There is a certain dichotomy regarding your first encounter with Menwith Hill. Approaching it, as the great geodesic domes begin to rear their heads over the horizon, you can be forgiven for falling into an aesthetic reverie, for thinking it looks like some grand Eden project, for imagining yourself closing in on some futuristic theme park. Yet it is a sinister and terrifying place. It is an integral part of the coalition war machine, the most sophisticated intrusive surveillance system on the planet and a keystone in the American missile-defence program. It is cold and austere. It is silent save for the low hum of the electronic traffic it swallows up then spits out.

On Saturday some things changed. A vivid mass of colour and sound descended on the main gates as one thousand people came to say no to the war and no the base. They flew kites and balloons, thumped out rhythms and tunes, and sent a message to the governments of the so-called willing that the war is illegal, immoral and dangerous. That they will not stand for this oppressive and deadly construction violating their freedom and individuality whilst simultaneously serving the economic agenda of the US. Initially, they achieved this goal with style. Four speeches were made, all of which were intelligent, precise and devoid of the mindless clamour which has been heard too often in recent weeks from all sides of the political field. The people cheered and clapped, the mood was one of hope and resolve.

Then began the march around the base. A stream of people enclosed at either end by the sounds of the samba, awash with colour and carpeted in foil. The vast amounts of foil were supposed to interfere with the functioning of the base. Not a single person marching believed this would happen but that was largely irrelevant. It was a fantastic symbolic gesture and the march sparkled and shone at every turn. Further down the road the marchers turned to the barbed wire fencing, tied their balloons and kites to the posts and gates, covered them in still more foil and wrote messages of peace and defiance. It was almost perfect.

And yet in one instant the mood changed. The protest compacted and there was scuffles with the police. Ropes were thrown onto the fences and chains of protestors pulled fiercely on them in an attempt to pull them down and enter the base. The atmosphere sunk further and clashes with the police became more intense and more frequent. Some people stood and stared, many others walked away. A march with great potential became fragmented, weakened and disillusioned.

There are lessons we must learn from the events of recent weeks. In one of the earlier speeches an article from the Sunday Telegraph was quoted, showing just how close the peace protestors had come to stopping the British involvement in the Iraq war. Minister of Defence, Geoff Hoon, had his department frantically draw up contingency plans to deal with such an eventuality. The movement had come very close to achieving one of its major objectives. The reason for this was not just the unprecedented size of the marches but the unprecedented diversity of their constituents. Therein lies their power.

Violence at protests deters many people from participating; it undermines the movement and condemns it to be dismissed as the usual suspects with the usual radicalism. An argument that it increases media attention fails to hold water: The protest was hardly reported by the established media.

I urge this. It takes great strength to remain peaceful and focussed amongst the passion and provocation of our times. The damage caused by masses of people from all walks of life standing and saying no can be far greater than a twisted fence somewhere in North Yorkshire. We have Martin Luther King, Ghandi and the Violet Revolution of the Czech Republic as shining examples of the power of non-violent protest. We have many more of the futility of the alternative.