Who Got The Power? - Kate Webster
Power is unseen, but ever-present; in everything, everywhere, driving what you care about. And whether those things get to move at speed or are stuck in an under-funded bus lane, the pain of waiting for connections that aren't there. Power chooses where is important to get to and where can wait; creates the places with no late bus, train twice a day. Forgotten by transport - your only way out's to teleport.
Power is deciding what you get to know and when, through media mainly fronted by men; where what women wear is way more important than what they say. Which can be “shrill” or “hysterical” in a way that male reactions never, ever are; far too important for that. Shamed in sidebars for having bodies, flaunting their curves by just existing in them. That sees the same hand resting on a pregnant belly and – based on melanin – defines one as pride and vanity. Sins, especially for women.
Power is how things get done. Sometimes out in the open, but more behind closed doors, or in golf fours or clubs designed for bores. Because knowing which doors are important and how to open them is also power. More for some classes than others.
Power is never having to use your power, because people anticipate what you might want, rate your opinion, being your mate; that matters. No FOI can show why what happens happens; “Hi!”s, secret calls or handshakes, words in ears. Power clears a path before it, smoothing its way through life; makes people clear up after it, wiping the wine off the walls for minimum wage.
Power is suits, law and pinstripe, that decide women can't talk about their own lives. Can't write an essay, a book about their story, their side of what happened in their marriage – partner's protestations, claims of defamation, hopes of public reclamation put higher than their freedom to speak. Their ability to reach inside and say “Here's what happened to me”, hoping it might help another see what's happening to them. And maybe leave in time.
Power is failing upwards, because it can't be allowed to truly fail and needs baling out – restored to a way that's smooth sailing, scaling the heights of upper tax brackets and Houses of Lords. Because you can fail to get elected and be allowed to make laws anyway. If you're one of us – which really means one of them.
Power is knowing that when things go wrong for you, people will scramble to put them right - not fight with their entire armoury to avoid that. Power seen in its absence, by right things not done, heights people are allowed to fall from in plain sight, sites the light of publicity never stretches to. The sleight of hand of whataboutery, nought more important than the latest dead cat.
“Power clears a path before it, smoothing its way through life; makes people clear up after it, wiping the wine off the walls for minimum wage.”
Power is something that protects itself. That has lawyers and commentators, committees and legislators to make sure later that the “mistake” can be invisibly dealt with, smoothing over the cracks. Hacks and flacks bound in Faustian pacts, spreading division and alternative facts.
But. Power is the force that through the green fuse drives the flower, the power that sends shoots through concrete and showers time and energy where it's needed, feeding the hungry, seeding a future. That puts people into the path of tanks and immigration raids, evades the power of us and them, the memory of past wrongs to make a right.
Remembers we have more in common. Power is ours – if we choose.