Saturday, 3 November 2012
But managing the finances of a local authority, in England at the current point in history, seems very much like running a household. In fact, listening to Jason Kitcat’s webcast on the Brighton & Hove council website yesterday, it struck me that it is like trying to run a household while under the cruel and heartless control of an abusive partner.
Brighton & Hove council (like any other council) is given a limited amount of income it can use to pay for the vital services it provides. This income is provided by the government, but the amount keeps shrinking, year on year. The government changes its mind on a whim about how much money is available and what it can be spent on. It provides money on condition that councils behave in certain ways. It even makes the rules about how much income councils can generate for themselves through taxation or borrowing.
Imagine if you had £767 a month to live on. Out of that you have to pay your rent, council tax, bills, heat your home, feed and clothe your children. It’s been tight – you’ve had to give up some things you used to be able to afford - but you have just about been able to keep going for the last month.
You had even worked out a plan for how to manage when the income went down to £753 next month. You were trying not to think about the further reductions your partner (let’s call him George) had been threatening. You were trying not to think about Christmas coming up, or what you’d do when the kids need new shoes.
Then George comes home and airily says “Oh by the way, it’s going to be £742 next month. You can manage on that, can’t you?”
You can’t get a job or borrow money – George won’t allow it. What should you do?
Some friends advise you to keep your head down and get through this bad patch. In fact, they are not sure you’ve been handling it right up to now – why did you spend the money on that stairgate for the toddler when the five year old needs a new school uniform? Maybe some of your trouble is of your own making.
Better friends say you should not have to put up with this, and nor should your children.
Of course, here’s where my analogy breaks down, because Brighton & Hove Council can’t walk away from this relationship.
But maybe it can fight back. Gather supporters and evidence that cutting local government funding is hurting real children (not just the made up ones in my story). Use the expertise and knowledge in the city to work out how much we really need to provide excellent services and demand that from George. Work with other local authorities who are doing the same, to make a united stand.
At the very least, maybe councillors on Brighton & Hove Council who oppose the cuts can use next year’s budget process to send a clear message to the government: we don’t support your cuts and we won’t vote for them.
Saturday, 1 September 2012
Every year it irritates me, the way people are so slapdash about the history of Brighton Pride. This year, the papers are full of a "20th anniversary" story, which is odd, because the current run of Pride events in Brighton began in 1991, 21 years ago. I remember it well. I was there. I helped to organise it.
I know this makes me sound like a mad old aunt in the corner at Christmas, making nitpicking criticisms of other people’s family stories. Maybe that’s who I am, now.
I haven’t been to Pride for a few years now. It’s not really a fun family event for us and our kids. I don’t enjoy getting pissed in the daytime very much. I find the overwhelming commercialism hard to stomach. We might have gone down to watch the parade this year, but family commitments prevented it. As it turned out, I’m quite glad I wasn’t there to see the Queers against the Cuts contingent subjected to heavy-handed policing and treated like troublemakers by the parade organisers, while commercial firms like EDF Energy, Easyjet and Mastercard are welcomed with open arms.
Why does it bother me if people get the dates wrong? I think it’s because Brighton Pride in 1991 is the radical political root of the commercial tourism-fest celebrated today by the Argus, Brighton & Hove City Council and the Conservative Party.
By 1991, we had been campaigning against Section 28 for 3 years. We were tired, still angry, and proud of what we’d achieved. We hadn’t stopped Section 28 from becoming law, but we had begun to build a community that could lessen its pernicious effects.
We had spoken out about homophobia in schools. We had protested about the lacklustre police response to queerbashing. We had publicly remembered and mourned our dead. We had defined family our own way, declaring our relationships with lovers, friends and children to be as real as anyone else’s, whatever the law said about it.
That community defiance was what we were celebrating in 1991. Joining the Pride march was not a vote-winner in those days. There was no eight-page spread in the Argus. Hell, even the gay clubs didn’t join in. We didn’t have sponsorship money or council funding, we just had each other to rely on.
We had also begun to take our history seriously; the campaign against Section 28 spawned the wonderful Brighton Ourstory project. One of the highlights of Pride in 1991 was a walking tour of queer history in the city, led by Ourstory founder Tom Sargant. We knew that there had been a Pride parade in Brighton in 1973, but that the momentum had been lost and there had been no local Pride events since.
The Brighton Pride events in 1991, 1992, 1993, 1994 and 1995 were organised largely by political activists who had been closely involved in the campaign against Section 28. In 1993, after the previous year’s Preston Park event had over-reached itself and gone bust, Pride was coordinated by just two people, who thought it was important to keep the idea alive, to prevent the flame going out for another 20 years. I know this for sure. I was one of those two people.
I know things have changed. I’m not saying I want to turn the clock back. I’m happy that people can get married (if that’s what they want to do) and be out in the police force and win votes by supporting equality.
I guess all I’m saying is, let’s not forget how we got from there to here. Let’s not pretend that attitudes have changed by magic. Brighton Pride started in 1991 with a demo, not in 1992 with a piss-up. When it took some courage to join the Pride march in solidarity with LGBT people, many of the straight people who stood alongside us were socialists, like Queers against the Cuts and their supporters. They have every right to march in the parade now.