When Injustice Becomes Law, Resistance Becomes Duty

What drove us to take to the streets for Julian Assange? What we discovered along the way will stay with us forever! A heartfelt report from Heike who organised vigils and actions for Julian in Ulm

2010 — the year when the international community should have taken to the streets. The year when America’s allies and enemies alike should have said: “This far, and no further!” The year of WikiLeaks’ first significant publications about the USA.

2010 — the year my first child was born. A miracle! A whirlwind of emotions, living in the moment, a mixture of joy and worry that cuts you off from the outside world — in the most beautiful way imaginable.

Julian Assange was, at that time, just a name I had heard somewhere. Until November 2019. That’s when Craig Murray published a report on one of Assange’s hearings: he couldn’t look into the light, could barely state his name... Judge Baraitser remarked that he could have whatever was said explained to him later by his lawyers.

Uh, stop! Where? In London? In the middle of Europe? What exactly had he done? A brief bit of research opened my eyes to a European and American world I would never have believed possible. To this day, I don’t know what shocked me the most. Europe’s abandonment of the rule of law? The innocence of this man, who by all appearances deserved a Nobel Peace Prize? The revelations of WikiLeaks? The lack of solidarity? It was probably a combination of all these things that robbed me of sleep. Everything about it felt so utterly wrong.

I had been politically active before — against war, against water theft, against human rights violations... All of that was deeply disturbing. But nothing struck me to the core like this case did. And over time, I came to know and appreciate many people who felt exactly the same way.

It was clear to me back then: I could not in good conscience celebrate Christmas without doing something about it. So, for the first time in my life, I registered a vigil — in front of the Ulm Christmas market. At first, I had no fellow campaigners. A friend who advocated for Free Tibet helped me set up the simple scene: an easel, a picture of Assange downloaded from Somersby in Australia, showing his mouth covered by the US flag, and homemade prison bars placed over the image. My friend had to leave, and to my surprise, half an hour later, a supporter showed up — someone who stayed with me from that day on. She had heard of the action through my post on FreeAssange.eu.

The response was modest and mixed. Of the few passersby who reacted, some were supportive, others not. “He raped children,” some said. Despite it all, I was able to celebrate Christmas with a clear conscience. And from January 2020 onwards, we held vigils in Ulm every two weeks — sometimes with two people, sometimes alone, sometimes with ten. Before long, a small, dedicated Free Assange team had come together.

Later, we found a sponsor — fittingly, a former editor-in-chief of a daily newspaper. Until Assange’s release, we organized countless events: readings, film screenings, demonstrations, talks, concerts, rafts on the Danube, recreations of his cell, vigils. We traveled to Stuttgart, Cologne, Munich, and London. We worked with newspapers, radio stations, members of parliament, balloons, banners, flyers, art exhibitions, painting, and music.

It was a long journey. There were low points: pessimism, paranoia, and the fear that your children might follow your example and end up like Julian Assange. And the bad conscience that comes when you sacrifice so much of your daily time “for a cause” (knowing full well that this fight is for the children too). Whenever one of us needed a break, they would feel guilty and come back quickly. It was too important, and our fatigue always seemed ridiculous in the face of Julian’s dire situation.

And if we’re honest, we learned a lot during that time. About politics, through our dealings with politicians. There are those who have no clue about world affairs and rely solely on daily newspapers for information (CDU); those who want to make a difference but are effectively blocked from doing so — and their colleagues who blatantly confuse Julian Assange with Edward Snowden (SPD); those who simply don’t care (CSU); those who try to pass you on to someone else who might be interested (the Greens); and those who genuinely want change but as a result get pushed to hopeless positions on the party list (FDP).

We learned a lot about the media: there are those whose political bootlicking stands in the way of everything; those who sincerely care about these issues but can’t go beyond the local press; those who seize every opportunity to report something; and those who don’t care at all. And we learned a lot from passersby: an elderly gentleman once stopped, praised our commitment, but thought it was in vain. He had worked for Report München and said that even back then, only a third of their highly important investigations ever made it to air. A third was withheld because of death threats, another third because of political pressure. Reporters from public broadcasting attended our events, explaining they were there “in a private capacity.” More than “the one permitted publication” was not wanted.

We learned that the people with the highest academic degrees weren’t necessarily the ones who were politically educated, and those with the loudest mouths weren’t the bravest.

I had the honor of meeting great heroes: a Kristinn Hrafnsson, a Craig Murray, a peace activist who had experienced so much in life that she could still recall attending the birthday celebrations of the German Kaiser. And above all, I met countless people with their hearts in the right place, standing up against injustice. People who give hope.

What I personally am most grateful for is that I learned we can work miracles together. We are not as powerless as we sometimes feel. I am infinitely thankful for my activism. It has taught me so much and given me so much. Let’s keep going!

Heike; Free Assange Ulm

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Stories like this — of courage, defiance, and solidarity — are what shaped the movement for Julian Assange’s freedom. With this archive, we want to collect and preserve these voices, to remind the world why this fight matters, and to inspire others to stand up against injustice.

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