Westminster Arrives

Do you recall the excitement you felt as a child, during the run up to Christmas? Those final weeks really dragged didn't they? Counting down to my Westminster debut felt a lot like that.

The family had had friends round for the preceding weekend. It was also a time for celebrating my brother-in-laws birthday. Yet a part of me could not help but think of that place next to the Thames. It held such an allure for me. I couldn't wait for Monday to arrive. 

Everything was organised like clockwork. Shaved the night before - check. Made sure to hide the embarrassing cuts - check. Bag packed - check. Blackberry on charge - check. I had even hung my suit jacket and (pre-tied) tie on the door under the stairs. I didn't even watch the morning news as I ate my breakfast - I could catch up on that when I bought the daily newspaper. My entire routine was designed to get me up and out the house as quickly as possible. 

After making my way through the sardine tin of the London Underground again, I arrive at Westminster tube station. If Caxton House had looked Orwellian, it paled in comparison to this place. Grey and with Brunel like concrete struts at its ceiling, Westminster tube station was built straight out of 1984. Neither do I think that many tube stations exit to a more maginificent sight than this one did; the Houses of Parliament. Around the corner was Portcullis House, where I would be working in the Office of Stewart Jackson MP. 

I had previously been to a reception at Westminster Hall, with the National Deaf Children's Society, so I was familiar with the security protocols. As in airports, my bag and suit jacket were scanned with an X-ray machine. Since my permanent clearance had not yet been granted, a photo was taken for my visitor pass too. A member of Stewart's staff escorted me to the office. Everything was built with wooden panels up there, including the doors to the bathroom and the tearoom; which blended into the walls. Although clearly a design of form over function, I quickly acclimatised to this. 

The Office of Stewart Jackson MP was shared with the Office of Ben Wallace MP. I was introduced to Ben's Parliamentary Assistant, his American intern and also Stewart's Parliamentary Assistant. I already knew Stewart's Researcher from Peterborough. Everyone made me feel very welcome and, reinforcing the point I made in 'Arctic Origins', they were all keen and patient to communicate with me, both in the office and during lunch. 

It was a relatively quiet week, with some general administration, casework, testimonials to draft and some research to do. Yet a particular highlight was watching Stewart lead a debate about Government policy on Tourettes Syndrome, in Westminster Hall. Did you know that despite popular perception, only 10% of sufferers have coprolalia or involuntary swearing? I didn't. I look forward to having more of these misperceptions corrected for me in the future.

I have begun to find my feet at Westminster and thanked Ben and Stewart's staff for helping things go so smoothly for me. I wonder what tomorrow will bring? If last week is an indication of what is to come, I can't wait to find out.

    

      

Arctic Origins

I have talked a lot about my belief in the potential of people with disabilities; a belief which stems not just from faith, but led by personal example. This is my story.

It was 2001, when I first heard about the adventures of Captain Robert Falcon Scott. It seems fitting now, that a man who broke the barriers of human endurance and crossed some of the world's most extreme environments, would inspire me to join an expedition, which would awaken in me a defining purpose; one which would guide my entire outlook on life.

I remember the day well. A man from the British Schools Exploring Society (BSES) had come to give a talk in our school assembly hall. There were several different expeditions on offer, in a variety of climates, but the one to Arctic Svalbard and the opportunity to follow in the footsteps (literally) of Captain Scott, was too much to resist. Many of my concerns, I shared with everyone else.  It was to be the first time that I had travelled abroad without my parents.  The extreme conditions there; the risk of frostbite; the numerous cravasses, visible only when you are falling through them, and the little chance of immediate help, if a serious injury has been inflicted, were just a few of my worries. Yet I also faced the added fears of communication, directly related to my disability. What if my team were in danger and I was unable to hear on a radio with a poor signal? What if a polar bear was behind me and I had not heard the danger? I was also with a group of people who were largely unfamiliar with deafness.    

What I found, was not only that I was able to communicate, but  from someone interested in learning sign language, to being asked advice about how to communicate with deaf people better, I also discovered that people were willing to communicate with me. I had mistaken one person saying that my sleeping bag was 'in his area' for 'I have malaria', but this I took light-heartedly and was actually rather humorous. All these examples determined to change my perception of the hearing world; from that of segregation, to one of integration, although I understand there are some exceptions. Communication is not about a particular group; that between hearing and hearing people or deaf and deaf people, but extends beyond barriers of nationality, disability, sexuality or other differences. Did you know that in some mainstream schools, hearing children are encouraged to learn sign language, or that there are Christmas productions that use sign-supported English? 

I went to Svalbard to follow in the footsteps of Captain R. F. Scott. The result of the expedition was that I became aware of my capabilities and not my disability. I am now working in the Houses of Parliament, with some amazing people. If this is not evidence of the capabilities of disabled people, then I wonder what is? 

The sky is the limit.      

During the expedition, a member of the team recorded a video as part of a BBC Radio 4 programme. It can be found at http://re.flect.net./http://re.flect.net/vimeo.com/3976447.

I also wrote a daily diary, which I hope you will find interesting. If you would like a copy, it is available by email, upon request.  

What a Week!

It is the end of what has been another extraordinary week.  

I knew it was going to be different; having already arranged to shadow the Office for Disability Issues (ODI) on the Wednesday. Even then, I was unprepared for the events that were to unfold. Monday was routine and held few surprises, but when I received my schedule for shadowing on Tuesday, I felt in my heart that it would be something special. 

Having made myself look sharp in my suit and the new shirt and tie I had bought, I made my way to Kings Cross railway station and through the sardine tin that was the London underground, I walked to the eerily Orwellian Caxton House; complete with towering concrete pillars. I half expected a dark and repressive environment, with uniformed workers processing information, as if machines on a production line. Security was high, but what I found was an office block full of diverse professionals, dedicated to furthering disability equality.

The first meeting I shadowed was between the ODI Director and a member of the Government Olympic Executive (GOE), where the creation of a disability legacy for the 2012 London Games was on the agenda. That the Olympic Games were seen as an opportunity to level the playing field and further opportunities for the disabled, I found encouraging. I then progressed, along with the ODI Director, to the Cabinet Office, for a meeting on Digital Inclusion, which I discovered would be a hot topic for the disabled, both now and in the future. Welcomed by the seal of the Cabinet Office, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. Good things happen here, I thought. This was one of those places where things got done and differences were made.  I was further encouraged by the fact that the ODI were pushing at a door that was open wider than I had expected. It made me proud to belong to a country with such admirable values of social justice. I venture out to Africa with the hope that the doors will be open just as wide, but armed with the same passion and dedication, I am looking forward to overcoming the challenges that lay ahead.  

My final meeting was at the Department of Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS), where the disability legacy was also discussed. I wasn't sure what to expect, before I went. I believed the Government Department's to be integrated in the Houses of Parliament and for meetings to be held in what may be one of hundreds of small rooms located there. What I found was a large conference room which, I admit, was difficult to follow at times. Yet it also reinforced the idea that bricks and mortar don't make the changes; people do, and some of the people I met that day were truly inspiring. I can only hope that I will meet more such change-makers throughout my career. 

Sounds interesting, doesn't it? 

Yet wait, this extraordinary week is not yet over. On Friday I received an email from the Executive Director of the Gambian Association of the Deaf and Hard of Hearing (GADHOH). He expressed a strong interest in me applying for a development position there. I am currently doing just that. I know I can be of much value to the organisation. I also hope that by being on the ground in Africa; by using the networking skills I know I have, and by linking this to other projects I am aiming to develop there, I can deliver real change to deaf and disabled children and adults, throughout the country.

Watch this space.