Can Extinction Rebellion pull back from the brink?

But the summer rebellion marked their peak. A subsequent winter uprising soured things: the most high-profile example was the PR disaster of the Canning Town action, at which two Extinction Rebellion members glued themselves to the top of a Tube carriage. Furious commuters hurled drink cans and tried to rip one activist from the train roof. Increasingly, XR struggled to get a grip on actions that were perceived as tone-deaf and out of step with the public.

This reputation was ammunition to politicians including Boris Johnson, who labelled the movement “unco-

operative crusties” in October — which also played into the prevailing prejudice about XR: namely. that it was populated by white, middle-class people in search of a good rabble-rousing. Those in its internal PR operation point out that October’s “winter rebellion” received a quarter of the press coverage previous turnouts generated. “There was a point where we just thought, s**t — we could be losing a lot of people”, says Anneka Sutcliffe of XR.

The uneasy feeling that XR had a white middle-class values problem grew from within: was there an arrogance to assuming members could be arrested with impunity? “We recognise now that our tactic of arrest has made it easier for people of privilege to participate and that our behaviours and attitudes fed into the system of white supremacy,” Extinction Rebellion admitted.

“From the get-go, XR were asked by environmental justice campaigners in London to consult with communities about how to not alienate people,” climate justice campaigner Suzanne Dhaliwal wrote after the incident. “XR is not taking heed of the call to look at its class and privilege blind spots.” Within the movement, meanwhile, the devolved hierarchy, envisaged as its greatest strength by founders like Gail Bradbrook was starting to create unexpected problems as XR swelled in size. A broad church breeds furtive cloisters.

The voting-out two months ago of Roger Hallam, a former organic farmer and founding member of the movement, from his leading role at XR (he remains a member) laid bare divisions that had been hailed as its greatest strength. That followed his determination to steer the movement towards more disruptive actions like piloting drones over Heathrow airport, and comments in German newspapers which appeared to downplay the magnitude of the Holocaust.

In November 2019 he claimed the Holocaust was “just another f***ery in human history”. He later apologised. But discord had rumbled on for months before that. Splinter groups like Beyond Politics, Hallam’s break-off branch, felt the movement was too ineffective. Rebels complained they were “bored sitting in roads”; that less sympathetic policing operations were “sweeping us away with ease”. As a strategy group including founding members Hallam and Bradbrook met to discuss the proposed Heathrow action in Stroud last July, the event was disrupted.

Half a dozen members of XR Youth, the youth wing of the movement — a non-hierarchical group consisting of students like Daze Aghaji, 20 — had turned up, unannounced. Bearing cinnamon rolls with We Love You written in icing on top, they occupied the meeting and read out their three demands, one of which was that the Heathrow expansion plans should not go ahead. Hallam, alongside a handful of XR activists in the splinter group Heathrow Pause, pushed on with plans but found their drones wouldn’t start. “It was a total flop”, concludes another activist.

The pandemic brought problems to a head. “We’ve got fewer people able to commit time to us after Covid-19 and fewer resources”, says Sutcliffe. There was financial trouble, too. “We had a million in donations last year and we spent all of it. We’re now in debt to ourselves, basically,” she adds. At the start of lockdown, they had to stop paying the living costs of those who volunteered their time from the organisation’s apartment HQ in east London.

However, insiders see the last few months as a corner turned. Co-ordinators like Sutcliffe have devoted energy to restructuring XR; a central “anchor circle” has been dissolved in favour of regional representation from across the country; a more effective “intervention” group has been mooted to block actions that could undermine XR’s central mission to enact change.

The toll of engaging with looming ecological collapse has also weighed on the movement and its members. They talk of “climate grief”: there’s only so much apocalyptic stress a person can shoulder. Internally, XR have focused on fostering a “regenerative culture” to mitigate this mental load. When I try to talk to Gail Bradbrook, I discover she’s taking a “WhatsApp break”. Sutcliffe says she felt close to a “complete meltdown” around December as some members advanced the conclusion that the window had passed — that it was time to stop pretending we can prevent climate change, and to focus on damage limitation.

Few organisations, though, are as adept at admitting to their own failures. Prioritising social justice, especially in the wake of Black Lives Matter protests, has become a mission statement: young activists have long made the link between racial injustice and the climate crisis, and have been keen to offer solidarity with BLM. Extinction Rebellion organised a “know your rights” training session in June for BLM protesters, outlining what to do if someone is arrested.

Internally, XR now prioritises “DNA training,” to teach new members the movement’s core values, and how “to tell XR’s story” to get others involved. Tips include holding meetings in “inclusive spaces” and asking people about their personal experiences with the environment. There were things to avoid: using phrases that implied overpopulation was a problem; focusing on individual lifestyle changes rather than systemic change; and using “Lefty language”. But externally, they’re hopeful the devastation of the pandemic will rally the public to XR’s clarion call once again. “I keep telling people that now is a chance for us to fix everything”, says Sutcliffe. A chance to start again, before it’s too late.