Your campaign is targeted at the government, so why did you decide to occupy your school?
We felt as if it was something we had to resort to. The government were not listening to us when we wrote letters to MPs. And when we marched in large numbers, the media were only focusing on the criminal damage and violence.
We felt it was time to take nonviolent action that could not be distorted and warped by the press to portray us as yobs. We tried to make it absolutely clear when talking to the school and journalists that this was not an attack on the school, but on the cuts.

How did you get other students involved and spread the word?
Initially me and my friend Tascha approached people in our year and the year above who we felt would be passionate about doing this and could be relied upon.
This group met every day, at lunch breaks and after school, to discuss ideas and plan.
We used consensus decision-making, so that every fault would be picked up.
We visited the UCL university occupation many times to get tips on how to make our occupations successful – they even had a ‘So you want to set up a occupation?’ meeting for us, and they also provided us with useful legal advice on occupations.
We had to be very careful with getting the word around without the school finding out, so we decided word of mouth would be the safest way to do it.

How many of you took part in the sit-in at the school?
Probably about 80 of us stayed overnight. Our numbers were greater at the beginning, about 130, but many went out to buy food and came back to find the gate locked – though quite a few managed to climb back in over the fence.

How do you think the scrapping of the education maintenance allowance (EMA) will affect students in sixth form?
At least half of the students in the sixth form receive EMA, and really rely on it to pay for books, travel and school trips. It is vital for those from less wealthy backgrounds – it helps with all the basic necessities.
How did your school react to the occupation?
At first the reaction was negative, as they were concerned with our safety overnight and how it would affect the school’s image. Threats were made, and they did contact some parents saying that the police would be called.
But we had an emergency meeting and we concluded that we would stand our ground and would not move until the 24 hours were over.

What advice would you give to students at other schools who are wondering about what to do about the education cuts and may be thinking of doing something similar?
You might think that you’re only a kid and nobody will listen to what you say, but if enough of you shout loud enough for long enough, they won’t be able to ignore you.
Take the initiative, and go to your local anti‑cuts meeting – they can give you advice on how to protest, and will support you with whatever you choose to do.

How can students keep the pressure on now that MPs have voted yes to the education cuts?
I still haven’t given up hope. Even though the vote passed, the protests against the poll tax in the 1980s are my inspiration. After the holiday, thousands are going to come back and protest on the streets of London again against the cuts.
It has to be made clear that no action taken against us, be it kettling or police brutality, will stop us reaching our goal.

How did you become politically conscious and active?
I am from Cuzco, and there you could always see the tremendous abuses carried out against the indigenous population. And the area always had a tradition of struggle. I remember a teacher at primary school taught us indigenous protest songs, and we also saw theatrical plays about past struggles. So I think it was natural to come to this.

How are indigenous forms of organisation different to traditional left-wing forms of organisation?
There are no hierarchies. Although sometimes leaders emerge, or greedy people that hog the land, the essence is that we fight for a government by all. The indigenous communities that have survived for 500 years are collectivist political mechanisms. They are democratic and they have been recognised by several political constitutions. There are places where there are what could be called ‘communities of communities’, like in the Peruvian Amazon or in Cauca in Colombia. The Kuna in Panama are also recognised by the Panamanian government. The best example is that of Chiapas in Mexico, where a collective indigenous government has controlled the area for many years, and where leaders can be recalled.

How does the indigenous movement understand the concepts of progress and development?
Development hasn’t really reached the indigenous. They are those who least benefit from it. The system comes to exploit them and their land. They know much better than urban people that we are dependent on nature. Children in the developed world think potatoes come from the supermarket, but an indigenous person knows that he lives as part of nature and so when nature is attacked they must defend it.
Now, they might be able to use some elements of so-called civilization, but there is no comparison between these benefits and the damage done to nature. For example, you want to open a mine but it will poison the water and it will take water used for agriculture. This is absolutely lethal for the indigenous. For all the possible benefits that it might produce, such as jobs, schools or hospitals, it can’t substitute for life, and so they prefer to fight against it, and live without the mine.

What implications does this have for the progressive governments of Latin America? How are the indigenous interacting or conflicting with them over issues like these?
Well, firstly I think that they are definitely progressive governments. They confront imperialism and their national oligarchies, and much of their strength, especially in Bolivia and Ecuador, comes from the indigenous movement, and we defend them unconditionally.
But when they confront the indigenous we support the indigenous people. Not simply because they are indigenous, but because we consider them to be more democratic than the governments themselves are.
I think it is the governments that are acting in a contradictory manner. Yes they are progressive and anti-oligarchic and anti-imperialist, but they continue with extractive economic policies.
This is an aggression against their indigenous populations and these peoples have to defend themselves.

How does this indigenous struggle link to the so-called developed world? How international is it?
We have little to do with the struggles [in the UK], but we work with ecosocialists, and we identify completely with them because the indigenous struggle is ecosocialist. Although we don’t call it ecological or socialist, that is what it is in essence.
There was recently a meeting of Peruvian and Ecuadorean indigenous people up on the border, and they said, ‘Before we were divided, but now we will unite and fight the multinationals together.’
And we always have international meetings. The first meeting against neoliberalism and for humanity took place in Chiapas, called by the indigenous peoples there, long before the social forums, and now the constitutions of Bolivia and Ecuador define these countries as pluri-national and so states themselves are changing.

Earlier this year he refused to return to Afghanistan, where he had served in the Royal Logistics Corps, on the grounds that the army was ‘bringing death and devastation’ to the country.

In January he will face a court martial for desertion. He told an initial military hearing in August that he plans to deny the charge and call an expert on international law to argue that the war is illegal.

Glenton is the first soldier to speak out against the Afghan war and if found guilty faces up to two years in prison. The Stop the War Coalition has described his actions a ‘very significant moment’ in the campaign against the conflict.

In a letter to delivered to the prime minister in July he stated his belief that ‘the war in Afghanistan is not reducing the terrorist risk’ and that he and his fellow soldiers had become tools of US foreign policy.

He said: ‘I believe this unethical short-changing of such proud men and women has caused immeasurable suffering, not only to families of British service personnel who have been killed and injured, but also to the noble people of Afghanistan.’

Glenton is clear that the war is doing nothing to improve the lives of ordinary people in a country shaped by two centuries of imperial conquest. He told the Guardian: ‘I just couldn’t see what we had given to the country. I felt ashamed.’

He has since been gagged by the Ministry of Defence as he awaits trial. In early November he was arrested for speaking at an anti-war demo in London, and could now face up to 10 years in prison.

Tim Hunt spoke to Joe’s wife, Clare Glenton, about her husband’s conscientious objection and his future plans.

What do you think the outcome of the court martial will be?

It’s difficult to say. They may want to make an example out of him and we expect him to do some time. But in Joe’s eyes he will win whatever the outcome – and he is prepared for anything.

What do you think about his decision to take a stand?

I’m 100 per cent supportive. He is an amazing person who has shown incredible strength and courage. I am very proud to be his wife.

Are you glad he is no longer in Afghanistan?

Of course. I am unsure of our reasons for being there and so many people are dying in all the British taxpayers’ names. All troops need to be withdrawn or, at the very least, the government has to start thinking about it now.

How is he and the rest of your family coping?

Really well – we are there for each other 100 per cent. It’s hard to be apart but we know it won’t be for long in the scheme of things.

Is he traumatised by his experience in Afghanistan? What has he said about conditions there?

Being on tour affects people in many different ways. Even though his experience may not have been as difficult as others’, he saw and did things that were upsetting to him, and they will always be with him.

What has been the reaction of his friends in his regiment and other soldiers?

Quietly supportive. A lot agree with him but they are just lads doing their job and don’t really question anything. There are others who are army through and through and get on with the job, be it right or wrong. This is what makes Joe unique, the first of his kind.

Does he see his resistance to the war as a political act or one of compassion?

It’s a mixture of both. Having been there, he has seen the way it has affected the Afghan people and how very little their lives have improved, but he is fighting the government and questioning the legality of the war, so it has a very political angle too.

What will he do next?

Joe plans to go to university to study international relations or political science.

How can people support him?

By thinking about the war and what it means to them. Please send messages to joeisinnocent@hotmail.co.uk. Stand up and be counted. Your opinions are important.

Joe has a preliminary hearing of his court martial on 29 January 2010. Stop the War will organise a picket of the court in support.

This article was first published in Red Pepper’s favourite Manchester freesheet, Mule.

The company held a meeting of all 600 of us at the factory. They brought someone from high up in the company from Copenhagen to break the news. Up until that point we had been told that we were getting an upgrade for the factory and that our jobs were secure. It was a shock when they told us, no one was expecting it.

What was people’s reaction to the closure?

It was a very bullying management at Vestas, so initially people didn’t think there was much they could do. Since Vestas took over the factory there has been a culture of intimidation and fear here; a number of people have been sacked for minor misdemeanours after they joined a union. On the Isle of Wight mistreatment of workers is very common. But it became obvious that we needed to take action if we were going to get anywhere. Some of the workers from the Visteon car parts plant, who had occupied their factory, came down to meet us. We started talking, and held a small meeting to discuss how to launch our occupation soon after.

What were conditions like when you were occupying?

It was a surreal experience. Initially Vestas brought in security guards, who stopped us from getting any food in – although that soon stopped once the media picked up on it. The factory was very uncomfortable. We had sleeping bags because we had been planning the occupation for a while, but we had to put them on the floor and there were no showers. I took a camera in too, mainly for safety – to make sure the police stayed within the law and didn’t drag us out.

We kept sane by keeping organised – we had regular meetings – and finding ways of relaxing. We even made a musical when we were in there, about the occupation and what it was like inside the factory. It’s only half finished but it’s already a big hit with the rest of the workers and is soon to be YouTube’d.

You were one of the employees sacked for taking part in the protest. How did you feel when you received the letter?

It was quite liberating in a way – the decision was made for me that I would have to stay and fight. There was nothing left to lose now, they had taken it all away. My redundancy package was pitiful anyway, only £2,500, and I would pay that any day to have this cause in front of me now. I care about the environment and the local economy and this fight is worth having.

Your occupation attracted a great deal of attention, both from the national press and the ‘red-green’ coalition of protesters who supported you. Were you expecting that?

We knew it would be big, but we didn’t know how big. It has so many different strands to it that people can support: it’s a workers’ struggle, a local campaign, a fight for green energy. There’s something for everyone. I didn’t think the left would work with the greens on such a large scale, even though for them both to exist they need each other, so it was brilliant to see. We’ve also received a lot of support from local people. In a lot of ways it is a very local struggle.

It appears that the government was engaged in a secret behind-the-scenes effort to rescue the factory, but that the company rejected all the proposals. What do you make of these efforts?

We are campaigning for full nationalisation of the factory, so we weren’t satisfied with the government’s efforts, or its secretive approach. We are still fighting for compulsory purchase – it’s doable and it should be done. We need a national initiative in green energy led by a government with teeth.

The government has pledged to create 400,000 new green jobs. What impact do you think this occupation has had on Labour’s green credentials?

Vestas has been awarded £6 million by the government to build a new research facility on the Isle of Wight. It is completely unacceptable to give this amount to a profitable company that just sacked 600 people. A balance has to be struck with the local community, otherwise the government can claim to be working for a sustainable future, but in reality they are sending a load of people to the Jobcentre.

What’s next for the campaign?
We are launching a national day of action and we are calling for anybody and everybody to take some action in support. It could be a big gesture, like occupying a factory for 24 hours, or something smaller like everyone taking their tea break at the same time. This isn’t just our fight, it’s everybody’s.

Visit http://savevestas.wordpress.com for updates on the workers\’ campaign

‘I felt afraid,’ says Pauline, ‘because I had heard stories, especially in school, that attraction between people of the same sex wasn’t normal, and it was considered evil and un-African.’

Homosexuality is illegal in 38 African countries. In Kenya, it is punishable by up to 14 years in jail. Although no one has ever been convicted, the existence of this law has kept most of Kenya’s lesbian, gay, bi and trans-sexual (LGBT) community in the closet. There are high incidences of suicide and drug abuse, and no legal recourse in the face of discrimination and hate crimes.

When Pauline came out, her mother took her to a therapist who gave her anti-depressants as a ‘cure’. Pauline’s sister accused her of bringing shame to the family. Her father accepted her choice, but died soon after. Only her younger brother, Edwin, has stood by her over the years, respecting both her sexuality and activism.

Seven years on, her sister is more reconciled with Pauline’s lesbianism, but her relationship with her mother is still fraught with pain. ‘Having my mom come from a very Christian background, and read, translate and interpret the bible the way everybody else is doing, gives her grounds to hate the lesbian in me. But I expect her to challenge her biased judgment, because in the end, it’s the same bible that’s about preaching love.’

Pauline blames religious leaders for systematically fueling homophobia in Kenya. Homosexuality is constantly described as a crime against Christianity and Islam, with many churches running sexual orientation conversions and banning homosexuals from services. American conservative pastors regularly tour Kenya and have daily television shows there, bolstering homophobic beliefs.

Hate crimes against the LGBT community are frequent, but most go unreported. Pauline had to move house when she was attacked by neighbours after taking part in Kenya’s first television talk show on homosexuality in August last year. At least two other members of the Gay and Lesbian Coalition of Kenya (GALCK) present at the show were also attacked.

This was not the first time for Pauline, nor does she expect it to be the last. She came out to four male college friends a few years back. One of them, she says, wanted a relationship with her. She invited them for drinks to celebrate her coming out, and later that night offered to drive them home. On the way to one of the men’s house, ‘one of them grabbed me from behind,’ Pauline explains, ‘and then they started ripping my clothes apart. That’s when they raped me, in my own car.’

Pauline did not tell anyone or report it. She tried to commit suicide. Soon after, she was raped again by an unknown group of boys on campus. Targeted rapes of lesbians are very common – and not only in Kenya. South Africa, for instance, despite being the only African country to give sexual minorities equal constitutional rights, has one of the highest incidences of so-called ‘corrective rapes’ of lesbians.

It’s nothing new, says Pauline: rape has always been used to intimidate assertive women in Kenya, like feminists and female politicians.

Surviving these attacks gave her strength to keep fighting for LGBT rights. She joined GALCK within a month of its creation two years ago. From the onset, the coalition prioritised HIV healthcare and treatment. Studies estimate that sex between men accounts for at least five to ten per cent of HIV cases in Kenya, but HIV counselling and treatment programmes have been systematically geared towards heterosexuals. Cases of LGBT people being denied healthcare are common.

One major breakthrough for Kenya’s gay coalition was to->www.mask.org.za] collaborate with Liverpool VCT, the only HIV counselling and treatment centre in Kenya to cater to LGBT people. With pride, Pauline marched at the 2006 World Aids Day, when Kenya’s gay coalition went public, and then at the 2007 World Social Forum where for the first time LGBT people from the East African community claimed public space to demand their rights.

‘Even if there is not any social recognition,’ says Pauline, ‘at least people now know we exist.’

Gay and Lesbian Coalition of Kenya

Arusha Topazzini is a freelance reporter

How did you and the other army recruits feel when you were told you were being deployed in Guantanamo?

Well we were artillery guys, what did we know about detention centres? We had just one week of training, which was a total joke. Two days of that was taken up with us stabbing each other with little rubber knives while we had to repeat to ourselves over and over ‘I have been cut but I will not die.’ They were obsessed with knives there.

What was your experience of being a guard at Guantanamo like?

Guantanamo is a 21st-century concentration camp, which I have to accept I was a part of. They were ten of the worst months of my life. I tried to kill myself. And whenever I was not actually in Guantanamo I was sleeping or staring at a wall. Numbing is probably the best word for what my state was. It was a bizarre place … there was a $10,000 fine if you killed an iguana, but we could do whatever we wanted to the detainees. People could beat the shit out of them. But the iguanas were a totally different story.

What was your relationship with the other soldiers there like? Could you talk to anyone about your feelings about the camp?

My relationship with the military was definitely tense. The atmosphere was this ‘I’m gonna kill me a raghead’ kind of attitude. I felt way uncomfortable with that. I got threatened. I got my ass kicked. I was harassed by the leadership constantly.

I remember when we were demobilising we were talking about the possibility of George Bush getting re-elected. I was a pretty hardcore anarchist at the time and I said something along the lines of ‘Why do we have to have a state at all?’ That caused some problems. I did hang out with two other guys at Guantanamo who thought the whole thing was a waste of time.

Did you see or were you personally involved in any torture at the camp?

I never personally instigated any torture, but there were times I participated in things I should have stopped. I remember I was dragging a detainee to an interrogation cell with another guy and between the two of us we smashed his head into a metal pole. You might not call it torture but I definitely did things I shouldn’t have.

How difficult was it for you to leave the army and speak out in the way that you have done, and how have people reacted to you back home?

My family are really supportive of what I’m doing. But honestly, I’m indifferent to those people who are critical because I’ve been dealing with their prejudices for so long. For the most part the reception to what I’ve been doing has been phenomenal, but I live mainly in cities now where the bar of empathy and understanding is a little higher.

What would you like to see happen to Guantanamo?

What I think we need to focus on is detention policy, not a particular camp. There are camps everywhere which aren’t getting the coverage they need. The world needs to know who these people are and they need to have some recourse to the legal structure.

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