.png)
On September 20, 2019, over 100,000 people flooded the streets of London in what became the largest environmental demonstration in UK history. Organized by a coalition of young activists, the protest was part of a global climate strike that saw millions take to the streets worldwide, demanding urgent action from governments and corporations.
At the heart of the London strike was a group of Gen Z organizers, leading the charge against climate inaction. Among them was 15-year-old Elijah McKenzie-Jackson, who, alongside an extraordinary network of young activists, turned an idea into a mass movement. This is his first-hand account of that day.
I was filming my documentary—Whose Future? OUR FUTURE—directed by Leslie Lampe. The camera followed as I walked through Westminster Station, megaphone in one hand, my other gripping the strap of my bag. It was 7 AM. The morning rush was in full swing—commuters in stiff suits, eyes glued to their phones, moving past me in practiced indifference. I probably looked out of place, a teenager with protest banners poking out of my backpack.
But I didn’t feel out of place.
As I climbed the steps onto the street, Parliament came into view, and the bus we had rented was already parked nearby. The sound system was being set up, wires stretching across the pavement, speakers stacked like building blocks. I exhaled, trying to shake off the exhaustion from the night before. I had barely slept. I left my house at 6 AM, catching the first tube from Walthamstow, running purely on adrenaline and the weight of what we were about to do.
The strike wasn’t set to begin until 11 AM, but there was so much to do before then. I felt a tap on my shoulder—one of my teachers had arrived. Then another. Five of them in total, standing there in the cold morning air, having come out to support me. It was strange, seeing them outside of school, outside of the classroom walls where I had spent years learning about the world. Today, they were here, not to teach, but to stand with me. To stand with us.
I barely had time to take it in before I was pulled into an interview for The New York Times. They had named me one of eight global protest leaders, and I answered their questions while watching more students trickle into Parliament Square. It should have felt surreal, but it felt right.
At 10:45 AM, I climbed onto the top of the bus, gripping my megaphone as I looked out at the swelling mass of people. The streets were filling. School uniforms, painted banners, kids standing on benches to get a better view. I could hear laughter, chants, nervous excitement buzzing beneath it all.
Then, 11 AM struck.
I lifted the megaphone to my lips. The words came before I even had time to think. They weren’t rehearsed, they weren’t polished—they were real.
"This is our future. And we refuse to sit back and watch it be destroyed."
A roar erupted from the crowd. I felt it reverberate through my body.
We started marching.
The roads of London became ours. The chants grew louder, echoing through the city, bouncing off government buildings and glass skyscrapers. What do we want? CLIMATE JUSTICE! When do we want it? NOW!
People joined in from the sidewalks. Bystanders, strangers—some confused, some smiling, some filming with their phones. Bus drivers honked in solidarity. Office workers stood at their windows, watching as thousands of us flooded past, a current too strong to be ignored.
I lost track of time. It was just movement, sound, energy. The weight of footsteps on the pavement. The heat of bodies pressed together, chanting in unison. The electric feeling of being part of something unstoppable.
As the day went on, we did multiple headcounts, working with the police to track the numbers. I found a moment to catch my breath, standing on the steps of Parliament Square, watching the sheer scale of what we had built.
100,000 people.
The largest environmental demonstration in UK history.
Run by 15-year-old me and an incredible group of Gen Zers who refused to be told that change was impossible.
I stood there, taking it all in. The voices, the banners, the unshakable belief that we could make a difference.
And deep down, I knew—this was only the beginning.