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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.”

© MARK PETERSON/REDUX/EYEVINE
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Goodbye to the Confederate flag

After the shootings in Charleston, the Republican right showed it was finally ready to reject the old symbols of the Confederacy.

On 27 June, an African-American activist named Bree Newsome woke up before dawn, put on her climbing equipment and scaled a 30-foot flagpole on the lawn of State House in Columbia, South Carolina. She then removed the Confederate battle flag that flew from it. “We can’t wait any longer,” she explained later in an online statement. “It’s time for a new chapter where we are sincere about dismantling white supremacy.”

After she was led away in handcuffs, the flag was raised again.

Newsome’s protest reflected a growing impatience within America’s black community and anger about liberal inaction. Political rallies by the Democratic presidential contenders Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders have been disrupted by the Black Lives Matter campaign against violence committed on young African Americans and the cultural and legal biases that justify it. While promoting his book on race in the US, the writer Ta-Nehisi Coates argued that, to African Americans, the battle flag represents a lingering attempt “to bury the fact that half this country thought it was a good idea to raise an empire rooted in slavery”.

Yet, on this matter, to everyone’s surprise, the black civil rights movement and many southern Republicans have proved to be of one mind. On 9 July the House of Representatives in South Carolina voted to lower the battle flag for good. It stood, representatives said, for racism. It had to go.

The context of this agreement was a painful one. Ten days before Newsome’s act, a 21-year-old white man named Dylann Roof shot and killed nine black worshippers at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. According to his room-mate, he wanted to start a race war. The TV screens showed a photo of him holding a gun in one hand and a Confederate battle flag in the other.

If the demands for redress made by civil rights groups didn’t come as a surprise, conservative acquiescence did. The Republican Party had built a solid base in the South by courting white voters who cherished the memory of the Confederacy. Yet the party’s presidential hopefuls from both the North and the South – including Jeb Bush, Lindsey Graham, Scott Walker and George Pataki – said that the battle flag ought to be lowered. The most striking intervention was made by the governor of South Carolina, Nikki Haley, who denounced the use of the Confederate flag and signed the bill removing it. Haley is now tipped to figure on the list of potential vice-presidential nominees.

The volte-face of the US right is in part a result of the horror of the Charleston shootings. Yet it also occurs in the context of major shifts within American society. There are still many conservatives who will defend Confederate heritage as a matter of southern pride but the culture wars are changing as the US becomes increasingly European in outlook. This is taking place across the country. It just happens to be more pronounced in the South because no other region has fought so violently and so long to resist the liberal tide.

The story of the battle flag is the story of the South. The first official Confederate flag used in the civil war of 1861-65 caused confusion during fighting – through the haze of gun smoke, its design of 13 stars and red and white bars was hard to distinguish from the Stars and Stripes. An alternative blue cross was rejected for being too sectarian; the racist Confederacy was anxious not to offend its Jewish citizens. So the cross became a diagonal X. This flag was never officially adopted by the Confederate army. In the years after the war its use was infrequent.

There was little need to visualise southern difference in a flag. It was self-evident in the physical signs of racial segregation: separate schools, pools and drinking fountains; black people confined to the back of the bus. Political displays of the battle flag of Dixie (the historical nickname for the states that seceded from the Union) only really resurfaced when that racial order was challenged by northern liberals. In 1948, the Democrats – then the party overwhelmingly in control of the South – split over modest calls for civil rights. The conservatives who refused to support that year’s presidential ticket, the “Dixiecrats”, triggered a rev­ival of flag-waving across the region.

The old battle flag suddenly appeared on private lawns, on cars and at political rallies. Supposedly ancient cultural traditions were invented overnight. For instance, the 1948 student handbook of the University of Mississippi confessed: “Many Ole Miss customs are fairly new; they lack only the savouring which time brings . . . Ole Miss has adopted the Confederate flag as a symbol of the Mississippi spirit. Each football game finds the scarlet flag frantically waving to the rhythm of the Rebel band.”

I can confirm that this “tradition” was still going as recently as in 2005. That year, I attended an American football game at Ole Miss and was surprised when the band played “Dixie” at the end. White boys and white girls stood up and belted out the folk song of the Confederacy, while black students filed out.

In 1958, South Carolina made it a crime to desecrate the battle flag. Three years later, on the 100th anniversary of the outbreak of the civil war, it was hoisted above its Capitol building in Columbia. That day, there was a struggle in the US Congress to keep federal funding going for segregated schools.

So clear is the link between the postwar white resistance to civil rights and the battle flag that many see it as the symbolic equivalent of the N-word. Jack Hunter, the editor of the conservative website Rare Politics, says: “Some people insist that it’s not about racism, not about slavery, not about segregation. But it’s about all those things.” Hunter grew up in Charleston and used to skateboard in the car park of the church that Dylann Roof attacked. When he was a young journalist, he appeared on local radio as a rabidly right-wing masked character called “the Southern Avenger”. His past was exposed in 2013 while he was working for Rand Paul, a Republican presidential candidate, and Hunter stepped down from his position. He publicly renounced his youthful association with racial conservatism. He now eschews any romanticism about the Confederate cause and its demand for states’ rights. “States’ rights to do what?” he asks: the right to discriminate against African Americans? He is glad that the State House flag is gone. He ascribes its longevity to ignorance, which was corrected by Roof’s rampage: “It was the first time that [southern Republicans] were able to see a different perspective on this symbol.”

Not everyone agrees. Richard Hines – a former South Carolina legislator, Reagan campaign state co-chair and senior activist with the Sons of Confederate Veterans – insists that the flag is “an enduring symbol of the southern fighting man”. Indeed, a poll in July found that 57 per cent of Americans think it stands for southern heritage, rather than racism. Yet that heritage has a political dimension. “Southern people are proud of who they are and there is a leftist assault to destroy the best part of America,” Hines says. “The Trotskyite elite in control of the establishment wants to root out the southern tradition” – a tradition of religious devotion, chivalry and military honour. It is possible to cast the battle flag as a pawn in a much larger cultural conflict.

In 2000, civil rights activists lobbied hard to get the battle flag removed from the top of the South Carolina Capitol and succeeded in having it shrunk in size and relocated to the grounds of State House. The issue came up in that year’s Republican presidential primaries – an unusually poisonous contest between George W Bush and John McCain. Supporters of Bush put out a false story that McCain had fathered an interracial child out of wedlock. McCain added to his woes by opining that the battle flag was “a symbol of racism and slavery”. An organisation called Keep It Flying flooded the state with 250,000 letters attacking him and he lost the crucial competition here to Bush.

The battle flag has retained a strong emotional power for a long time. This makes the Republican establishment’s abandonment of the flag all the more surprising. Then again, those who run the South are probably the people most likely to grasp how much the region has changed in just a decade.

***

In 2010 I took a trip through North Carolina. The landscape told a story. Dotted along the roadside were abandoned black buildings, the old tobacco sheds. The decline of the rural economy had rendered them obsolete. Over the fields that would once have been full of farmers were freshly tarmacked roads, stretching out to nowhere. My guide explained that these were supposed to be cul-de-sacs for new houses. North Carolina was going through a property boom. But who was going to buy all those homes, I asked? The answer: damn Yankees.

Demography is destiny. This once agri­cultural region developed fast from the 1960s onwards by keeping union membership, taxes and regulation as low as possible. Yet capitalism proved disastrous for southern conservatism. Northerners flooded in, seeking work or retirement and bringing their own values. The forecast is that North Carolina’s Research Triangle – the South’s Silicon Valley – will grow by 700,000 jobs and 1.2 million people in two decades.

White migration was accompanied by an influx of Spanish speakers as the service sector flourished. Between 2000 and 2010, the white share of the population of North Carolina fell from 70 to 65 per cent. The black proportion remained at roughly 21 per cent. The Latino proportion, however, jumped from 4.7 per cent to 8.4 per cent. Today, the proportion of people who are non-white and over 60 is about a third. But it’s approaching nearly half for those under 18. As a result, politics in the South is no longer biracial: a contest between white and black. It is increasingly multiracial and uncoupled from the region’s complex past.

The impact of these changes is reflected in voting patterns. In 2000, the South was still overwhelmingly Republican in presidential contests. Even the Democratic nominee, Al Gore, a southerner, lost his home state of Tennessee. But in 2008 and 2012, Barack Obama took those states with the fastest-changing demographics: Florida and Virginia. He won North Carolina in 2008 and lost it in 2012 – but by less than 100,000 votes. It is true that the Republicans won back control in the 2014 midterm elections, with the result that the Deep South now sends few Democrats to Congress; but the region’s political masters are not quite as traditional-minded as they once were.

The Republican relationship with the Confederate past is complex. As the party of Abraham Lincoln and the Union, the GOPs’ southern support was historically small. But in the 1960s the national Democratic Party embraced civil rights and alienated its once loyal southern following; the Republicans took the opportunity to steal some conservative white voters.

The growing southern Republican vote had a class component. Its success in local and congressional races was built more on winning over middle-class moderates than on appealing to the working-class racists who filled the ranks of the Ku Klux Klan. The southern Republican Party did enthusiastically embrace the Confederate battle flag in many quarters. But some office-holders did so only with ambiguity, while large sections of the party never identified with it at all. The period of Republican ascendancy in the South was, in reality, linked with a softening of the area’s racial politics.

Two of the Republicans’ current southern stars are Indian Americans: Bobby Jindal, the governor of Louisiana, and Nikki Haley, the anti-flag governor of South Carolina. There are just two black people in the US Senate and one of them is a Republican, the Tea Party-backed senator for South Carolina, Tim Scott. Marco Rubio, the Floridian senator and presidential candidate, is Cuban American, and the former Florida governor Jeb Bush is married to a Mexican-born woman and speaks fluent Spanish. Bush has tried to push a more moderate line on immigration, in deference to how the GOP will struggle to win the White House if it appeals only to angry white voters. The Kentucky libertarian senator Rand Paul, Jack Hunter’s former boss, has called for legal reforms to correct the trend of keeping far more black than white people in prison. And he is not the only Republican to have been moved by recent race riots sparked by police violence.

***

Violence on the streets of Ferguson, Missouri, and Baltimore, Maryland, confirmed that there still is a culture war in the US. Yet its character has changed. In the past, civil disturbances were typically leapt upon by conservative politicians as evidence of social decline. The 1992 LA riots were blamed on single parenthood and rap lyrics. In contrast, conservative leaders today are far more likely to acknowledge the problems of white racism. There is no place in their ranks for the likes of Dylann Roof. White supremacists are tiny in number.

Jack Hunter claims: “The KKK is like 12 guys in a telephone booth. Liberal groups will use their threat for fundraising but it doesn’t exist. It hasn’t properly since the 1960s.” Roof’s actions say more about gun control, mental illness and the angst of the young than they do about popular, largely liberal views on race, as polling shows.

We can see a similar liberal shift in other areas of the historic culture war. In May 2015 Gallup released the results of a “moral acceptability” survey charting changes in national attitude across all age groups, from 2001 to 2015. Approval of gay relationships jumped from 40 to 63 per cent; having a baby out of wedlock from 45 to 61 per cent; sex between unmarried men and women from 53 to 68 per cent; doctor-assisted suicide from 49 to 56 per cent; even polygamy went from 7 to 16 per cent. Abortion remained narrowly disapproved of: support for access has only crept up from 42 to 45 per cent. This is probably a result of an unusual concentration of political and religious opposition and because it involves a potential life-or-death decision. But the general trend is that young people just don’t care as much about what consenting adults get up to.

Why? It might be because old forms of identity are dying. One way of measuring that is religious affiliation. From 2007 to 2014, according to Pew Research, the proportion of Americans describing themselves as Christian fell from 78 to 71 per cent. Today, only a quarter of the population is evangelical and 21 per cent Catholic, down despite high immigration. Then there is the decline in civic or communal activity. Since 2012, the organisers of Nascar, the stock-car races, have not published attendance figures at their tracks, probably because they have fallen so sharply. The decline of this most macho and working class of sports parallels the fall in conservative forms of collective identity such as southern traditionalism.

The old culture war was, like the racial politics of the old South, binary. In the 1950s, around the same time as the South invented its tradition of flying the battle flag in colleges, the US constructed an ideal of the “normal” nuclear family unit: straight, white, patriarchal, religious. On the other side was the “abnormal”: gay, black, feminist, atheist, and the rest. The surest way to get elected in the US between 1952 and 2004 was to associate yourself with the economic needs and cultural prejudices of the majority. The approach was once summed up by a Richard Nixon strategist thus: split the country in two and the Republicans will take the larger half. But that is changing. The old normal is no longer the cultural standard but just one of many identities to choose from. The races are mixing. Women want to work more and have children later in life, possibly without marriage. Many religious people are having to rethink their theology when a child comes out as gay. And the enforcers of the old ways – the unions, churches or political parties – are far less attractive than the atomising internet.

***

Politicians are scrabbling to keep up with the diffusion of American identity. Democrats got lucky when they nominated Barack Obama and chose a presidential candidate who reflected the fractured era well: interracial, non-denominational Christian, and so on. In the 2012 presidential race the Republicans got burned when they tried to play the old culture war card on abortion. They won’t repeat that mistake. After the Supreme Court legalised gay marriage across the country in June, the right’s response was not as uniformly loud and outraged as it would have been in the past. Some protested, but serious presidential contenders such as Jeb Bush grasped the implications of the defeat. There is a cultural and political realignment going on and no one is sure where it will lead. It’s encouraging caution among the Republican top brass. It is time, they think, to abandon lost causes.

The death of southern traditionalism is part of the ebb and flow of cultural history. Identities flourish and die. As political fashions change, you find the typically American mix of triumph on one side and jeremiad on the other. Richard Hines stood vigil as the battle flag was lowered in Columbia and noted with disgust the presence of what he described as “bussed-in” activists. “They pulled out all these gay pride flags and started shouting, ‘USA, USA, USA!’ It reminded me of the Bolshevik Revolution.”

Hines reckons that more southerners will now fly the flag than ever before and says he has attended overflow rallies of ordinary folks who love their region. He may well be correct. The faithful will keep the old Confederate standard fluttering on their lawns – an act of secession from the 21st century. But in the public domain, the battle flag is on its way down and in its place will be raised the standard of the new America. The rainbow flag flutters high. For now.

Tim Stanley is a historian and a columnist for the Telegraph

This article first appeared in the 20 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn wars