Sunday 26 June 2016

Here Anyone Can Live Free

What a week.


I have felt as though the world is ending, felt terrified of other people, got a hold of myself and then found my way back to something resembling calm.



That journey was sobering (is sobering). After spending weeks thinking about washing people's hands and feeling that it might be easier to reach people's hearts than I thought, I was convinced that half the country were against reason - against me. I realised that though I had learned a lot from this story I wasn't anywhere near as resilient or wise as I thought. Handless Maiden, I've got nothing on you.

I was going to fix the referendum result by sharing and shouting online.

The way The Handless Project works is that I am consciously trying to see life events through the lens of the story to see what conclusions arise, what art is made or inspired, and what resonates with others.

Right now, it is teaching me some tough lessons about how not to sacrifice your soul to appease your fear or your urge to stick with your group. Here is my analysis:

Yesterday, I went for a short walk up to my local shops. I've been ill and it was the first time I had been out of the house since going to the doctor (via the polling station) on Thursday. It's a journey of about 1/4 mile. Being out among other Liverpool residents I found myself wondering if they were wondering how I had voted on Thursday. Lots of people seemed to be doing the same: gazing at each other a little longer than usual. Everyone who did speak to me, called me "Love". Many people smiled. No one did or said anything that made me feel uncomfortable. When I got home I went back to obsessively searching social media for signs of world war three.

41.8% of Liverpool residents voted "Leave". Somehow, I came to feel that in order to cope I needed to believe that everyone who voted leave is one of the following:
  1. a closet racist;
  2. a well meaning person who hasn't bothered to find out what's really going on and who probably regrets their vote now;
  3. a person who thinks only about themselves.
Now, the Handless Maiden story frames these moments as a devil's bargains: ones that trade a feeling for a shortcut. Here's the contract:

I the undersigned, in order to process the effect of Brexit on my life wash my hands of anyone who voted out and vow to identify them all as enemies intent on attacking the borders of my life. I will get to feel like a hero.

The small print reads:

I agree to live within the borders of my own life only; I agree to live fearfully; I agree to forget everything I saw and felt while washing the hands of strangers; I agree to abandon any bigger project that involves reaching out to people who are not like me.

Now let me contrast that with this note left after the hand washing ritual on 13th May



I have realised that I can't live in both worlds at once. I must choose. I don't know what will happen with my life or the country as a consequence of the vote on Thursday, but neither did THM. She went, bleeding (because the wounds were real not imagined), into the woods to soothe herself.

I have to remember that the inscription over the door of the house in which our Maiden gets her hands back reads:


I need to repeat that to myself before I send my next tweet.

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