Protesters outside a hostel in Elephant and Castle where asylum seekers had been told they were going to be moved to the Bibby Stockholm barge in Dorset

THE lengths people go to to stick up for what they believe in is often not hard to find in the capital.
In London, it can feel like at any moment you’re just a few tube stops away from a protest of some description. Even if that is a lone individual with a megaphone standing outside an embassy. It’s what makes the city so great to live in.

Since October there has been a march for Palestine through central London on most Saturdays. Some have attracted more than 100,000 people.

Elsewhere, there are others willing to face police aggression and arrest to encourage change. At the start of the month, demonstrators shut down the Department for Business and Trade for a day in protest at the government’s sale of arms to Israel.

Last Friday I was reminded of the city’s fighting spirit. I went to a hostel in Elephant and Castle where asylum seekers had been told they were going to be moved to the Bibby Stockholm – the home office’s infamous floating accommodation in Dorset – the same ship which made headlines after a resident onboard killed themselves, and a strain of a deadly bacteria was found.

It was not clear why they were being moved. And some feared this would later lead to deportation to Rwanda.

Understandably, campaigners were upset. As well as the “prison-like” conditions on the Bibby Stockholm, taking migrants out of their local communities where they had built connections and support networks seemed particularly cruel.

Luckily there were many people who felt the same way. In what seemed like a matter of minutes early on a sunny Friday, a group of about 30 people arrived outside the hostel – which we won’t name for safety reasons – to stop the “removal”. Some people had skipped work or taken time off to show their solidarity with the people being removed.

Soon after, police arrived. Their vans and territorial support vehicles clustered outside the accommodation. A sea of yellow descended on what now felt like our small group. I saw officers rip banners down from the gate, breaking the wooden panels on their knees. Everyone felt tense.

Once a van entered the hostel gates, protesters – dressed in face masks to protect their identity – sat down in front of the entrance chanting “say it loud, say it clear, refugees are welcome here”.

In what seemed like a very rehearsed manner, officers addressed each person, informing them they would be arrested if they continued sitting here. The people on the floor understood. They stayed where they were. Slowly, each person was picked off, searched and arrested, three officers to a person.

I spoke to some of the residents in the hostel. One person had lived there for two years. He said his friends had been told they were being moved and they were very worried about it. They didn’t know what this would mean for them. Another said the hostel conditions were awful. It was clear that they supported what the demonstrators were doing.

A group of the residents were lined up on the other side of the road filming the clash.

At a hostel in King’s Cross where another removal was taking place, asylum seekers in the hostel bought demonstrators nuts and fizzy drinks to say thanks. They made heart signs with their hands at the windows.

Once the road was cleared, a van with five residents from the hostel left. Around 10 people were arrested.

But no one was deterred. The tactic of resisting a vehicle can be very effective if enough people show up.

A few weeks ago, hundreds of protesters sat around a coach in Peckham that was also headed to the Bibby Stockholm. The coach went away empty, seven hours after it was due to leave with asylum seekers onboard.

As one protester told me: “People say ‘don’t get involved. Why bother? Your life is good.’ Yes, my life is good. I’m incredibly privileged. Why would I maybe put that in jeopardy? But why wouldn’t I? Why would I not use my privilege to help that person?”