Since I became a fiction writer, I’ve been privileged to go and help with Year Nine and Ten Careers Days around Suffolk, to give talks on World Book Day and to deliver inspirational workshops. What, you might be asking, has a woman in her riper years got to say to a bunch of GenZs who know more about technology than she ever will, who are inheriting an earth which looks entirely different to the one she inhabited at fourteen and fifteen and who, we must hope, will make decisions as adults that mean that love wins over hate and compassion over greed.
Based on my recent visit to a medium-sized school in a small town in Suffolk, quite a bit, as it turns out.
If you’ve been following me for a while, you’ll know I over-use the word, “authenticity”. It came up a fair bit at the Year Nine Careers Day yesterday. The student groups had five minutes with each person and could ask pre-prepared questions or make up their own. As a self-employed freelance writer, I stood out. I don’t have a monthly wage. No one is making contributions to my pension. Financial security isn’t something I currently enjoy.
I was honest. I was authentic. I didn’t pretend. I told them about my struggles, my anxiety, my unhappiness at my own high school. I could have hidden behind the seven books, the business cards, the sparkly ring, the nail varnish, the flowery gown, the put-together appearance. But I know that teenagers see right through anything phoney.
This week I’m really angry. I’ve watched clips of right-wing male influencers and podcasters talking about women with contempt. I’ve observed yet more towns and cities being bombed flat, more innocent people being killed. I’ve put my point of view across to those who want our country to mirror America. I’m tired. I’ve seen all this before. But I’ve never seen such naked greed and wickedness laid out in plain sight. No one seems to even bother to try to hide it any more as they did when I was a teenager.
If you’re reading this, you might know that I am a woman of faith. That faith is at the heart of everything I do. I’ve been watching the second series of “The Night Manager” on iPlayer. There’s a scene halfway through episode five where two men sit over steaks at a restaurant in the Columbian countryside. One offers the other the world. He is calm, urbane, well-educated, dangerous beyond words.
‘Come on,’ he says, in his smooth voice. ‘Why not? You can have all this money and I know you want it. Join me.’
(I’m paraphrasing).
There is a second where the younger man thinks about it, but he turns it down. The beginning of Matthew Chapter Four immediately came to my mind. Jesus is in the desert, hungry, thirsty, tired. He is tempted, offered the world, but he says no.
I want good to triumph over evil. I want love and compassion to be stronger than hate and oppression. “The Night Manager” doesn’t come across as fiction any more. Good people are being tempted to sell their souls every day, face to face, on social media, by a slow drip-feed of misinformation.
Lately, several people have advised me not to get involved in politics.
‘It just upsets you, Ruth,’ they say. ‘What difference can you make? One person can’t change things.’
And yet. Those Year Nines. They were engaged, open, hopeful, inspirational. Their generation might just be the one to change this wicked world. I hope so. Because I’ve been speaking out and fighting against things I believe to be wrong for most of my adult life and at the moment, it all feels pretty hopeless.
I got home and found messages from some of the students thanking me for my honesty and saying I’d inspired them. What difference can one tired middle-aged writer make in the world? Maybe more than she thinks.
How about you?
Images by Pixabay