So we have today a lovely piece in the guardian today from Tom Watson.
Tom Watson guardian article
I thoughts about how to respond and I though how unfair it is that he gets to express himself in this national newspaper which I think to be honest is also having an existential crisis if that is possible for a newspaper.
And I thought about the response to and the events happened because of a recent blog I posted.
What’s the deal with this guy
My words inspired someone to write a comment which inspired many. This then lead to the responder amongst other things giving a speech and my being asked to write for a website.
What would happen if that voice had larger audience?
Also today I read another post by someone like me. Trying to calmly explain that we are not idiot or fools, we are not the ones hell bent of the distraction of a political movement that we love nor are we all coerced into blindly following one man like a brainwashed cult.
So I shared it on here as it made me think two voices are better than one.
But we have 500,000 voices. Not all of them will sing with us but the majority would.
So here I will post Sarah’s response again to my blog and I am asking you to do something . It is one small thing but we can make it massive.
Take a few seconds to like and then reply. It can be a long or short reply . I want to hear how you feel , why you support Jeremy, why you became interested in politics even why you joined. No insults or derision , no personal attacks or hate. Just why you want Jeremy as leader.
Let’s have a central collection of voices . Share blog posts and links so that all of this information can be put together so all our single voices become one and this can then be shared even more to show people who we truly are.
We have been demeaned and vilified for too long – we need to respond with a united voice.
Please share and post and reblog and Twitter and print and do whatever it takes for this to get off the ground and start running .
Thank you #wearehismedia
July 31, 2016 at 4:09 pm
Hi there! Erm… I’m the woman in the photo! Someone recognised me and sent me your article (very surreal experience). I just thought I’d write a bit to expand on what you’ve said, to give a bit more insight to why I was so lit up.
Growing up, I used to ask questions about what I saw when my dad watched the news. My dad would say “shush I’m watching the news” and my mum would say “I don’t know, I don’t bother with that stuff anymore.” Any mention of something political and she would shut off with a look of faint disgust. As a kid I didn’t really put two and two together, but it made sense later on. That my mum had difficulties with mental health, that she had been prevented from being able to be employed by that and was placed under the additional crushing weight of poverty, trying to get together enough food to keep me and my brother well. That she had no access to any support and at the same time was labelled one of those council estate scroungers… what would that do to your faith in politics? What was the point? They would come along with their promises, rarely aimed at you in any case as you’re below the level they’re pitching at, and would break any designed to shatter poverty/inequality and improve mental health anyway. That’s the thing, even Labour had stopped aiming at families like ours. The rhetoric across all parties became increasingly aimed at those lucky enough to dream of buying a house, not those who struggled to buy bread.
Jump forward to me being a teenager, brought up to treat others nicely, as you never, ever know how bad a day someone is having, so you should try to behave like they might be sad. Because there’s no way of knowing. To have a deep knowledge of how bad things can happen that nobody expects or would will on their worst enemies and that those things can make life hard enough that basic functioning can be a major struggle. Knowing my mum was bitter about politics but that she was proud of having a daughter who cared about stuff, even if she wasn’t sure it would ever end up helping anything. I ended up with my own mental health difficulties, also Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Was knocked flat out of education. Got a middle class boyfriend. Had to explain to him that he couldn’t just say I could help myself to anything in the fridge, that the idea terrified me (anyone who has been in a similar situation might understand that). Hearing his parents talking about politics and feeling hurt for not growing up in a house where politics was something to be discussed, not given up on, and feeling so very, painfully stupid. Relearned that I was different and didn’t truly have a space at the table.
Early twenties, and I’ve have been cajoled into trying university, discover I like it. Study sociology, as it seems to look closest at the things I find fascinating but don’t understand. Hierarchies. Intersections of oppression. Why I have always felt in some vital, essential way different and lower than my middle class counterparts, to those without illness. I learn about inequalities. I learn about micro-aggressions. I learn about it not being all my fault no matter how much my subconscious screams that I’m stupid in spite of my grades. Not that it made much difference, I felt no connection with Labour as much as I wanted to, as it wasn’t fighting for those who desperately needed fighting for, and I felt there was nowhere realistically to turn.
I manage to get a scholarship for a post-grad I could never have afforded otherwise, eventually decide academia is not for me for various reasons, then what happens? The world starts to feel like it’s turning on its head as it looks like someone that’s actually loudly talking about poverty, about mental health, about the benefits of immigration might get into a position of power. Can you imagine? I watch a video and here’s someone talking about how they always, even in times of great stress make sure they *make* time to do nice and relaxing things – promoting self-care for mental health. I see someone suggesting that they aren’t sure about a plan for single gender train carriages and that they need to look at more evidence and *speak to women* to find out if it would really be appreciated. I see someone saying they refuse to be involved in slanging matches, that vociferously campaigned against apartheid, that supported numerous campaigns in spite of them not necessarily being the best for his career. Helping those at the very very bottom is never good for your career. They don’t seem to have the power to immediately make it worth your while. They’re often disenfranchised and bitter about politics and don’t see the point in bothering.
I called my mum to ask her if she’d think about joining as an affiliate (if I sent her a bit of money to cover it) to vote for Corbyn as I felt he could actually do something. She laughed angrily and said “I don’t think so.” She had only recently written to Cameron to explain that the bedroom tax meant she couldn’t afford a winter coat. That there wasn’t a smaller council house for her to move to with her son. He explained in his cookie cutter letter that we all have to make sacrifices and tighten our belts. Can you imagine? Can you? Still, she realised how important it was to me and asked me to explain what I thought was so different.
My mum watches the news now. She watched newsnight even. She calls me to ask me to explain political stuff. She is engaged. She calls Corbyn “our Jeremy, bless ‘im.” But it’s not about just one person, it’s about someone trying to turn the oil tanker that is the Labour Party, trying to get it back on the course we need it to be, when we don’t have any access to the steering wheel. I feel like there might be space for me in the Labour Party now, and my mum. There might be more people who care as deeply and will let us in, not just tell us we’re naive, not tell us we’re stupid, not tell us we’re fanatics, not crow over bits of news reveling in difficulties the campaign has, not rubbing salt in that open wound. There might be a way to feel empowered. To allow my mum to feel empowered. I won’t have been the only one with a story like that either – I can’t tell you how it feels, but “unrestrained joy” comes pretty close.
That’s what was running through my head as I stood there smiling.
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