Mother Nature's Sons and Daughters

          Last Saturday, an estimated 80,000 people walked from Park Lane to Parliament Square under the banner Restore Nature Now and I was one of them – albeit peripherally. Having joined the procession with good intention, I was soon overcome by frustration and claustrophobia, so I opted for the role with which I am generally more comfortable, that of observer. I might have been inclined to stay with the mass had there been an edge of expectation that something was going to happen – confrontation with the police, hostility from bystanders or even a jolly good marching band to keep the spirits up – but as it was a family-friendly, establishment-condoned demonstration of concern for nature, heavily dependent for fun on ironic costumes, its outcome was predictable. So, frustrated by the slow progress and inexplicable hold-ups (there being no way of knowing what was happening at the celebrity-led front of the column) and claustrophobic at being hemmed in on all sides for what I guessed would be several hours, I dodged out of the main body and followed it in parallel, blending into the ambient population of pedestrians.

          Passing the Royal Academy, my eye was caught by the big, ragged-looking sculpture in the courtyard, so I popped in for a closer look, While I was reading the explanatory sign, a middle-aged man asked me if I had been in to see the exhibition yet. He explained that he was about to go in himself but had a spare ticket which he didn’t want to waste and was offering it free of charge to whomever wanted it. His manner was polite to the point of being apologetic, which I realised was because of the delicacy of his proposition. Approaching strangers in such a way could be met with suspicion – especially in a big city teeming with tourists. Anyway, I declined his offer (as sensitively as I could) because, apart from being already committed to the demo, a friend who had seen the exhibition had told me it was really quite dull.

          For a long while, I sat on the steps of Eros in Piccadilly Circus, watching the procession of nature-themed costumes and banners snake by. From my semi-detached position, I was able to appreciate the creativity and commitment of the participants, while taking stock of onlookers’ reactions. These fell into three categories: luke-warm, bemused and dismissive (though selfie-taking was widespread across all three). The only spark of energy came from the sidelines, where a man displaying a “Free Palestine!” poster was being harangued by another who threatened to get Nigel Farage to sort him out. The lack of openly enthusiastic support for the main procession was disappointing, considering the commitment of the participants. At least I saw no open hostility, but then it would be astonishing if anyone actively opposed a movement to restore Nature. What opposition there is, comes usually in the form of foot-dragging and underhand legislation on the part of those who profit from the status quo.

          The rallying speeches in Parliament Square were delivered to an audience of the already converted. It is hoped that publicity will spread the word but, if you rely on the BBC for your news, it was silent on this event. The crowds dispersed and I caught the tube back to north London, only to find myself in a carriage surrounded by yet more crowds in costume – girls and young women wearing sequined clothes. They must be going to a party, I thought, but when I got off at my stop and found more of them wandering about, my curiosity was piqued and I asked a couple what was going on. “Taylor Swift”, they chimed, as if I were a hermit. “Oh”, I said, too astonished to muster anything else. Apparently, an estimated 80,000 people attended her concert that night. The event featured on the BBC news later.