Lost in Manchester - 6. Second Party. October 2009. Thomas.

Thomas took his seat at the long cheap table in the familiar sterile basement room. The only natural light coming in was from a tiny envelope window at the top of the wall. Month after month, this was his prison cell. Behind him people were making tea and irritating small talk. He sat impassively and stifled a yawn. Last night had been another late one at the laptop.

“Order then. Order people” came the thudding Lancashire voice of Gordon Stead, leader of the Manchester Liberal Democrat group. The walrus-faced authoritarian took his seat, his bushy moustache and flowing jowls slowly arranging themselves to equilibrium. The deep wrinkles across his brow, like a Chinese Shar Pei told of bitter decades of political oblivion. He had been in politics for more than half of his sixty years, but never in a party in power.

Gordon chaired this monthly committee, the main decision-making group for the local Liberal Democrats. It comprised eight of their elected councillors and was the forum for discussion and debate on all items of proactive and reactive policy.

Next to Thomas was Brian, a fellow gay and his closest friend in the party. Gordon had invited him to open the discussion on the first agenda item. Brian was brilliant. Honest, straight down the line, and possessing a strong sense of justice. However, he was a terrible politician.

Brian spoke to the group about the University proposals to increase student tuition fees from the next academic year. He spoke bluntly that he worried for the poorer students who would be hit the hardest.

Across the table from Thomas and Brian sat Helena Hodge. She had only been elected three years ago, but had manoeuvred her way onto the group, flirting obscenely with Gordon and trampling the faces of anybody in the party who got in her way. Her saccharine smile and knitted jumpers were a successful smokescreen of civility up until the moment she stuck the knife in your back.

Helena knew that Gordon supported the University plans and wasted no time shooting down Brian’s argument, reeling off the host of tokenistic gestures that the University had made to marginally reduce the impact of the change.

Gordon smiled a pervert’s smile at Helena, and warmly agreed with her.

“We absolutely must support the University on this. They will be a critical ally in the run up to the next election”.

As Gordon’s powerful tone resounded through the room Thomas watched the others around the table nod their heads.

This was the first part of the hegemony, the absolute power approach that Gordon employed. Thomas had been watching this for three years. When Gordon spoke at these meetings, it commonly meant that was the end of the debate. The nodding dogs around the table testified to it. Part one of the hegemony was his voice, his presence. The group had become accustomed to accepting Gordon’s word as the final word. For maybe 60% of the issues they discussed, he could wrap the item up by the authority of his voice alone.

The next item was a proposed extension at Manchester Airport. Gordon explained that the airport owners were planning to re-submit plans for a new runway that had been rejected a few years earlier. The economic climate had shifted now and the plans were widely seen as offering a much-needed shot in the arm for the local economy. While the detailed plans were not yet in the public domain, Gordon emphasised that they needed to be clear on their stance. He introduced the issue without explicitly stating his side.

Sitting to Gordon’s left, as always at these meetings, was his loyal deputy Peter. They had been political allies for as long as anyone could remember. Where Gordon had the voice, Peter had the political mind. He was of a similar age to Gordon, and was a slim, grey haired, plain looking man. But everything you needed to know about Peter was in his eyes. Through those predator’s eyes he followed every word of the conversation and every gesture and posture around the room, switching quickly from one to the next like he was watching tennis in fast forward. Behind his eyes a microchip mind processed and analysed every signal.

“My view is that this is a tricky one” Peter began, palms open and looking at the faces around the table. “The national party has a strong green focus and, in principle, airport developments are not closely aligned with that.

“However…” This was a forcible however. It meant he was about to unpick his previous words immediately.

“…we have to be pragmatic here. It is difficult to sell the downside of new jobs and cheaper flights to more destinations. Particularly in these difficult economic times. There’s an election coming up next year and we cannot be seen as being against economic progress. We need to be electable.”

“Peter,” Gordon said, before anybody else had chance, “you’ve hit the nail square on its head. I mean, I don’t wholeheartedly agree with the proposal. I’m sure none of us do. But if we fight hard against this and win, it’d be held against us forever. We can’t risk it.”

Gordon looked around and gathered the nods from colleagues that his voice commanded.

“I propose we raise our concerns to keep the party happy, but we don’t fight on this one. If it doesn’t happen here, the investment will only go down the road and somebody else will benefit.”

Thomas had seen the two of them combine on an issue like this so many times before. This was part two. The double act. They batted back a shared opinion in front of the crowd, to give an appearance that they were separately forming their conclusions then and there. It made it feel like there was a momentum towards a certain conclusion.

“How can you not want to fight this?” Thomas asked, interrupting their flow. “This is top level party policy. There’s no ambiguity in the national party line.”

“Keeping the economy of this country going is party policy” Gordon replied, clearly irritated by the unchoreographed interruption.

Thomas shook his head. “You can’t be seen as backing it Gordon. The national party will disown us, not to mention the fact of the devastating environmental impact of air travel.”

Peter stepped in.

“Gordon isn’t saying we should back it Thomas. Only that we shouldn’t fight it. We can’t afford to do that politically. We can sound our concerns, but we can’t fight hard on it.”

Thomas looked around the group and saw heads nodding at Peter’s verdict.

This was the double act. Between this and the voice, Gordon and Peter hoovered up 90% of the issues that came to the table.

Further items came and went and were quickly discussed and resolved according to their plan.

Towards the end of the agenda an item came up that Thomas had been waiting for. There was a programme in schools tackling homophobic bullying that the Council wanted to cut.

Gordon introduced it and explained that the Labour Council needed to make budget cuts and this was an unfortunate casualty.

Naturally, Brian spoke first and spoke eagerly against the cut, consulting a sheet of notes he had made on the subject, but failing to form a convincing case. Thomas had hoped for a stronger start.

“Brian, I know this is an issue close to your heart” Peter responded, “and it goes without saying that all bullying in schools is unacceptable. My concern though is that when money needs to be cut, we cannot be seen to argue that every project should be saved. Otherwise we don’t look credible.

“It’s our job to make tough decisions and sometimes decisions that we might not want to make. But, the evaluation that’s been done has shown that this project is not working, so I don’t think we can stand up and say we absolutely need to keep it. I would rather say we absolutely need to keep the number of policemen on the street or teachers in our schools.”

Like the well-oiled machine that they were, Gordon jumped in next.

“Brian, you have to remember that there is an election next year. From here on we need to choose our battles carefully, because that’s what we’;l be judged on when it gets to election day. You know as well as I do that Owen and Helena here are in marginal seats” he said gesturing to the two of them.

Peter came in again. “Truly Brian, I think there are bigger fish to fry than this at the moment.”

Here was part three of their hegemony. The individual levers. Gordon and Peter looked down the agenda ahead of each meeting and picked out the items where there could be trouble. This one would have rung alarm bells for them, with Brian and Thomas sitting around the table, so they knew they had to pull the levers with others. Hence the marginal seats comment for Owen and Helena. Hence the policemen on streets comment, aimed at Karen Lea sitting at the far end of the table, whose only real area of interest was community policing. Five votes was enough.

Thomas looked around at the compliant faces. Most didn’t have strong views either way on this, but the momentum was pushing them the way of Gordon and Peter’s verdict. These guys had been sewing up the outcomes they wanted for the last three years. They never lost.

Gordon was about to move on to the next item, when Thomas spoke again. It was time to rock the boat a little.

“I’m sorry but I think you’ve missed the point on this” he said abruptly.

Gordon sat up in his chair and his eye twitched as he looked across, startled by the impertinence.

Thomas continued. “Look, we are the Liberal Democrats. Our party was built on a founding belief in freedom and dignity and the well-being of individuals. That’s why we’re sitting here. It’s what we care about. It’s what we fight for.”

He looked at the others around the table and all eyes were on him, fascinated to see where this was going.

“Personally I think this is the biggest issue facing gay people in this country. Recent research shows that two thirds of openly gay kids are bullied at school because of their sexuality. Two thirds. Not a tiny minority or a small selection. Two thirds! Most of them. The majority of openly gay kids at school get bullied for it.

“And at the moment it usually goes unchallenged, which means it is implicitly accepted, by schools and by society. So the openly gay kids, and the kids who know they’re gay but are still keeping their big secret, and even the ones who are still coming to terms with their sexuality, those kids all get the message. They understand that society thinks that what they feel is wrong.

“So the 13 year old boy discovering in the PE changing rooms, that he might be attracted to another boy in his class feels he should be ashamed. And he should hide it. And he should try to stop himself from thinking about it. He feels he should struggle through school, trying to fit in and trying to do exactly what the other boys do, and pretend to like whatever they all like. He feels that if he tries to be different, to be himself, then he might just get his ribs kicked in by a gang of other kids after school, and nothing might be done about it.

“Kids in school use the word ‘gay’ 50 times a day, when they’re talking about something that is bad or worthless or wrong. So any kid in school who thinks they might be gay feels ashamed. Feels they must be less worthy, less of a man. Feels like they must be less deserving of happiness.”

He could picture the walk down the driveway of his old school. The oak trees hung across from both sides, providing the last defensive canopy before you left the gates into the real world, where there were no teachers and no rules. He never came out at school, but he remembered the homophobia lying in wait under every stone. Walking down that driveway, the restrictions of school evaporated. Kids tossed out insults and threats with no fear of comeback. Back home in the eighties the word faggot was brandished like a flick-knife.

He couldn’t remember any openly gay kids in his year, but he did remember one from two years above them. Brandon Livermore. The local paper got to know his name well too. He was a good looking guy, on the rugby team even. Thomas remembered him in school, remembered exactly how good looking he was. Brandon told one close friend he thought he might be gay, and within a week it was common knowledge across the school. The other kids in his year were merciless. Every time you passed him in the corridor, he was getting shit from somebody. Then he was pushed out of the rugby team, because the coach didn’t think he could get on with the rest of the team any more. He went from being well known and well liked in the school, to suddenly subdued, keeping his eyes down all the time.

Maybe six months after he was outed, Thomas saw him around town a couple of times with a new guy. He looked happier, really relaxed, really well. His touch-down smile had returned. Around school it seemed like his confidence was returning, but that just seemed to rile up the other kids. One evening, Thomas heard, Brandon and his boyfriend got cornered by a gang from school. Brandon emerged with two black eyes, a cut cheek and a broken spirit. Thomas stopped seeing that boyfriend hanging around with Brandon. It looked like he’d been scared away, and the abuse just carried on.

When exams hit in the summer, the pressure that built up was all too much for Brandon. The evening before his final exam he walked alone to the top of a grim concrete multi-storey car park and stepped out into the air, so that he’d never have to face another day at school again.

“The thing is it doesn’t stop when gay kids leave school. It stays with them. I’ve seen surveys that have estimated as many as one in five gay people – adults and young people - have self-harmed or attempted suicide because of homophobic abuse. So let’s assume that one in every twenty people are gay, then that’s one in every hundred people in this country that have harmed themselves because of homophobia. Have cut their arm with a knife, have burned themselves with the end of cigarette, have taken an overdose of aspirin. And that one out of every hundred people in the country are doing it because of the shame and the damage to self-esteem that society inflicts on them”.

Thomas thought of his desk at home, and the late evenings at the laptop. He thought of his friends, who he hadn’t seen or spoken to in over a month. He thought of the line of strangers he had given himself away to, for the sake of easy pleasure. He swallowed a lump in his throat. His face was tense and his eyebrows scrunched down darkly, making caves of his eyes.

“Shame sticks with you. It damages you”.

He could see in the faces of the others round the table that they were with him on this. He gathered himself up.

“I truly believe schools are a breeding ground for homophobia. A lot of kids have never heard of gay people when they start school, but they’re quickly taught by other students how to be homophobic. For a lot of kids, homophobia starts at school, and in my opinion, one of the only places we can ever hope to stop it, is in schools”

“Thomas, I understand…” Peter began.

Thomas held up a hand, cutting Peter off. “I’m almost done”.

Peter nodded and opened a palm inviting him to conclude.

“This project costs the tiniest fraction of the Councils overall budget. If it isn’t working then we change it, we make it better, we make it work. We’re talking about freedom and dignity and well-being of individuals. We’re talking about as many as one in every hundred people harming themselves because of this problem. We don’t just give up on it. We fight it. Or else what the hell are we all here for?”

Thomas looked around, but nobody moved to speak. Instead, they turned their eyes to Peter.

Peter nodded and seemed to be carefully vetting the words he should use.

“I can’t argue with you Thomas. You’re right. Of course we need to address this. But I still say, we’re coming up to an election year…”

Thomas looked exasperated. He turned to the others at the table.

“Is there anybody here who disagrees with me on this?” Nobody spoke against him, not even Helena. He looked back to Peter.

Peter fixed eye-contact with him.

“Once we’re in power Thomas, we can make these important decisions ourselves. But we need to get there first. Every fight we choose, we will be judged on...”

“But we’re not going to win anyway” Thomas said laughing bitterly. “Come on, who are we trying to kid?”

Peter looked irked. “So that’s how you want to go into this election? Accepting defeat?”

“I’m just saying, let’s be realistic. We can do something about this one…”

“It’s too late” Gordon said suddenly. “The decision has happened”.

Peter looked around surprised, and all of the other in the room turned their eyes to Gordon.

“I’m sorry, what...” Thomas responded.

Gordon’s voice dropped. He sounded reticent for the first time all evening. “Labour already made the decision. They spoke to me about it last week and I said we wouldn’t object. The contract has already been cancelled. The decision at Council is a formality”. He rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry, it’s too late”.

Thomas felt a bludgeon of rage swing through his body.

“You did not have the right to make that decision” he spat, hitting his palm on the table.

Gordon turned angrily to him. “I am chair of this group. Of course it’s my right to act in our best interest. If a quick decision is needed, then I will make it”.

Thomas stood up, and his chair clattered backwards.

“Well then this isn’t a committee, and we’re not democrats”.

He turned to Peter, who looked embarrassed.

“I’m leaving”

Peter nodded. “I’ll speak with you tomorrow”.

Thomas grabbed his bag. “Don’t bet on it” he replied and disappeared through the doorway.

Thomas’ head raced with anger and frustration. Seven years of his life dedicated to trying to influence and change things, and he was nothing more than a puppet in a second-rate show.

There were too many thoughts flying through his head and he couldn’t take control of them. And if he couldn’t take control, then he just wanted to forget.

Without even realising where he was going at first he forged a path to the Northern Quarter, then down a narrow alley, then through a door with a neon light, then down a flight of steps to an underground complex. He paid his money and spent three mindless bewitching hours with the steam and the heat and the anonymous carnal caverns.