Just Stop Oil activist Adam Beard from Stroud was found guilty of conspiracy to cause a public nuisance at Heathrow Airport by a jury at Isleworth Crown Court in March, he was convicted along with seven of his co-defendants after plotting to o bring Heathrow Airport to a standstill in a bid to disrupt flights at the UK’s busiest airport.
In his own words, Adam recalls his time behind bars at HMP Wandsworth
I arrive in prison locked in a cubicle in the back of a van. Through the small window I see a sign: ‘Welcome To HMP Wandsworth’. If it is meant to be reassuring it doesn’t work for me.
I am taken into room, which fills up with about twenty men. Some look afraid while others put on displays of macho bravado. A few rant about the unjust circumstances that led them into custody. Reminding myself that I expected to be here today, I stayed close to the small group I was arrested with. We exchange encouraging glances and wait. One-by-one our names are called.
When my turn comes, I follow the guard to a desk where a woman jabs questions at me. She’s clearly not looking for conversation so I give one-word answers. After another wait I saw a nurse. She’s much friendlier but pushed for time so the conversation here, too, is brief. Once she’s satisfied I’m not a suicide risk, I am sent to wait again before being taken to the wing. I’m led into a cell and the heavy steel door bangs shut behind me.
There is no handle on the inside. So began my seven-month stay in prison, a new experience by degrees scary and disorientating; a harsh world of noise, unfamiliar routine and rules that new inmates are left to work out as best they can.
When I decided to take direct action at Heathrow airport in support of Just Stop Oil’s campaign for a fossil fuel free future, I knew there was a high chance of being remanded: being sent to prison before a trial takes place.
Just Stop Oil’s actions follow the principles of non-violence as practised by Gandhi and developed by Martin Luther King. Non-violence differs from not being violent in that it is an active state; seeing harm being done demands a response to try to prevent it. The climate crisis – our addiction to fossil fuels – is not only causing harm to millions of people around the world, but threatens the lives of countless generations to come. Futile as it might be, I feel a moral duty to act. Another facet of non-violence is accountability. When we take action we wait for the police and do not resist arrest. Thus, unlike almost all my fellow inmates, I effectively chose to go behind bars.
There are over 88,000 people in British prisons, 95% of whom are men. This is the highest rate of incarceration in Western Europe. Of all the people I met inside, only a few had been involved in premeditated violent crime. Many were there following a momentary loss of control, or had been in situations they were not equipped to deal with. Many had unstable and traumatic backgrounds. For four months I was locked in my cell for 23 hours a day. As the Roman slave Epictetus taught, we can’t always control our circumstances, but we can control how we respond to them. This is very apt for how to approach the loss of agency that prison entails.
A typical day began around 9am when my cell door was opened, marking the beginning of an hour of relative freedom.
This short time was an opportunity to go to the yard for some precious time outdoors, but also to shower and do any admin such as filling out forms for visits or queuing in the hope that there’ll be some clean sheets available. I prioritised time in the yard, a tarmacked area and covered with netting to prevent contraband being delivered by drones, but still a precious outdoor space. A chance to see the sky, feel the weather and move more than the three meters available in my cell.
Prisons by nature are violent places. Many inmates held pent-up anger and fights did break out, but I was struck by how people generally tried to make the best of the challenging situation and support each other. There were some people I realised were best avoided, and I found those who I could chat and share a joke with.
Spending so many hours locked in my cell was a challenge and I was determined to use the time as best I could. I read many books and wrote letters. A particular pleasure and distraction was learning about creative writing from a book sent in by a friend.
Each day we were each given a food bag containing a bread roll, a piece of fruit, cereal and teabags. Also included was a small carton of UHT milk that I was happy to give to a neighbour. One day I asked if he had any spare fruit. He didn’t, but later gave me some apples. He didn’t say so, but I realised another prisoner owed him, and he decided to call in his debt to be able to give me something in return. It was little acts of kindness like these that made life in such a hostile environment bearable.
As with my fellow inmates, I quickly learnt which guards to avoid and which to ask when I needed something. Like so many public servants, many wanted to help people but found themselves constrained by a system crumbling due to years of cuts, understaffing and overcrowding. On a number of occasions, when hearing why I was in prison, guards expressed outrage that the state is locking up peaceful protestors.
After months of trying I was given work teaching other prisoners to read, something many of them struggled with. One of my students, Abdul, a young man from Eritrea and brought up in London, had missed out on schooling but was keen to learn, not least so he had something to do with all those hours in his cell. He also recognised that the ability to read opened up a whole world of learning to him.
Wanting to be seen to be ‘tough on crime’, successive governments have increased the length of prison sentences. While research has shown that the criminal-justice system acts as a deterrent, the actual length of sentences does not. This is borne out by the continued high rate of reoffending by released prisoners. Reoffending figures also demonstrate how little rehabilitation takes place in our prisons. Michael is in his sixties and has been in and out of prison for most of his life. He has an impressive array of facial scars and a kind heart hiding behind a tough demeanour. He was another of my students and we started right at the beginning, learning the sounds of each letter.
Though hampered by ADHD he persevered and after a few weeks was able to read me short sentences. He was reluctant to show it but I could tell he was proud of his achievement. I hope that in a small way I have given him something to help him stay out of prison after the end of his current sentence.
Many inmates described their time in prison as wasted. While I can’t say it was a good place to be, I was able to embrace it as a new experience. I got to know people I would not otherwise meet and see another side of life. I witnessed shocking displays of racism and misogyny, but also saw at first hand the humanity of people who have done terrible things.
As I write I await sentencing and am likely to be given more time in prison. I do not want to go back but have no regrets about taking the action I did.
Names have been changed to protect identities.
