 If we hadn't fought with our bodies and with our paperwork, our legal work, and all this diversity of tactics from sabotage to petitions, from hunger strikes to people up the trees, if we hadn't done that, we'd be right here in the middle of an airport building. And the way we fought that was not just through resistance but was through constructing alternatives. The ZAD itself was set up in 2009 following a climate camp that took place in that field just over there. In doing that climate camp, local residents who were against the airport read out a letter saying, we think that to defend a territory you have to inhabit it, and they invited people to come and squat the empty farmhouses, squat the lands, start to build what we now call the ZAD, the zone to defend. It was also at that moment where, in a way, the slogan for this struggle became against the airport and its world. It's not just against the airport, it's against everything that that airport embodies in its concrete, in its hierarchy, in its governing territories, through infrastructure and so on. In fact, we built the lighthouse right next to where they wanted to put the control tower. But this land had a history before the struggle. All lands, in a way, have histories of struggle and one of the struggles that took place here was against enclosure. Enclosure is the classic moment where a commons that doesn't belong to one single person but is shared and the resources of that place are shared and decided upon together. When that commons is enclosed by a fence or a hedgerow or a ditch and becomes private property and if we'd been standing here before the 18th century, we wouldn't have these hedgerows like this. It would be a moorland, low fertility, Breton classic moorland with small holdings and runners of commons for a thousand years. Nantes, which is the nearby city, 20 minutes away, was also the center of the slave trade in France and had, therefore, a huge excess of capital. And the people there, the rich slave dealers and owners, decided to privatize bits of this land and build these hedgerows. They used a byproduct of the sugar industry called the black animal to put on the land to make it more fertile. Now, what's special about this landscape are these very hedgerows. It's called a bockage, which is this kind of mixture of wetlands, checkerboard, fields, little fields with thick hedgerows and little forests. Most of France, that was destroyed during the 70s, 80s in a process called the roman roman, where they basically had to open up the land for industrial agriculture. Because they had planned the airport here from 1965, they were like, it's going to be covered in concrete. No point. We don't need to destroy it because it will be destroyed anyway. Of course, it never got covered in concrete. And so now we have this bockage. So this kind of palimpset, this layers of different histories of land management here, which are very, very interesting, because now we're saying we want to keep this bockage because it's very rich in biodiversity and we want to keep the commons, or return to the commons. And the battle that we've just seen where the state had announced the cancelling of the airport on 17th January, and in the same breath, the Prime Minister said, but we will evict the ZAD. That battle is against the commons. In a way, it's the revenge against the commons. It's the state in its neoliberal, individualistic market dictatorship saying, we cannot have a model of any kind of alternative at this scale. You know, this is, we're here, we're on 4,000 acres. It's not a little tiny ghetto of utopia. This is a, you know, this is a mass popular movement on 4,000 acres supported by thousands and thousands of people. Go to Rotar. The ZAD today can be a place of experimentation, a place for farmers, where we live in communities, where sharing is the mastermind, where the collective mind is also the mastermind. After that, there will always be more or less units, like the historians who have this base, this enracement. The azate, we can often see from an image, is a tree. So we will say that the roots are the peasants who are created here, who have always been present on the site. The trunk is all the fight, and the foliage and all the development at the end of the branch. It's the azate, it's the squatters. It's all the new generation that comes to the site. And that's what helps to make this tree bloom, and that helps to make it exist, and then to make it grow by other things. I've already been a farmer, since I was a kid, like my son, like my grandfather. So I've always been in the fight, by the will to paralyze the exploitation of my father too. So there was always, he always knew that I was more or less behind, to say, well, I'll take it back, I'll take it back. So that's also it, it was maybe a engine for them. It's sure that it has dynamized the thing. And suddenly, the fact of knowing that there were future generations behind who were biting in and who wanted to preserve this heritage, well, I think that the fight, that's it. That's how it is, the fact of wanting to stay, the fact of fighting for the exploitation, for the whole area in general, but us as such, for the exploitation. So the future of the ZAD is agricultural? Exactly, but of course, it can only be farmers. Our policy today is to really work on the local, with local and concrete, eat vegetables that have more travel than me in my life, it doesn't really interest me. So that's it, that's our identity, it's really the local aspect of the thing. It was completely random. I had to stay two weeks, it's been three years that I'm here. I'm just happy with all the interesting projects that are here. How do they share their productions? Because everyone has something on the ZAD in general. Well, the easiest answer would be to say that in the non-market, in each land, there are a lot of crops that are sent there. Not only from the ZAD, sometimes there are even people from the outside who bring their surplus, even some of them. Otherwise, for example, we, for example, often send them directly to the cooks who make the food for those who make shanties. I know it directly, when they need something, we bring it back and it's done right away. And otherwise, it's often asked if there are some who tell us that they want to eat potatoes, they come to get potatoes where they are stored. And it's no more complicated than that. When it's the big collective cultures like potatoes, onions and everything, there are places where they are stored and people go directly there and they serve themselves, there is a safe, a free place. But the goal is to be able to show to the rest of the world that it's possible to organize collectively. And to have your own production is possible. It's just the world appropriating everything, whether it's cement or production. But in fact, we are completely devoured by that. And by doing it in full, in fact, everything is possible. The Union is doing the force. In two words, the Union is doing the force. The Union is doing the force. And so, we are super happy about that. And then it's sure, it's super stressful to know that the cops can get there and all the truckers. We say to ourselves, it's okay, we're going to rebuild everything, but it's going to be super hard. I hope they will not destroy the garden. I'd rather they destroy the cabin because there is no problem, we will rebuild without a problem. But the garden, it's longer to do, it's more boring to leave without going back to zero. That is to say that it was, we didn't have anything to eat. We will see, but it's sure that we won't sleep quiet. The beautiful thing about humanity is that it's so fractured and diverse and different everywhere. The mechanisms of the commons have always been incredibly different and based on where they inhabit, and again, that's what the ZAD is really about, is how do we inhabit a territory? The kind of DNA, the two strands that bring the ZAD together and our strength is this mixture of resistance and creativity of saying, no, we don't want another capitalist infrastructure. Yes, this is how we want to live. We want to live in common. We don't want to live collectively together, sharing.