Maybe it was my Irish accent, which, to the uninitiated could be from anywhere. Perhaps it was my scarlet boots with matching finger nails, but I suspect what alerted the BBC to my radical tendencies was the badge on my lapel which read, “I Love the NHS”.
That’s pretty much the explanation the editor gave for editing out my question at a local hustings, despite the question provoking cheers of support from the audience (it’s the single biggest issue for this community), uniting people across all political hues. Our local A&E is under threat of closure and the Tory candidate, (in a seat that’s so safe he’s built a moat around it), is the only one to declare he wouldn’t fight it.
Thousands of locals have signed a petition against closing our A&E, so our position is clear. I told the Tory candidate that the most important criteria for this job is that he works for us and if he’s not prepared to fight for our A&E, why on earth should we vote for him. The audience's reaction did get a bit rowdy, to be fair. They booed and heckled when he mentioned the “business case” (hello, the NHS is a service, not a bloody business) as his defence, which, the BBC must have thought was jolly irreverent. And who sparked the riotous booing rebellion? Moi.
Perhaps precisely because my question was delivered in mellifluous tones, the BBC suspected my tactics as a sinister inversion of fundamentalism. After all, what could be more incendiary than a loaded question shot from a velvet gun? The question and the embarrassing heckles ended up on the BBC cutting room floor.
The editor had forensically researched the issue of A&E closure in this constituency (she spent a couple of hours outside a supermarket on the outskirts of town) ahead of the programme. Not being from here herself she obviously felt honour bound to exert the utmost rigour. She concluded that my question on A&E wasn’t relevant because people around here aren’t that bothered. The reaction of the hoodlums (not her exact word) at the hustings was not representative, she said. They could have been bussed in by Al-Qaeda for all she knew, in a bid to destabilise the state.
But what of all those petitions and posters in the shop windows saying “Hands off our A&E”? How was she supposed to corroborate and authenticate their true source. That butcher’s shop could be a safe house for the Taliban, and the baker next door is a known Green Party activist, for god’s sake. When you work for the BBC, you simply can’t allow yourself to be hijacked as the voice piece of ordinary people and their NHS fundamentalism. It could result in even more people engaging in the democratic process, which would completely undermine the hard earned ground in the fight for autocracy.
As I chipped away at the editor's logic, she grew impatient (she’s not used to having to account to us licence fee payers) and in a fit of unguarded rage, the truth was out. She knew who I was and had strong views about me. “And, and (she puffed), you strike me as someone very passionate and, and campaigning”. She spat the words passionate and campaigning out as though they were egregious character traits, indicative of social deviancy akin to, well, terrorist activities.
If being passionate and a campaigner makes me a terrorist, then I’m guilty as charged. My writing about human rights abuses has been cited as evidence by the UN in the International Criminal Court. Ten years campaigning (fitted in around my day job), armed only with a pen and some passion, has helped provide evidence against a genocidaire. The cost of which is constantly having to look over my shoulder. My charge sheet, obfuscated by a veil of repute, is lengthy. It's true that I am an unrepentant recidivist.
Having started my career as a therapist, I dug down deep and found the dregs of empathy lurking in a crevice of my red suede boots. The BBC cannot be seen as a recruiting sergeant for passionate people like me. It goes against editorial guidelines. Passion has no place on the BBC, unless you’re a right wing commentator such as David Starky or Katie Hopkins, being passionate about hating women, immigrants &/or people on benefits. Anyone passionate about inequality, corporate or political corruption and greed has no place on the BBC (section 196, para 50, subsection 1.2b). Celebrities passionately against tax on their mansions are allowed but not anyone who has any sympathies with people squatting to save their council homes from being sold off to developers. Leave that stuff to looney lefty, Russell Brand.
By way of neutralising my newly acquired persona, I declared my personal interest in preventing the closure of my local A&E. I told the editor that my child was seriously injured recently and it already took over an hour to get to A&E in an ambulance. All the medical evidence suggests the greater the distance, the increased likelihood of mortality. She lamented that, had I said that at the hustings she might not have cut it. She invited me to phone in and pose the question again at a BBC radio hustings a few days hence. When you come close to losing a child, it’s hard to talk about it publicly I said. I’m still feeling emotionally raw. But I agreed to do it in good faith.
When I phoned in to ask my question, I thought I had taken a wrong turn at the larder and strayed onto the set of Newsnight, where I was being cross examined by Paxman for crimes against humanity.
It occurred to me that I had inadvertently unleashed my secret weapon and the BBC editor immediately saw the error of exposing me to listeners. There was a very real risk that people might warm to my dulcet tones, thus indoctrinating and even converting listeners to my “cause”. I had to be stopped before I radicalised hitherto complacent listeners to NHS fundamentalism. The presenter tried correcting me on something I didn’t actually say in a bid to disarm me. He then went on to take out all the candidates who had pledged to support constituents in the A&E fight. He verbally AK47ed all of them for the crime of being prepared to fight on behalf of constituents and disagree with the Tory. Who needs to pay for a press officer when you’ve got your very own BBC henchman.
After my BBC appearance, people stopped me in the street and asked if they could join my terrorist cell. My status has been elevated in the community to that of Che Guevara. The school gates have become a recruiting ground for mothers wishing to don their fundamentalist credentials on their lapels. “I love the NHS” badges are selling like home made jam on the farmers market. Leafleting, petitioning and other radical activities, such as writing “passionate” letters to the press, have all become embedded since the BBC elevated community activism and passion to terrorist status.
Power to the people for whom the BBC is as irrelevant and disconnected as the party of hedge fund managers (locally at least) it favours to win the election.
Further evidence of my NHS fundamentalism can be found on the Huffington Post website.
http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/tess-finchlees/the-nhs-conspiracy-of-sil_b_7174328.html
My article, The NHS Conspiracy of Silence, was published this week. Health warning: Contains flashes of passion which some BBC editors may find disturbing.
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