Tree-hugging, most of us will be familiar with. It calls for at least one ripe, stout-trunked sprouting plant and minimal irony or self-consciousness. The young, not to be trammelled by the frontiers of their parents, feel an inevitable pressure to innovate. In his gauche way, David Cameron's hug a hoodie proclamation spoke of his generation's longing for physical proximity - the political power of an embrace, however unwelcome. As I reported in January, today's environmentally conscientious youth have embarked on a concerted campaign of countinghouse-clinches, treasury-tweaking and semi-licit bank-squeezing. The pioneers of this not-for-profit venture are the soi-disant "Superglue 3", who sought to draw attention to the Royal Bank of Scotland's funding of tar sand oil extraction by supergluing themselves to the door of Edinburgh's Nicolson Street branch. In this mission, they were assisted by a ragbag band of baby-faced troubadours and semi-rhythmic wagglers, lurching to the strains of a doggerelised version of Lady Gaga's Pokerface. This viscid troika would be of minimal interest to Scots lawyers, had the procurator fiscal not decided to proceed against them in Edinburgh Sheriff Court, libelling a breach of the peace. You can inspect the locus in quo for yourself in this video footage from the not-really paralysed financial scene:
Is gluey hindrance of the ingress and egress of the lieges from a banking establishment “conduct severe enough to cause alarm to ordinary people and threaten serious disturbance to the community”? Sheriff Neil MacKinnon certainly thought so, holding that their conduct amounted to a breach of the peace and advising them that:
" ... members of the public go to their bank to deal with matters of finance, private or personal, and it is unsurprising that your actions provoked not only irritation but anger."
Shrieval mercy was forthcoming, however, and the three were simply admonished, meaning that their conviction will be recorded but no fine or other penalty is to be imposed. A critical precedent in the annals of Scots criminal jurisprudence it might not be, but for those of you who have been harbouring a secret desire to affix yourself to Scotland's civic buildings and business establishments - take note.
I can only surmise that I lack imagination or that I'd have a racier life if I was less of an abstruse, reptilian creature. However, it is with deep regret that I note that in all my days, I've never adhered to any sort of building, public or private, place of business or charitable institution. As a consequence, a much longed for and lucrative career as a professional barnacle impressionist still eludes me. Not so for some musically-minded environmental sorts, who literally stuck themselves to an Edinburgh bank last August. They explain the circumstances:
"On the 23rd of August 2010 we superglued ourselves to The Royal Bank of Scotland in Nicolson Street in Edinburgh. Meanwhile a group of our friends regaled customers and staff with a musical explanation of why RBS's will lead to climate catastrophe. The action was part of a day of action called by the Camp for Climate action.
The responses were varied. Some people were supportive, some were angry at RBS because of their role in the financial crisis, some joked about this being like a Fringe performance. Others simply wanted to use the bank. Our tone was always polite and friendly. After some time the bank decided to close, presumably not wishing their customers to be fully informed of the bank's destructive practices.
Despite the clearly 'fluffy' nature of action and clear evidence that RBS complicity in climate crimes, we have been charged with Breach of the Peace and will appear before the courts in January."
This soi-disant "Superglue 3" are up before the courts in Edinburgh this Friday, charged with committing a breach of the peace. It is my understanding that it is only the gluey clutch who actually stuck themselves to the bank's door who will meet the judicious gaze of one of Her Majesty's sheriffs. By contrast, their hullablooing, root-tooting and strumming associates have escaped the attention of the Procurator Fiscal and at most risk receiving a stern epistle from Lady Gaga complaining that they've murdered her song. The case promises to add another answer to that seemingly incorrigible source of questions, is X, Y, or Z a breach of the peace? Does it depend on the building? For example, would it unlawfully discombobulate the lieges if I sellotaped myself to a public monument, or if I gathered some chums and we nailed each other to bus stops, or if one stapled one's vitals to the Royal banner at Balmoral and fluttered from the flagpole (in both senses of the term)?
As many of you will know, in Scotland breach of the peace is a common law offence, defined as “conduct severe enough to cause alarm to ordinary people and threaten serious disturbance to the community” conjunctively interpreted. Those following this case and curious about the underlying law may be interested in this judgment of the Scottish High Court of Justiciary from 2004. It deals with five separate breach of the peace appeals, three of which arose in the context of public demonstrations, from the Scottish Parliament to naval bases in Helensburgh and Coulport. Footage of this allegedly peace-breaching incident in Edinburgh is (I suspect only partly) captured in this contemporaneous recording of the sticky scene ...
