This is not one of my long, rose-tinted meandering blogs
Not words full of hope and all-that-is-good-in-the-world.
This is a short and cloud-tinted blog.
Because right now I am scared.
And not just because the world is being held precariously in the hands of an egocentric, thin-skinned reality TV show host
Not just because the BREXIT vote has divided a nation and burnt the bridges for our children's future.
Not just because hate crime is rising and the weak and young and vulnerable are left voiceless and weak
.
I'm scared because of the little things
.
While our politicians discuss the big things: how to live in a "post-truth," world, international policy, global warming, state visits, while they discuss all those things, every day, right on our doorsteps, the little things are destroying the fabric of our communities.
While politicians debate and discuss and negotiate, swaztikas are being sprayed on walls, our daughter experiences "soft," racism on a daily basis and just today I watched a video where a local Parish Council (composed of elderly white men and women) reject the development of a skate park for teenagers at the same time as expressing racist views
.
How can any of this be ok?
These small things....they're not small.
This local politics.....it's not just local.
This is a short blog about being scared.
And the thing that scares me the most, is my own cowardice.
The thing that I am most frightened of, is doing nothing.
Inaction and apathy are as much to blame for the wave of fear and hatred and prejudice that is washing over us as the actions and words of our leaders and politicians.
I spend my days finding a million excuses to do nothing.
I convince myself that I am too busy, that I already do enough, that I am just one person so what difference can I make.
But those are no longer good enough excuses.
.
I'm not sure what it is that we can do, but I am sure that doing nothing is no longer an option.
My parents, like many others, are the children of refugees who fled war-torn Europe.
It's not so long ago that "hate," almost won.
We cannot risk that happening again.
And we can sit here and discuss how terrible it is and how wrong everyone else is, or we can do something about it.
And we can say these things are too big and too complicated and too-out-of-our-control to or we can start trying to stop them from happening again.
We are the grassroots.
Grassroots is where it starts.
There is power in numbers.
Power in the knowledge that we are not alone.
So...people of Chichester (or close-by).....how about it?
How about we show we care?
How about a March Against Prejudice? It would, at least, be a start.
Parents- we are fighting for our children's future.
Grandparents - we are fighting for the future you used to dream of.
Everyone, we are fighting for a safer, more caring and better tomorrow.
If you want to be part of this, leave a comment or a message...and perhaps, just perhaps, we can make it happen.
"We are numb with despair," wrote our friend Amy from Foxborough, Massachusetts as Donald Trump, the next President of the United States, walked onto the stage to make his victory speech.
Numb seems to be the safest way to be on this "end-of-the-world -as-we-know-it," day.
Despair doesn't seem like a crazy or big enough word to describe how it feels.
A reality TV show host has just become ruler of the Western World - actual reality doesn't get more bizarre than that.
"I kept thinking that I should turn off Comedy Central and watch the real news this morning," said one of my friends, " and then I remembered.....this is the real news."..
" Can we close for the day?" I ask my boss when I get to work. " We could declare a day of mourning. We need to mourn the loss of sanity and the loss of all that might have been good in the world."
He stops humming REM's " It's the End of the World," and laughs, the kind of empty laugh that hides the numbness of despair.
I think that might be the only kind of laughter there is now.
"You have to laugh mum," says Mia, our 19 year old daughter, " there's nothing else left to do."
And she's probably right.
What other weapon do we have.
But it's hard.
Hard to find something to laugh about when the path to the White House is paved with bigotry and racism.
Hard to find something to laugh about when our fragile future is held in the brutish hands of an overt disdainer of women, of the vulnerable and of any minority you can think of.
Hard to find something to laugh about when a man with limited world vision and little interest in politics is about to become the political leader of the Western hemisphere.
But who needs knowledge, open-mindedness, political awareness or a capacity to care when you can be a vote-gaining, crowd-pleasing, billionaire president without any of those attributes?.
It would be nice to believe that those who voted for Trump were hood-winked, confused, mis-led.
But I don't think they were.
Like the Brexiteers, his message was clear, his surreal promises definite and his words uncompromising in a world full of confusion and uncertainty.
To some the confidence that comes with such black and white inflexibility is comforting.
A vote for Trump, like a vote to leave Europe, was an indisputable, anti-establishment, nationalistic vote.
A vote for something concrete.
A vote for a change so definite that it is almost tangible.
What is most frightening is not the fact that that voters jumped on the Trump band-wagon but that he jumped on theirs.
He played the popularity game and won.
He chose to surf the wave of discontent and protest that seems to be sweeping across Europe and America at the moment.
And in true showman style, he rode the wave all the way to the White House.
But washed up on that politically powerful shore, he will have no more crowd swell to support him.
From January 20th 2017, the buck will stop with him - and so far he has been much better at passing than carrying the buck.
It's hard to laugh on a day as sad as this.
It feels like an end not a beginning.
Obama arrived at the White House wrapped in his cloak of audacious hope.
He never stopped fighting for what he believed to be right and good, I don't believe he ever will,
Trump will arrive at the White House wearing an expensively tailored suit of discontent,ignorance and hatred..
But hope cannot be cast off so easily.
Even though Trump will be living in the White House with his strange hair-do and oh-so-white teeth, Hilary Clinton is still going to win the popular vote.
That means that more people in America actually voted for Hilary than Donald.
We must not forget that.
Some of the problem lies with the system not the nation.
While he was in power, Obama was thwarted at every turn
He was constantly forced to compromise, his hands tied by a party that refused to work with him, his voice muffled by the loud, demanding and intransigent majority of Republicans in the House of Representatives.
That impossible-to-win battle is over now.
And sometimes it's easier to shout louder when you are in opposition, easier to take a strong position when you have nothing left to lose, easier to unite when you have a shared vision to fight for.
There's no more need to compromise, only to show clearly and courageously what we believe in.
Hope has been crushed not destroyed.
Hope has survived worse.
Hope has pulled people from the depth of much deeper and darker despair.
We are out of time for now, not forever.
Voices have been muted not silenced.
Apparently it was Burke in the 18th century who said:
"In order for evil to triumph, good men (and women) must do nothing."
The world is full of good men and good women ready to stand up for what they believe in, we just need to find each other.
It might be Trump, not Obama, who is "all fired up and ready to go," for now.
But there are enough of us to put out the flames.
And perhaps it's true.
Perhaps we do have to laugh.
If nothing else, it will remind us of all that is still good and great in the world.
Perhaps laughter is the only way to ease the numbness of despair.
And if a reality TV show host is truly going to rule the world, then it's time for those of us who do not see the world through through the detachment of a camera lens, to truly rock the future.
Dear Brexiteers and Leave Voters
Just so you know, I'm finding it hard to forgive you.
Hard to forgive the damage that is being done to our country by the vote you cast.
Hard to forgive the fear and sadness and racist comments that haunt our mixed-race family since you voted to leave.
Hard to forgive the rise in hate crime and the way your vote seems to have legitimised racism.
Hard to forgive the uncertainty to our economic future that leaving Europe will cause.
Hard to forgive the constant, and uneasy feeling that since that historic day in June we are teetering on the edge of chaos..
Just so you know, I'm finding it hard to forgive you.
And I'm sure you will say that it's because I don't understand.
That I don't understand the huge advantages of being financially independent from Europe.
That I don't understand that leaving Europe is the only way to stop our country from bursting at the seams with those seeking a better life.
That I don't understand that leaving Europe is the only way to save our drowning National Health and benefits system.
That I don't understand the advantages of being free from the European "ball-and-chain," That I don't understand how important it is to stand alone, to make our own decisions, to be in charge of our own destiny.
But it's that destiny that If fear the most.
And there is much that I do understand.
I understand that not everyone who voted to leave Europe is a racist or a bigot or a xenophobe.
I understand that many people, much cleverer than me, could cite a million reasons why we are financially better off out..
I understand that people were feeling disempowered by decisions made about them without them from miles away
I understand that the old system was flawed and broken.
I understand all that.
But when has a problem ever been solved by running away from it?
When has the way to mend something that is broken, ever been to leave it to rot?
The European Community was created to try and build peace and understanding, what message have we given by choosing to leave?
And I wonder.
Wonder if, on the day you cast your vote to leave, you imagined how it would actually feel for those who have become the victims of your choice.
Wonder if you truly considered all the consequences of your actions.
Wonder if you can picture our 18 year old Sri Lankan/English daughter walking down the stairs that morning, the 24th of June, trying to stop her voice from trembling as she asks
" why doesn't my country want me anymore?"
Wonder if you can hear the voice of our sixteen year old son telling us that he is going to try and study in Canada now, that he doesn't want to his future to be in a country that doesn't want him.
And I know.
I know that's probably not what you thought you were voting for.
But it's the message your vote gave to our children and thousands like them.
You were voting for the future of our country.
They thought they were its future.
You've told them they are wrong.
And I'm trying.
Trying hard to understand your motives.
Trying hard to see it from your point of view.
Trying hard to acknowledge the benefits there may be.
Trying hard to believe that good can come out of this.
But it's difficult to understand what is better about being separated not just by a sea but by an ocean of difference and indifference.
Hard to believe that anything but good can come out of learning to work together, learning to value each other cultures, learning to care about something greater than ourselves.
I suppose, in the end, all any of us can do is what we believe to be right.
And I truly hope that's why you voted the way you did.
But just so you know, on the day our son boards the plane and flies away from us into a world that is still too big for his seventeen years, I will find it very hard to forgive you for my broken heart.
With hope that the future will be better than it seems
Becky
Today the UK has voted to leave the European Union.
Today is a sad day.
A day of endings not beginnings.
A day of uncertainty not calm.
A day when what divides us begins to become greater than what unites us.
A day when the door has been opened for racism and hatred and economic collapse.
In our garden we have take down our very, high fence and replaced it with a very low one.
Our high fence has been blown down by strong winds too many times.
It has kept us hidden away for too long.
And it is strange how such a simple action is slowly changing our lives.
While the UK must now begin to burn bridges and build higher fences, our garden has become lighter, brighter, more open.
And, more importantly, as I hang out the washing in the morning, I chat to our shy, private neighbour over the fence.
She and her husband have lived in their house on this road for 58 years.
We have lived in ours for most of 17 years.
And yet in all that time of unapproachable closeness, we have known so little about each other.
The odd smile, a wave, a passing hello.
But there is something about low fences and busying ourselves with washing-hanging that has made it easier for us to talk.
One morning, clothes pegs in hand, she told me that her son was in hospital.
" He has leukemia," she says, staring away into the blueness of a cloud-free sky.
So now, each morning we stand and chat over the fence.
Just enough space between us for her to feel safe.
"All my son's friends from work visit him in hospital every day," she tells me, her smile sad and proud.
I smile too,.
" He must be very special," I say.
" He's talking about all the things he's going to do once he is home again," she says, smoothing hope into the clean white sheets she has hung out to dry.
" The chemo's started," she tells me the next day.
I hang out mismatched socks and wrinkled shirts as I listen.
" Hopefully he can go home when it's finished.."
The flowers between our gardens have begun to intertwine.
There is no high fence to stop them, scented petals and deep green leaves, reaching across the space between our lives, white roses and purple sweet peas curling through the gaps.
Slowly, the 17 year barrier to a gentle friendship is being dismantled.
I carry a bag of washing out into the sunshine of a Summer morning.
Our neighbour is standing in her garden, staring at her empty washing line.
It is almost as though she has been waiting for me.
" I just want to tell you...," she says, quiet and dignified," I just want to say,... our son passed away at 7 o'clock this morning.
I drop the bag of washing .
Clothes scatter across the still-dew-drenched grass.
I try to stop the tears.
I don't know him, their son.
For all this time, our fences have been too high for us to meet.
But her sense of loss is as palpable and gaping as the emptiness of her washing-line.
" Don't be sad," she says, " I keep thinking he wouldn't want us to be sad."
I feel the sun, warm on my face.
It seems wrong, somehow, this beautiful morning.
" I"m only telling you because you have been so kind," she says " you've been asking about him every day and I thought you would want to know."
And she turns and walks back inside.
There will be no washing to hang out today.
There are no words that can describe the painful hollowness of her grief.
It is a gaping, unfilllable hole.
No mother should watch her son die.
But if there is anything we can do to help, we will do it.
Our fence, at least, is low enough now.
I wish that was true of Europe.
We create so many barriers and boundaries in our fragile world.
We build higher and higher fences and stronger and stronger walls. -
It makes it much easier to hide and turn a blind eye to the suffering and poverty on the other side.
There ares so many reasons why helping our neighbours is not convenient.
Why carrying the burden of others is too heavy a load.
The saddest thing about this vote to leave a united Europe is the reason why it has happened.
It is a vote based mostly on xenophobia.
A vote by people who have forgotten that the European Union was created to maintain peace between nations that had been warring for a thousand years.
A vote based on the fear that we are too kind, too open- minded, too generous.
A vote that goes against the very essence of what it means to be human.
This morning as we hang out the washing, our world has become smaller,sadder, less predictable, less certain...
But we don't have to become less human because of that
it is time to start tearing down high fences.
February seems to be lasting forever this year.
Grey days, grey evenings. grey politicians, grey news.
I dream of long summer evenings and deeply blue skies.
I remember the days we spent travelling in our camper van through Europe.
The beauty of the constantly shifting countryside, the every day passion of the Italians, the laughing vivacity of the Spanish, the laid back attitude of the Portuguese, the melt-in-the-mouth-crescent of a French croissant, the delicate flavours of a warm Sicilian snack. The wildness of Sardinia and diversity of Corsica, the beauty of sparkling lakes and drama of breath-taking mountains, the age-old cities and brand new art galleries.
No day was boring, every day was full of new discoveries.
And in these grey February days, I'm wondering why it is we are trying to separate ourselves from all that is beautiful and cultured and delicious about Europe.
I know that I am not informed enough about the economy or politics.
I know that I cannot possibly understand the complexity of the laws and interwoven relationships that make up the European Union.
I know that I am ignorant of the legal and financial implications that being part of Europe means.
But I am sure of one thing: I don't want to leave Europe.
I'm sure my reasons are flawed, they have to be because they are based purely on emotions and personal experience.
They are based on a rose-tinted hope that the more we try and overcome differences and create a shared vision, the more we will understand and respect each other.
They are based on a belief that being a small part of something big and full of potential is better than being a big part of something small that will slowly become less.
We live in volatile times where we are quick to hate and slow to forgive.
We live in divisive times where it is easier to build walls than create bridges, easier to look for problems than find solutions, easier to despise the culture of others than value diversity.
Is it so wrong to think that maybe, just maybe, a union of different countries could be a good thing.
Is it so hard to see the beauty in a patchwork quilt of mountains and lakes, of bluebells and orange trees, of different languages and different religions?
And yet we want to cut the almost invisible thread that holds us so tenuously together.
I'm not sure what went wrong but I wish we could fix it.
I wish we could sew it back together with a multi-coloured thread of hopes and dreams.
Brexiting seems like running away rather than turning to face the storm.
Brexiting seems cowardly
Brexiting seems like a delusional attempt to return to the days when we believed we were better than everyone else.
But we are not.
We are all of us, wherever we come from, equal.
We have equal rights to a better quality of life, equal rights to a fairer distribution of wealth, equal rights to have our voice heard and our beliefs valued.
If we leave the European Union we will have to shout louder to be heard and work harder to trade fairly and be dealt with justly.
Before we know it the United Kingdom will be a splintered memory.
Every day the world seems to become smaller and yet the distance between us and our neighbours seems to become greater.
Instead of Brexit let's Brentrance into a better, more forgiving, brighter future.
