These are just the latest examples of a growing trend of shock-activism that combines political protest and public nuisance. Ostensibly, they are carried out by distinct groups motivated by a particular cause, such as immigration, the environment, or Palestine. In reality, however, all are animated by the same, self-destructive ideology: neotoddlerism.

This movement has its roots in the digital revolution of 2009, when use of smartphones and social media reached a critical mass, allowing strangers to easily unite and mobilise around shared views. But protests didn’t just become bigger and more frequent; they also became more outrageous.

In infants, the chief causes of outrageous behaviour — impulsivity, attention-seeking, and a sense of entitlement — are considered normal, but in adults they’re key symptoms of the “cluster-B” personality disorders. All four such traits —  narcissistic, histrionic, antisocial and borderline — are associated with heavy social media use, most likely because such platforms offer cluster-B types a stage for their theatrics. Social media is thus the perfect meeting place for society’s most overemotional people.

Further, the ease with which theatrical behaviour goes viral online has convinced many that a better world doesn’t require years of patient work, only a sufficient quantity of theatrics. Many activists — on both the Left and Right — now hope to bring about their ideal world in the same way a spoiled brat acquires a toy they’ve been denied: by being as loud and hysterical as possible. This is neotoddlerism: the view that utopia can be achieved by acting like a three-year-old.

It’s an ideology for an age of instant gratification. Just as convenience culture has led us from hours-long films, to half-hour-long TV shows, to minutes-long YouTube videos, to seconds-long TikTok clips; so the same dumbing-down is happening to politics: the arduous process of discussion and debate is giving way to the instant hit of shocking outbursts and other viral moments.

Instead of trying to produce the best arguments, neotoddlers try to produce the most shocking video clips, which typically involve vandalism, desecration, or some other kind of public meltdown. Thus, they outrage others by embracing their own outrage and lashing out at the world. This surrender to their own impulses makes them first-order thinkers, meaning they consider immediate consequences but not consequences of consequences.

This chronological myopia was starkly illustrated after the October 7 terrorist attack by Hamas against Israel. Many neotoddlers celebrated the massacre because, in their fairy-tale worldview, Palestine is the damsel, Hamas is the knight, and Israel is the dragon. However, the cheering neotoddlers, trapped by their hatred in a perpetual present, couldn’t think far enough ahead to realise that Israel was going to retaliate, and that its wrath would be catastrophic for the Palestinians. When the inevitable retaliation came, the neotoddlers’ joy turned to horror as it dawned on them that actions have consequences.

One young pro-Palestine activist, Riddhi Patel, learned this lesson the hard way. In April, she addressed councillors at a Bakersfield City Council meeting in California, and, outraged by their refusal to pass a motion calling for a ceasefire in Gaza, proclaimed to the councillors that she’d murder them, adding: “I hope one day somebody brings the guillotine and kills all of you motherfuckers.” Later, she appeared in court on 16 felony counts, sobbing uncontrollably as she was confronted by the second-order effects that her first-order thinking had failed to foresee.

Unfortunately, it is unlikely she’ll learn much from her punishment. Not only do neotoddlers lack impulse-control, they also mistake their lack of impulse-control for morality, and mistake the impulse-control of others for callousness. “Where is the outrage?” they commonly yell, demanding everyone be as irrational as them. For the neotoddler, impatience is a virtue.

The Civil Rights movement succeeded because it was guided by leaders who had clear, specific and realistic goals, and were able to negotiate to achieve them. Since neotoddlers “organise” mostly on social media, they’re decentralised, and don’t have leaders that can guide them or negotiate for them. They therefore don’t have the means to create, only to disrupt.

And so they disrupt, with the goal of spreading awareness. Yet their attempts to do so are misguided because, for all the issues they protest about — from immigration to climate change — the problem is not a lack of awareness; it’s a lack of solutions. We don’t need to be told that war, injustice, and pollution are bad, because we learned these lessons in primary school. What we need are realistic plans of action — but the neotoddlers have none. A “ceasefire now!” would quickly be broken by Hamas. To “just stop oil!” would be to cause Western civilisation to regress technologically into an age of famine, war and superstition. On immigration, the Government can’t just “get them out”.

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Even more dysfunctionally, neotoddlers often try to disrupt attempts to meet their own demands. Many pro-Palestine activists call for peace in Gaza and yet praise Hamas, the main obstacle to peace in Gaza. And many eco-warriors oppose fossil fuels but also try to stop viable alternatives such as electric and nuclear by, for example, storming Tesla factories and atomic energy conferences. And recent Right-wing protesters in Sunderland, who claimed to represent the unheard, burned down a citizens’ advice centre, one of the few places to offer an ear to the unheard.

Unsurprisingly, nuisance-protests often end up alienating ordinary people. While the public supports climate action, it has a negative opinion of Just Stop Oil. And while the public supports a ceasefire in Gaza, it has a negative opinion of the campus protesters. The same is true of Right-wing nuisance protests: while the public generally believes immigration should be curbed, it has a negative opinion of those, like Tommy Robinson, who incited the recent riots. So, though nuisance-protests do get attention, little of that attention is converted to sympathy and a lot to spite.

But if nuisance-protests are counterproductive, why are they spreading? Because protests are usually motivated more by emotion than reason. Take the recent Southport riots. These have been driven not by any rational plan but by the frustrations of Right-wingers and ordinary working-class people about their concerns over immigration not being taken seriously by politicians. These frustrations, stoked by fake news, have led them to engage in infantile — and dangerous — actions like vandalising mosques and setting fire to police cars, which will hurt their cause more than help it. But it does make them feel good for the moment, and they live mostly for the moment.

As for Left-wing neotoddlers, their motivations tend to be more complex (but no less childish) than those of their Right-wing counterparts, because, instead of being impoverished and alienated, they tend to be privileged and popular. For instance, an analysis by the Washington Monthly revealed that the Gaza campus protests were largely confined to the most expensive and elite colleges. And Just Stop Oil members are themselves quick to admit that their movement is “privileged” and living in a white middle-class “student bubble”.

This is no accident: it’s often the affluent, not the downtrodden, who have a greater motivation to protest. As the philosopher Eric Hoffer explained in his 1951 book, The True Believer: “There is perhaps no more reliable indicator of a society’s ripeness for a mass movement than the prevalence of unrelieved boredom.” People need struggles. If their supply of problems dwindles too low, they begin to embellish the problems they already have, and invent completely new ones. As Hoffer writes: “Passionate hatred can give meaning and purpose to an empty life. Thus people haunted by the purposelessness of their lives try to find a new content not only by dedicating themselves to a holy cause but also by nursing a fanatical grievance.”

Overall, Left-wing neotoddlers and Right-wing neotoddlers tend to come from different demographics — with the former being younger, richer, more educated, and more female than the latter — and this gives them different motivations, and different modus operandi. For instance, research suggests that the cluster-B trait of narcissism, which is a feeling of self-importance, takes a different form in the two groups. In Right-wingers, it mostly manifests as a sense of entitlement, while in Left-wingers it mostly manifests as a need for exhibitionism.

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This is borne out in the different approaches Left-wingers and Right-wingers take towards their public tantrums. Right-wing nuisance-protests, such as those in Southport, are primarily attempts to relieve their frustration at not getting what they want. As such, they typically take the form of straightforward thuggery and hooliganism: starting fires, overturning cars and hurling bricks.

In contrast, nuisance-protests for Left-wing causes tend to be less about relieving frustration and more about getting attention. As such, they are usually more calculated and creative: throwing soup over paintings, releasing insect-swarms into hotels, or, most recently, painting the hands of a statue of Anne Frank red.

Generally, the Left-wing approach is more effective at getting attention. It took mass destruction by hundreds of Right-wingers in Southport to make news headlines, but it only took two Just Stop Oil activists with orange paint at Heathrow to achieve the same. Left-wing nuisance-protests are also treated more kindly by the mainstream. Right-wing protests tend to be roundly condemned by polite society, firstly because they tend to be more violent, and secondly because upholders of mainstream culture — such as liberal journalists, academics, and entertainers — are culturally programmed to dismiss concerns about Islam or immigration as “far-Right”, placing such concerns outside the bounds of polite discourse (and into the hands of actual extremists).

Left-wing protests, on the other hand, are generally viewed by Western cultural elites as well-meaning. The West’s mainstream knowledge-producing institutions, from academia to the liberal media, tend to be populated mostly by Left-leaning people who see Left-wing neotoddlers as a force for good because they’re broadly ideologically aligned with them and judge them by their perceived intentions rather than their results. For this reason, the mainstream treats Left-wing neotoddlers as its golden child, always seeing the best in them, while Right-wing neotoddlers are treated like the red-headed stepchild, worthy only of scorn.

This is particularly true at universities, where a decades-long encouragement of cluster-B infantilism reached a tipping point this summer with the campus protests. We saw the students put everything they’d been taught — exhibitionism, catastrophisation, hysteria — into practice. The protests quickly came to resemble a LARP. Whenever the protesters occupied a new part of the campus, they hung banners and declared it liberated. All this liberating eventually made them feel peckish. But when they demanded refreshments from university officials, and were denied, they claimed they were being deprived of “basic humanitarian aid” and might die of starvation.

This kind of grandiose fantasising is emblematic of people with narcissistic traits because it makes their struggles seem bigger than they actually are. As such, we commonly see similar kinds of catastrophisation among other flavours of neotoddler; every flood or forest fire is an omen of “climate catastrophe”, Israel is an “apartheid state”, biological facts about sex are “erasing trans people”, and immigration is “white genocide”. Such histrionics, whether propagated in error or with intention, serve to manipulate other hysterical people into becoming neotoddlers.

And the grim irony is that, by believing the world is worse than it actually is, neotoddlers make the world worse. Their disruptions and vandalism exert a huge economic and social cost on society, and they prevent ordinary people from getting to work, attending funerals of loved ones, and meeting vital medical appointments.

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Unsurprisingly, the harm neotoddlers cause to liberal democracies has endeared them to foreign dictators. The Ayatollah developed a soft spot for the Ivy League campus protesters, cheerleading them on X, and even writing them a letter of support. It also recently transpired that Iran has been funding and directing activists across the US, and that they even masterminded an anti-Israel protest at McGill University in Canada. Closer to home, the misinformation that caused the Southport riots was amplified by a fake news website linked to the Russian government.

So, how can we end this age of neotoddlerism? The simplest way would be to cut off its main source of support. And that isn’t the Ayatollah or Putin, or even the universities. No, the neotoddlers’ main source of support is, in fact, you and I.

Neotoddlerism endures because it is much more effective at making news headlines and going viral than traditional forms of protest. As a case in point, on 22 June, celebrity environmentalists like Emma Thompson and Chris Packham led a huge march of over 60,0000 people through London, to raise awareness of habitat destruction and wildlife loss. It received little press coverage. Around the same time, a handful of Just Stop Oil protesters squirted orange paint on Stonehenge; it made the front page of every major UK newspaper, and coverage in the global press too.

Likewise, last week in London, there was a generally peaceful march against mass immigration, involving tens of thousands of people of all ethnicities, and led by figures like Tommy Robinson and Laurence Fox. It was ignored by most of the press. One week later, when Robinson embraced his inner-toddler and stoked violent riots, they made global headlines.

At a time when competition for attention is fierce, it makes business sense for the press and social media platforms to boost stories that outrage people into clicking and sharing. Such platforms naturally form a symbiosis with people who seek to outrage their way to fame: demagogues like Robinson; vandals like Just Stop Oil “poster girl”  Phoebe Plummer; and more bizarre figures still, like the “performance artist turned political activist” Crackhead Barney, who wears little but a diaper and seeks to save Gaza by being as obscene as possible.

By giving these figures platforms, we’ve not only allowed them to proselytise to huge audiences, but we’ve also turned them into idols — living testaments that you can get what you want by acting like a baby. And we can’t blame the media for this; they’re just showing us what we prefer to see. It is ordinary people who have made being a public nuisance pay. Neotoddlerism needs nothing more than attention to thrive — it is physical clickbait — and we just keep clicking.

But there is a way out. The solution to neotoddlers is the same as the one to regular spoiled brats: to ignore their outbursts and deny them attention. If someone sets fire to a car or makes a mess with orange paint, it shouldn’t make global or even national news. The media will stop reporting on these stories when we stop engaging with them. They’ll stop amplifying — and thereby incentivising — the neotoddlers when we do. So we should learn to react more slowly to news, to pay attention to what we pay attention to, and to give more of our attention to behaviours we wish to encourage rather than those we disapprove of. It’s not just the neotoddlers who need to be less impulsive, we do too.

And there are many people in this world who deserve our attention. The Dutch inventor Boyan Slat, for instance, has for the past 10 years been quietly removing plastic from the oceans through his startup, The Ocean Cleanup. His project recently hit a milestone of 15,000,000kg of trash removed from oceans and rivers worldwide, but it’s hardly been reported by the press. Meanwhile, Greta Thunberg became world famous by yelling and blocking entrances to public buildings.

We don’t yet have any start-ups to clear the oceans of rubber dinghies, but such a thing is possible, if addressing illegal immigration can be made more palatable to polite society. And that will only happen when the people who wish to “stop the boats” refrain from acting like the violent thugs they’re often stereotyped as, and start supporting practical, adult solutions.

Every child begins life throwing tantrums. And every good parent learns to ignore them, because they know that acknowledging attention-seeking behaviours validates them, and prevents their kids from outgrowing them. If we wish to stop seeing good causes ruined by bad actors, we must stop rewarding immaturity. If we wish to usher in an age of post-toddlerism, we must stop making neotoddlers famous.

Wearing their constitutional knowledge commendably lightly, Youth Demand’s Twitter/X account explained to its followers that the state opening of Parliament is “an outdated, farcical parade” in which the “King will ride in a (literal) golden carriage” and “welcome in” Keir Starmer “as the new head of a blood-stained Parliament”. Only by disrupting the event in a way that will prove “impossible to ignore” does the group think it can achieve its aim: an “end to genocide”, starting with an Israeli arms embargo, and — a little incongruously, but they might as well read the whole shopping list while they’ve got your attention — a prohibition on new licences for oil and gas exploration in the UK.

Parliament is an appropriate target for rebuke because, as the group emphasises, whether “Tories or Labour, it all means genocide”. “Young people are not stupid,” they insist, perhaps pre-empting a charge sometimes levelled at this stage of the sales pitch. Rather, they “see through the bullshit” obscuring the fact that UK’s is a “rigged political system”.

As should be clear, in idiom and action Youth Demand is a fitting addition to the paramilitary wing of the student-led activist movement. As of April this year, it already claimed a 10,000-strong mailing list, with representatives at 17 British universities. Among its recent political achievements, it has spray-painted Labour Party headquarters and the Ministry of Defence, and staged a creepy protest involving children’s shoes outside the Starmer family home in Kentish Town, leading to three of its members being convicted of public order offences. (Apostates being worse than infidels, it is the Labour Party that seems to come in for the worst of Youth Demand’s ire, despite the group’s offhand acknowledgement of the Conservative Party’s responsibility for “14 years” of unspecified “atrocity”.)

It is tempting to think that the rapid turnover of political fashion over the past decade has had a curious effect on protest-oriented youth. More than at any point in recent history, today’s student protestor must be a generalist rather than a specialist. In a style characteristic of a conspiracy theorist, their background theory of the operant forces in society encourages them to see every injustice as standing in close explanatory connection to every other: and a failure to see these sometimes quite obscure links can be a worrying symptom of bad faith, privilege-induced blindness, or something even more culpably malign.

Under such pressures it is easy to acquire the monistic belief that there is really only one political problem — though one that perhaps has different manifestations — as people have started calling it, the “omnicause”. In the mouths of today’s protestors, what often seem like quite different political objects of disapproval — global capitalism, the patriarchy, white supremacy, Gaza, environmental terrorism, settler colonialism — are slurred over in a way that makes them seem fungible. They are all vantage points on the same monolithic oppressor. Something like that deflationary urge might always have been with us. But unlike their ancestors, who would have urged each other perfunctorily to “stick it to the man”, today’s activists feel shamelessly compelled to spell out the weird consequences of their background theory. Hence, the unabashed existence of vividly maladaptive movements such as Queers for Palestine.

The resulting political movements are characterised by an unhealthy mix of political disengagement and global fixation. The ordinary mechanisms of electoral politics are judged too feeble to be of any service to the extravagance, urgency and scale of their cause — which is, at the limit, the whole world and its unjust past and endangered future — and are promptly bypassed.

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It is of course easy to find activists led astray by such a totalising theory a comical spectacle (or an obvious anti-social menace, depending on how nearby they happen to be). They are in a straightforward way politically short-sighted: the immediate, local, and graspable problems of political life seeming to them blurry and unimportant, only expansive, universal, and unobtainable objectives snapping into focus.

Such moralism arguably involves a practical mistake. Its proponents misidentify the sorts of problems universities, book festivals, private firms, political parties, or even national parliaments are suited to solving. As a means of effecting political change, such mistakes are a recipe for making oneself irrelevant and one’s cause disliked; though one could litigate the exceptions, indiscriminately-targeted direct action has a comparatively poor track record of securing lasting political progress. This shouldn’t be surprising: its aims are often ill-defined, and its methods deliberately calculated to avoid engaging the socially established channels of political action.

At a theoretical level, however, comical though it undoubtedly still is, such moralistic overreach is at least an intelligible form of error. The fact is that moral and political progress in the past often has been achieved by gradually expanding the sphere of ethical concern both outward in space and forward in time. The extension of moral concern provides one easily-grasped paradigm of moral progress. Most psychologically normal people, however, find it clear that uncontrolled reliance on this heuristic quickly yields silly results. In fact, part of the comedy of Just Stop Oil, Youth Demand, and their fellow travellers, is that despite their grandiose dogmatism the meagreness of their actions reveals that they, too, find it difficult to take their theory at anything close to face value. (If the fate of the earth really were at stake, action more drastic than the spray-painting of Taylor Swift’s Jet or boycotting book festivals would be morally required.)

More curious than the way young activists misunderstand the collective interest is the way they routinely fail to understand even their own self-interest. Though charitable interpreters will be inclined to think that youthful idealism, even in overreaching, serves as a socially useful corrective to a jaded and politically unimaginative status quo, from another point of view it represents a gross diversion of political resources.

Despite the widespread trope that they are excessively self-centred, one of the most striking facts about people in their teens and twenties is their near total neglect of their distinctive interests as a political class. Young people form an increasingly natural constituency for political solidarity, yet time and again age is overridden by dividing lines of more doubtful importance. In fact, to learn of the agenda of a misleadingly-named group like Youth Demand would lead you to think that the young had no political causes of their own worth pursuing and so had generously moved on to solving the world’s problems.

The complete absence of a sense of intra-generational solidarity among the young is, in a way, baffling. The dysfunctional political decision-making of the recent past has been utterly prejudicial to their interests. Electorally outnumbered by a politically active gerontocracy, the young now leave university with mountains of debt. They can look forward to a future cramped by an effective graduate tax on even small earnings, national infrastructure degraded by long-term under-investment, a chronically under-supplied housing market, and little hope for the life-enhancing arrival of economic growth. All of this is the political legacy of older generations who, unlike the young, vote in high numbers and ruthlessly in their own interest. According to the CPS, someone born in 1956 will extract £1.2 million in state benefits, and someone born in 1996 only half that. These are the basic ingredients of intergenerational injustice.

The totemic political betrayal of the young in recent years — the casual use of lockdown as a tool of public health policy — involved a catastrophic transfer of wealth and opportunities away from children and young adults, towards the elderly. The ongoing and expensive Covid inquiry will presumably reach no holistic judgment as to whether this was a justified action. Recent university cohorts had their A-levels cancelled, were placed under effective house arrest in their university accommodation at their own expense, and then had the delivery of their final university grades delayed by university strikes. That all of this was accepted in a spirit of compliant resignation makes it hard not to want to blame the young for their want of vitality.

Such political quietism is the natural accompaniment of a style of activism which is pathologically moralistic and holds the actual practice of politics in contempt, as today’s frontline student activists do. Is it too much to expect that, at least as a default, student activism should be about students’ interests?

All this is enough to make one nostalgic for the anti-tuition-fee riots of 2010: perhaps the last time an impressive number of students mobilised in their own interest. Then, as even The Daily Telegraph recorded, “perhaps because their cause was justified… [the protesting students] had none of the swaggering, self-righteous manner of the student protestors of legend”. City traffic ground to a standstill; students occupied the Millbank tower; Conservative Party headquarters were graffitied over with a crude drawing of an ejaculating penis accompanied, ironically or perhaps not, with the message “don’t kill the arts”. Nick Clegg took to the airwaves to explain cravenly that he should have been “more careful” in making his ill-fated manifesto pledges; days later, as Clegg was delivering the Guardian’s Hugo Young lecture at Kings Place in London, students outside the building brought out a Clegg-like effigy which they sentenced to death and promptly executed while chanting “Nick Clegg, shame on you, shame on you for turning blue.” All very invigorating stuff.

It is hard not to warm to these protestors in a way not possible with the student activists of today: grounded self-interest is so much more sympathetic than unworldly moralism. They had a just grievance — they had been misled, perhaps even lied to, at the ballot box. They owned their own cause. They had a realistic grasp of the party political structures they were attempting to influence. Best of all they had a lively sense of their own material interest. That is a precondition for getting a political hearing though by no means a guarantee of one.

Today’s student activists could do with being a little less self-involved and little more self-interested.

This one lasted barely 21 minutes. A group of 50 centipeded past Nelson’s Column, some in Berghaus fleeces, some in moth-eaten donkey jackets, and all in hi-viz orange vests. Fewer than half of them, the “arrestables”, took to the road at the speed of a hearse; the rest remained on the pavement shouting support. And the moment they hit Whitehall, the police began to pick them off. The entire column was kettled onto the pavement, each orange beset by four or five yellows: wrestled, handcuffed and scooped into the waiting vans. The police worked from back-to-front, leaving the dwindling vanguard of the column to pace resolutely on, like captured admirals walking the plank. One woman on the pavement was crying, cursing the police, cursing the burning planet. But those under arrest were placid, serene, unblinking. They lay there quietly as the police took their details and unbuckled their watches into evidence bags. 

Eventually, the only person left was a tiny old woman, still clutching her banner, and shuffling down the street. “Is there anything we can do to make you leave the road?” the police asked. She didn’t reply. “Gentle,” someone shouted as they swarmed her too. “She’s 80 years old!” “There’s plenty more people to be arrested,” one of the organisers called from the touchline. “This is not going to stop.” The combination of farce, dauntlessness and misallocated courage was unmistakable. After months of background hibernation — occasional snooker stunt aside — Just Stop Oil are back. Today, tomorrow, and the day after, they are repeating the above process, churning phalanx after phalanx into the rough embrace of the Metropolitan Police.

This is the radical fringe of the climate movement, which will come to define the coming decade of politics, if not the century. It’s aiming at a political revolution. But for now, it still sits somewhere in a Venn diagram of risible-meets-despised in the collective mind. First there was Extinction Rebellion (XR), which briefly captured the public mood before squandering it in a symbolic clash between working-class commuters and middle-class activists at Canning Town Tube. Then Insulate Britain emerged as an extreme splinter, dissatisfied with the slow progress of XR. Finally, defeated on the motorways of Britain, it morphed again. Just Stop Oil is the latest phase of evolution: its nimblest, most creative and worthiest form yet. 

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There is overlap between the groups — one woman in Trafalgar Square confides that she’s there in breach of contempt of court charges dating from the Insulate Britain protests two years ago. But each name-change has been accompanied by a detectable lurch in timbre. XR’s 2019 protests were comparably joyful, colourful, carnivalesque. Their successors strike a more militant mood. You can read the difference in the logos. XR’s: a jagged hourglass; a stop sign. “Time is running out.” Just Stop Oil’s: a weeping, staring, chop-fallen skull. “This is humanity’s deathly future.” 

Between them these groups have made the threat of interrupted football fixtures, Heinz-splattered artwork and choked highways a new part of daily life. But they remain outside of politics, at best a parasitical feature of public debate. And, like any other radical movement of our time, they are an eccentric receptacle for wayward political anger.

This round of marches has been in the works for months, and JSO recruited hard in anticipation. On a dark and blustery October night, I went along to a welcome meeting, held in a cinderblock discussion space just off Brick Lane called Newspeak House. There were about 100 perched on secondary-school chairs, ready, or at the very least willing, to join JSO’s merry men. 

Here such climate fears are mobilised; here they are put in uniform. The star speaker was Roger Hallam, Extinction Rebellion co-founder and Just Stop Oil’s in-house eschatalogue. He was there to tell us how bad it all is — in fact how it’s much worse than we can possibly believe — all delivered in his distinctive rambling, potty-mouthed, and wilfully apocalyptic rhetorical style. “It’s not gonna be a choice between it being ok and it being shit; it’s a choice between it being shit and it being so fucking shit you can’t possibly imagine!” The scroll of doom he unfurls is essential to understanding this movement. In 1968, radicals were told to take their desires for reality. Now, they take their nightmares for prophecy. 

Hallam leans heavily on the 20th-century horror imaginary for his figurative conjurings. The Holocaust, the Cambodian genocide, atrocities in the Congo — they’re as nothing compared with the moral crime and mass slaughter our political elites are carrying out right now. This religious imagery — Hallam’s mother was a Methodist preacher — is now the lingua franca of the movement. They too talk of “genocide”, even of “reckoning”. We have sinned against our planet, and now we must be punished. Perhaps, as the Christian climate scholar Catherine Keller has written, only “theology… articulates what unconditionally matters”.

Hallam’s showstopper claim is that if we breach two degrees of warming above pre-industrial averages this century, “one thousand million” people will die. This is the end for everyone, everywhere, and animals too. The “sixth extinction” is already underway. 

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But, Hallam told us with a wild grin, “once you find yourself in that police cell, you know you’re doing the right thing”. I looked around Newspeak House and saw nodding heads, and flashing, inspired eyes. A young activist then outlined the strategy. The plan was to “slow march” on roads until the government caved to our demands. The target for each of us was to get arrested five times. And, he yelped excitedly at the end, “When you’re in court, say ‘fuck you’ to the judge!”

How do you turn a muddled mob into a militia? With “nonviolence training”, held in a cosy Quakers’ reading-room in central London. Not since I crept the boards of youth theatre have I faced such a punishing gauntlet of breathing exercises, “chairs to one side”, and choreographed morality tales. But this is how the campaigns that have immobilised our cities for the last year and a half are war-gamed and strategised. Arranged in a circle of chairs was a medley of Just Stop Oil regulars. Veteran Greenpeace-niks, lifelong RSPB-donor twitcher-types, dyed-haired student-radicals, school-leavers stranded on a domestic gap year. And — still overwhelmingly the spine of this movement it seems — the white middle-class middle-aged. Well: who else is free for this sort of thing on a Wednesday afternoon?

This crowd was very much the newly converted. They explain how they’ve learned to feel climate guilt at having had their children, or, discussing road accidents caused by JSO marches, exclaim that such incidents are the fault of those who continue to choose to drive. These feelings are here to be diverted into the studied dispassion of “nonviolence”. The protest philosophy attempts to plot a third way between violent action and apathy, resisting and disrupting in such a way that avoids causing harm. Blocking roads is thought to be a method of causing disruption without utterly alienating Just Stop Oil from the wider population. 

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On our feet, we marshalled for the battles we’d face on the road. What do you do if a driver agitates that they’re losing work because of the protest? Calmly apologise and explain that you’re here to protest the climate crisis. And if someone claims they’re driving someone to hospital with an injury? Groups must use their discretion. The level of anticipated confrontation was uncomfortable for most of the people there. And this is where that eerie stupor of detachment that seems to possess JSO activists on marches comes from. It’s a form of withdrawal from chaotic surroundings, submerged beneath the moral demands of the movement.

“I don’t understand why we’re marching on the roads at all,” one women said. Why don’t we challenge the supply-side of the fossil-fuel industry instead? The trainer explained that in April last year, JSO activists blocked the 10 largest oil terminals in Britain with hundreds of activists and forced ExxonMobil to suspend operations at the sites. The demonstration generated little media coverage, and was quickly forgotten. It was deemed a failure.

Just Stop Oil claims that its arrest tactics are meant to place pressure on the judiciary and police, compelling the state to concede its demands. But the new powers given to the police in the Public Order Act have made arrest a formality, as it was this week on Whitehall. It’s clear that the strategy really is to convey a form of scandal-symbolism — which is also why artworks and now church services have become fair game. And this places the group in an uneasily dependent relationship with the motorists it disrupts and the “Right-wing” media it so resents. It needs the rage and the coverage to make its protests worthwhile. Shock can only carry you so far though. This round of arrests has been reported, but generated nothing like the commotion of XR’s 2019 campaign, let alone JSO’s earlier efforts.

But they’re not after everyone. Just Stop Oil has inherited XR’s aim of converting 3.5% of the population to the cause, a numinous figure drawn from a study of protest movements that showed inexorable social change flowing after that point. But many of the social movements they take their cue from (including JSO’s own hall of fame: Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr. and Nelson Mandela) took place in pre-democratic or semi-democratic societies. Resorting to civil disobedience is a more obviously moral option when the ballot box is sealed. But to stage an occupation of something as quotidian as a B-road, justified or not, comes across as a statement of political superiority, arrogance even.

The climate writer Richard Seymour has argued that Extinction Rebellion represented one variation of “technopopulist” politics — a genuinely grassroots campaign which nonetheless advocates for solutions located above and beyond usual party politics. Just Stop Oil is another example of this scrappy phenomenon, which emerged as a symptom of the very social failures it seeks to redress. Speaking to tearful activists on pavements of Whitehall, they gnash and rage: “We’ve tried protests, we’ve tried petitions, we’ve tried everything…” But as the road is quickly cleared and the cars start moving again, you have to ask the obvious question: is this changing anyone’s minds either?

It had been an unusual trial. In protest cases, it is not uncommon to find defendants who choose to go without an advocate, since those defending themselves are, quite rightly, given a little more latitude than lawyers. Usually, protesters’ evidence about their beliefs is kept short, for the sake of time and simplicity, or even proscribed altogether, when the limits of any “reasonable excuse” defence can easily be determined in advance. But the defendants here, with the agreement of all parties, were allowed to explain their motivations at considerable length. The jury heard nearly four hours of evidence about the science of climate change, its consequences, and government policy.

All of which turned out to be, strictly speaking, irrelevant. Because once the evidence had been heard, the court decided that, on all the facts of the case, the “reasonable excuse” defence did not allow for a protest at the top of this bridge.

The right to protest is an important one, protected first by our Common Law and then by the European Convention. But there must be limits, even where no violence is used and no damage caused. Those limits in the British courts, though, are surprisingly hard to discern.

At least part of the reason for the judge’s ruling was that the public has no general right to access the Dartford Bridge, much less to climb it. Indeed, it is a criminal offence even to walk onto it. For protests on other roads, a jury might, depending on circumstances such as how long the disruption lasts, be told that the question of reasonableness is up to them.

Nevertheless, the unrepresented defendant was not prevented from asking the jury to find that their actions were reasonable — and so I was not prevented from arguing that they were not.

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Is it illegal to insult Captain Tom?

By Adam King

Anyone facing conviction and imprisonment ought, surely, to be permitted to give reasons for their actions, even if those reasons do not amount to a legal justification. If you are caught with a knife, no court would seek to prevent you from telling the jury that you forgot it was in your pocket — despite the fact that the appeal courts have decided that forgetting is no defence. But should a Crown Court be expected to put aside several hours for evidence about climate change? There are 60,000 cases in the queue after all.

But attempts to shut down environmental discourse in court have not ended well. David Nixon, who in his trial ignored a judge’s direction not to refer to climate change, and then refused to apologise, was recently sentenced to eight weeks’ imprisonment. Unapologetic contempt of court must be punished, sometimes harshly, but the general view at the Bar is that the justice system was not the winner there. The case made the courts look harsher than they are.

Judges are in a difficult position, because the law is a mess. The main problem is how to interpret a “reasonable excuse” defence when a defendant’s rights to Freedom of Expression and Freedom of Assembly are engaged. The uncertainty became a problem, in 2018, in an appeal from a Magistrates Court trial about a protest at an arms fair. The District Judge had decided that the obstruction of a highway was reasonable, and therefore not criminal, because — in essence — the protest was peaceful, orderly, worthy, and short. Nothing hugely problematic about that.

But the Crown felt that the judge’s reasoning had gone awry, so appealed the acquittal. And in the course of agreeing with that complaint, the High Court introduced an idea that has complicated things ever since. When judges have to determine whether a law is compatible with the European Convention, they have to perform a “proportionality assessment”, and the High Court said that, in protest cases, a proportionality assessment could simply replace the question of reasonableness. The trouble is, proportionality assessments are very, very complex.

The case then went to the Supreme Court, which condoned the use of proportionality assessments. They also suggested — somewhat offhand and in passing, it seems to me — that this task could be carried out not only by magistrates but also by a jury. Even the most die-hard of activist lawyers see that move as, well, innovative. And many of the rest find it completely bananas. Juries cannot sensibly be asked to perform legal analyses that High Court judges might take days to decide. The result is that it has become very difficult for those attending a protest to gauge their level of exposure to criminal liability.

There are some, of course, who appear to think that there should be no limits on non-violent, yet disruptive, climate protests. A month ago, a few days before the Dartford bridge trial began, Jolyon Maugham KC and others signed and publicised a declaration entitled “LAWYERS ARE RESPONSIBLE”, in which they asserted, among other things, that they would “withhold their services in respect of action against climate protesters exercising their democratic right of peaceful protest”.

There are a number of problems with this approach. First of all, most of the signatories are solicitors, who unless they apply to join the Crown Prosecution Service are in no danger of being asked to prosecute anything. And none of the handful of barristers who signed, I am fairly sure, is on the CPS advocates list, so they too are quite safe. Moreover, although the declaration does not actually go so far as to say in terms that these cases ought not to be prosecuted by anyone, that is the clear implication of a declaration of “conscience” — that is, of what they believe to be the morally correct attitude.

Maugham, of course, punched it all up in the Guardian. “Sometimes the law is wrong”, he noted sagely. Well, yes. But by what mechanism should the enforcement of the law be changed? By Parliament, and the law being applied the same to everybody? Or by the whims of barristers’ consciences?

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The truth about eco-fascism

By Paul Kingsnorth

A solid causative link between “climate justice”, however you choose to define it, and stopping your fellow citizens from moving about has not yet fully revealed itself to me, even acknowledging the “press attention” argument. But I would have happily and vigorously defended the Dartford protesters, just as I defend people accused of much more unpleasant crimes.

The so-called “Cab Rank” rule, according to which barristers cannot turn down cases, should discourage the public from identifying lawyers with their clients. If you know that a barrister could have refused to act for an unpopular client, you are more likely to believe that he or she approves of their actions. But it seems that the administration of justice could benefit from raising awareness of this traditional, non-partisan approach to barristers’ work: Insulate Britain, for example, has threatened to prosecute me “in the years to come”.

This is an alarming development in activists’ attitude to the Rule of Law. And since climate protest is on the rise, with enormous Extinction Rebellion protests planned for this weekend, the administration of justice — the fair application of the current law to all citizens — must not be undermined.

Trowland and Decker have just been handed sentences much stiffer than climate protesters have been used to receiving. While this may well have some deterrent effect, the actions of Just Stop Oil and similar groups are not going to abate any time soon. Both protesters and the public need to know how the law will balance their respective rights, and in what circumstances. Climate change is an issue of great public concern, but the criminal courts are not the forum for litigating government policy from first principles.