Marina Pepper: Let there be hope

I admit it. I’m scarred. Scarred by the dark sunless mornings when the only good thing to be said as we stood shivering in the depths of winter outside County Hall, waiting for councillors to waddle past was: “Hey, there’s  two of us at this demo, so if you take this corner we can hold up the banner.”

Invariably the banner said NO, generally followed by the word INCINERATER or TOXIC WASTE. After what seemed like years of  unrelentingly saying  NO, the council rubber stamped the appropriate documents and some people got very rich out of the waste contract. Democracy was the loser.

So when local campaign group Lewes Stop the Cuts suggested a demo outside county hall to lobby councillors against £37m worth of cuts to local services,  I was dispirited – what will this achieve? – and yet, for some reason I was hopeful, that we could achieve something. Maybe? Hopefully.

I’d been arrested the previous week outside Boots while publicising the company’s registration to a post box in Switzerland. This enables Boots to avoid paying up to £150m a year in UK taxes. Vodafone was let off £7bn in taxes in a private deal with Ministers. We don’t have a Vodafone in Lewes. So Boots it was. We got great media coverage and it was magic to be stopped in the street afterwards by people saying: “We had no idea......”

Once one is aware of a problem, it begs the question: “What can we do?”. “Come to a demo.” It would be fraudulent to employ a youth worker while knowing there’s no wages in the kitty at the end of the month, after Central Government withdrew all grants. But still. “Come to a demo.”

There is still money for councillors’ allowances, building roads and the aforementioned incinerator. Just none for childrens services. VULNERABLE childrens services at that. “Come to a demo.”

The frontline staff who recognise the brutality of the cuts – teachers, youth workers, social workers and volunteers – are too busy doing their jobs and can’t bunk off to wave a symbolic banner against the undemocratic  and unjust nature of the cuts. They can’t let everyone down. Even if George Osborne and our County Councillors can and do. “Come to a demo.”

There’s no appealing to the politicians. If shouting at local representatives got us anywhere, surely  we’d be living out some Utopion existence where the young, old and less fortunate feel included and valued. A world where there’s enough allotments for all , no Tesco superstores and a social housing building programme to fit the size of the problem. Among other important stuff.  Still, “come to a demo.”

Yes I’m scarred and disillutioned with so called local democracy.But apparently I haven’t given up all hope. So I prepared. Digging deep into my Pandoras Box of costumes I found my balaclava, a tutu and some warm tights. Dressed as a pierette, armed with one small word, I approached. Some 30 people had gathered. Brilliant. Mostly non affiliated members of the community. RESULT!  Believe me, that’s a big demo for 9.00am on a freezing Feburary morning.  

We had BBC TV and breakfast radio coverage. Both local paper photographers present. The reporters exhibited a rare zeal. They were determined to get the story.  As if their contribution was a political act in itself. Go NUJ!

Look closely at the photos and you can see me. I offered the one thing that is all too easily forgotten: HOPE. I clowned hope.

When I clowned to the leader of the council, insisting in mime that he take my HOPE placard, his upper lip wobbled. An internal struggle seemed imminent. Then he was gone. Into the building. For tea and biscuits and the weilding of the rubber stamp.

I hope the hope stayed with him. He’ll need it when the cuts start to bleed.

Demos I am beginning to realise, work in mysterious ways. Every action is another brick in the foundations of a different future. Take Egypt.  For a decade - longer, - activists met, organised, educated, agitated and, finally, rose up as one to achieve their goals. Go Egypt!

Some local school girls who saw footage of our Boots demo on youtube approached me in the street. How,  they asked,  might they superglue themselves to Boots. “Why?” “Because it’s unfair that we can’t afford to go to college and university. We feel  like totally dissed. We want to protest. But we’re not allowed out of school to do it. ” I advised against the superglue. These ladies are, after all, 11-years-old. So now they’re organising  Zombie Kids Against the Cuts. They plan to walk like an Egyptian and bring their mummies. Plus other assorted relatives and friends at 12 noon Saturday February 19. In or around Boots, in the precinct. Lewes.

One of their teachers, Mr Clarke, is coming – they saw him on the telly outside county hall. As an NUT rep he had a note from head teacher to attend, we guess. “How cool is he,” they squeal. And he’s coming to their demo.

So am I. If they want to fight for a fairer future I’m there. And if the demo flowers into more of a community celebration – zombies, music, family, it’s possible -  Well won’t that give us all the hope we need to get us going for the long road ahead?  My scars recede as hope blossoms.