John Rowley's Report of Power of the Word Block 5th June 2007

On the side of this most beautiful Scottish loch, Garlochhead, whose surrounding mountains dwarf every man-made pretension, lies the Faslane Naval Base. 11,000 people’s work and livelihood are dependent upon it. If you look at it from just a little way up the northern slopes, as here, it appears benign, innocuous, even insignificant until you spot the submarine moored to the pier on the right. Even right outside the North Gate, which you can glimpse in the first photo, there is the ‘normal’ mix of armed guards, unscaleable fences and precision security on each and every vehicle and individual entering or leaving. ‘Normal’ in that we have all become used to seeing this combination outside army barracks, nuclear generating stations, government research labs, etc. etc. What makes Faslane different is the unimaginable horror it contains.

COSTS
Faslane is where 96 US-made nuclear warheads are rotated on 4 Trident submarines. This Government, like all those before it, has decided to spend unbelievable amounts of our collective wealth renewing the lot – warheads, submarines, infrastructure and, over the next ten years, many personnel. Tony Blair claimed that this would cost £20,000,000. However, experts, including Dr Rebecca Johnson, have calculated that the true cost will be at least £76,000,000. This extraordinary discrepancy is explained quite simply - the Prime Minister simply ‘forgot’ to include a number of absolutely essential costs. Remember that these nuclear warheads are ‘bought’ from the Americans which means, despite having given them all that money, that the PM, the one with his finger on the button, still has to ask their permission before he can press it.

The forgotten costs include keeping this most sophisticated science and technology up to date. This has two aims: to ensure that the warheads explode when they are meant to and to ensure that do not explode when they are not meant to. You can think of the former as “Total lack of Safety for Them”; and of the latter as “Total Safety for Us”. Safety for Us means safety in their manufacture and assembly, on the vehicles used to transport them on their 500 mile journey to Faslane, during their installation on the Trident submarines, during their periodic maintenance [getting them off the submarines and then back on again] time and time again over the long years that they are kept “ready to be deployed at an instants notice”. The infrastructure costs are equally huge: new buildings required to house and service new weapons and new submarines, innumerable specialists working directly or indirectly on every aspect of a very complex system, each of whom has to be trained, re-trained and ‘developed’ over the years, ongoing in-house research programmes devised to solve technical problems encountered, maintaining the roads and the buildings necessary for all these activities to take place and, of course, the salaries, the pensions and the fees needing to be paid. No wonder Tony forgot.

SAFETY
Safety, of course, is a relative term. It so happens that we can now, after decades of being blinded by secrecy, put the reassurances we have been given over the ‘safety’ of nuclear warheads into perspective. ‘Our’ nuclear warheads have been assembled at Burghfield near Aldermaston, Berkshire ever since Macmillan relinquished responsibility to Eisenhower in the 1960’s. In issue No 2611 of The New Scientist, published poignantly on 07-07-07, there is an article on internal Ministry of Defence safety reports written in 1980. The magazine obtained them under The Freedom of Information Act. The Guardian reported this on 12th July:

“Nuclear missiles stationed at the former RAF base at Greenham Common put 10 million people at risk from radioactive contamination… Government researchers at Aldermaston warned that there was a “credible” danger of a warhead accidentally catching fire or exploding, engulfing others in flames and sending a plume of radioactive plutonium into the atmosphere. One study investigated how the material was likely to disperse, revealing that the population of London was at risk of an “inhalation hazard” from any radioactive release. Between 1983 and 1991, the US military stored 96 nuclear-tipped cruise missiles at the airfield which became home to the Greenham Common women’s peace camp, one of the longest anti-nuclear protests in history. [Despite these reports], the MoD regarded the risk to the population as “acceptable”… One report found that a fire in a single silo, fed by fuel from the missiles, could release plutonium from eight warheads, creating a radioactive cloud that would be blown across much of SE England. It concluded that Greenham Common was the worst of 11 sites under consideration to house the missiles because of its proximity to urban centres. A second report [02-12-80] confirmed that warheads could explode accidentally. “If one warhead were to detonate it is possible that the other seven warheads in the storage cell could be engulfed in the fire which is virtually certain to ensue from the rupture of the missiles’ fuel tanks”. The MoD retort, published in The New Scientist, was: “There has never been an accident involving nuclear weapons that has put the public at risk”. In 2001, The Atomic Weapons Establishment, now a private company, registered 826 accidents including cuts, breaches of safety procedures and the failure of a breathing apparatus.”

THE FASLANE-365 BLOCKADE

I had been invited to join the group "The Power of Word and Song" that had committed itself to blockading the Base on 5th June. This was Day 241 of the 365 day long protest against this monstrous and knowingly dangerous site. So far, that is to 17th July, there have been 107 blockading groups, 157 days of presence, 885 arrests and 37 prosecutions.

The Power of Word and Song is a group of artists, writers and songwriters, many of whom you will find reading “Red Pepper”. One of the group’s founders, Roger Lloyd Pack, familiar as Owen in "The Vicar of Dibley", as Trigger in "Of Fools and Horses" and many other films and TV programmes, travelled with singer Rebecca Thorn, poet Sean Legassick and me from London. Allan Cameron, author and poet, had come down from North Uist and David Ferrard had come over from Edinburgh. Theo Simon, leadsinger with folk-band “Seize the Day”, had come up from Somerset. We all congregated at a Church of Scotland Hall in the suburbs of Glasgow where Dr Rebecca Johnson and Angie Zelter were waiting for us. They provided us not only with a delicious meal - Angie producing two mouth-bombing Scottish cheeses – but also a workshop on Non-Violent Direct Action. The textbook for the evening, which I gleefully recommend to you, dear Reader, was The Faslane-365 Resource Pack: it has all you need to know to protest in your own way, be it at Faslane or elsewhere. Rebecca then drove three of us 30 miles north, past the 25 year old Peace Camp to the flat she rents over-looking upper Garelochhead. These rooms function as office, sleep-spaces, debating hall, restaurant and night-club. Put 4 defiant protesters together and you will not get silence - it was 2am before we got to bed that night.

A little about these two remarkable women: Dr Rebecca Johnson and Angie Zelter. Both are veterans of Greenham Common, both are members of the Women in Black collective [who have stood witness, for example, at Israeli check-points]and both write elegantly and persuasively. Angie founded The International Women’s Peace Service – Palestine and has been arrested hundreds of times here and abroad in the pursuit of peace and non-violence. Rebecca is also Founder, Executive Director and Editor of “Disarmament Diplomacy” [3], a journal found in Government Offices and Embassies around the world. She is repeatedly called to the UN, to International Conferences and to capital cities to give speeches, to write articles, to advise and consult with diplomats and politicians of all hues about how to reduce the threat of nuclear catastrophe.

These two and team-mates from Faslane 365 had constructed by 10 o’clock the next morning a tent, a powerful PA and an impromptu stage on one side of The North Gate and hung banners and peace posters demanding the closure of the Base and a table with tea urn, juices and a range of organic snacks on the other.

THE NORTH GATE

“The Power of Word and Song” collective had decided to put on a gig. It proved to be the most surreal concert I have ever attended. The backdrop was the most sophisticated and expensive security system imaginable. I have already referred to the miles and miles of heavy, triple-thick steel-wired fencing topped, at 20 feet, by rolls of razor-sharp barbed-wire, familiar to us all not only in the UK but from pictures of government installations and prison camps around the world, especially Guantanamo. Tower after tower, festooned with powerful spotlights, cameras and the latest remote-sensing technology, point everywhere but mostly at you. The steel and concrete surrounding The North Gate, inside and out, would stop a Centurion tank at full pelt. As for unarmed, peaceful citizens pointing up this lunacy, the simple barriers either side of the one open lane are enough to prevent any one of them getting anywhere near.

When we arrived the next morning, 30 members of the Strathclyde Police Force were already in formation; the second shift sat in vans just down the road. The police know precisely how many to deploy because they read The Faslane 365 website! Like all the best non-violent protests, this informs the ‘opponent’ of one’s plans and so the Police know how many to expect and when - which is surely good news for the efficient allocation of their ‘resources’. The traffic flowing in and out was a mixture of the ordinary – white van after white van – and of vehicles seeming to have ‘something of the night’ about them. Amongst the latter, huge articulated lorries, trucks and tankers, mostly painted black, cargoes always hidden and windows always darkened. And, when shifts changed, hundreds of low-economy cars and motorbikes joined the flow carrying rather grim looking people, most of whom avoided our gaze, a few of whom were very rude.

THE GIG

In contrast to that gloomy lot, the artists were clearly a much happier bunch. Roger Lloyd Pack opened the whole gig up with messages of support from Adrian Mitchell, Vanessa Redgrave and Hilary Wainwright and then said:
“I want to raise my voice in protest because the situation is urgent. The money should be spent where the real danger lies – on climate change. We desperately need to create alternative energy sources. I believe the continued deployment of Trident is immoral, illegal and simply illogical.” Rebecca Thorn joined him to sing a protest song.

Scotswoman and famed author A.L.Kennedy delivered an excruciatingly funny monologue about the bizarre madness and illogic of nuclear thinking and gave us a damning indictment of the lies, distortions and secrecy used by governments and industry alike to justify the huge expenditure of what are, actually, illegal weapons of mass destruction.
“Even in a country more than used to its leaders spending obscene sums of money on illegal enterprises, Trident remains abhorred by the majority of the population of its host country.” she said “Now with manufacturers baying for new weapons systems and a ramped-up nuclear power industry to support them, we have to say that enough is enough.”

Allan Cameron read some of his poems about war and non-violent resistance; Allan is also the author of the satirical novel “Berlusconi Bonus” and the shortly to be published collection of poems “Presbyopia” [Foreword by E J Hobsbawm and illustrated by Alisdair Gray], both of which I strongly recommend. Poets Gerry Loose and Sean Legassick followed him. Theo Simon sang some of his folk-band songs and appealed to the new Scottish Executive and Strathclyde Police to uphold international law and close the gates of the Trident submarine base for good. His last song was about Love.

“Today we have sung, read poetry and made speeches to express our dissent and as long as Trident exists we will continue to do so,” said Edinburgh folk singer David Ferrard, “Nuclear weapons are not only illegal but very unpopular in Scotland. The SNP wants them removed. They epitomize the antithesis of everything that art stands for: truth, beauty and life itself.”

Other performers included singer-songwriters, Kieran Dorris and Paul Baird, who sang Bob Dylan’s “Masters of War”. Folksinger legend, Leon Rosselson, also sang some of his inimitable compositions, including the one about scrapping Trident.

I spoke about Gandhi’s Non-violence, asking all to imagine how we would feel if Gandhi was standing in front of us now. Would we not bow our heads in shame that our nation had decided even now, after 62 years of MAD [“Mutually Assured Destruction” for those who did not experience the Cold War], to spend yet more vast sums on a weapon that, if used, would kill us all and, if not used, was a waste of precious resources. A waste made even more monstrous by the willful ignorance of our politicians committed at the precise and critical moment when we should be spending it on saving the planet. And how can we ask our Officers of the Law to defend something that is illegal? It is the pursuit of violence that leads us into this madness, this waste, this conflict of interests today. Were Non-violence our axiom for living, we would be here simply to enjoy the beauty around us.

THE BLOCKADE

As the appointed hour for the blockade approached, I have to confess to a certain belly tightening and nervous walking about. Although most of us had tried to engage with the fluorescent-yellow-jacketed and mostly rather big officers of the law, they had been polite but distant. They had a job to do. A shift change ensured that any empathy that had been established was cut short. The new batch marched in with very serious faces but, like the first, soon seemed to appreciate that they were being given a free and rather fine concert. I spotted some smiles and even laughter at one of Alison’s jokes.

When Leon finished his second brilliant set [still as brilliant, I can tell you, as he was 33 years ago when we met first at The Rio in Hackney], he announced that it was a special day in more ways than one. “IT’S ANGIE’S BIRTHDAY!” And held up a candle-lit chocolate cake. Cheers and hoorays all around. We all quickly surrounded her and walked her across the road towards the cake each seemingly intent on getting a slice. At a shout from Theo, the day’s famous five, including as you would expect, the Birthday Girl herself, dashed the 20 yards over to the open lane, grabbing each other’s arms as we lay down in a row on our backs. Traffic came to a halt and the fuzz rushed us. And time, as it will in these moments, slowed down, stretched out and became very dense.

The N-VDA practice for this moment is to go limp; somehow by relaxing every muscle, one’s body becomes heavier or, at least, much more difficult to move. However, at the same time, I had been told to keep a tight grip on the person next to me. So my left arm was holding on to Theo for dear life. As time slowed, I found that trying to relax every other muscle in my body except my left arm extremely difficult. I was trying to focus on this unnatural combination when I heard the loud scuffle and crunch of many large boots rushing over the concrete towards our heads. I closed my eyes and made sure my grip, at least, was still firm. I opened them pretty quick when my legs and right arm were unceremoniously grabbed.
As my luck would have it, it was a young blond policewomen who had bent over me and put her arm through mine. She tried to haul me up but I was too heavy, even with a policeman taking the weight of my right leg. When the Superintendent called a temporary halt at our end of the line while he dealt with Angie at the other, I looked up into her eyes and we smiled. I asked whether she was comfortable bending over me like that. "You'll strain your back, you know”. And then, bizarrely, “Why don't I kneel so you can stand?" “Thank you” she said and sniggered gratefully. She had, of course, ‘won’. I had let Theo go!! I had broken the chain. I had blown the blockade because of idiotic good manners.

I was kept kneeling for a while though until these two were told to haul me up and walk me off, firmly held, to the fenced enclosure 300 yards away. The protest had blocked Faslane for no more than 7 or 8 minutes. Theo, bless him, made them drag him all the way. Photographed, details registered and filed in a makeshift caravan, the four men were vanned to Dunbarton Police Station [Angie went elsewhere]. Here all belongings in all pockets had to be placed on the counter, logged and bagged. Each one of us was then marched, still firmly held, down the corridor and into a solitary cell. This was a 9‘ x 9’ stuffy concrete box, neonlit, with one thin mattress made of thick plastic, one thin cotton blanket and a lavatory bowl. After what seemed an interminable time – it turned out to be one hour - the steel peep-hole was banged open “You all right?” and banged shut. And again, after another infinity, “Sugar in yer tea?” Bang! And yet again “Here it is”. Bang! Three sugars and a micro-waved mince and mash. Bang! Time in prison does go on forever. Vivid images of open fields and streets start to crowd in. How the hell am I going to make it through the night? If I had not had my book, so wisely insisted upon by Rebecca, my incipient claustrophobia may well have got the better of me. We were expecting to be kept in overnight but, in fact, they released us without charge after 5 hours. Just five hours and I felt sorry for myself. Boyo, what a lesson that was. And the sense of relief when the door was opened and I was told I could go was a moment of heightened awareness. And it was still light.

THE GOAL IS TO CLOSE THE BASE
The young policemen we chatted to in the van on the way to the Station spoke openly with us. They know the arguments, of course, and both agreed with Alex Salmond and the Catholic and Protestant Bishops of Scotland that the Base should be closed. “But for thousands” said one "it's work, a job. What will they do if it closes?". When we pointed out that Faslane is only 30 miles away from 9 million people, the other said "We're only f… Scots, aren’t we. Fat lot they care down south". An acceptable risk?

"Faslane 385" finishes on October 1st which is, of course, the day before Gandhi's birthday. I suggest that we in The Gandhi Foundation, and everybody else who reads this far, turn up in force for that final momentous party. Contact me: 0207-249-4471.

NOTES:

1. FASLANE 365 RESOURCE PACK
This is a 50 page handbook containing all you need to know about the protest. Copies can be obtained from www.faslane365.org where you also find photographs and lots of information.

2. “DISARMAMENT DIPLOMACY”
This is published by AIDD, 24 Colvestone Crescent, London E8 2LH. It is funded by The Ford Foundation, Ploughshares Fund and Joseph Rowntree Charitable Trust. Website: www.acronym.org.uk.

3. TRANSPORTING NUCLEAR MATERIAL
Few of you will need reminding that nuclear fissile material is transported in convoys [regularly] from Aldermaston in Berkshire to Faslane using public highways in a 500 mile journey past millions of homes.

JOHN ROWLEY 17th July 2007