Looking for the left
It was with some trepidation that I entered the Leftfield tent for the first time on Friday. I didn’t know what to expect. Like many people my left wing allegiance feels deeply rooted, but the tree is a bit shabby, a bit weak, a bit loose; blowing about hither and thither and bending too far at times to the prevailing winds of the media storm. In short, I don’t know what I think about anything anymore. Not really. I know I’m fundamentally opposed to war and slave labour and sweatshops and bully-boy multi nationals and the tabloid press in this country and the way we just let poverty happen and keep on happening. Why is it that my friend Eve, who is unqualified, looking after your grannies and granddads in an old peoples home can only ever earn eight grand a year –with overtime? And then there are the billions of pounds thrown into research to make us in the West live longer and longer when too many millions of people can’t even reach adulthood- because they have no water. Or they get the measles. What’s that all about???? So, I go to the Leftfield tent looking for other people who care about such things, hungry for unity, community, looking for my people. But I’m nervous because I am English and I hate arguments. I have a thin skin.
If someone scowls at me I shiver. If someone shouts at me I usually shout back -then cry. If other people shout at each other I go cold all over and have to leave the room, or the pub or the street etc. Sarah Greene who handles the Leftfield publicity is extremely welcoming. I can meet Tony Benn if I want to and Billy Bragg. I start quaking in my boots. I’m not a journalist who finds it easy to barge up to people, shove a camera in their face and start firing flashes and questions. I’m more of your
“Excuse me if you could possibly, I mean, I would be extremely grateful, forever in your debt in fact if you would, by any chance be good enough, kind enough to maybe perhaps give me five no three or two, say one minute of your time? Please?”
But this is an opportunity, I tell myself. Maybe a one-off, once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing that would be criminal to waste –like the vote. So, I decide to change my personality and be someone bold, brave and utterly committed for a while and see how it goes. I march into the tent, camera in hand and come face to face with Billy Bragg whereupon my resolve vanishes in a heartbeat, my new personality crumbles and I’m just me saying “Hello Billy. Nice weather isn’t it?”
I join the audience hoping my face blends in with the glow from the red roof above me and realise as soon as I sit down that blending in is my problem. That is, my need to blend in is my problem. It’s your problem and everyone else’s problem. Standing up and being counted is hard work. It’s too hard for most of us so we don’t do it. We just read the papers that say what we want to hear. How insane is that! I decide to stop blushing and pay attention and learn how to swim out of the soup.
Sandy Francis
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