"I've written so many emails, I can't do it any more," said he. "I'm exhausted. It never stops. If it's not libraries it's the unemployed being made to work for nothing, or whales being harpooned, forests uprooted or our health service being wrecked. And really, in the end, what does it all achieve? Once they've worn us out, governments just go back to doing what they want. Protesting never does any good in the end."
I remonstrated with him, but maybe not very much, because I was feeling pretty discouraged myself. Then something
happened that made me think again.
I went to Texas.
I'd never been to Texas before, and no doubt my idea of the place was fairly similar to many another Englishwoman who has never visited. Cowboy hats and boots, tumbleweed, twangy accents and cattle. Of course I knew that there were cities in Texas, and skyscrapers, freeways and shopping malls, but I'm a child of the fifties, and was brought up on Dick West and the Lone Ranger. So of course I looked for signs of cowboys. They were easy enough to find. And along with the whites, in cowboy hats or not, there were of course Blacks, Hispanics, Chinese, the whole rainbow of peoples that makes a place vibrant.
The first evening we were in a packed restaurant. "Years ago that wouldn't have been possible," said my companion, as a young black family came in and was shown to the last empty table. I engaged my mouth before my brain. "Why not?" I said. And then I remembered. Being a child of the fifties wasn't just cowboy films. It was also segregation. So we started talking about protest. We weren't drinking tea. She had watermelon juice and I had rice milk wit
John, you are a STAR. Must have taken you ages and ages. Now, go and relax.
Thanks, Nicola! Will do - but don't forget, there's one more post to come at 7.00pm!
Oh, I'm ever so thrilled to be at number 1! And I've had a lovely time re-reading all the other posts - brilliant work John! I will tweet links tomorrow (I've been out all day and it's now the middle of the night in the UK!)