The last 48 hours have been fucking awful. I can’t quite describe how awful. I could explain how Brexit made me feel. Markets tumbling. Xenophobia and racism rising. And the Labour Party disintegrating.
I didn’t want a coup to happen. I eventually found myself watching it unfold in hope because the ideal situation did not happen. I wanted Jeremy to step aside when it became clear he cannot win the election that will likely happen in October. I would think such a resignation would be noble. His stubbornness and self-indulgence and selfishness has changed all of that. Respect has turned to contempt turned to hopelessness.
When Jeremy speaks, when his rallies gather, my heart drops. Not because I disagree with anything he says. I want a movement that acts as a bulwark between me and the austerian, xenophobic voices that would do me and my friends harm. When Jeremy Corbyn speaks of how important it is to stop cuts, why would I disagree? To what end would that serve my community?
No, my heart drops because I don’t think that bulwark exists anymore. I do not, sincerely, think Jeremy can win an election. Blame it on disunity, it doesn’t matter anymore. His mission has failed. His movement has failed. And as a snap election comes toward us, full throttle, the evidence grows that we will not win. Of course we won’t. Of course we won’t.
I feel, completely, utterly, betrayed. I feel betrayed not just for feeling this but for this feeling -shared by so many, ordinary members and a tearful Angela Eagle and Lisa Nandy and PPSs and PCCs- having been shrugged off as mischief-making, a corridor coup, a Blairite plot, pursued by pro-cuts marketeers coming out of a 16 hour House of Cards marathon. I have this feeling as, and others will tell you that this overrides any ideology, a working class kid who will have to face a complete and absolute shitstorm of a perma-Tory government initiating Article 50 on their terms.
I am not the only person in the Labour Party who will have to bear the brunt. Of course not. But the urgency of an impending election only to be met with stubbornness has made me feel more isolated in my own party than I have ever felt before.
This isn’t a game anymore, this isn’t a power struggle happening between vocal Blairites who do have ideological distinctions between themselves and Corbyn and noble leftists. This fight has extended to the soft left and even the Corbynite left. More so, this extends well beyond any factions. The urgency of a Boris Brexit government has driven home for us the desperation to get our act together. The horrific prospect of what that means hangs over our head. That’s why this is happening.
In the forthcoming contest, I will argue -like a lot of people on the soft left- for a unifying candidate who I think can win on a good platform.
If Jeremy Corbyn wins, he wins. Watching the rally tonight, I believe he will. And it strikes terror into my heart. But the sacredness of democracy will have decided that.
Yet I cannot, hand on heart, go on and pretend I have faith in my party after that. Nor its members. I will feel condemned to Boris and to austerity and to the denigration of communities like mine. I will not exit in bitterness, but in despair, the hope that the Labour Party gave me when my dad lost his job stripped away from me. The bulwark finally gone.
If Jeremy must win -and I will campaign to stop it happening by pushing for that soft left candidate- my fate and 9 million fates, will be in your hands. Those fates are not toys.
Please, if Jeremy Corbyn wins, I will urge you to prove me wrong and win the election. I do not want to be proved right. The thought of me being right breaks my heart.