The end justifies the means.

A group of environmental activists have asked for my help. After vandalising artworks with spray paint, throwing cakes at politicians, storming live TV broadcasts, gluing themselves to road surfaces in the city centre and on motorways, they're feeling a bit despondent. We meet in a basement in Gubbängen, where I arrive wearing Elvis's final stage outfit from Las Vegas. I bought it on eBay and felt this might be my first chance to wear it. The cape rests elegantly on my shoulders, but the sequinned jumpsuit is several sizes too large and is flapping about like excess skin after an extensive liposuction procedure. It's unclear whether the silence in the room is from embarrassment on their part or breathless admiration.

-What democratic avenues have you tried? I ask, straddling a chair backwards. The one who seems to be the group's leader clears his throat a bit.

-All of them. Petition-gathering, demonstrations, legal action against the state at various levels, writing opinion pieces, and participating in debates. Nothing works.

-You realise what that means, don't you? I say, taking off the tinted sunglasses. No one replies.

-That you don't represent the majority of the people.

A disgruntled murmur goes through the room and a woman raises her voice.

-But that's because people are blind and deaf. They haven't grasped the seriousness of it.

-Perhaps. But they may also think that you don't have the solutions to the problems?

-If no one gets involved, change will never happen, a young irritated man says.

-So a strong conviction trumps democratic rules?"

-Civil disobedience is sometimes necessary to get politicians to act.

-Okay. Have you considered shooting someone?

-Shooting? Are you out of your mind?

-I'm just trying to understand where you draw the line.

-No, we're not going to shoot anyone.

-Kidnap a person in power and post severed body parts to the media?

-No, you're so creepy, we don't do violence.

-Okay, then. Up on Fulufjället in Dalarna stands the world's oldest tree.

-Old Tjiko?

-Exactly! It's 9,550 years old and has been there since the Ice Age. It's seen mammoths, sabre-toothed cats and the first people to set foot on Swedish soil.

-So what does that have to do with anything?

-Cut it down!

Everyone looks at me in stunned silence as I stand up in my flapping outfit, pretending to hold a chainsaw and mimicking the sound of the engine.

-Just fell that thing.

-But that goes against everything we stand for, says an upset young man, rising to his feet. We can't kill a tree.

-That's what makes it so powerful. The world is falling apart, so you're just giving this old tree a merciful death. Old Tjiko shouldn't have to watch as humanity destroys itself and everything around it. Old Tjiko should be able to go with some dignity left. Maybe you can build a fire with the wood afterwards and stand in a circle, singing a song.

Here, I stand up and put one leg on the chair, bursting into song at the top of my lungs:

-We can't go on together, with suspicious minds. And we can't build our dreams on suspicious minds.

On my way home from the meeting, I felt exhilarated and pleased with my contribution. Like I finally filled out my stage clothes.