On activism.

Trigger warning for discussion of suicide, depression, eating disorders, fascism, racism, the police, medication, self harm


We're exhausted. We've either just finished a fifty-hour work week with a conference and a night of drinking at the weekend, or we're struggling to cope with the effect our clinical depression is having on our assignments and attendance at uni, or we're trying to do all of these things at once. We are planning the next protest, the next demo, the next conference, but forget to plan in a meal. We try to take care of one another but never take care of ourselves. We haven't slept properly in months.

We're fed up. We're fed up of explaining to our family why you can't separate the politics from the person. Fed up of being told we should respect members of a party who are literally taking money from those who need it to survive and killing them, fed up of being told to shut up and listen to someone who thinks we shouldn't have the right to control our own bodies, fed up of racist immigration controls and fascists given airtime and just about every decision made at the top, with no thought of those at the bottom. We are angry, so angry, that we don't know what to do with it. Sometimes we collapse, exhausted, in floods of tears, because we cannot for the life of us understand why anyone could do this to another human being. We cry on one another, we support one another, we give one another hope that tomorrow can be better. We miss the release of the razor. 

We've been arrested recently, we've been manhandled by the police, thrown mercilessly to the ground by several officers, and peers have the audacity to claim that this was somehow justifiable. We've been banned from protesting on our own campuses. We've been left in a cell mid-panic attack, and released 48 hours later. We're sick of people telling us that there's nothing wrong with the police, and we're sick of the state letting fascists march down our roads. We drag ourselves out of bed and stand as a blockade, trying to deal with the police and the fascists and the voice in our head telling us to kill ourselves. We have a panic attack in the kettle, and the police won't let us out. We go home and sleep for twenty hours.

We're counting the pennies to have enough to buy our medication in England, or we're sitting in Scotland and Northern Ireland feeling sorry for those who don't get them for free. We're hopelessly waiting for the next psychiatrist appointment, we're still at the bottom of the CBT waiting list, we don't know how to explain why we can't eat or sleep and we don't know what to say to our friends who are feeling like this too. We have enough scars between us to tell a hundred stories. We have to leave our medication on the kitchen table or we won't remember to take it, or the thoughts will come back again. Our interactions with people take place via the internet.

We spend weeks looking forward to seeing one another, to spend time with those we love, those who understand. But then we spend too much time awake wanting to die. Or rather, something triggers it, and then suddenly we've spent the cost of two return trips to the UK on a flight home from London because we didn't trust ourselves to be alone in a place with tubes and not try to commit suicide again, all the valium in the world would not shut up the voices inside our heads, and the only way we feel like we can talk about these experiences is through writing a blog on a Sunday night. Or maybe that's just me. And we worry that writing about this will make people concerned. But we don't know what else to do.

We have dysfunctional relationships within our activist circles, mostly because they're our friendship circles too, and our room mates, and half the time we work with one another, too. We have issues with attachment, we have issues with self-worth, we have a fucked up head and we don't know what to do with it, so we hurt one another. Our relationships are unstable, like our health. We can't be there for one another, because it's happening to everyone. We cry alone in our rooms because we don't want to be a burden. 

We can't reconcile our feminism with our own bodies. We can't stop ourselves developing eating disorders, but we curse ourselves for not being able to fight it. We restrict, we binge, we purge, but most importantly, we keep it a secret. We all have problems and we don't want to look like we're asking for sympathy, even when we're in tears each night because we had the audacity to allow our bodies to consume food. We can't look at ourselves in the mirror without our lip shaking. We preach body positivity, we deplore body shaming, and we berate ourselves for wishing we were thinner.

We can't escape. We can't escape because even when we have left the demo, even when we have stopped talking about welfare reforms, when we have stopped arguing with Tories, we are left in this world we live in. We are left in this place that condemns us for being ill, that hates us because we are women, that will leave us to die because we are disabled. To separate the politics from the person we recognise that one must be privileged enough to remain unaffected by the politics. We spend every single fucking minute living in this hell of a patriarchal capitalist shit hole that has dragged each and every one of us to the bottom, and is determined to keep us there, no matter how much our arms flail and our hearts ache from the pain of it all. It wants to kill us and it will not stop until we are dead.

We try to keep telling ourselves that we need to be the living breathing reminder for others that there is good in the world, that there is hope, that there is pain but that there is also art, but eventually we break. Eventually, we stop telling ourselves that, and we stop being that person for other people. We want to cling to hope, to live by Andrea Gibson's words that all they knew of hate was that it couldn't beat the love out of me, but one day we stop. We can't do it anymore. We can't keep pretending that we're winning this fight, because we aren't. We're losing. We're broken. They've broken us. All that is left to do is write.

Why I'm not #BackinBelfast

The #BackinBelfast campaign launched in the wake of the devastating effect the loyalist flag protests were having on Belfast city centre. It started off as a relatively low key hashtag campaign on Twitter, and quickly erupted into a full blown, council and Executive backed campaign. Local newspapers are on board, with offers for various clubs, pubs and restaurants throughout the city being advertised daily in an attempt to revitalise the city centre and to increase the footfall that had been drastically affected in the wake of the seemingly never-ending loyalist protests.

The campaign launched at the end of January in a desperate attempt for the traders of the city to try to regain some of their lost revenue. Since the protests began in December, around 150 police officers have been injured, and the Confederation of British Industry have estimated that around £15 million has been lost in trade due to the protests. Pre-Christmas sales were badly affected, and the situation only seemed to go from bad to worse as time marched on. The cost of policing the protests is estimated to have exceeded £15 million. The Northern Irish Executive released a press statement at the end of January, declaring its support for the campaign, with Arlene Foster stating that it is essential for us to support our local businesses in what are very trying trading conditions.

So why am I not #BackinBelfast? I have a number of reasons. 

In typical Northern Irish fashion, we think that by throwing some money at the problem and having a colourful poster campaign, we actually solve what was wrong in the first place. We haven't. And no one is prepared to admit it. Whilst we have been holding hands with the 'other side' and proclaiming our love for our city centre, a 'unionist unity' candidate has been selected for the Mid-Ulster by-election, the Northern Irish Housing Executive is going to be abolished (with the possible loss of 400 public sector jobs, and hugely increased risk of privatisation), and two UUP MLAs have left the party in opposition to the recent actions undertaken by its leader, Mike Nesbitt.

The estimated amount that has gone into the campaign stands at around £1.5 million, with £400,000 directly from Belfast City Council and £600,000 from the Executive. The campaign has had great publicity, whilst the fact that countless death threats, bullets, and intimidation towards our elected representatives has pretty much been forgotten about in the past month or so. Some of those who were the targets of death threats may stand in polar opposition to what I stand for, but that doesn't mean I'll condone the threats to their families. 

The money that has been used to back the campaign could have, and should have, been used in any number of projects across the region that are crying out for funding. The media is bombarding us with deals and offers from pubs and restaurants around Belfast, at a time when wages for public sector workers have been frozen, the price of living is steadily increasing, and people are finding it exponentially difficult to get by day to day, without being shamed into spending what little money they have in restaurants and bars in the city. In addition to this, the workers in retail and hospitality industries have all but been left out in the cold by their employers- a lack of union presence means that all too often throughout the crisis, they were sent home from work and lost a significant amount of their earnings. Most have no union protection to ensure that they are paid irrespective of circumstance. In the bigger picture, this was seen in the south in January- music giant HMV announced it was going into administration and employees had to physically occupy the stores to ensure the company paid them the wages they were rightfully owed. 

But then we have another problem- the fact that many 'community' projects are fronted by paramilitaries who are kept quiet with the money dished out to them by the DUP/Sinn Fein coalition within the Executive. We need our elected representatives to take a stand on this- otherwise, it will keep going. On the ground, community workers see this day in and day out, and it appears to be one of the Executive's worst kept secrets. If everyone knows about it, why haven't we been lobbying the relevant Sinn Fein and DUP MLAs to stop this practise?! A similar situation was seen back in 2007, when then Social Development Minister Margaret Ritchie received numerous death threats at her refusal to continue to fund UDA-backed community projects without evidence of decommissioning and reduced criminality. Behind closed doors, everyday DUP and Sinn Fein members could be pushing their MLAs to stop this practise, but they aren't- it suits both parties for the status quo to remain intact. 

This is by no means an exhaustive list, nor does it explain as fully as I would like why I don't support the #BackinBelfast initiative. I find it rather insulting that my own students' union sabbatical officers are proudly enjoying their spot in the limelight as they publicly declare their support for the campaign, whilst simultaneously ignoring the fact that across the UK, there are campaigns far more worthy of their support- one only has to look at anti-fascist protests at Marine Le Pen's recent talk at Cambridge, and perhaps most importantly, recent occupations in the University of Sussex against further university privatisation to note that the de-politicisation of Queen's University Students' Union is hugely detrimental to the students and young people in Northern Ireland as a whole. 

I am not #BackinBelfast- I can't afford to. Neither can most students. Whilst students were not the main focus of this article, I'll stick to what I know best- students are struggling to get by as it is, and with £9k fees for GB students in Queen's University, halls that are more expensive than the basic loan, and a severe lack of part-time jobs (and those employed taken advantage of horrendously by their employers), students shouldn't be shamed into spending more money than they can afford. Luckily, it is often argued, we live in a world of (for the most part) interest-free overdrafts and the knowledge that it can be pushed to the back of our minds as a problem for 'future me' (the cost of living for students is something I'll get into another day- by no means take this as me declaring that we are in a comfortable position, when the reality is anything but). Most people living in Belfast don't have that luxury, most people couldn't afford to go to Deane's before the recession, never mind now. Maybe if our politicians start addressing the underlying problems- our innate sectarianism, the complete absence of any credible CSI document, inequalities in education, the strength of paramilitary control in many working class areas- I'll lend them my support in the future.