Ah, That Codnor Moment

Just got back from a day’s worth of protesting, marching and shouting around the Derbyshire village of Codnor. I’m not quite ready rubbed but i do have a sore knee. (if none of this makes sense then blame 70s tobacco advertising)

We had nothing against sleepy rural Codnor, but we did against the bunch of neo-fascists assembled at a nearby farm under the banner of the BNP’s Red White and Blue Festival, or Dread, Hate and Poo Farce-ival as I shall call it. As far as I’m concerned the BNP are a disgrace to our nation and their waving of the flag disgraces our recent history of fighting fascism.

Vicky in her best game face and me staring middle distance being watched by a surveillance drone

So at 10am we gathered in Codnor market square, for a pre march rally organised by Unite Against Fascism. I was there with my best friend Victoria and we had managed to find our destination with less than 3 rows about direction, mainly due to my arrogant mistrust of her Satnav. We were dressed in our best protesting gear, which for me consisted in a gypsy top that for some reason was inside out and for Vicky was a bright fluorescent kagool which was constantly mistook for a stewards tabard. We had our placards and tucked in our handbags were our bust sheets, with info if we were arrested, and we were all set.

Before the march was the rally and as we munched on vegan pasties welistened to increasingly rabble rousing sweary speeches. The best reception was reserved for a lady who was a veteran from the Battle of Cable Street in 1936 when the east enders turned back Oswald Mosely’s blackshirts with the cry of “No Passan” (They shall not pass, from the Spanish Civil War).

11.30am and we gathered in formation behind the “thin fluorescent line” that was our police escort. The police were out in impressive numbers, and from the air kept their eyes on us with a drone remote helicopter thingy. So many of the police had cameras of varying size they start to resemble some bizarrely regimented photography club.

As made our way out of Codnor, down valley and up the other side, passing though a normally subdued semi suburban area. The locals, lined their properties watching with fascination. As we marched we chanted we sang and we shouted our way through some of the classics such as“Black and white we are united…Smash the BNP”, “Nazi scum, off our streets….Smash the BNP” and that old family favourite “The workers united, will never be defeated”. Its all very rousing but not very tuneful, and my attempts to start a version of “Do you hear the people sing” from Les Miserables, fell of mainly bemused ears. The highlight of my march was meeting up with my twitter buddy, Laurel or @debaucherydean for you aficionados who had trekked all the way from Hastings.

 

It may be an uphill struggle but its worth it

The plan was for us to try and surround Griffin and his cronies, which included some of the nastiest pieces of work from Europe's far Right parties, although I understand that some splinter demos had managed to turn back some of the speakers to the event. The best laid plans of mice and marchers etc. We were only allowed to march to the lane next to those animals on their farm. So we stood there, stood our ground and chanted as loud as our throats allowed, determined to make our presence felt to the evil behind the hedgerow.

2pm After an hour or so, with only a few minor scuffles between the foolhardy and the police horses, it was time for some of us to turn back. However it seemed a few thuggish bullies had decided to gather down the lane and the police kept us back, worried that if people became separated from the march they may be vulnerable.  So for a while we were hemmed in so some tired legs turned standing ground to sitting our ground. When it was felt safe we were allowed to march back to the village. When I say march , shuffle would be more accurate as we were going so so slowly as not to split into groups. Its actually quite difficult to walk really slow so I amused myself by imitating the 6 million dollar man’s slow motion run. The few thugs and thugesses that we saw at the at the roadside were fairly quiet, but apparently behind us some more gathered throwing Nazi salutes. How utterly stupid and more utterly unimaginative, I thought. The old Nazi movement is really in need of a makeover and perhaps a new salute. I suggest a half raised arm with clenched fist moving through to a sharp punch to the face.

Our written instructions (click if you want to read) with our highlighted protest point. A few scuffles did not divert this Mountie’s stoical gaze

   

The police dealt with some fascist sympathisers as their ‘copter looked on

As we walked Vicky and I chatted with the police, who to a man, and woman were sweltering in layers of uniform and stab vests. One young copper looked at the hill ahead back to the village saying “Have we really got to go back up that”. It was heartening that a young fit copper was more moany about being tired than me. We got back with not much more ado, and after a couple of bars of “Smash the BNP” we dispersed into our cars minibusses and coaches and set off to whichever corner of Britain whence we came.

We may not have stopped their festival of hatred, but we made our presence felt and we will be back next year and every year until this bunch of preposterous, deluded, nasty nutters finally realise that racism and bigotry has no place in this or any future century.

The Battle Of Cable Street

Identity Crisis ?

Its nearly a month now since my last post. It will be a wonder if I have any readers left. Perhaps I should pack my blogs and be content with facebooking and tweeting.

My blogging rate has dwindled to but a trickle. From those halcyon days of early 2008 where posts came as thick and fast, as a fat thick thing, to this last month where I’ve spent every second evening thinking…“right now for some blogging…erm what shall I say ?”…hang on, I’ll just watch another episode of The Wire/West Wing/Battlestar/Heroes, for a touch of inspiration” before falling to sleep in front of said episode, only to wake up 4 hours later curled up on the sofa in a position perfect to aggravate both my bad back and dodgy knee and a blank laptop screen.

I have no real excuse for my alacrity, other than my annual summer month of self pitying, self indulgent, soul searching. Perhaps its my own take on Seasonal Affected Disorder: The more sunny everyone else is, the more lonely and pathetic I am. Mind you cant say its been the sunniest of Julys so my theory fall at the first hurdle.

>>>>> Now I must interject here. Despite what I have written and may come to write in this post, I absolutely do not regret my decision to transition. “Je ne regret pants” as they say in remedial French class! I can barely envisage what it was to live confused and trapped as I did. No, I absolutely stand by my transition, albeit in very uncomfortable shoes <<<<

A clue to the root of my problem lies in the url of this blog : jenny-vs-theworld. I never really liked it as a blog title and hence very quickly changed it to the more poetically oblique, Crossing The Floor. However there remains a nugget of truth in the phrase and at times I still seem to be battling the world rather than embracing it. So, It’s the 4th anniversary of my Gender Modernisation (I’ve been around NHS speak much too long) and once the euphoria and downright craziness of the first few transition months have passed, the reality of a life changed forever, finally dawns…….

So what have I learnt and have yet to learn.

Well I think I managed my transition ok, and I’ve kept my family and friends and job, the holy trinity of transition if you like. I can walk in heels without a safety net. I can apply a face full of makeup in under 5 minutes that will last for a days work. I can coordinate within an inch of my life, although Ive discovered too much of this years purple turns me into a huge Ribena berry. I can tease, straighten, curl under, flick out, colour, condition and my hair.

These are all very practical skills vital to survive in the heady world of womanship, but it is the more subtle and therefore more darn tricky aspects of female life that perhaps I am still to really master (or mistress!). I have to face it, that it may not be until I truly come to terms with that intangible essence of being female, that the rest of the world becomes truly blind to what I was, and only sees what I am.

Ok, if you this sounds pompous and whinging at the same time, then you’re probably right, but as they say in all the best dentists, “better out than in” and maybe if a get a little rant out of my system, I may find my blogging mojo once more.

I can site 2 incident in the last couple of months that have contributed to my current mood.

The other day I was dressed in a ruffled strappy summer top, jeans and heels, with makeup that although had been clinging on for 6 hours was perfectly presentable. As far as I was concerned, my appearance was as feminine as is ever needed. I went into Argos to buy, what I thought was a “micro” ipod dock system thingy. I wanted to check that my particular ipod touch would fit said thingy, so asked if I could take a look inside the box. The young female assistant turned to a colleague and said “this stereo is for this …(hushed) errrrrr gentleman, (normal voice) can I open it up ?”. Thankfully no one bar the 2 assistants and myself heard her hesitant  confused whispering, but the damage was done. I left the shop with a nice new stereo, an apology from the other assistant and a self esteem dragging on the floor behind me. Mercifully  this sort of encounter is rare.

The other recent disheartening event happened a month or so ago. Stood with colleagues in an entrance lobby shooting a huddled breeze, I dropped into a conversation that so & so was my uncle. One of my colleagues, and someone I could not respect or admire more, surprised at this news turned to another and said “did you know that so & so is *his* uncle”. It was a tiny, minor, almost imperseptable slip, but it revealed so much. You see, this person had never known my previous life, and has always accepted me as a woman, but off guard and without thinking, the subconscious part of the brain took over and the mis-pronoun spilled out. He was genuinely apologetic and of course he never meant to say it, but that didn’t help how I felt.

I have to come to terms with the fact that from that at time to time these sort of things may happen. People will slip up and its not always their fault. Most people tried their utmost hardest to do the right thing, and to say the right thing. Ironically the harder people try, the harder I find it. I see it in their eyes and I hear it in their oh so slight hesitations, as they grasp for just the right word, and worse of all I see it in their genuine heartfelt sorrow, when they realise they got it wrong.

I have to be confident enough in who I am to be able to shrug off these slings and arrows of slight misfortune. I have to toughen up and tough it out. I should take heart that people try hard for me and not resent that they have to try. Should it matter if I am forever Jen the trans woman and not just ,Jen the woman. After all, I am not beyond hypocrisy, and have used my trans situation. For instance I included the fact that I am transgendered in an election address. I seem to want to have my cake and eat it (isn’t this a mad phrase, what else are you supposed to do with cake!!). Yes now its time for me to stop urging the society to accept me and find the way for me to accept society for what it is. I am after all blessed. Blessed that I live at a time and in a place that has allowed me to transition, a blessing denied to oh so many.

As the saying goes (or doesn’t): If I look like a duck, walk like a duck, talk like a duck, but everyone believes I’m goose then i guess I’m a goose…..or a duck….or maybe a swan even, anyway I hope you get the point, because I’m not sure I do.

Any of you still reading, thanks, I’m sure there is something your putting off something far more important, or at least you could find a funny youtube video to watch…. Speaking of youtube I came across this :

SO I guess I’m not as clever as I thought, what with my “la de da” blog title.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hopefully normal service will be resumed, as soon as I’ve found out what normal is.