Fighting for Social Justice


10 day detox mug shot

In late October this year I became interested in following no grain diets due to serious health issues. Being hypertensive, diabetic and starting to experience bloating and brain fog was a wake up call and I discovered Grain Brain by Dr David Perlmutter and Wheatbelly by Dr William Davis. The science in Wheatbelly read true and so I immediately decided to try the low-carb no grain approach. I didn’t find it particularly difficult since I can’t eat potatoes and have never much enjoyed pasta, rice or sugary things. I took it on faith that eating the foods recommended would lead to some weight loss and I was right.

Along the way, I reviewed Dr Davis’s book on Goodreads and gave him a very favourable review. Due to the viral nature of Goodreads, a friend of mine then suggested I join his Facebook Group and I gladly applied. At first this was great. People offered mutual support and shared recipes, as I did myself. When I managed to get my HbA1c results down to normal in three months I posted that too. I was very happy and wanted to share my good news in the group.

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Then I suffered another flare up of tendon trouble in my right hand. I had been quite foolish in late November early December. I was trying to get the log cabin project finished in case my sister wanted to stay over (she is allergic to my cats) and I spent a lot of time out in the cold using power tools to sand and polish some old pine furniture. That was the point at which the pain started and the tendon began to click. I would wake in the morning unable to straighten my ring finger on my right hand and the pain was excruciating.

The group had been so warm and friendly that I made a brief post basically saying that I was having a serious problem with RSI and trigger finger due to overuse of power tools when doing DIY and did anyone have a suggestion as to possible dietary treatments. Four very kind people responded with suggestions which I acknowledged with a like. Then the post was deleted without explanation.

I could not understand what was wrong here until somebody slipped me the word that DIY in the USA is not quite as innocent as DIY in the UK and that power tools might be misinterpreted as something altogether more seedy. I rephrased the post and many people again responded including one of the group administrators who said she certainly had not deleted any of my posts but maybe one of the other women or Dr Davis had. Next thing I know is that I have no more notifications from the group; puzzled by this, I searched for the page and got an access denied message. I asked a friend of mine if the group still existed. She said it did but I had disappeared from the members list along with all my posts. Hello! I was blocked.

Now I am no teenage troll and I find it very upsetting to have been thrown out of this support network without word of explanation from anyone. This is seriously spineless behaviour. I followed all the rules, I bought the books, followed the diet, behaved politely at all times, was never negative or rude, didn’t ask stupid questions, tried to support new members and now I was banned for reasons unknown. (Or rather, for reasons I suspect that are baseless and silly in the extreme). If I am correct in my suspicions then somebody needs to get their mind out of the gutter and whilst I seriously advocate the low-carb grain-free approach if you want to turn your life around, and whilst I still stand by the good reviews I have given Dr Davis’s books on Goodreads, I cannot recommend that anyone join his Facebook groups to be insulted and emotionally abused in this way by persons unknown.

I seriously hope that Dr Davis gets his house in order and sorts out whoever is responsible for this unacceptable and cruel behaviour towards somebody who needed help and was a good group member, contributing and showing support to others. If he does not, then I would question his sincerity. That is the reason for this very public blog post. Be careful. The truth is out there!

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I wrote last week about the pigeon holes we assign to ourselves as readers and as writers and how these make it difficult to assign genre at times. Since then, I put out a new LGBT story I had been working on for some time. Coming Home for Christmas is a sweet lesbian romance on the surface but it is also story about wasted years, old attitudes and a time that is probably better consigned to history. Its heroine, Rebel, is ironically far from being a rebel in real life. I can see young women getting quite angry about her behaviour towards Laura and I am not sure how sympathetic she will be to anyone under a certain age. I thought the best thing to do is let Rebel speak for herself:

“Hi Rebel, or shall I call you Jill?”
“Jill is a pseudonym, only Laura calls me Rebel. Perhaps it might be better to call me Eleanor. It feels more relaxing.”
“Well, I am not sure I want you to relax too much, Eleanor. I have a few difficult questions to ask you.”
“I’ll survive!” She laughs. “Fire away!”
“OK! I’ll start with a tough one then. Why didn’t you pull the trigger?”
“What? I can’t believe you’d ask me that right off the bat.” She looks shocked.
“Well? Why didn’t you? You were obviously suicidal.”
“Because the gun only fired blanks of course. What would be the point, Lisa?”
“Sorry, Rebel, but I have to ask. I was told only yesterday by somebody in the know that Bruce Lee’s son was killed with a gun that fired blanks.”
“Really? Wow! You really do believe in putting a girl at ease, don’t you?”
“I’m a writer, it’s my job to get to the point quickly.”
“That’s not just quick. That’s brutal.” She is visibly shaking. “I always knew I was lucky to get through my teenage years but I didn’t know just how close I actually came…”
“Well, I am sure your readers will be glad you didn’t shoot yourself. What they would probably like to know is why you very nearly did.”
“That’s not hard. It was tough in the 1970s. Tougher than you might think. People always go on about the 1960s and the permissive society and all the new freedoms young people had but for people like me it wasn’t so rosy. Folks always talk about rock stars – glam rock, Queen and Bowie – being gay, lesbian or bisexual was a fashion with celebrities. There was a lot of parody on TV too, some of it quite cruel, but in ordinary life there was gay bashing, name calling, inequality under the law, you name it and then there was this whole thing of coming from a religious background.”
“Did you have many gay and lesbian friends back then?”
“Not that I knew of. It wasn’t something you shouted about. When I went to College I met a few students who were “out”. I thought they were incredibly brave at the time.There was discrimination going on in so many fields; the armed forces, teaching, anything with responsibility it seemed. It was tough to get a job. Despite the outrageous show biz stuff we were just ordinary kids.”
“Any element of being provincial in that?”
“Oh, I am sure you’re right. The more insignificant your hometown, the more likely these things are to be driven underground. It’s different if you live in a big city; sheer volume of numbers I suppose and with that comes bravery. I was never brave.”
“But you got through what was in effect a nervous breakdown…”
“Yes, and without treatment. I was in denial of course and I went through a phase where I would go with men just to convince myself I was straight.”
“I got that. You were married twice I see. But no kids?”
“It never happened although we did try. It’s just one of those things I suppose. I’m not too worried about being child-free though. I don’t think children should be compulsory you know.” She laughs again.
“So what brought you to tell your story now?”
“Meeting Laura again. The way I behaved towards her was cowardly and unforgivable. I am not proud of myself. I don’t know how she forgave me to be honest and all that is largely personal but I look around and see Christians, many of whom are otherwise lovely people, calling us every name under the sun and trying to take away our freedom. I wasn’t brave enough to fight for it but so many were. If I was sixteen now I don’t think anyone other than my parents would bat an eyelid. They loved me and I am sure they would have accepted me in time but the fact is that so many kids still need to be brave. They shouldn’t have to be. There are too many to this day who are thrown out or forced to conform and there are countries where love still carries the death penalty. To me, that is the real abomination in the sight of God.”
“Thank you for your time, Rebel, and thank you for your honesty.”
“No, thank you for giving me the chance to explain how it was for me back then and how it still is for some young people today.”
“So we might say you are now a Rebel with a cause?”
“Yes, I think I probably am,” she laughs.

…British, gay, lesbian, old, teenagers, religious, asexual… substitute whichever descriptor you find fits you best and then stop and ask why I started my post this way. That’s it, my friends, go on, take a minute, two even. Yes? Got it? It is because we pigeonhole our literature and often we pigeonhole ourselves. We file ourselves away so readily it isn’t funny.

It took me a lifetime to break out of my own little filing cabinet. So much more cramping than a closet don’t you think? I keep getting tidied away in different drawers to this day. There is only one label I own that I can’t actually see myself changing, although I attempted to in The Cougar because Berenice is who I would most like to be. Without getting into Berenice too much today, that label is human and with it comes a whole battery of conflicting and disturbing stuff, the worst of which is being mortal and therefore on borrowed time.

When I started out as a writer, I had no ambition to make money. I was just a simple bard, a poet and story teller in touch with the Seasons and the Soul, and by definition I wrote for me. I wrote about love, small love and great love, and I tied it in with the world I breathed in every day. My words reflected the beauty around me and the sheer gratitude I felt for being alive in this troubled but wonderful world. The words were exuberant and for some readers they reflected a simpler, bygone era. I was being a Romantic I now know, and I was a Romantic in an age of Anti-Romanticism so I got some well-earned stick from my critics which I wear as a badge of honour to this day.

As you get older, time diminishes. Twenty years is still twenty years – but it no longer feels like a lifetime; it feels more like a fleeting moment. The months seem like days and the days have fewer hours in them. We all should know our time here is precious and it passes ever more quickly. Add to that the little bits of wear and tear. I went from fit athlete to fat diabetic in the blink of an eye and the shock was overwhelming. At twenty, you can’t see it coming; at thirty you are still blind to it; at forty you are too busy doing whatever must be done; at fifty you start to realise most of your life is behind you. Then there was Berenice…

If I could transport my home from sunny Bracebridge Heath to the moody temperate rainforest of British Columbia; if I could walk from garden to forest in a breath; transform into any shape I chose; be young and beautiful; swim in pristine lakes whenever I wanted without feeling the cold and love with all my heart and soul I would be Berenice. She came to me in a dream and said “Tell my story” but her story belongs to us all. It is a story of love and loyalty, temptation and deliverance, conscience and awakening to love. It is a story of coming out to one’s own self, of realisation that gender is an accident, compassion is learned and love is all that matters.

I don’t want to stray too far from the opening premise of this post though. I had a long and friendly conversation with a young lesfic writer on Twitter about the dos and don’ts in the genre. It was quite enlightening. I mentioned earlier about pigeonholing ourselves and pigeonholing our literature? It keeps us in our comfort zone but here we have Berenice, bisexual, late awakener, and proud. Should I write about all her experiences? Her great love was a man, her new love a woman. Should I write in the modern way about all the sexual encounters in this story? Should I tone it down, a la Radclyffe Hall, and have no contact at all? No, that would be timid. I chose to go the D.H.Lawrence route and be straightforward and honest. All encounters are equally valid in this novel.

How do I assign a genre to The Cougar ? (Or that matter to The Wings to Fly ). In all honesty I can’t. I tried fantasy and paranormal but the lesbian and trans scenes are no go areas for the usual swords, elves and kingdoms reader. If I go LGBT I will be disappointing the M/M fans who seem to dominate the genre and if I try lesfic, even though it has a lesbian romance at its very heart, I will be upsetting those readers who don’t like to read about straight sex. Biphobia and bi-erasure are still so widespread. There is a non-con marital scene in that has disturbed some readers although I think it needs to be in so that we can understand Owen and Angela’s situation and what motivates their later actions.

It seems that I have a story that refuses to fit in anywhere and yet it is an honest story, written from an honest perspective. Perhaps you will read The Cougar and decide for yourself but only if you are prepared to be open to the desire for immortality and the notion that love is all and all is love.

In my novel The Wings to Fly there is a scene in which heroine Midge is hauled over the coals by her Commanding Officer for reading “an obscene book”. He is furious that she should be reading The Well of Loneliness in full view of other young female pilots where they might be corrupted. His anger is something hard to understand in a modern context. It borders on extreme over-reaction, but is representative of the public attitude towards homosexuality before the long, slow ride to acceptability began – a journey that still continues in some societies. Midge is given the book by Rose the Land Girl after their “brief encounter” and I included it in my story as a historical artifact. The Well of Loneliness plays a role in my novel – almost that of a character – because in the past it was handed to female friends as a hint that there could be something more than friendship on offer. I also thought it was about time I reviewed the book. I read it about ten years ago and found it profoundly upsetting. It is a book that, like Marmite, is either loved or despised by modern readers. Here is my take on it:

It is quite a while since I read this book and I am still trying to understand why it was banned and why the ending left me so very angry. Angry, desolate and gutted to be honest. This book is a classic of LGBT literature and, once banned, I gather it was passed from woman to woman as a clue to sexual identity rather than a simple book loan but if you are looking for erotic content you will be disappointed. It is totally devoid of explicit content and the sentence “and that night, they were not divided” was cited as the reason for the ban. Wow! How much society has changed! On the level of literature, the heightened language is full of romantic yearning and tragedic musings that will not speak to many born after, say, 1985. That is an arbitrary date of course but I think it was not until the mid 90s that the stigma went out of being LGBT for young people. For those who are older, some will still be conflicted about sexuality and gender identity issues and that is something recent reviews about this book fail to take into account. In some communities it will never be acceptable and those who escape those communities will always seem quaint to young people today.

Firstly, I didn’t mind the flowery, old-fashioned language. Just as I enjoy Shakespeare and the good old King James version rather than Eastenders and the Good News Bible, I enjoy heightened and poetic language and this book is full of it. So, spoiler number one, if you don’t like poetry, cryptic language or romanticism you are not going to like this book at all.

Secondly, if you despise anyone struggling with a gender binary you consider no longer relevant, you are going to dislike Stephen intensely. I am not sure whether Stephen is trans or butch but in all honesty I don’t think that matters. She could never be happy as a woman at a time when being female had such particular expectations of dress, manners, behaviour and so few opportunities other than marriage, spinsterhood or teaching girls. When you get angry with Stephen, remember she does not live in this modern world where, it seems, any expression of gender is valid and when the restrictions on women no longer apply.

Thirdly, the ending is sad beyond belief and if you are looking for a lesbian happy ever after you should avoid this book. Seriously. There is little point in reading a book you are unlikely to understand with an ending that is depressing beyond belief. In its defence, the ending is sadly believable. People actually DID think that way. Some sick individuals still think that is the way it should really be for gay, lesbian, bisexual and trans people and that is where The Well of Loneliness STILL has a voice and a role to play even in our permissive world. It has a role because not everyone is inclusive, even those who say they are open-minded often fail when it comes to the crunch and it is not that long since the mere mention of homosexual love would have made most people’s hackles rise.

Bearing that in mind, you SHOULD read this book, if only to understand how the mildest allusion to sexuality could instigate a ban. You should read this book and wonder how the author could bear to live at a time when this discrimination was completely normal. You should read this book to remind yourself that in places the battle for acceptance has not yet been won and that nobody should ever be complacent about the changes that have taken place since the book ban was lifted.

I was deliberately leaving this post for a week, post election, to allow for some clarity and time to think. In the course of that time things have changed and not for the better. A week is a long time in politics, and in that week I have come to terms rationally with my own disappointing result. It could have been worse of course but it wasn’t great. I will start there because emails and phone calls I received after showed that voters were more upset by the result than I was. You don’t fight an election to lose although you might fight it to “fly the flag” in a seat where you see little chance of success.

Bearing that in mind, when things go to plan there is always the chance of a political upset. Not so in the recent General Election. A few seats swung by a small margin between the first and second placed political parties last time round. One or two targeted seats were won by huge effort, others were lost despite it. On the wider front, analysis showed both main parties increased their share of the vote dramatically and squeezed third party, smaller parties and independents out –
resulting in hundreds, if not thousands, of lost deposits nationwide.

“Good,” say some (usually left-wing) activists. “They should shut up, or grow up and join one of the main two parties.”

“Good,” say some journalists. “It shows they are irrelevant.”

I say “Bad!” because democracy suffers the more we polarise party politics. There is no room for the Middle Way or for rational discussion. There is only “What can we do to win Murdoch’s readership?”

In Britain we have been brought up to believe consensus politics is bad and certainly coalitions have always been bad for one of the partners but many other countries cope really admirably with their hung parliaments. It filters out extreme policies and wild swings one way and then the other. It better represents democracy.

The trouble is that the system we have and the influence of hard-hitting political journalism on the results is actually polarising our nation at a time when it badly needs to be united. This takes many forms, but the most extreme example for me this time round was the treatment of Tim Farron on television. This man, a decent and honest working class liberal Christian, has effectively now been bullied out of his leadership position simply because he is decent and honest. He did not lie about his Christianity, nor did he allow his Christian beliefs to define him but he was castigated for those beliefs. Those of us within the Liberal Democrats who identify as LGBT or allies had no issue with Tim’s Christianity but the media did.

A defining moment of journalistic nastiness was Andrew Neil’s so-called “interview”. On the proposed referendum on BREXIT terms, Farron was constantly shouted down mid answer and then blamed for running out of time. That way, the party policies were kept under wraps and a whole political party made irrelevant to those who did not know the policies. It is easy to suggest after the event that he might actually have done better to walk out saying “I thought this was an interview, not a speech by you.” It might have got him press coverage for what he wasn’t allowed to say.

I would have been disgusted by Andrew Neil’s arrogant and rude interview technique whichever leader he had turned his venom on. His approach is often boorish and I have to say extremely narcissistic. I am really so sorry that Mr Farron feels he has to leave the political stage because of this bully. I am even more sorry that there will be political activists out there in the main two parties who think it is fair game to be intolerant of religious differences. Now the same blinkered journalists are trying to make out that the election was about BREXIT; it wasn’t, for vast swathes of people it was about social justice and the Labour Party were not the only proponents of that. They just cashed in on a lot of tactical votes.

Finally, I honestly believe it is time for the BBC to move away from pretty graphics, endlessly looping sound bytes and egotistical, bullying presenters and move back towards what the licence fee we all have to pay was intended for – public SERVICE and public INFORMATION. There should be no place for the cult of “The Great I Am” in an organisation that claims to be politically neutral and every place for informed comparison of policy differences. This is happening on the internet through new apps which will, in time, make main stream journalists superfluous unless they grow up and stop showing off. Democracy is not about THEM. It is about the people.

Imagine the situation. You have a serious medical condition that holds you virtually bedridden for most of the time. It is an invisible illness that saps every ounce of your strength. You are painfully thin. Sometimes you can’t lift a fork to your mouth to eat and even if your carer does it for you you can’t swallow your food without a huge effort. You can’t have a bath without help because you no longer have the strength to get in and out unaided. You are only free from pain when you sleep and the pain stops you from sleeping. Your GP has retired. The new one doesn’t want to know.

For years you have been receiving Disability Living Allowance then with one slip of the pen you are thrown into the category of “new case” and new rules come into play. Despite the reassurances you have had in the past and old rules that the DWP stuck to for a while you now have to prove your level of disability, that you are unfit for work and deserve PIP at both levels. A “nurse” comes to assess you at home where you are so ill with a migraine that you can’t even speak, let alone answer the questions.

You are given a painkiller and it takes seven attempts to swallow it. The “nurse” notes this down as “Capable of swallowing, drank a glass of water in my presence.” Your carer, when attempting to answer questions is repeatedly shouted down and told to “Shut up and let her answer”. Every question is a trap, every answer is a minefield and you are given the very lowest benefit level possible and you are now subject to regular “assessment interviews” because of her skewed and unfair assessment.

You phone a stranger, reaching out in desperation because you can’t cope with the stress of the next interview. All that stranger can advise is that you record the interview. Let them KNOW you are recording it for your records (or for the Press perhaps). She will try and contact them to delay, rearrange or reconsider your case but has been told they will not discuss anything due to confidentiality.

This is a situation that is playing out day after day across Britain as a group of “Jobsworths” being paid to do the ugliest job possible do their best to deliver efficiency and cut benefit bills. Everyday, sick people are being driven to desperation, some contemplating suicide even, because of CAPITA’s Disability Assessments and Disability Work Assessments.

“Was this the creation of wicked Conservatives?” you might ask. No, it was the brainchild of a Labour minister but they did nothing to stop or reverse it. Somewhere in this cruel scenario that plays out like a Kafka story the people have been lost, humanity and compassion have gone out of the window, common decency is moribund if not dead. It is a scenario that probably costs more to administer than it could ever save, even if those people did not desperately need the help that a decent society should ungrudgingly provide.

Never mind Theresa May’s “money trees”, what we have here is a screening process that probably costs more to deliver than it actually saves. We witness untold pain and suffering caused to vulnerable people. There is actual fear of the bullies (and yes they often are bullies) employed to enforce benefit cuts on people with terrible and almost totally incapacitating conditions they never chose to have. Does this make you feel proud to be British? Personally, I think politicians of both Red and Blue varieties should hang their heads in shame at this vicious travesty of justice.

Please share. Please comment if you have been treated in a similar way. Somehow we HAVE to make them leave their ivory towers at Westminster and listen.