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Amnesty UK said the defendants "were sentenced as terrorists because prosecutors want to make an example of them."
In a decision that Amnesty International described as "completely disproportionate," four demonstrators with the outlawed group Palestine Action were sentenced as terrorists in the UK on Friday after being convicted for causing damage at an Israeli weapons factory in 2024 to protest the genocide in Gaza.
Supporters of the so-called "Filton 4" were filmed crying and embracing outside Woolwich Crown Court in London as the judge, Mr Justice Jeremy Johnson, handed down sentences ranging from four years and eight months to seven years and eight months to the four young defendants.
Charlotte Head, 30; Leona Kamio, 30; and Fatema Rajwani, 21, were convicted of criminal damage last month after a break-in at a factory in Bristol owned by the Israeli company Elbit Systems, where they smashed up over a dozen drones and other military equipment, causing around £1.2 million, or $1.6 million, of damage.
A fourth defendant, 23-year-old Samuel Corner, was also convicted for the damage, as well as grievous bodily harm without intent for striking a policewoman on the scene with a sledgehammer, fracturing her spine.
🇬🇧 🇵🇸 Four Palestine Action Activists Sentenced as ‘Terrorists’ in UK Legal First
Four activists who raided an Elbit Systems arms factory near Bristol in 2024 were sentenced as “terrorists” Friday at Woolwich Crown Court, in what supporters said is the first time UK protesters… pic.twitter.com/gC4MvAXfz4
— Drop Site (@DropSiteNews) June 12, 2026
In what has been described as a legal first for Britain, Johnson sentenced the four defendants as terrorists, although three had only been convicted of property damage. He did so under the Sentencing Act of 2020, which allows nonterrorism crimes to be treated as terrorism if they meet certain criteria.
Elbit's drones have been documented in use during attacks on civilians, including the April 2024 strike on a World Central Kitchen convoy that killed seven aid workers.
Last month, 22-year-old Zoe Rogers, another activist who took part in the Elbit raid but was acquitted, said she believed that because of their sabotage of the drones, "innocent lives were saved" in Gaza.
However, Johnson did not allow the defendants to explain the reason for their actions as part of the trial, nor were jurors informed that the defendants could later receive sentences for terrorism.
Because the protesters had caused “serious damage to property” for the purpose of “advancing a political or ideological cause,” Johnson determined that the protesters could be sentenced as terrorists using the broad definition from the Terrorism Act 2000.
The terrorism designation means that defendants will have to serve a minimum of two-thirds of their sentences in prison and will be required to register as terrorists with the police for the next 15 years.
Attorneys for the defendants said they were not informed that their clients were at risk of being sentenced for terrorism and accused the prosecution of submitting key evidence, including a report on the cost of damage to the factory, “at the 59th minute of the eleventh hour," giving them little time to form a rebuttal.
The defendants’ attorneys described the precedent that someone could be sentenced for terrorism after being convicted of a nonviolent offense as unprecedented and dangerous to speech.
“It’s wrong for someone to be sentenced for a more serious offense of which they have not been convicted,” said Corner's attorney, Tom Wainwright, who noted that similar measures could have been used to sentence earlier protest movements, like the suffragettes or other anti-war demonstrators who sabotaged military equipment, for terrorism simply because their actions had a political motivation.
Head's attorney, Rajiv Menon, described the attempt to sentence his client as unprecedented, and warned that it was “an invitation to chilling, creeping authoritarianism that undermines the very fabric of our society."
After their conviction, Wainwright hailed the protesters as people of conscience: "[The drones] may have been involved in taking the lives of men, women, and children in Gaza. That is why they acted. That’s something that—in a sane world—would be commended.”
In a post to social media following news of the conviction, Amnesty UK condemned the use of terrorism powers in this case.
"It is completely disproportionate to punish protesters for criminal damage as if they were terrorists, a sentence which stays with you for life," the human rights group said.
More than 70 people were arrested for supporting the proscribed group Palestine Action outside Woolwich Crown Court.
The arrests happened as four members of Palestine Action were sentenced over a separate incident. pic.twitter.com/kRkXEjbPFm
— Channel 4 News (@Channel4News) June 12, 2026
The sentencing comes amid a broader crackdown in the UK against pro-Palestine speech and protest that has ramped up even under a Labour government, which has sought to label even peaceful demonstrations as terrorism.
Following another case in which Palestine Action protesters vandalized military equipment—this time on a UK Royal Air Force base—the government of Prime Minister Keir Starmer in 2025 used the same terrorism law cited by Johnson to label the group as proscribed, effectively making it illegal to belong to it or publicly support it.
Police have arrested numerous peaceful protesters for no other crime than holding signs that read: "I oppose genocide. I support Palestine Action."
Amnesty said in May that more than 3,300 people had been arrested across the UK since the proscription took effect and that more than 1,200 protesters had been charged with terrorism-related offenses.
Eight other Palestine Action activists, including four others who have been accused of involvement with the Elbit break-in, went on a lengthy hunger strike this past winter to protest their confinement in prison for more than a year without trial, during which time they alleged that they were denied needed medical care and had their communication with the outside world censored.
Amnesty said the Filton 4 "were sentenced as terrorists because prosecutors want to make an example of them."
On Friday, as hundreds rallied outside the court against the terrorism sentence, more than 100 peaceful protesters were also arrested for allegedly supporting Palestine Action.
Video of one of the arrests, published by Channel 4 News, shows police officers lifting an elderly woman by her arms and legs and dragging her away from a larger group of people holding signs.
"You're under arrest under Section 13 of the Terrorism Act," one officer is heard saying.
“These people and these companies need to continue to be exposed for all of the harm that they're causing and the real power that they have over our government and those governed,” one organizer said.
On their way to attend the Met Gala on Monday night, guests might have spotted a different image of Amazon founder Jeff Bezos than the one he tried to project by chairing the annual fundraiser: a poster featuring his bulbous head, looming over them out of the darkness, attached to a muscular spider-shaped body. Above it, a mysterious message: “The Creep State is watching.”
What does it mean?
The Creep State is an anonymous guerilla art and protest project that debuted in Austin, Texas during South by Southwest earlier this year. It is designed to draw people’s attention to the threat posed by Big Tech billionaires and their increasing influence over both the US government and the daily lives of everyone who interacts with their products.
“These individuals are a danger to all of us,” a DC-based organizer said.

The idea for the Creep State came from the desire to raise awareness about certain Silicon Valley oligarchs and their anti-democratic actions and aspirations. Participants in the project who spoke to Common Dreams asked to remain anonymous in keeping with the guerilla-style tactics of their effort.
“There's what is really a very small group of men who control these algorithms, who control the software, the hardware, and.. they are trying to initially infiltrate our government and eventually replace our government,” a Seattle-based organizer explained. “They've all been pretty clear about, you know, some version of, you know, a company town run by a CEO king.”
The project’s designers wanted to convey that “these specific individuals have very nefarious and creepy goals, and they are personally creeps,"—hence, the “creep state” framing.
“Whatever you do, see, hear, touch, say, feel, believe, dream, the Creep State is watching."
Currently, the project consists of a physical and digital element.
Volunteers wheatpaste posters of seven Silicon Valley kingpins—Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, Mark Zuckerberg, Sam Altman, Peter Thiel, Bill Gates, and Marc Andreessen, drawn in cartoon style as B-movie monsters—in major US cities. To date, the images have been displayed in Austin, Seattle, DC, Palo Alto, the area around the Met Gala in New York, and Los Angeles, with more to come.
The posters include a QR code that leads to a website, including a video highlighting how these moguls' companies and products are already monitoring people’s daily activities, from surveillance pricing to sleep tracking.
“Whatever you do, see, hear, touch, say, feel, believe, dream, the Creep State is watching," the video declares, before concluding: “We’re fighting back.”
“These people and these companies need to continue to be exposed for all of the harm that they're causing and the real power that they have over our government and those governed,” the DC-based organizer said.

While there have been many different campaigns and critiques calling out Big Tech and the rise of AI in recent years, the creators of the Creep State took an artistic approach partly to grab people’s attention, to make something that “quite literally visually shocked people out of the normal way that they think about and talk about these guys,” as the Seattle-based organizer put it.
They added that they wanted a viewer’s first response upon seeing the art to be, “Woah!”
So far, it seems to be working.
When the art went up in Seattle ahead of the No Kings protest on March 28, “people walking by stopped and took pictures and were like, ‘Whoa, what is this about? Oh my God, is that Jeff Bezos? Whoa, is that Bill Gates?’” the Seattle organizer said.
A member of the team who put the posters up in DC on April 18 similarly recalled: “We had a young woman come up to us and ask us about the Creep State and said she was glad we were exposing these guys. She said she was from [Prince George's] County in Maryland and was part of the movement to stop data centers there.”
"Fundamentally the question that we face is will we allow one or a few of these corporations to literally remake our society?"
The project’s designers see themselves as operating within a tradition of guerilla art against the powerful from Banksy, Favianna Rodriguez, and Shepard Fairey's OBEY posters to student protests against Slobodan Milošević in Serbia in the 1990s and the FeesMustFall campaign in South Africa in the 2010s. However, the project—which made a point of working with actual human creators, including a screenwriter, comic book artist, and graphic designer—takes on extra resonance in an age in which AI slop clogs up social media feeds and threatens to put creative workers out of a job.
“This is very much a people versus the machines kind of thing,” the Seattle-based organizer said. “Are we going to be a society where human creativity and human inspiration and human thinking are valued, or are we going to be a world where.. we're all plugged into a screen?”

As the project uses an artistic approach to hook people who might otherwise ignore its messaging, it also crafts that messaging in an attempt to appeal to people who might not always agree politically.
The name “Creep State” was chosen in part for its similarity to “deep state,” which is often used on the political right to describe hidden actors undemocratically controlling the federal government. Some of the headlines highlighted in the introductory video were also selected to appeal to right-leaning viewers. (“Prayer apps: is AI playing God?” one reads.)
“Our assessment here is that we may have, and we very much do have, some very deep disagreements in a variety of ways with the right wing. But there is a very real grassroots right-wing opposition to the Silicon Valley takeover of our economy and our democracy. And we want to make sure that this is a campaign that different types of folks can see themselves reflected in,” the Seattle-based organizer said.
"Once they're burrowed in, it's going to be very difficult to root them out.”
Indeed, the rise of AI and the hyperscale data centers it relies on seems to have, at least so far, bypassed the usual culture war divides. As communities across the country have mobilized against the data center buildout, “you've got DSA people linking arms with, you know, like ultra-MAGA folks,” the Seattle organizer added.
The numbers reflect this, with around 50% of both Republicans and Democrats now saying they are more concerned than excited about AI and 55% of the politicians opposing data centers, which are often located in red states, being Republicans.
The embrace of AI and its Silicon Valley pushers may be one wedge between President Donald Trump and some of his supporters, as 75% of 2024 Trump voters think that AI should be regulated while the president himself has thrown his weight behind a plan to prohibit states from regulating AI at all.
Indeed, even as the Creep State’s developers reach out to Trump voters, they are clear that the Trump administration itself has escalated the Big Tech takeover of the US government, upping the urgency of their project.
Even before Trump was elected a second time around, Silicon Valley enabled his rise. Bezos sunk The Washington Post’s endorsement of his rival Kamala Harris, while Musk donated more than a quarter billion to back Trump's campaign. His Vice President JD Vance is a protege of Thiel, who has backed Trump since 2016.
Trump has repaid these Big Tech executives handsomely with access, money, and his deregulatory push. The DC-based organizer said they were partly inspired to get involved with the Creep State project after witnessing the havoc wreaked by Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency, which cut funding for essential grants and may lead to the deaths of over 14 million through the shuttering of the US Agency for International Development. At the same time, tech billionaires have increased their profits by contracting with the government, enabling deportations via Immigration and Customs Enforcement and both surveillance and targeting via the Pentagon.
Yet the Seattle-based organizer said that some Trump supporters “are beginning to realize… that these guys don't care about Trump. Trump is a vehicle for them. And, you know, once they're burrowed in, it's going to be very difficult to root them out.”

Ultimately the goal of the Creep State project is to plug everyone who sees and responds to the art—whatever their politics—into the growing movement to push back against the Big Tech power grab.
“The more we can expose these actors, it can inspire people to… organize against them, demand… oversight and regulations over AI and the influence that these individuals have on their politics,” the DC-based organizer said.
People who scan the QR code can be funneled into future wheatpasting sessions (which are all volunteer efforts) or local fights related to tech policy. One hope the organizers have is that communities across the country who are fighting data center construction or Flock camera expansion could order posters from the site that would have their QR codes adjusted to direct viewers to the local struggle.
“If we can plug people into some of those fights with organizations and for them to get more deeply involved, we'd love to do that,” the DC organizer said.
The Seattle organizer concluded, "Fundamentally the question that we face is will we allow one or a few of these corporations to literally remake our society?"
They continued: "We're all living through this polycrisis. The climate is collapsing, the economy is in tatters, we're at war abroad. There's something new and crazy every day, and it's hard to break through to people. So the hope is that this art specifically, in this way of highlighting both the like political creepiness and the personal creepiness of these guys, can maybe shock some people who otherwise are just trying to get through their day into, 'I need to do something.'"
Action isn't only about pressuring institutions anymore. It's increasingly about jamming the system, slowing it down, or breaking its rhythm. In plain terms, we've shifted from representative politics toward something more like direct pressure.
For decades, American politics rested on one big, mostly unquestioned idea: Real change happens through the system. You vote, you lobby, you go to court, you work the parties. Even the biggest protest movements eventually tried to plug themselves back into those official channels. But lately—especially since Donald Trump burst onto the scene—that old assumption has been crumbling fast.
What we're seeing now, in things like the “May Day Strong” actions, isn't just more people protesting. It's a deeper change in how politics actually works. Action isn't only about pressuring institutions anymore. It's increasingly about jamming the system, slowing it down, or breaking its rhythm. In plain terms, we've shifted from representative politics toward something more like direct pressure.
The key driver here is the collapse of trust in institutions. One of the most striking things about Trumpism isn't any single policy—it's the relentless way it attacked the legitimacy of the middlemen: the media as “the enemy of the people,” judges as biased, elections as rigged. These weren't just throwaway lines. Over time, they sank in and reshaped how a lot of people view the system's ability to actually deliver.
When folks stop believing the formal channels can handle their grievances, they start looking for other levers. That's when direct action, civil disobedience, and economic disruption stop looking fringe and start feeling logical.
“May Day Strong” feels like a live experiment. It's testing how well networked groups can mobilize and whether hitting the economy where it hurts can deliver lasting political leverage. The answers will matter a lot for where democracy goes next.
“May Day Strong” sits right at that crossroads. The call for “No Work, No Shopping” isn't subtle. It says: If real power flows through the economy, then choking those flows becomes a form of politics. On the surface it seems straightforward, but it quietly rewrites the textbook definition of power.
In the old model, power lived in government buildings and political offices. You tried to influence them. In the emerging one, power is scattered across economic networks and social connections. So the game moves from representation to targeted disruption—from institutional politics to what you might call infrastructural politics.
This isn't purely ideological. It also grows out of how people actually experience daily life now: gig work, shaky jobs, disappearing benefits, and costs that keep climbing. When the ground under your feet feels unstable, waiting for institutions to fix things starts to feel naive.
So where does Trumpism fit? It didn't invent this distrust, but it poured gasoline on it. By hammering institutional norms, torching media credibility, and sharpening polarization, it helped create an environment where formal mechanisms look increasingly broken. In that kind of atmosphere, taking it to the streets—or to the supply chains—doesn't feel radical. It feels like common sense.
Still, there's real tension. Disrupting people's everyday lives is a double-edged sword. If folks see it as standing up for justice, it can build wide support. If it just looks like chaos that hurts regular people trying to get by, it can spark a strong backlash.
That tension defines politics in this post-trust era. Legitimacy no longer comes neatly from institutions. It gets fought over in public opinion—and more and more, the street has become the arena where that fight happens.
In that light, “May Day Strong” feels like a live experiment. It's testing how well networked groups can mobilize and whether hitting the economy where it hurts can deliver lasting political leverage. The answers will matter a lot for where democracy goes next.
If direct disruption keeps replacing traditional institutional routes, the line between protest and actual governance starts to blur. Suddenly, the power to halt things becomes its own kind of authority. That opens doors for groups that felt shut out—but it also raises the odds of deeper instability.
At the end of the day, this isn't simply politics getting more extreme. It's politics changing its fundamental shape. It's no longer just a contest to control the institutions. It's becoming a struggle to control the flows—of information, money, goods, and attention.
Trumpism didn't create this shift, but it accelerated it. By eroding trust and heating up divisions, it helped make direct action feel less like an outlier and more like a normal part of how politics gets done.
The big question now isn't how institutions can manage protest. It's whether institutions can hold onto their central role at all.