Politics of Nostalgia

I long for the days when Britain was Great.

It's true. 

I look around now, on social media, in the papers and I see little evidence of Britain's greatness. What I do see is fear, hatred, anger and unkindness on a level that is sobering.

The qualities that used to define greatness: kindness, generosity, respect and decency are fast disappearing. 

This summer 52% of the voted to leave the EU and what followed has been appalling. The racism and xenophobia spouted in mainstream politics and in the media is astonishing. Leavers and Remainers trading insults like whether Britain stays or leaves the EU is going to be decided by who gets the most burns on Facebook. 

My hand is up. I am not only a Remainer, but I'm a Remainer who indulged in a few slanging matches. I have good reason to be fond of the EU. My adopted mother is German. When I had a "proper" job, I was an Economic Projects officer delivering business development and support projects for local businesses, projects 75% funded by the EU. I was able to do this because the EU supported a telecottage in a seaside town, that hosted an Access to Higher Education certificate, which got me to university to do my degree that landed me my job.

After the results of the referendum were out a couple of Leavers messaged me privately and told me the reason their votes fell where they did. They were valid reasons. Reasons that have got lost in the midst of the Witch Hunt against immigrants. 

There's a movement that encourages solidarity with immigrants by the wearing of a safety pin. If an immigrant sees a safety pin worn by a stranger, they know they can sit next to them without fear. I thought about wearing that pin...and then I remembered...I'm an immigrant.

Not only am I an immigrant, I'm a woman of colour, a single parent. I'm working on the sexual diversity, but I'm too in love with Dave to be truly serious. I am everything that the rabid Leavers hate. This is the first time I've every felt uncomfortable going out and about in public. I live in rural Tory heartland. This is the first time Norfolk hasn't felt like home. And I miss it so much. 

The right-wing rags are only interested in their profiteering. Dear Gods can't anyone else see the irony of an old billionaire white man from Australia schooling the UK on what it is to be British? Kindness, decency, caring does not sell papers.

On Thursday, the High Courts ruled that Parliament, not the PM Theresa May can trigger the Article 50 to leave the EU. There are death threats against the judges who've upheld the law (and sanity). That's what democracy now means: the freedom to incite harm against the person who doesn't agree with you. 

I'm not saying the Remainers are any better.

How many times has calling someone stupid, illiterate, ignorant etc made the other person re-consider their beliefs? Seriously. I'd like to know. How often does disrespecting the other person bring them round to your way of thinking? 

Here's the thing, people don't listen when you shout at them.

I'd very much like to get back to the good old days. When you could disagree with someone's politics, shake hands and get on with sharing a pint in the pub. When people talked to each other with respect and listened to the responses. When Foodbanks were inconceivable. When people weren't expected to hold down 2 and 3 jobs to just get by.

The fact of the matter is people are afraid and rightly so. The British economy is truly up the spout. Tory economic policies have cracked the NHS and pushed the welfare system probably past fixing. The safety nets that used to exist aren't there any more and our local communities aren't like the Americas, where there's the expectation that a good neighbourhood looks out for their own. 

It's easy to blame the Other...but actually, it's all our faults. We've got us to this point. Silence is taken as consent. I'm not going to shut up. I love this country. It's my home. It's where I became an adult and grew my son. I am committed to being here. I will fight to make Britain kind again. I will fight to make Britain decent again, safe again. I will fight to make Britain respectful again. Damn straight.

Dear Jeremy Hunt (again)

Further to my letter of 11th January 2016, I am writing to you once again to ask you to reconsider your political (and apparently, personal) stance on junior doctors and the NHS. 

Last year before the election, my friend Z and I discussed politicians and the way they were being vilified in the press. She believes that politicians, in the main are good people who try to make the best decisions they can for their constituents and that the press' treatment of them was very unkind. As you may deduce, she is a kind and gracious lady. Me? Not so much, but I am trying to be a reasonable human being when I write this. After all, you catch more wasps with honey than vinegar.

I wonder if you truly understand what it is to be afraid for someone you love?

Your wife, when you broke your leg, attempted to move heaven and earth to get you sorted. When she couldn't, she took to the press in a damning indictment of the service you received. The fact that she was trying to get help from the wrong institution is neither here nor there really. This is old news anyway.

The point is, she should understand where I'm coming from right now. 

You see, the news regarding my beloved, is terrible. The very lovely oncologist told us what the other consultants were unable or unwilling to say. Next Tuesday, Dave begins his chemotherapy; and frankly, the treatment regime is brutal. If he can endure it, we hope it will give us time. I said I would eat the turkey he cooks for me on Christmas Day...and let me tell you, turkey and I are not fond of each other. I promise you if Dave puts that plate of food down in front of me on Christmas Day this year, I will eat every bite of turkey joyfully and with deep gratitude.

I wonder if you wake up in the middle of night to watch your wife breathe or when you touch her hand, she curls her fingers round yours and kisses them without waking?

The afternoon appointment we had a couple of weeks ago was pretty much the last in the clinic. Dave and I sat waiting for the results of the PET-CT scan in the large, empty waiting room. However, we were not alone. Our phones' volumes were turned right off, but they both vibrated like sex toys, all the messages of love and hope from friends and family, on Facebook, from blogs; locally and from around the world. The waiting room would not have held all of the people who sat with us. 

You politicians seem to thrive on ramming home the point the world is a dangerous place and the most dangerous of all people is The Stranger. In my experience, The Stranger is the most kind. Hospitals are filled with strangers. Some of whom we will get to know well, some of whom we will never see again. 

I wonder if you have ever cared for someone? Not as in 'liked a person', I mean cared as in feeding them, washing their face, keeping them company as they tell you the same story, they told you yesterday.

My father after a lifetime of smoking, succumbed to lung cancer six years ago. I was lucky enough to be with him in the last two months of his life and the experience of caring for him changed me. Caring for a stranger, wanting the best outcome you can provide for someone who you know little about, is one of the highest callings a human being can answer. To do so and incur great financial debt, to work long and hard hours, to know it could cost intimate relationships...how much more sacrifice do you expect?

You may argue that your job entails that you make hard decisions and there are consequences. 

Dave and I are now in the hands of your hard decisions and I need you to make better ones. I need the Strangers who will be looking after us, to be fit and well, to be strong so that they are focussed completely on buying us more time together. A couple of weeks ago, I gave Dave his birthday present (his birthday is in June), I didn't even know if we'd have that. We are acting on the assumption I will need to go out and get him another present for his actual birthday, but I'm still desperately afraid that we won't even have that.

Stop picking fights with the people who are trying to look after us. Please. Help them, so they can help us. 

Ranting, ranting, ranting

I've decided to change things around. Normally, I put all my socio-political rants on Facebook and leave my blog clear for my personal and domestic stuff. Today, I'm going to swap. Last week, in the wake of the Paris bombings and the vile spewings on social media, I was in a deep funk.

I am an active Facebook user and occasional tweeter. I have friends from all over the world, in all walks of life. There are some who I disagree with their politics (big and little P), but we have a history of shared humour and personal support. I figure if they can ignore the fact I'm a dippy hippy, I can look past the fact they hold conservative views (big and little C - or Republicans, if they're in the States).

During the summer, the coverage of the refugee crisis was a bit of an eye-opener. People let rip on how they really felt. The vileness of it shocked me. I'm not going to repeat it, I'm sure you've seen it for yourself. It was on a scale that started with lack of compassion and went straight to racist hatred. It doesn't help when our UK PM David Cameron, described the refugees as "a swarm", it gives validation and legitimisation to the filth being spewed.

The thing is, the people I interact with on a daily basis are kind, considerate and loving. I don't see this vileness. I don't know where it comes from, I really don't. I genuinely believe in the inherent goodness of humanity. The kindness of strangers is why I'm still here and I don't say it for dramatic effect either. 

If you lived abroad and all you saw was the disdain, the casual racism, the anger and hatred, what would you think of that country and its people? If you knew that there were campaigns that actively encouraged further harm to vulnerable people, what would you do to protect your home, your family?

That last statement is why today, the UK Parliament is voting whether to bomb Syria and it's the same statement used to recruit and radicalise the terrorists. What does that then make us?

Let's not forget how previous military interventions have been such outstanding successes in stabilising the already volatile region. 

When the leadership of this country says that to be against the bombing is to be a terrorist sympathiser, it's time to be scared. Very scared. 

I have no love for the Conservative Party. I am the person they revile. I am a single parent, a woman of colour, a migrant and I am in the creative industries, not to mention my tattoos and piercings. 

There's a furore in the heart of the Conservative Party, a young activist committed suicide because of the bullying within the party. A few weeks ago, I landed on footage of Prime Minister's Question Time. The behaviour of the Conservative MPs when Jeremy Corbyn, the opposition leader, was speaking was at the very best appalling. MPs jeered, shouted insults and basically carried on like a bunch of hoodlums and bullies. 

These are the people who are life-altering decisions on behalf of the citizens of the UK. Decisions that have long ranging consequences. Whatever is to become of us?