previously warned a group of women, sitting in the road, singing, of the section 14 imposed on the protest. On returning to them, he continued, they “continued singing and started applying lipstick”.
The courtroom erupted with giggles and I tried my best to conceal my smile from the judge. This moment would inspire my song ‘Lips’ and the celebration of the cheeky non-violent resistance of the many womxn across the earth right now.
But then the mood changed. He looked at me.
“Ms Lindo, do you have anything to say at this point?
I stood, my legs shaking.
“Yes, your honour”. I started to speak.
“I have pleaded guilty today because I did understand the section 14 imposed on the protest on Waterloo Bridge on Easter Sunday and I chose to remain present.”
I continued.
“The officers present were clear, kind and professional in communicating this to me, as they were all the way through my detention, something I appreciated through what was the somewhat daunting experience of my first arrest.”
The judge nodded.
“As a teacher of young people suffering with their mental health, working in the public sector, I understand first-hand the stretched resources that the police force are faced with and I am sorry my arrest took up some of these precious resources.”
This was well received, I noted.
“I am also sorry if any of those resources were diverted from supporting young people, something that was constantly on my mind throughout my night in the cell.”
“But, more than anything…”. I took a deep breath.
“I am sorry that it has come to this. That I feel I have to get myself arrested in order to get my voice heard.”
The words spilled out of me now, no looking at the page.
“I have campaigned, marched and legally protested for the whole of my adult life.”
“We have been ignored.”
“This is an emergency.”
“Unprecedented.”
My voice broke and you could feel the weight of the room.
“It has got to the point where I can no longer look the young people I work with in the eye and tell them I believe there is hope for their future. Or, as a recently married woman in her 30s, when everyone is expecting me to have a child, to even consider this a reasonable or indeed moral thing to do, or retain any sense of emotional and psychological congruence within myself without acting in accordance with this emergency.”
I took a breath.
“Nor, as someone with a Christian faith, who is called to stand up for the vulnerable and tell the truth.”
My eyes met the judge’s as I drew my thoughts into a close.
“So, Your Honour, if I am guilty of acting in accordance to this emergency – to protect myself, my future child and indeed all of us… then so be it.”
“But, if I am guilty, I would like to ask you and all here present, how much more guilty is the government, that holds power in this country, for not acting, not telling the truth and not doing it’s ultimate job of protecting our lives, the lives of our children and indeed all life on this planet?”
“Thank you.”
There was a pause. The judge, broke the silence.
“Well, Ms Lindo” tripping over his words slightly.
“I have to say, you have expressed yourself… most eloquently.”
He looked moved. And to be honest, in agreement.
“I am giving you a six month conditional discharge and a fixed penalty of £85 plus victim charge of £20 totalling £105”.
We discussed how I would pay this, all the while standing, my legs feeling like jelly.
As I turned to leave the room, the court erupted with a huge round of applause. I hadn’t expected that. Everyone who was at the back stood, it was wonderful to walk past the emotional, smiling faces of those who had been there with me to share this moment.
I floated out into the waiting room to be congratulated and thanked by an array of people, and to my surprise, a lady was there as arrestee support collecting all my details, ready to give me a big hug.
I knew in that moment that this was one of the most meaningful moments of my life. I felt I was exactly where I was meant to be, doing what I was meant to be doing. Acting in non-violence. Demanding justice. Telling the truth.
It felt not only wonderful, it felt divine.