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| Boat Race protester Trenton Oldfield: 'I had no choice but to swim' | Boat Race protester Trenton Oldfield: 'I had no choice but to swim' |
| (3 months later) | |
| Someone has created a fake website in Trenton Oldfield's name, and this week visitors have been posting their opinions of the Australian who disrupted last year's Boat Race. They suggest variously that this "self-opinionated moron", a "wannabe famous, half-witted knob jockey" with "a bad case of hypocrisy masquerading as a social conscience", should swim back to Australia. As one post put it, "Hahaha fuck off back to Oz u sad cunt … and take your bitch with u. Parasite." | Someone has created a fake website in Trenton Oldfield's name, and this week visitors have been posting their opinions of the Australian who disrupted last year's Boat Race. They suggest variously that this "self-opinionated moron", a "wannabe famous, half-witted knob jockey" with "a bad case of hypocrisy masquerading as a social conscience", should swim back to Australia. As one post put it, "Hahaha fuck off back to Oz u sad cunt … and take your bitch with u. Parasite." |
| Why the crime of swimming in front of two rowing boats should be so provoking becomes all the more mysterious on meeting Oldfield and his British wife, Deepa Naik, who is due to give birth to their first child. The couple live in a small flat in the East End of London from where they run an independent publishing house and organise urban festivals. Both are bookish, softly spoken, self-effacing and almost ostentatiously generous spirited; beforehand they suggest I bring my children along to the interview to save on childcare. The word "compassion" is chalked on a tiny blackboard by the front door, and informs almost every line of Oldfield's new book, a prison diary from his time in Wormwood Scrubs that has something kind to say about pretty much everyone he met inside. | Why the crime of swimming in front of two rowing boats should be so provoking becomes all the more mysterious on meeting Oldfield and his British wife, Deepa Naik, who is due to give birth to their first child. The couple live in a small flat in the East End of London from where they run an independent publishing house and organise urban festivals. Both are bookish, softly spoken, self-effacing and almost ostentatiously generous spirited; beforehand they suggest I bring my children along to the interview to save on childcare. The word "compassion" is chalked on a tiny blackboard by the front door, and informs almost every line of Oldfield's new book, a prison diary from his time in Wormwood Scrubs that has something kind to say about pretty much everyone he met inside. |
| Both full-time activists, there is an almost unworldly innocence about their revolutionary idealism; Oldfield, 37, doesn't talk about anger, but about the "physical, bodily pain" of seeing inequality all around him, and is still reeling from the shock of watching TV in prison, which he hadn't done for over a decade. "It was terrifying. There used to be really good documentaries, and now it's all just really sexy. In the adverts the women make the dinner and then feel all satisfied for having slaved – it's crazy." Naik is similarly at a loss to make sense of the very personal animosity towards her husband's protest; "I just don't understand that response. You can disagree with the politics, but I just wasn't prepared for the personal attacks." | Both full-time activists, there is an almost unworldly innocence about their revolutionary idealism; Oldfield, 37, doesn't talk about anger, but about the "physical, bodily pain" of seeing inequality all around him, and is still reeling from the shock of watching TV in prison, which he hadn't done for over a decade. "It was terrifying. There used to be really good documentaries, and now it's all just really sexy. In the adverts the women make the dinner and then feel all satisfied for having slaved – it's crazy." Naik is similarly at a loss to make sense of the very personal animosity towards her husband's protest; "I just don't understand that response. You can disagree with the politics, but I just wasn't prepared for the personal attacks." |
| The fallout from his protest has just become much more personal, though, and unnervingly Orwellian: last week the Home Office rejected Oldfield's application for a spousal visa, declaring his presence here "not conducive to the public good". Barring a successful appeal, after living in the UK for 12 years he will be deported back to Australia. | The fallout from his protest has just become much more personal, though, and unnervingly Orwellian: last week the Home Office rejected Oldfield's application for a spousal visa, declaring his presence here "not conducive to the public good". Barring a successful appeal, after living in the UK for 12 years he will be deported back to Australia. |
| Oldfield hadn't worried about his immigration status when he dived into the Thames. "It was a peaceful protest, so immigration stuff didn't seem relevant." He wasn't worried when officials pulled him from the water into a police boat. "There was no feeling of threat – it was very smooth, not dramatic. People were joking and laughing, and the police were saying: 'What was all that about then?'" Released the next day, he had no idea that Twitter was hissing with fury and death threats, and as the first press camera flashes exploded in his face, he thought a speed camera must have gone off. It was only later when the police, urged on by a Tory MP, upgraded his charge from a public order offence to public nuisance – an arcane common law carrying a maximum sentence of life – that alarm bells began ringing. "That's when," says Naik, "we began to worry." | Oldfield hadn't worried about his immigration status when he dived into the Thames. "It was a peaceful protest, so immigration stuff didn't seem relevant." He wasn't worried when officials pulled him from the water into a police boat. "There was no feeling of threat – it was very smooth, not dramatic. People were joking and laughing, and the police were saying: 'What was all that about then?'" Released the next day, he had no idea that Twitter was hissing with fury and death threats, and as the first press camera flashes exploded in his face, he thought a speed camera must have gone off. It was only later when the police, urged on by a Tory MP, upgraded his charge from a public order offence to public nuisance – an arcane common law carrying a maximum sentence of life – that alarm bells began ringing. "That's when," says Naik, "we began to worry." |
| The idea of the protest had come to Oldfield only four days before the Boat Race. It was the week when the Queen gave royal assent to the bill "privatising the NHS", the Data Communications Act was introduced, and a minister urged the public to report their neighbours if they suspected them of planning to protest at the Olympics. "That was kind of the final straw, and the next day I went out and bought the wetsuit." | The idea of the protest had come to Oldfield only four days before the Boat Race. It was the week when the Queen gave royal assent to the bill "privatising the NHS", the Data Communications Act was introduced, and a minister urged the public to report their neighbours if they suspected them of planning to protest at the Olympics. "That was kind of the final straw, and the next day I went out and bought the wetsuit." |
| He wanted to protest against the iniquities of elitism, symbolised by Oxbridge, and in the book he writes that he had "no choice but to swim". But protest is perfectly legal in this country, so why the need to break the law? Indeed, the police wrote repeatedly to Oldfield before this year's Boat Race, without apparent irony, to "strongly recommend you work with us to ensure your protest is a success". That's the problem, Oldfield explains. "They only want marches that go from A to B. I've done all the right things, I've worked in all the right organisations, I was invited to join the Royal Society of Arts, I've done every possible thing through the right mechanism – and there comes a point when you can only really use your body. People who do direct action talk about this. If you feel the democratic system has such a deficit, you feel that you only really have your own body left to do something with." | He wanted to protest against the iniquities of elitism, symbolised by Oxbridge, and in the book he writes that he had "no choice but to swim". But protest is perfectly legal in this country, so why the need to break the law? Indeed, the police wrote repeatedly to Oldfield before this year's Boat Race, without apparent irony, to "strongly recommend you work with us to ensure your protest is a success". That's the problem, Oldfield explains. "They only want marches that go from A to B. I've done all the right things, I've worked in all the right organisations, I was invited to join the Royal Society of Arts, I've done every possible thing through the right mechanism – and there comes a point when you can only really use your body. People who do direct action talk about this. If you feel the democratic system has such a deficit, you feel that you only really have your own body left to do something with." |
| At the time Naik was teaching in Saudi Arabia, and Oldfield had emailed her that morning to say he was popping out for a coffee. Hours later her inbox suddenly became deluged with emails, with one from a friend headed, "Did I just see what I think I saw?"; when Naik clicked on a link to Sky news footage of her husband in the Thames, she could scarcely believe her eyes. Oldfield had told no one about his plan – partly for fear of infiltration by undercover police (he was "not remotely surprised" by this week's revelations about police surveillance of Stephen Lawrence's family, and jokes, "I didn't want to be caught putting my wet suit on") but more to make sure she could not be charged for joint enterprise, another aspect of the legal system he considers grossly unjust. | At the time Naik was teaching in Saudi Arabia, and Oldfield had emailed her that morning to say he was popping out for a coffee. Hours later her inbox suddenly became deluged with emails, with one from a friend headed, "Did I just see what I think I saw?"; when Naik clicked on a link to Sky news footage of her husband in the Thames, she could scarcely believe her eyes. Oldfield had told no one about his plan – partly for fear of infiltration by undercover police (he was "not remotely surprised" by this week's revelations about police surveillance of Stephen Lawrence's family, and jokes, "I didn't want to be caught putting my wet suit on") but more to make sure she could not be charged for joint enterprise, another aspect of the legal system he considers grossly unjust. |
| He was happy to plead guilty to a public order offence – "I acknowledge what I did, I caused the rowers distress" – but when the charge changed, so did his plea. Public nuisance is a nebulous and rarely used charge, dating from the 12th century, and the Law Commission recently floated proposals to abolish it, warning it could be used for political purposes. Once charged, Oldfield resigned himself to prison. "I felt sympathetic towards the rowers, but the judge made it clear it wasn't about them; they became a non-entity in the charge. It was about 'the public' – but none of the public came to the trial, no one wrote a letter." The jury recommended leniency, and the probation officer recommended community service. The judge sentenced Oldfield to six months. | He was happy to plead guilty to a public order offence – "I acknowledge what I did, I caused the rowers distress" – but when the charge changed, so did his plea. Public nuisance is a nebulous and rarely used charge, dating from the 12th century, and the Law Commission recently floated proposals to abolish it, warning it could be used for political purposes. Once charged, Oldfield resigned himself to prison. "I felt sympathetic towards the rowers, but the judge made it clear it wasn't about them; they became a non-entity in the charge. It was about 'the public' – but none of the public came to the trial, no one wrote a letter." The jury recommended leniency, and the probation officer recommended community service. The judge sentenced Oldfield to six months. |
| I get the impression his two months in Wormwood Scrubs were hardest for his wife, while Oldfield approached it more as an anthropological experience. Apart from the shock of what's on TV these days, he was unprepared for the camaraderie among inmates, who evidently found him quite a novelty, and his book is littered with "LOL!"s as he marvels at the perversities of the prison system. He reserves his greatest bewilderment for the fact that nobody could tell him what prison was for. | I get the impression his two months in Wormwood Scrubs were hardest for his wife, while Oldfield approached it more as an anthropological experience. Apart from the shock of what's on TV these days, he was unprepared for the camaraderie among inmates, who evidently found him quite a novelty, and his book is littered with "LOL!"s as he marvels at the perversities of the prison system. He reserves his greatest bewilderment for the fact that nobody could tell him what prison was for. |
| "Nobody could tell me. I asked everybody: why are we here? What's meant to be happening? When I'm let out, what's meant to have happened? Nobody could answer. And if nobody can say what it's for, then to take people's liberty away makes no sense." Another thing he can't get his head around is the concept of a criminal record. "What's the point of doing your time if you have a record when you get out that prevents you leading a normal, law-abiding life? Surely it should be one or the other – either serve a sentence, or have a criminal record – but not both. It makes no sense." Does he think anyone should be in prison? "No," he offers mildly. "I think prison should be abolished." | "Nobody could tell me. I asked everybody: why are we here? What's meant to be happening? When I'm let out, what's meant to have happened? Nobody could answer. And if nobody can say what it's for, then to take people's liberty away makes no sense." Another thing he can't get his head around is the concept of a criminal record. "What's the point of doing your time if you have a record when you get out that prevents you leading a normal, law-abiding life? Surely it should be one or the other – either serve a sentence, or have a criminal record – but not both. It makes no sense." Does he think anyone should be in prison? "No," he offers mildly. "I think prison should be abolished." |
| He was released on electronic tag, but he still had to pay £750 crown costs – unusual when he had not elected to be tried at crown court, and had received a custodial sentence. "People were writing, saying: 'I'll give you a tenner or £20'," Naik explains, "but we felt, we can't just take money, so we thought we could make Trenton's prison diary into a book and then it could be an exchange." Oldfield nods. "That felt more fair." | He was released on electronic tag, but he still had to pay £750 crown costs – unusual when he had not elected to be tried at crown court, and had received a custodial sentence. "People were writing, saying: 'I'll give you a tenner or £20'," Naik explains, "but we felt, we can't just take money, so we thought we could make Trenton's prison diary into a book and then it could be an exchange." Oldfield nods. "That felt more fair." |
| I ask Oldfield if he thinks he was just unlucky, or does he believe political forces were working against him? "You can start to think like that very easily, and then start to worry, but it's a slippery slope. I don't want to start thinking like that." That's not the same as saying he believes that line of thought would be factually inaccurate, though. His legal team had been emphatic that only immigrants sentenced to longer than a year, for serious or violent crimes, were at risk of deportation – so how does he explain the Home Office's decision? | I ask Oldfield if he thinks he was just unlucky, or does he believe political forces were working against him? "You can start to think like that very easily, and then start to worry, but it's a slippery slope. I don't want to start thinking like that." That's not the same as saying he believes that line of thought would be factually inaccurate, though. His legal team had been emphatic that only immigrants sentenced to longer than a year, for serious or violent crimes, were at risk of deportation – so how does he explain the Home Office's decision? |
| "We're just hoping it's a mistake. They may not even have known Deepa was pregnant. I mean, I've been here 12 years." He could have become a British citizen seven years ago, he adds, but just hadn't got round to the paperwork. | "We're just hoping it's a mistake. They may not even have known Deepa was pregnant. I mean, I've been here 12 years." He could have become a British citizen seven years ago, he adds, but just hadn't got round to the paperwork. |
| Much of the hostility towards Oldfield – the son of a successful engineer and privately educated in Sydney – boils down to the view that if he thinks Britain is so disgracefully elitist, he should "go back to where you come from", Naik offers wearily, finishing my sentence. "But I'm European," argues Oldfield. "That's one of the main reasons I left Australia. I no longer felt comfortable being part of the colonial situation there, the occupation of Aboriginal lands. I felt I was undermining their lives. So it's about those kinds of situations – the idea that you could go and colonise the world. My battle is here in Europe. I'm European, these are my issues; so when I'm talking about Britain I'm not separating myself. When I say, 'British middle class', I'm talking about myself as well. I'm taking the piss out of myself too – you know, I sit in front of a computer all day, I drink loads of tea." | Much of the hostility towards Oldfield – the son of a successful engineer and privately educated in Sydney – boils down to the view that if he thinks Britain is so disgracefully elitist, he should "go back to where you come from", Naik offers wearily, finishing my sentence. "But I'm European," argues Oldfield. "That's one of the main reasons I left Australia. I no longer felt comfortable being part of the colonial situation there, the occupation of Aboriginal lands. I felt I was undermining their lives. So it's about those kinds of situations – the idea that you could go and colonise the world. My battle is here in Europe. I'm European, these are my issues; so when I'm talking about Britain I'm not separating myself. When I say, 'British middle class', I'm talking about myself as well. I'm taking the piss out of myself too – you know, I sit in front of a computer all day, I drink loads of tea." |
| Naik continues, "It's self-critique – it's not 'the other'. You can critique a place but also say there's lots I love about it, and I want to work towards making it more equal. I think an act of peaceful protest about correcting a perceived injustice – London being one of the most unequal cities in the developed world – that is an act of participation." | Naik continues, "It's self-critique – it's not 'the other'. You can critique a place but also say there's lots I love about it, and I want to work towards making it more equal. I think an act of peaceful protest about correcting a perceived injustice – London being one of the most unequal cities in the developed world – that is an act of participation." |
| Oldfield adds: "It's not to slag it off, it's to make it better. It's a contribution to the country." Britain, they both point out, has a long tradition of immigrants fighting for better conditions for all. "And yet there's this idea," Naik marvels, "that if you're a migrant then you don't have the right to exercise the democratic freedoms available to British citizens. My husband should have the right to fight for better conditions." | Oldfield adds: "It's not to slag it off, it's to make it better. It's a contribution to the country." Britain, they both point out, has a long tradition of immigrants fighting for better conditions for all. "And yet there's this idea," Naik marvels, "that if you're a migrant then you don't have the right to exercise the democratic freedoms available to British citizens. My husband should have the right to fight for better conditions." |
| I ask if she'd support Oldfield if he did it again. She pauses for a while before answering. "I don't want to start to absorb the fear of not having a voice or the freedom to challenge injustice. I would support anyone, anywhere, that speaks out against injustice." With the benefit of hindsight, would Oldfield now think twice before diving in? "No." | I ask if she'd support Oldfield if he did it again. She pauses for a while before answering. "I don't want to start to absorb the fear of not having a voice or the freedom to challenge injustice. I would support anyone, anywhere, that speaks out against injustice." With the benefit of hindsight, would Oldfield now think twice before diving in? "No." |
| His appeal is in six to eight weeks, and I ask what they'll do if it is unsuccessful. Naik smiles. "He doesn't want to go there." "I'm not even thinking about it," he confirms. "He's not," Naik smiles, "but I am." "I'm not going to be separated from my partner," he says firmly – and it's the only time he sounds militant. | His appeal is in six to eight weeks, and I ask what they'll do if it is unsuccessful. Naik smiles. "He doesn't want to go there." "I'm not even thinking about it," he confirms. "He's not," Naik smiles, "but I am." "I'm not going to be separated from my partner," he says firmly – and it's the only time he sounds militant. |
| "You say that, but you might be," she intervenes gently. "But this would be such a precedent on the criminalisation of protest," he goes on, shaking his head. "Such a precedent of undermining British people's human rights – the scale would be too much. It wouldn't be possible. Judges protecting the British way of life just wouldn't allow it." Naik nods slowly, but looks desperately worried. | "You say that, but you might be," she intervenes gently. "But this would be such a precedent on the criminalisation of protest," he goes on, shaking his head. "Such a precedent of undermining British people's human rights – the scale would be too much. It wouldn't be possible. Judges protecting the British way of life just wouldn't allow it." Naik nods slowly, but looks desperately worried. |
| What does he think his protest achieved? "Well I believe my thesis has been proven," he smiles bleakly. "That elitism leads to tyranny." | What does he think his protest achieved? "Well I believe my thesis has been proven," he smiles bleakly. "That elitism leads to tyranny." |
| The Queen Vs Trenton Oldfield: A Prison Diary, Myrdle Court Press, £12.99. | The Queen Vs Trenton Oldfield: A Prison Diary, Myrdle Court Press, £12.99. |
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