‘The Tories Are Out But We’re Still Fighting for Our Disabled Community’s Rights’

We made quite a posse, our gang from St Leonards-on-Sea. Myself, a wheelchair user in floaty red with punky hair. Old-timer activist friends, one in a kaftan, who was part of the group that came so close to storming Prime Minister’s Questions back in the days of darkest austerity; another proudly wearing a T-shirt proclaiming ‘To Boldly Go Where Everyone Has Gone Before’.

Gathering at the station, we waited by the ‘assistance’ board after booking our tickets to London through the ‘Passenger Assist’ app to ensure we were met by a member of staff with a ramp. The privilege of spontaneously boarding would be welcome, but it’s not worth the risk.

On our way, I was thinking how likely it was that we would be late – since support to get off the train is not guaranteed, no matter how much you organise access in advance. 

I gritted my teeth. To have even a hint of the privilege to travel as others wholly take for granted.

The heat in the capital was overwhelming as I wheeled along Whitehall. My personal assistant was at hand, on alert for failures such as a lack of dropped kerbs and uneven or broken pavements. 

When we reached Parliament Square, we saw others already there to attend the event organised by DPAC (Disabled People Against Cuts). The turnout was respectable, all things considered in the sweltering heat. 

It was the usual gang, though I was pleased to see that some of the disabled people gathered were younger, fighting alongside us old veterans – which is essential if the movement is to continue. 

Like many organisations run as a collective, we are rough around the edges. Time cannot be adhered to with any fixed focus. Though, once the key speakers started, we did well to keep together with some coherence. There were rumours, as always at such events, that later there could be an action – something myself and my friends were eager to join. 

Disability rights activist Paula Peters made a rousing speech, with no room for apology or appeasement to the glib rhetoric already falling from the mouths of the new Labour Government. We may have been cheering that the horrific Tory rule was over, but trust had hardly been won by Labour, which ran an election campaign that barely mentioned disabled people at all – 16 million people, forming one of the largest minority groups, intersectional and not homogenised, but who are collectively and consistently overlooked and demonised. 

It is our duty and right to put this new Government, which many of us felt we had to vote for, under scrutiny – from the start. Don’t take our votes for granted. Don’t assume we will stay quiet and pliant. That we little disableds solely grin with unchallenging relief that the Tories have gone. 

Labour MP John McDonnell spoke with passion and commitment, as always – he’s one of the few politicians I have ever met who understands our fight and activism from a perspective of socially-driven oppression. 

I knew that this protest was likely to be my last on the frontline. The DPAC event took place close to a year since I survived multiple brain bleeds. I give thanks to the individuals within our troubled NHS who kept me alive. To the many close loved ones who surrounded me with what felt like a powerful embrace of shared will to keep me going. During the worst of those times, I was not conscious but I do believe I sensed the love and care that was felt for me. It is something I will never forget. 

My recovery has been limited and slow – which is not unexpected – but not helped by the constant unravelling of our health services. I’ve come to terms with a new reality: I am less mobile now and my energy diminished – but I will progress. And the words will keep rolling on.

I got ready for a short poetry set. DPAC is not a charity and has little funding, so there was no PA system or microphone. We do the best we can. Nevertheless, it was time to unleash some exclusive new poetic rants for the occasion. 

There’s a glimpse of the old Penny Pepper in my new poems and, as I always say, once a punk… 

As my set ended, the merciless weather had put an end to any immediate direct action, and my physical being was telling me enough was enough. There was the 20-minute wheel back to Charing Cross, before facing the eternal hope of equality in boarding a train without any fuss or insult. 

On the journey home, we talked when we could about the day, crammed in between other wheelchair users, cyclists, and baby buggies. I’ve never minded that when people stay friendly – it’s humanity, innit, and I’ve always wanted to be there jostling in the throng! 

We talked of our disappointment with Labour so far. Would there be a minister for disabled people? Would the manifesto set out by DPAC and other disability organisations create any serious engagement leading to changes for disabled people, led by disabled people? 

I was almost asleep by the time the train chugged into St Leonard’s. If this was my last hands-on protest, I thought, I’m damn well glad I was there. 

My show will go on, hour by hour. And we disabled people will never relent in our fight for genuine rights, true equality, and our place in the human family.

Penny Pepper is an award-winning author, poet and disabled activist