Protesting is good for you

In the week that I turned fifty-seven, I protested with Extinction Rebellion and marched for a People’s Vote on Brexit.

My back hurts a bit, but my spirits are in good shape. 

I’m frightened about what will happen to the economy of this country and to the welfare of our citizens should Brexit occur.  I’m terrified of what will happen to our planet as Global Heating ramps up.

Many of my friends lie awake at night fretting about the future of their children and grand-children.  They are right to do so. 

But my way to be at peace with my conscience and get a good night’s sleep is to protest.  I  am signing the petitions, writing the letters to MPs and I’m getting out there with flags and banners and demonstrating and marching.

Feeling powerless is destructive to the body and mind, but grasping whatever agency we have is empowering.  It has been better for me to take action than to sit at home following the newsfeeds and gnashing my teeth in impotent rage.

I’ve had challenging conversations while handing out leaflets, and I’ve also been touched by the kindness of others, handing me home-baked flapjack.

So in trying to keep my country and my planet alive, I’ve come to feel more alive too.

Annabel with her beautiful banner

These Boots Weren’t made for Brexit

I’ve been enjoying my new foot recently.  Gradually over the nine months since surgery last summer, it has been becoming more robust.

So Nigel and I were able to chance the second People’s Vote March last Saturday, although we cheated and headed straight to the rally in Parliament Square on the basis there would be something to lean against there.

We straight away found a good stretch of empty railing, but soon realised why it was vacant – it was just behind a small bunch of Brexit demonstrators and it looked as if we were of their number.   Before our faces appeared in the Mail as Brexit supporters, we slunk off.

But, having done what we could by joining the march and the petition and writing to our MP, my feet served quite another purpose the rest of the week.

They have been getting me out of earshot of the incessant roilings of the Brexit debacle.

 I went to Greenwich with friends, climbed the hill to the observatory and revelled in clear blue views across London.  From up there, you would never guess how troubled it is.

And I visited Heartwood with Nigel where we were soothed by the song of skylarks.

It lifted our hearts.   Maybe they should pipe it into the chamber of the House of Commons.

People’s Vote

I had plans for Saturday.  Perran and Carenza were joining us and we had tickets for the Space Shifters exhibition at the Hayward Gallery.

But there was something else going on that day – something that hadn’t been part of the plan, but that we all really cared about.

The train up to London was bulging with people dressed in blue, trimmed with yellow stars.  One small boy was carrying a blue banner saying “I missed football for this.”

It was the march for a people’s vote on the final deal for BREXIT – a chance to vote when we really knew what we were voting for.

“But we couldn’t march anyway, Clare, because you’re still on crutches,” said Nigel.

The Space Shifters exhibition was excellent, playing with our senses, the sculptures making us feel unbalanced, as if we might float away or trip over into an abyss.

Thing is, since the votes for BREXIT and Trump, I have felt like that anyway, disorientated and stumbling on shifting ground.

As we came out into the sunshine, I said “We could still get to Parliament Square in time for the rally.”

So we did – I clunked along the South Bank and Westminster Bridge and found a sunny wall to lean on outside the Houses of Parliament as the marchers surged in.

I spotted at least three people in wheelchairs, one breathing through a tube. Made crutches seem a pretty minor problem.

Carenza kept winding me up that we were going to get “kettled” but there was no sign of that and the fact that in the UK we can still demonstrate peacefully against government policy began to help me feel I was standing on solid ground again.