How British Police Shattered My Career

A police car struck me while I documented a protest in London, now, every siren screams betrayal. This is not about safety; it’s about silencing the press.

The hum of the heater fills the quiet room, an oddly comforting backdrop to a conversation that feels anything but. Across the screen, the clinical psychologist sits, pen poised, eyes scanning my face for the details my words don’t reveal. I’ve been here before, in rooms like this, telling stories that are mine yet feel distant, as though they belong to someone else. But today, there’s no separation, no shield of objectivity. This story is mine, raw, vivid, and unrelenting.

In 2021, the world was beginning to unmask itself after the suffocating quiet of the pandemic. London’s streets were alive again, this time with protest. The activists of Extinction Rebellion had gathered outside Buckingham Palace, their defiance and splashes of red paint cutting through the city’s orderly facade. It was the kind of scene I had captured countless times before, a moment where people met power, where words weren’t enough, and where pictures mattered.

“Drenched in Defiance” — An Animal Rebellion activi…