Harmonies echo from every corner of the hall: a group of older women stand in one corner singing a reworked Spice Girls song: “Stop right now, you dirty, dirty bank.” Some younger singers stroll across the room, singing another protest song to the tune of Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus.
An 80-year-old stacks his folding bike against the wall. An 18-year-old turns off her phone. The singers congregate under a banner quoting Kurt Vonnegut: “Dear future generations, please forgive us. We were rolling drunk on petroleum.’ The London Climate Choir’s monthly rehearsal has begun.
“The climate’s changing, what are we doing?” the 40-strong choir sings, to the tune of a Zimbabwean traditional song. The conductor holds his baton high. “There’s no ending to this song,” he says. “I’ll just wave my stick around when we’re done.”
Jo Flanagan, the co-founder of the Climate Choir Movement, watches with pride. “We’re growing the moderate flank of protest on the back of those who have the courage to glue themselves to bridges,” she says. “People hear about protests like that and want to do something that doesn’t involve the risk of getting arrested, and that’s where we come in.”
The Climate Choir Movement has grown rapidly since its inception in autumn 2022. From its Bristol beginnings, there are now more than 600 members in 11 climate choirs in England and Wales.
Their protests so far have been eye-catching: in December, the choirs donned black suits and bowler hats to serenade financial decision-makers in the City in London.
Last October, they organised a 100-voice flash choir at the Science Museum to highlight, in harmony, the sponsorship money being taken by the museum from the coal and gas producer Adani.
There were songs for Gaia at Bath Abbey in September, and in May dozens of singers from London, Bath, Stroud, Oxford and Southampton interrupted the chair of Barclays, Nigel Higgins, and his directors at their AGM with the reworded Spice Girls song. (A highly entertaining video is available on the group’s website, the highlight of which is the bank’s sign-language interpreter boogieing while signing the lyrics.)
Flanagan believes that voices singing in harmony can get past people’s defences with greater efficacy than more aggressive tactics. “We have a serious message, and by singing it sweetly we can make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up,” she said.
“On several actions, I’ve seen chief executives fighting back tears or even openly crying at our actions. I’ve done non-singing protests to similar audiences and watched them shutting down.”
Gabriella Roe, a student at University College London, joined the choir to take part in the Science Museum event. “Climate protests have gained a bad reputation for making a disturbance but this method elevates a very powerful message through the beautiful medium of song,” she said.
“This peaceful method makes it possible to reach those at the top who are making the decisions without risk of arrest,” she added. “My mother is still nervous because of the new anti-protest laws but she’s relieved that this is the path of protest I’ve chosen.”
Kay Gilkes, a member of the Bristol Climate Choir, says that if you shout, people don’t want to listen. “But if you sing,” she says, “then people think ‘harmony’ and the words you’re singing can sink into their heads subtly while they’re listening to the tunes.”
Even the police respond differently, she adds. “The police officers we came across in the City of London were unusually supportive,” she says. “One even asked if he could get a recording of us.”
While social media fuels political polarisation, says Kate Honey, the musical director of the Bristol choir, music depolarises.
“Protest hardens hearts by shouting and chanting but we don’t want hearts to be hardened: it’s very important not to fall out with each other if we want change to happen,” she said.
Sally Davies, the co-leader of the London Climate Choir and a composer, agrees. “A big mass of people singing is really moving and, whatever your politics, if you can hear the words being sung, the music then becomes a tool to wonder why you’re moved,” she said. “And that moment can be the moment of truth – of change.”
