I vividly remember the morning of 2 May, 1997. I swung my laughing nine-month old Lucy in the air and sang along with the TV to D:Ream’s ‘Things Can Only Get Better’. So full of excitement, so full of hope. I was 24, and the recent student days of my protest marches against Clause 28 melted away in that moment with my daughter. A country full of social justice and equality of opportunity awaited her now.

Fast forward 18 years to May, 2015. I still have a crush on Professor Brian Cox. Again I danced with joy to an election victory with my baby girl as she was announced as the youngest councillor in the UK for Labour. Proudest mum moment, bittersweet with the knowledge that the country I imagined for her when she came of age was a long way off. We looked at each other and knew there was a lot of work to be done, given the devastating results for Labour overall.

I needed to be part of that work, work to rebuild. I’m proud I’ve raised a politician that is committed enough to make a difference, but Lucy is a driven adult with her own choices and views. Some different to my own. It would be very wrong of me to claim any hand in her election, to say being her mum alone was ‘doing my bit’.  She was the one postering her campus at 2am on polling day, knocking on doors for six months, working tirelessly to sign up unregistered voters. My daughter’s commitment puts me to shame.

All I could manage for the election campaign was some telling on a polling station for a few hours in the evening with my red rosette, and a bit of social media. It’s a tough call in my constituency, with a 53 per cent share of the vote to the Conservatives. Ukip got more share of the vote than the Labour party here.

Which meant my help was needed all the more.

So, what was my excuse? The usual. Time, mainly, I kept telling myself. I am a single mum. I am launching a start-up business. I have just been through a divorce. I am charity trustee. I have washing to do and all that jazz. Busy busy. Maybe if I had checked Facebook less and stuck a few more leaflets through some doors, we might have beaten Ukip? Could have, would have, should have – who knows?

Inspired by my daughter and guilt at the devastating result, I decided to get more involved in my local party.

Confession: I had only been to one or two meetings at the CLP in the past. A great bunch of people, but just the odd one or two made me feel a little uncomfortable with their open hostility towards past and present parliamentarians at ‘my end’ of the party. The ‘right’ of the party, the centre ground, New Labour, the Blairites. The word ‘Blair’ was whispered by some in the same way Voldemort is talked of in my Harry Potter books – ‘he who should not be named’. Uncharacteristically for me, I kept quiet.

After the election, these ‘divisions’ in the broad church of the Labour party seemed to become more overt. Discussions on social media became ugly. I would not dream of personally attacking or name calling anyone at the ‘other end’ of the party to me – I am even uncomfortable writing ‘other end’. The views of Corbyn supporters are just as valid as mine.

And then came the insults. What was I? A virus. Heartless. Selfish. I was told I shouldn’t be in the Labour party and ‘should leave and join the Tories’. I was branded betrayer of socialism and left wing values. Despite my newly found enthusiasm to help, I felt ostracised, unwelcome, both nationally and locally. Not by all, but by a vocal minority.

Because of the volume and frequency, I considered their insults. Do I fit? Are they right – perhaps they were? Perhaps I should leave the party? I’m not a socialist in the pure sense of the word, after all.

I’m pro-business. Pro-equality of opportunity. I am also committed to social justice, a strong community, reward for hard work, rights matched by responsibilities. But do you know what? These are Labour values. They have been mine since my teens. I do not belong anywhere else. I belong here, in my party. A 60 per cent mandate for Corbyn does not give anyone the right to tell me I’m a ‘heartless virus’ that ‘doesn’t belong’ and needs to be ‘eradicated’. My own daughter might gently jibe me with jokes, but she doesn’t mean it and sees the value of a broad Labour spectrum.

That’s why I joined Progress. To set my stall out. To do my bit, unashamedly Labour. To feel I can fight Labour’s corner alongside others that share my politics and views on how we might win power back and actually deliver social justice that is so needed, rather than being a party of protest. To help win over the average voter in Nuneaton. To not feel I have to keep quiet about my politics in my own party. Joining Progress, I no longer feel like I am a pariah.

This is not about divisions. I don’t want ‘us vs them’. I now feel accepted and empowered to do my bit for the Labour party. It is both my party and the party of those who voted for Corbyn as leader.

Let’s all remember why we joined. Things can only get better. And one day, they will.

———————————

Michelle Beckett is a member of Progress

———————————

Join Progress

Join Progress, become a subscriber or donate to support our work. Find out more.