My Houses of Commons Visit Shows Me Why We Need To Vote #NLATheReno
- 20 July, 2018
- Linda Brogan
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England don't make steel or boats or dig coal. Now they farm people like us to pay their mortgage. The photo is some twats fannying each other in uniform in the corridors of the Houses of Commons.
Well, I knew I didn't want to go. But anything for a vote. I had been lead to believe I will get the opportunity to talk to our MP and get their backing. No such deal. We are finalists in the Heritage category. There are 6 other categories. 7 finalists in 7 categories = 49. There are 2 reps from each category. About 90 people there. All in a small room and it is fucking baking.
So the first shit I receive is Internalised racism. I'm walking up to the outside door when an older African guard stops me. 'Where are you going?' My immediate response. "Why are you stopping me?' It's so fucking obvious. There are white people pouring past me. 'It's not like that.' 'But it is like that.' If it wasn't like that he'd have argued his point.
I've walked through the corridor I'm going into where the Stranger's Dining room is where the meeting will be. Youngish black cop, "Where are you going?' 'Why are you stopping me?' 'It has nothing to do with that?' 'Well tell me why you stopped me then?' Again there are 'posh' white people pouring past me.
There are 5 other non white people in the room of 90. They are all being posh. Must be how they got in. lol. And every fucker is saving disadvantaged people in some fucking way or another. People like us. Obviously you can tell I've been fucking livid ever since. As my mum would have said: sanctimonious. I'm proper laughing to myself.
So this woman who I can tell is not really posh, says 'I hate networking.' I answer, 'I couldn't give a fuck.' Her face is a picture. She's one of our direct competitors. But we become friends, calling the other cunts. Then her real-posh sidekick comes over so she has to make a quick getaway in case I bubble her. Internalised classism. I'm laughing more now.
So the moral to the story. Let's fucking farm ourselves. Why should they get the dough for their three storey houses. Underneath all I am doing, that is my goal. That is why it is important to me to swear, to have my real voice. That poor woman, though the head of a huge organsiation, she is living in agony. You can tell it is doing for her mental health. All this fucking pretence is doing for all our mental health. And what our wonderful memoirs and excavation says is: look, you can be yourself. We have more talent, more passion in our little finger than they have in the whole of their body. Another one of me mam's sayings. And if we get recognition for this, national recognition, we unchain not just us but others. Like that womam. Who are ambituous and clever and want to achieve but have to pretend they're a stick instead of a person. Like the twats fannying each other in the photo above.
Only time will tell if the revolution I have in mind will make any longterm impact. But I think a 12 months residency in the Whitworth, and big stuff with a secret big stuff MCR organisation says a lot. In the Houses of Commons I got us in with the English Heritage and started negotiations for recording Moss Side, Greenheys, Chorlton and Medlock working class histories, around facebook groups whose photos collection I love, and have been co-opting to get votes in exchange for Whitworth exhibition space for a week. Before our hstory is lost when we die. Because, unlike the castles English Heritagege look after we have no attics or basements to store our memoires in.
And throughout the conversation I swore like a bastard. Laughing again.
Get voting people. We have nothing to lose. And everything to gain. We have around us loads of talented people. Every day I am meeting new people that can help us express that talent in different ways. I was talking to an Amsterdam TV studio this morning about our documentary. Each of these steps puts us on the map. It's never been done before. Never as who we really are. Always as who they'd like us to be. How they farm us to be. Like all the taste has gone out of a banana it has gone out of the world. The world of the Reno and its surrounding areas was full of fucking colour. I want everything to be organic again.
One week to vote folks. Have you voted. Do all 4 ways please.
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4] Follow @excavatingreno: Tweet, I am voting #NLATheReno to win #NLAwards
In One week and One day I will stop bothering you.