Strayside Sunday is our monthly political opinion column. It is written by Paul Baverstock, former Director of Communications for the Conservative Party.

Today is Census Day. The day, every ten years, when the government seeks to assemble as accurate a picture as it can about the make-up of the nation’s population; the better to determine, deliver and target public policy and services.  This time, the census survey contains voluntary questions about gender identity and sexual orientation.  Two things are notable about this.  First, that we are being asked the question at all; these issues are now so prominent in the public consciousness that they have elbowed their way into the form.  Second, that the question is voluntary; we only have to label ourselves if we want to.

Ten years ago it was unheard of to receive emails from people and find their preferred gender pronoun written next to their signatures.  Now it is commonplace.  We can no longer assume that Robert wishes to be referred to as he/him, for example, when he may self-identify as they.  And gender pronouns are but one signal of the changes and, in some cases, the progress we’ve made during the last ten years.  As a nation we are well on our way to achieving carbon neutral; we have banned (from 2030) the production of petrol and diesel cars; the #blacklivesmatter and #metoo campaigns captured first social media and then the public mood and demonstrated that only active support, actually doing something to stop racism and sexism will do and, of course, with Brexit now implemented we are no longer part of the European Union.  Throw in a year’s worth of Covid-19-related restrictions on freedom of movement and association and Britain seems in many ways transformed from the last census to this.

Our national transformation means discomfort for many of us.  Wending our way merrily along, labouring under a set of long-held but seldom acknowledged assumptions that the patriarchy, the class system and the establishment were how we do things round here.  Around us, social media provides a democratising platform that enables international movements of the people to coalesce quickly around a single unifying purpose or cause and a communication platform which still lies largely beyond the reach of the regulator.  This heady mix has given rich voice to those on the receiving end of institutional and individual prejudice and injustice.  It’s been messy and not without its casualties, most of whom, mostly men, have fallen from grace and experienced ritual public humiliation, with social media the modern-day equivalent of the stocks.  Those with a progressive agenda will tell you the end justifies the means, so insidious are the barriers they aim to surmount.  Pursuing the truth “in the public interest,” once the domain of sanctimonious press barons and their journalistic henchmen (and women), is now open to all.  We are seeing a revolution in all but name, out with the old and in with the people.  Off with their heads and all that.

Following this week’s column I’ll be taking a short break for Easter.  When I return it will be on a periodic basis, monthly, rather than every Sunday.  It’s been a real pleasure writing weekly for the Stray Ferret and its wonderfully large and growing readership.  I think this publication does great work for the community in holding to account its often-inept leaders in the council and in shining a light on the important, the tragic, the ridiculous and the downright funny.  From the indefensible spending on the council’s Stately Pleasure Dome at Knapping Mount to Peter and other Peacocks around the district, I’ve had great fun bashing out my 800 words a week.

My attempt here has been to support the noble Ferret while, I hope, retaining my independence.  The by-line to my column tells you that I was Director of Communication for the Conservative Party under IDS.  That was a very long time ago when, as a precocious young man, I let my ambition get the better of my reason.  I like to think that 14 months inside the Westminster bubble almost 20 years ago doesn’t define me.  Rather, I hope my views today reflect a much broader perspective, coloured by personal experiences both wonderful and awful, enriching and traumatic; some of which I have hinted at in this column.  Many of which define our shared human condition.

I hope too that I have been able to confound those who believe they can (and should) easily caricature the “nasty Tory,” or indeed “socialist,” or “liberal.”  I met many blue ogres in my short and ill-starred career in politics.  But then I’ve met more than a few horrible Labourites and Lib Dems too.  I attempt to approach people without judgement, with an eye for context and an ear for motivation.  Let’s call it consideration.  Of course I get it wrong now and then.  Last week I was called a misogynist for implying that a prostitute was cheap and called a racist for contrasting the skin tones of my own two mixed race daughters.  Although I was aggrieved by both charges, they have made me think-on and reflect, hard.

My favourite part of writing this column is the writing; the playing around with language to tell a story, to deliver a complete narrative arc, to attempt wit and, occasionally, get a laugh.  I celebrate craft and latitude in language but we now live in a culture that demands absolute precision and care in what we say.  It matters not how or why we say things.  It used to be that the air between and around words, the space in which to think, to place things in perspective, were equally as important in deriving meaning as the words themselves.  This enabled an expansive set of normative behaviours to develop; norms which at their best are tolerant and, at their worst, majority tyranny.  Not in this literal age.  We now ascribe malicious intent to carelessness (care-less-ness); when it is, in fact, the failure to give sufficient attention to avoiding harm or error.  We are raising the bar inexorably on linguistic and behavioural expectations.  The rules of the game of life and language have changed; permanently.  Genie will not be put back in the bottle.  We all have to get onboard.  If we do, come time for Census 2031, we will be able to reflect on how far we have travelled.

Have a Happy Easter, stay safe and well and I very much look forward to seeing you again towards the end of April.

That’s my Strayside Sunday.

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