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by Giselle Pé

We’re twenty-one and tired, with foots on necks and umbrellas in hands. I’m not entirely sure Gillian Keegan MP can hear us through this cytokine storm, but we’ll forgive her, she might have asthma. Anyway, it’s going to be alright; it only costs £35 to save a life, and besides, only the forgotten are truly dead. Just get down on one knee for eight minutes and 46 seconds, and think about the raincoat man. Maybe we’ll thank God we aren’t “them”. The white flowers and ribbons just seem to suppress dissent, so extend the line by 9pm; we’ll mourn at the makeshift shrine on Monday and check Carrie Lam’s official Facebook page on Tuesday. Oh, and don’t forget that, much like systemic racism, rheumatoid arthritis is not hiding around the corner, it’s on every surface. But, well, that’s to be expected. It’s a reality that’s hard to change. So we’ll stand upon scaffolding and demonstrate (not categorised as rioting) about dexamethasone and Windrush, and we’ll leave with our masks before midnight. They always say politics has no place in schools, but never forget:

Whatever the government refuses to let us do, it is the right thing to do.


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