Chapter 1
Demonstrations were not unusual at this time of year. For one thing, the weather was more conducive to getting out onto the streets. No matter how passionately people supported or opposed a cause, temperatures of -15° plus wind chill off the Baltic Sea tended to keep them indoors in winter, voicing their discontent in bars or on the Internet.
Today, however, the summer had blessed Helsinki with a warm breeze, weak sunshine and long hours of daylight. People were on the march, placards held aloft: ‘OUR COUNTRY, OUR FUTURE’, ‘No More Nuclear’, ‘LokiEn = GREED!’, ‘Protect Our Environment!’, ‘NO WAY, BOOMERS!’, ‘There Is No Planet B’, ‘Say No to Neljä’ and multi-coloured flags fluttered in the breeze. Chanting slogans, banging drums and blowing whistles, the protestors dressed in bright clothes filled the streets with noise and colour. It was a good-natured affair, with pushchairs, dogs, children on their fathers’ shoulders and several heavily pregnant women in the centre of the throng. A large number of those at the front of the march were teenagers and children of school age. The occasional police officer stood inside the line of barricades, observing the slow-moving procession or directing people towards the public toilets. Photographers crouched beside the pavement or scrambled up lampposts to get a meaningful shot, and a TV news crew kept pace with the leaders.
Similar marches had taken place in Turku, Tampere and here in Helsinki two weeks earlier. No one expected any trouble. As the marchers closed on the object of their ire, the atmosphere changed. Smiles morphed into frowns and sing-song slogans became angry demands. The police presence was still very much in the background, but outside the headquarters of LokiEn, a barricade encircled the forecourt of their huge glass building at the top of the broad steps. Around fifty members of a private security firm formed a human wall right behind the physical barrier. All wore sunglasses.
The sight of such heavy-handed protection appeared to enrage the crowd. The leaders stopped marching and a furious debate took place. Police officers spoke into their radios and expressions of concern emerged. Eventually, two people stepped away from the crowd and approached the cordon. A young man and woman strode up the steps towards the centre of the barrier and addressed the man in the centre. Whatever request they made was instantly denied. He shook his head and waved a dismissive hand. The young woman tried again, holding up a document of some kind. The security guard shrugged and leaned away to look over her shoulder. Voices from the crowd grew louder, shouting, ‘Let them through!’ ‘We have a right to speak!’ Earnest gestures from the young man seemed to indicate a plea for reason, but the security guard merely folded his arms.
The girl whirled around to the crowd and lifted a megaphone. “They refuse to let us deliver our report. This petition, signed by hundreds of thousands against the modular nuclear reactor, represents our legal right to protest, to defend our future. Why won’t LokiEn listen? They cannot ignore us. Our politicians cannot ignore us. We will not be silenced! We DEMAND to deliver our report! We DEMAND to be heard!”
A huge roar went up from the crowd and a swell of movement rippled to the front. People surged forward in support of their representatives and the police mobilised fast to try to come between them and their antagonists. A big man with dreadlocks stormed forward and took the papers from the teenager, heading right for the middle of the cordon. He was followed by around ten assorted activists who loosely assembled into a V shape to counter the U formation of the security team. A scream rang out and a uniformed guard shoved the big man to the ground. Police officers tried to force their way through the crowds but a sense of outrage galvanised a disparate collective into a furious mob. Fists flew at the barriers and one guard lifted a cosh to smack against someone’s head.
Sirens blared and officers came running from all directions, trying to push back the mass of bodies. A woman with a bloody nose fell and her partner helped her up. Placards soared over the heads of those at the front line, aimed at the heads of security guards. Riot shields appeared and a line of police penetrated the battle, putting themselves and the physical cordon between the warring groups. The security firm retreated inside the building. Officers formed a uniformed barricade outside. Ambulances drove into the square to tend to the wounded.
As the first crew ran towards the injured lying at the base of the steps, an elderly woman diverted them. “There’s a man over here! He’s hurt ... not breathing! Please come. He hit his head. He’s not breathing.”
Two crew members followed her to the edge of the steps where a middle-aged man lay awkwardly on the steps, his head facing the bottom and a long-lens camera under his chest. The medics knelt to attend to him as the woman continued her repetition of what had occurred. “They pushed him, you see, and he was off balance. He fell and hit his head.”
The female paramedic stood up. “Can you come with me? We’ll need to take a few details.”
“Yes, of course. Is he going to be all right?” The woman clutched her arm. “He’s not ...?” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Come with me. You did the right thing in letting us know. There, now, don’t upset yourself. There’s nothing you could have done.”
She guided the woman in the direction of the ambulance. Her colleague covered the man with a tarpaulin and radioed to base. When he finished the call, he became aware of a sudden silence. The sobs and shouts of the crowd had subsided to a shocked hush, all eyes staring at the tarpaulin.
A police officer materialised by his side. “I’ll get this area cleared and put up a cordon. Is that one of the protestors?”
“Don’t think so. Looks like a journalist to me. Poor sod.”
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