nine days in

There are days and then there are days.
The rain tap-danced on my hood, I was zipped up, only my face peering out at the bare trees. The mud stuck to my Wellington boots, my glasses foggy with the drizzle. I could have knocked into the new neighbours, or even the old neighbours, but decided that my mood, as dark as the clouds, would not be pleasant company.
I feel powerless in a sea of political turmoil. Jeremy Hunt lies. Theresa May lies. Donald Trump lies. They, of course, accuse their opponents of lying, They tweet – Twatting daily. Complex issues, difficult decisions reduced to 140 characters. Secret negotiations gobbed out in tiny sound bites. The disconnect between ‘them’ and ‘us’ is so great – and the gap is widening – that soon their ‘them-speak’ won’t be understood by ‘us-ears’. Only a few will speak their language, the few with the same tight fitting Emperors clothes. We are at the mercy of decision making, which as far as I can see, is not for ‘us’. The ‘thems’ are dismantling hard won gains; from health, to education, from housing to transport. The ‘thems’ delight as ‘us’ turn against ‘us’.
And as the silence descends we’re turning to each other wondering what to do?
How to change things?
How to be heard?
How to trust?
How to care?
Weeping as we realise that it is impossible to argue with ignorance. It’s impossible to reason with bigotry. When a human being believes they are SO right, when their sense of entitlement is SO embedded, when those privileged ears are deafened to the cries of the meek, then a new way of being must emerge. The old way is rotten. The new way is clenching it’s buttocks as it tries to push its way up through the concrete. In the Torah it says that behind every blade of grass their is an Angel willing it to grow.
If you believe there are angels then there are , if you don’t then they’re arn’t. But if we allow those thems to claim the moral high ground then who are we?
What are we witnessing?
Seemingly obvious views are trampled under hooves. Humanitarian demands are deemed wishy washy. Kate Hopkins and Nigel Farage are given air time to spout their twisted, nasty views, and yet and yet, as somebody who believes in free speech why shouldn’t they have their say? Why shouldn’t they be allowed to speak their truth?
Because their truth is perverted and cruel. It’s divisive and wicked. I speak as the daughter of immigrants. I speak as an old crone who feels the need to apologise to the young for the mismanagement of their future. I’m tired of the slow, seepage of feculence that has been uncorked by the new orders’ intolerance. The effluence that swills around us from their narrow minded narcissism. Let us die in the corridors whilst they walk the walk of the advantaged or NOT.
There is a big change coming, and we are all living through it. May we help each other along the way……