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Profile: Joss Garman

Joss Garman joined the environmental movement at 14. He has since been arrested over 20 times and wa

Early years

Born in 1985 in Mid-Wales, Joss Garman was one of four boys. His parents work in the emergency services equipment industry and his father is the inventor of the world’s first bath lift. With parents who are nature lovers, as well as members of Greenpeace it seemed only logical that Garman would cultivate a passion for the great outdoors. “I was surrounded by beauty and wildlife,” Garman told newstatesman.com. “I was really into Gerald Durrell books and I had my own menagerie with snakes and spiders.”

“But I guess my political awakening came when I was 14 years old. I read an article by the curator of Entomology at Oxford, George McGavin, about a beetle species. He basically argued that if a handful of these beetles were destroyed it could damage a whole ecosystem.” Moved, the young teenager set about finding ways in which he could help the environment around him. He wrote to Greenpeace to ask if he could volunteer for them. On discovering that there was no local branch of the organization in his area, Garman took on the task of setting one up.

Before attending Hereford Sixth Form College he was at the local comprehensive, something Garman is keen to get on the record as he says many paint him as an ex-public school boy. It was while at the college that he became involved in direct action.

Activism

He spent his sixth form years running the branch of Greenpeace he set up and standing outside supermarkets with the CND, campaigning against the Wylfa power station, as well as handing out leaflets against GM crops.

It was at 16 that Garman was first arrested. He had broken into Fairford US air base in order, according to some sources, to damage American bombers heading for the war in Iraq. Garman’s parents were members of Greenpeace and while they had not been activists being supportive of their son came easily, despite the many arrests that were to follow. “I was always slightly nervous obviously but I was definitely prepared to do it.”

Another protest against the Iraq war was an organised day of civil disobedience. “I organised a mass walkout at our school and all surrounding schools in Hereford joined in.” Not much later Garman found himself in the back of a police van in 2004, after he was caught getting onto a runway at USAF Fairford in Gloucestershire. At this time Garman was volunteering with Trident Ploughshares, a part of the international nuclear disarmament movement. A number of volunteers were attempting to stop bombers going off to Iraq. All charges against the 17 year old Garman later dropped.

What of other campaigns? “As a campaign of mass education, it would be difficult to think of Make Poverty History as anything other than very successful. It got newspapers from The Sun to The Guardian involved and raised awareness of the plight of the majority of the world. But in terms of tangible campaign successes, it was clearly massively disappointing and I think even the leaders of that campaign would agree with that.” Another frustration was the lack of priority given to climate change by the development community during the campaign. “On the other hand, Christian Aid, WDM and increasingly Oxfam are joining up to make it one of their top issues what with all of them working to stop the plans for the first new coal-fired plant in decades at Kingsnorth.”

Garman doesn’t think though that direct action is an isolated type of campaigning and shouldn’t be seen as such. “The reason why the campaign against GM crops was so successful was that it combined mass communication, lobbying and education with peaceful direct action - a pattern that’s been repeated with the campaign to stop airport expansion.”

Plane Stupid

After finishing his A-levels at 17 Garman took a year out. He went to London to volunteer for Greenpeace and at the time worked on the EU legislation regarding GM crops. He then went to Chile for six months to visit family; his grandfather was Chilean. Visiting South America again the following year was to be the last time he’d board a plane. He then came back to attend the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) in London where he read politics. He graduated last year with a 2:1 after doing his dissertation on the Stern Review.

While a teenager volunteering with Greenpeace, Garman met Graham Thompson and then at a student party on the night of Bush’s re-election they met Richard George. They went on to found Plane Stupid in 2005. As a network of activists targeting the aviation industry, Garman believes that Plane Stupid fundamentally changed the debate. “Marginal seats in London will be won or lost on the Heathrow issue,” he says, “Boris Johnson would have committed political suicide if he’d backed the third runway.”

The main aim of the organisation’s work was to highlight the issue of short haul flights. They saw it as the single fastest growing threat to the climate. According to Garman, almost half of all journeys taken in Europe are less than 500km, one fifth of the flights from Heathrow are short haul. “If they got rid of those flights there would definitely be no need for a third runway, they would have so much free space.”

The group first came to prominence when they gate crashed an aviation industry conference releasing balloons with rape alarms attached. Then in 2006 they broke into East Midlands airport in order to stage a sit in on a runway.

“It is only now that the aviation industry is facing taxes, they have been subsidised by the government to the tune of £10 billion a year! No one travels to Glasgow by train because that will cost you £150, but £10 for a flight. The government is effectively encouraging people to take the more polluting option.” Does the busy Garman manage to get away without the use of planes? “I leave London as often as possible, most weekends. I’ve just spent a few weeks camping in the Outer Hebrides.” How did he get there? “I took a train and then a ferry. It was just fantastic.

“We have until 2015 to get our levels of carbon emissions down” says Garman, “We need an entire transformation of our economy to suit a low carbon lifestyle. It’s a scientific thing, not an ideology.” For those in the movement, 2015 is the point of no return.

“I met Gordon Brown at the Labour Party Conference last year and asked him to reject a third runway because it’s not compatible with Britain cutting emissions. He said, "You've got a big job mate." This has not deterred Garman and the group has definitely made an impact on the public and government’s approach to the issue. Appearances on Newsnight and columns in major broadsheets and magazines have left Garman a very busy 24 year old. “Newsnight was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done,” he explains.

Kingsnorth

Recently, Garman has been involved with the defence of the six Greenpeace activists on trial for the damage they caused to a chimney at the Kingsnorth coal-fired power station in November 2007. The action was taken after it’s owners EON announced plans to build an even bigger plant next door. Four members of the defence had spent nine hours scaling the chimney with the intention of painting “Gordon, bin it!” on the side. They only managed “Gordon” before an injunction was brought against them. “There were about 30 of us. We just walked straight in a back gate. We hit all the emergency stop buttons and I chained myself to a conveyor belt. In shutting down the plant for only one day we were stopping the equivalent of 30 developing countries worth of pollution.”

It turned out to be a landmark case in the battle against climate change and the actions of the activists were found to be legally justified as they were in fact preventing greater damage to property and people around the world.

At the trial Professor Hansen, a director of NASA who is believed by many to be the world’s leading scientist in the fight against climate change, gave evidence for the activists. “Then we had a leader of the Inuit people speak on our behalf as well. He came to tell the court about how the effects of plants such as this were affecting his way of life.”

Coal is the main focus for Garman at the moment and with the government soon to be making decisions on coal fire stations, the job of Greenpeace is to build up on the opposition that is already out there and broaden it.

Movement

With his work Garman says at least he can witness the changes he is making and there is also the variety, “One day I’m shutting down a plant and then the next day I’m putting on a suit and meeting advisors to government.” It is not always easy though, he was recently refused entry to any of the party conferences, along with fellow Greenpeace activist Anita Goldsmith. With a smile on his face he says that he would only have been there to lobby MPs and stage some debates, “It’s hardly surprising when you look at my record that they wouldn’t allow me in.”

As a shot of energy into the environmental movement Garman is not deterred by any difficulties he may encounter, like Brown’s remark on the runway question. According to Poyry, (the global consulting and engineering firm) if the government hit the existing renewables and efficiency targets there’d be no need for new coal plants. “No one has contested the figures of Poyry. I think the government could definitely hit the targets. I mean, look at Germany. They generated so much green electricity, they have a quarter of a million people employed in the renewable energy industry.”

When asked if he thinks people are apathetic to the climate change issue Garman says no, rather, they are disillusioned. “There is a massive gap between the government and the public when it comes to the environment. They are interested and they are worried.” He doesn’t think marching is the way to make a difference though. It made no difference to the Iraq war. “I see my role to force politicians make changes.” With his track record of constant activism over nearly 10 years it’s no wonder he was once nick-named the ‘turbo-activist’ by fellow Greenpeace volunteers.

Who does he admire in the environmental movement today? “It’s the grass root activists in the movement. They inject an urgency and passion that can’t be ignored. Then there’s also Al Gore. He is one of the most successful campaigners of our time. He’s transformed US public opinion.” Garman feels that the turn around that has occurred in America puts the British government to shame. “There is more action from the backwards, Southern conservative states of North America than there is from Brown” Garman despairs. “We’ve had the suffragettes and civil rights, we need another movement.”

Photo: STEFAN BONESS/PANOS
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What Britain needs to understand about the profound and ancient divisions in Germany

As Angela Merkel campaigns for re-election, the balance of power in Europe is changing.

On 24 September, Angela Merkel will be re-elected chancellor of Germany and that, we might think, will be that. With Merkel and France’s Emmanuel Macron in control of the European project, populism will surely be vanquished and the old Franco-German core of the EU restored. Yet things are changing, and if western Europe wants Germany to keep singing “Ode to Joy” as enthusiastically as “Deutschlandlied”, it will have some work to do. Our Brexit negotiators need to see how important this is to Macron, to other European leaders and, above all, to thinking Germans.

For we may all soon miss the old, self-effacing Germany. Despite having such economic power, it always seemed to have no greater wish than to exist as part of a larger whole. Konrad Adenauer, its first postwar chancellor and founding father, made Westbindung (“binding to the West”) the heart of West German politics. Adenauer came from the deeply Catholic Rhineland, “amid the vineyards” as he put it, “where Germany’s windows are open to the West”. His instinctive cultural sympathy was with France, but he knew that West Germany’s existence depended on keeping America in Europe. France he courted out of profound conviction, the US out of clear-eyed necessity, and he was worried that after him this twin course might be abandoned. His demands for reassurance during his final year in office led to John F Kennedy’s “Ich bin ein Berliner” speech of 1963. Every West German knew about that, and about the Berlin Airlift: these became locations of national memory from which West Germany triangulated its sense of self.

There were some Germans for whom this was too much. Anti-Americanism was ingrained among West Germany’s hard left, the early Green Party and the tiny hard right. But even Germans who were suspicious of America had no fear of tying themselves closer to Europe. On the contrary, that was exactly what they wanted. The standard explanation of this is guilt. West Germans, in this argument, felt so remorseful about the horrors of the Second World War that they wanted to make amends. This idea fitted with others’ belief that Germany did indeed have much to feel guilty about.

A nuanced version of this held that the western Germans thought they had somehow “got away with it”, compared with their brethren in the east, who had felt the weight of Soviet vengeance: rape, pillage, occupation. Accordingly, Germany’s willingness to subsume itself so thoroughly, even as it footed the bills for the European Economic Community and later the European Union, was accepted with little gratitude, almost as an ongoing war debt repayment.

This guilt thesis is based on a misunderstanding of German history, especially of the experience of western Germans. The most graphic illustration of this comes from Adenauer. In 1955, he privately informed the British that while he was obliged to act in public as though he wished for reunification, he intended to devote his remaining years to blocking it. In 1961, he secretly proposed to the Americans that they offer the Russians a swap: they and he should, he said, give up West Berlin in return for Thuringia (the region containing Leipzig and Weimar). He wanted, in effect, to make the River Elbe the eastern border of Germany.

Why did Adenauer dislike the eastern Germans, think Berlin was expendable and consider the River Elbe to be the natural frontier? Simple: he knew that the Elbe was Germany’s Mason-Dixon line. Beyond it lay the flat, grim Prussian heartlands, which until 1945 stretched into present-day Russia. This vast region was known to Germans as “Ostelbien” – East Elbia. Adenauer viewed the “unification” of Germany in 1871 as East Elbia’s annexation of the west. That’s why in 1919, as mayor of Cologne, and again in 1923, he tried to get Britain and France to back a breakaway western German state. Having failed, he is said to have muttered, “Here we go, Asia again,” and closed the blinds every time his train crossed east over the Elbe.

Prussia was a different country. The victorious Allies agreed. On 25 February 1947, they declared: “The Prussian state, which from early days has been a bearer of militarism and reaction in Germany… together with its central government and all its agencies are abolished.” The name Prussia was eradicated. The Prussian hegemony of 1871-1945, an anomaly in the two millennia of German history, was over.

If we understand this, we understand what West Germany really was and why it acted as it did; why the “reunification” of 1990 – or, at least, the way it was handled – was such a mistake; why we may all have to stop taking Germany quite so much for granted now that East Elbia is back; and why our Brexit negotiators are on a hiding to nothing if they believe that the Germans have no more urgent business to consider than their car exports to us. Far more important to liberal Germans is keeping safe the western soul of Germany.

***

West Germany was anything but an artificial construct. It was the historical Germany, being almost geographically identical to what was, for almost 1,200 years, the only Germany. Julius Caesar named the land, together with its people, in 58 BC; 49 years later, Drusus, the greatest commander of the infant Roman empire, is said to have been supernaturally advised that after defeating every tribe he met in Germania, he should halt at the River Elbe. By 100 AD, Roman rule was shown by a fortified border, the Limes Germanicus. You can still walk large stretches of it; it encompasses most of the richest land in modern Germany and all of the great cities except Hamburg, Berlin and the 19th-century industrial monocultures of the Ruhr. Even these last were born as trading posts or forward bases within what archaeologists call the “market region” of Germania – the lands beyond the limes where commerce with the Roman empire defined the whole culture. Southern and western Germany’s cultural roots are almost as Roman as France’s.

But what about 9 AD and the destruction of three Roman legions by the German tribes under Arminius? There is a popular myth that this kept all Germany free and different. We owe this idea to Martin Luther and his supporters: Luther claimed from 1520 onwards to be a German, anti-Roman hero and identified himself with the newly rediscovered tale of Arminius. More decisively, the events of 9 AD were an obsession of later Prussian historians, who had an interest in claiming that the real Germany was one that was pure and un-Romanised. Yet the reverse is true. Under the Romans, then the Merovingians, then the Franks, the Rhine/Danube super-region of Germany remained politically and culturally a part of western Europe. After Charlemagne, a Rhineland German, “restored the Roman empire” (as his seals put it) in 800 AD, western Germany was the very centre of things. It was never a nation state, but always the key part of a greater whole, the Holy Roman empire.

Along the Elbe, things were different. Charlemagne extracted tribute from the pagan Slavs across the river, and his successors tried to build on this, but the German conquest and settlement of East Elbia only really began with the Wendish Crusade of 1147, the northern arm of the Second Crusade. Three centuries later, the entire region was still hotly disputed by Balts and Slavs, with German supremacy threatened by major defeats at Tannenberg (1410) and in the Hussite Wars (1419-34).

Long-contested frontier lands breed a special kind of society. The German incomers cowed the natives, such as the pagan Pruscie from whom they ultimately borrowed their name, through brute force. Where they couldn’t, they had to make armed deals with local elites. In this new sort-of-Germany, the Junkers, an aggressive landowning caste, lorded it over the Slavs and Balts – as well as poorer Germans, who knew that the locals would cut their throats if the Junker castles fell, so were loyal and subservient to their masters. East Prussia remained like this within living memory.

In 1525, Prussia named itself and declared itself the first Protestant state. From then on, it had absolute rulers, the Hohenzollern dynasty, backed by a quiescent Lutheran state church. The Junkers swore loyalty in return for exclusive access to all officer-level jobs in the army and the administration. By the mid-18th century, Voltaire quipped that while other states had armies, the Prussian army had a state. The overriding strategic concern of Prussia was always with the east. In his 1758-59 campaigns, Frederick the Great was shocked to find the Russians extremely hard to beat. He bequeathed to his successors a policy of keeping the tsars onside. Partitioning Poland between them was the sticking plaster that masked this Russian-Prussian rivalry, right until 1941.

This thoroughly east-facing power was, by the normal standards of European statehood – history, social structures, religion, geography – a different country from the Rhineland, Swabia or Bavaria. It defeated them all in 1866, laying the ground for the “unification” of 1871. The Prussian empire (for that is what it was) could now enlist the wealth, industry and manpower of Germany in pursuit of its ancient goal: hegemony over north-eastern Europe. By 1887, the future imperial chancellor Bernhard von Bülow was already musing on how to destroy Russia “for a generation”, cleanse Prussia of its Poles, set up a puppet Ukrainian state and take the Prussian armies to the banks of the Volga. This is the bloody Prussian – not German – thread that leads directly to the Nazi onslaught of 1941. In 1945, that centuries-long struggle was settled, in almost inconceivable violence. Half of East Elbia was ruthlessly stripped of Germans and handed over to Poles or Russians; the rump became the German Democratic Republic (GDR), a mere satrap of the Red Army.

So while it is easy and comfortable to say that the otherness of eastern Germany today is the result of that 40-year Soviet occupation, history says otherwise. East Elbia has always been different. Take the voting patterns: from 1871 to 1933, East Elbia outside Berlin (always a left-liberal political island) was the main electoral reservoir for the authoritarian right. The Prussian Conservative Party under the empire, the Deutschnationale Volkspartei until 1928 and the Nazis from 1930 depended on rural and small-town East Elbian voters. It was they who (just) swung things in 1933, by going 50-60 per cent for the “Hitler coalition”. Had all Germany voted like the Rhineland or Bavaria, Hitler and his Junker allies would have got nowhere close to a majority. Small wonder that Adenauer didn’t want East Elbia back and was secretly delighted to have it safely fenced off behind the Iron Curtain.

***

West Germany (1949-90) – Germany shorn of Prussia – was, then, no historical fluke, and nor was the supra­national way it acted. This was the real Germany. But the hasty reunification of 1990 (there was no referendum or election on the issue) changed things. Why should the inhabitants of the former GDR, rather than Poles and Czechs, get immediate access to the wealth and benefits of the West? Because they were Germans. With that, the chancellor Helmut Kohl embraced the notion that being German overrode all considerations of social, economic or historical difference. He also subliminally revived the idea, common to the Second Empire and the Third Reich, that East Elbia was special and needed subsidising by the rich west of Germany. The director of the Bundesbank, Germany’s central bank, resigned in 1991 over this abandoning of economic sanity for political nationalism.

Since 1990, the former East Germany has received more than €2trn from the old West Germany, for a fast-ageing, shrinking and disproportionately male population of only 16 million, including Berlin. That’s the equivalent of a Greek bailout every year since 1990, and as a straight gift, not a loan. This represents a huge shift in financial priorities, overshadowing Germany’s annual net EU budget contribution (currently €15.5bn). In 1990, Kohl promised that western German aid would soon turn the new states into “blooming” areas, but they have become, instead, proof that age-old differences resist even the most gigantic subsidies.

Between 30 and 40 per cent of voters in East Elbia have declared over the past two years that at the general election, they intend to support either Alternative für Deutschland (Germany’s Ukip), Die Linke (heirs to the old East German Communist Party) or the all but openly neo-Nazi National Democratic Party (the NPD, currently represented in the Mecklenburg-Vorpommern state parliament). Though theoretical enemies, these three parties are united by cultural affinities: all despise economic liberalism, oppose Nato and the EU and want closer relations with Russia.

East Elbia no longer has the population to swing the entire German electorate of more than 61 million but many liberal western Germans are nervous. They recoil at the sight of anti-asylum-seeker attacks, which are proportionally far more common in East Elbia than in the west, or when they see Merkel heckled by right-wingers. They call East Elbia Dunkeldeutschland (“Dark Germany”) and joke bitterly that if Britain can have a Brexit, why can’t the old East Germans, whom they lump together under the name of Saxons, have a “Säxit”? But it’s no laughing matter. They know there are those only too aware of any anti-western drift in Germany and eager to give succour to it.

Alexander Saldostanov, the rabid leader of Russia’s “Night Wolves” bikers and a public friend of Vladimir Putin, recently told Germany’s bestselling daily, Bild, that he dreams of a grand union between Germany and Russia: “We have so much in common. You simply have to free yourself at last from America, that scourge of humanity. Together, we can, should and must take power.”

There’s no danger of that, but there is a sense in which eastern Europe is, to Germans, no longer “the other”. It’s the place whence natural gas flows from Russia, where labour is cheap but skilled and where the people are keen to work with Germany on setting up new sites of joint national memory. From Kaliningrad to Prague, museums and projects are springing up in which the horrors of the past are neither denied nor used as ammunition in today’s negotiations. In eastern Europe, perhaps because Russia is so close, the Germans are rarely made to feel guilty for their grandfathers’ sins. Meanwhile in the west, from Greece to Britain, people can’t resist mentioning the war whenever the Germans don’t act as desired.

***

Germany’s resources are not infinite. Nor is the patience of the 40 per cent of Germans who “have net worths of essentially zero”, as Die Welt reported last year – largely because German home ownership rates are the lowest in the EU. They are disproportionately concentrated in the old east, the region that never had supranational, western European connections. From them come ever-louder voices saying that Germany’s EU contribution is too high. And with Britain out, the maths will look even worse to such voters. If south-western Germany’s taxes have to keep bailing out the country’s east, while also helping out the old and new EU lands, what is left for, say, the post-industrial Ruhr, which has financial and social problems of its own? There are tough choices ahead, and it’s not hard to imagine a day when Germany decides to aim its subsidies and investments where they seem most welcome. The old idea of Mitteleuropa – a multi-ethnic, German-centred Middle Europe, neither of the West nor of the East – no longer seems so antiquarian. Nothing would gladden Putin’s heart more.

So, yes, Merkel will win the election and will have a chance to revive the EU’s Franco-­German core. Yet the relative strengths of France and Germany are different now. As for their leaders, while Adenauer was a devoted Catholic Rhinelander, Merkel is a Lutheran vicar’s daughter from the east. Bonn was physically close to Paris, Brussels, The Hague, even London; Berlin is closer to Prague and Warsaw.

With Donald Trump’s wavering on Nato and his noisy anti-German protectionism, along with Brexit, the West may no longer seem vital to Germany’s future. During Merkel’s election debate with her main challenger, Martin Schulz, on 3 September, Brexit was not even mentioned. The old EU core will have to work to keep Germany anchored, resisting any new call from the east. Macron and German liberals know that; that’s why there will be no Franco-German split over Brexit just to sell us a few more Audis. The sooner David Davis and Liam Fox realise that the Germans have far bigger issues to deal with, the better.

James Hawes is the author of “The Shortest History of Germany” (Old Street Publishing)