Different hats

SEVEN. June 15th 2019

Somehow, in the midst of the frenetic build-up to the April rebellion in London, I agreed to stand for election as a Town Councillor, produced a leaflet setting out my ‘pitch’ as an Independent candidate and got it delivered to about 900 houses with the aid of a friend and my amazingly supportive spouse (notwithstanding her dodgy hip). This seemed improbable enough to me at the time and I more or less forgot about it in the excitement of everything else; and then, even more improbably, it turned out I had got elected. I am thus part of what I believe is referred to as a ’rainbow alliance’ of councillors from different progressive parties who have decisively ousted the Tories at both town and borough council levels and are now poised to change the world (well, a town and a district, as far as we possibly can).

This happened a few days after my last biog post and since then it feels like my feet have barely touched the ground. I can’t say that the duties of a Town Councillor are in themselves hugely onerous but in combination with effectively having a full-time job as an an environmentlal activist they are proving the straw that could break a camel’s back. The feeling of stress thus engendered is now reducing to a more manageable level but it has been a bit of  a challenge.

I suppose the primary issues are inner conflict and exposure. Although I had never expected to enjoy reading boring papers, attending formal minuted meetings, listening to some quite tedious speeches, and having to tolerate arcane and opaque procedures, I had been prepared for it. But I hadn’t anticipated – although it seems obvious now – that I would end up worrying that I was not doing my duty nor living up to the expectations – whatever they are – of the 578 people who put a a cross beside my name. There is definitely a part of me that would like to take all of the ballot papers back to the people who filled them in and explain that there has been a mistake.

It is early days, however, and I think the early feelings of discomfort and anxiety  are easing as the role and its encumbrances become more familiar. One of these encumbrances is a gown, which Town Councillors in our ‘historic’ (what a stupid term that is) town are expected to wear. This is, to me, such a ridiculous piece of ‘tradition’, making representative democracy look more like a theatrical demonstration of the hierarchy and privilege that it supposed to have replaced, that I (along with the 4 Greens on the Council) refused to wear it. Interestingly this seemed to create more of a stir at the first council meeting, judging by the reactions to it on local social media pages, than anything which anybody actually said. 

I didn’t in fact say anything on that occasion, which is mainly because I had promised myself that I will only speak when I have something useful to contribute. I must say, however, that had I wanted to speak I would have first had to negotiate my way past several obstacles including not understanding how my microphone worked and not having received any introduction to the rules of engagement – when one is allowed to speak, how one is supposed to address the Chair (there was, amazingly, fierce opposition from the 3 remaining Tories to the  proposal that this term now be adopted in preference to Chairman) and so on. It was all a bit like the first day at public school; although he politely poured me a glass of water and showed me how to prop my name badge up on the desk so that it would be visible to Madam Mayor in case she wanted to  ‘call’ me, I had the distinct feeling that the veteran Conservative ‘triple-hatter’ (a councillor at 3 different levels) sitting beside me was enjoying my discomfort at not really knowing what the hell was going on. As we waited for proceedings to begin he asked  about my ‘background’ in the manner of a  slightly senior boy and managed to express extreme distaste and scepticism at my response at the same time as being scrupulously polite. During the meeting this man made several long speeches to no purpose except demonstrating his proficiency and confidence with the technology and procedures; and then , at the end, flounced off, flinging his gown over his shoulder, without a word. Madam Mayor, who is in normal life my friend , was officially ‘made’ in some weird ritual, part of which took place behind closed doors. Like the other ladies in the chamber, she wore a funny hat as well a gown. The Town Clerk sat in front of a portrait of the Queen and wore a curly wig. It was all very strange.

But stranger still was finding myself less than a week later singing a ‘Police’ song to an assembly of county councillors, one of whom was the very man I had sat next to during my ‘initiation’ as a Town Councillor. This time I was in the public gallery with a sizeable bunch of fellow activists embarking upon what we had desigated as an ‘introduction’ to the county councillors, upon whom we are calling to declare a climate emergency and deny licences to shysters trying  to make a fortune by speculating for oil in the Surrey Hills. (We are also calling upon them to divest the pension fund, for which reason we disrupted another meeting more recently, but that’s another story).

It was really quite an odd experience looking down, whilst singing “Every breath you take, I’ll be watching you” to see not only the aforementioned public schoolboy veteran of local government, but also my friend Madam Mayor (she too being a triple-hatter) and a couple of other political acquaintances gawping back up at me amongst the crowd of bewildered councillors. Needless to say the Chair (or possibly the Chairman, I can’t remember) adjourned the meeting rather crossly on account of the singing, but quite a few of the others seemed to take it in good spirit and one of the Conservatives even filmed us on his phone and tweeted the footage around later  alongside warmly positive comments. (It was a couple of days after Nigel Farage had been covered in milkshake and I think he appreciated our contrasting lack of aggression). The somewhat surreal tone of the experience was continued when, a few days, later, correspondence with the Council Leader whose meeting we had disrupted led to his offering to get together with a few of us to see what we can do for each other. I don’t think this means that he’s going to be coming on demos with us but I suppose you never know and I await the appointment with interest.

Once it sunk in that I had actually been chosen to serve by the good people of the Town I did anticipate that the split between my two ‘new’ personas – in one of which the raison d’etre is to break the law and in the other of which the code of conduct specifically charges one to uphold it – would be a bit of a challenge. In reality, aside from the awkwardness of unexpected meetings out of context as described above, it’s actually not too bad. Since our newfound celebrity engendered by the London rebellion we seem to have become actually quite popular with local politicians, and several  have joined our group. I expect that a radical sociologist might sniff the danger here  of the movement being pulled too much into the mainstream – accommodated, pacified and compromised – and I’m sure that’s a valid concern. I hope, though, that the reverse is happening; at our most recent ‘action’ there were three people including me who are elected to public office but were nevertheless singing quietly to the members of Pension Fund Committee whilst showering the room with flower petals.

I have no idea where this will all end but at least a lot of the time it’s interesting and exhilarating. This is a good job because some of the time it is also very demanding and upsetting. It’s distressing to consider human extinction on pretty much a daily basis and I think this is why our actions tend to take on a slightly crazed tone, (which hopefully is also quite attractive and engaging). It’’s a bit like people working in the emergency services who are renowned for dark humour (We are of course the 4th emergency service). It we weren’t thinking of essentially silly things to do in order to shake things up I suspect we might all  be cracking up with despair.

When I’m not feeling exhilirated or excited or distressed or despairing I am mostly completely knackered and quite possibly burned-out. It feels like several years since this journey got so intense, although it is in reality barely 3 months. In that time I seem to have gone from tentative semi-commitment  to hard evangelical conviction. Increasingly, as the entirely dysfunctional and weirdly disturbed tapestry of political ‘reality’ unfolds itself as a backdrop. it feels like I am engaged in a simple battle between good and evil and this only serves to drive me further into a kind of ’superhero’ mindset ; ‘if not me, then who, if not now then when?’ . Its actually very good for self-confidence but it’s also a bit wearing, perhaps for others as well as for me. I think I may have become the archetypal ‘tireless’ activist’ ; except of course that this is a serious misnomer. Those of us suffering with this condition are not tireless . We are in fact very tired, we just can’t stop.