Last February as part of the Make Poverty History campaign, a network of students and young graduates from around Britain gathered in the centre of London underneath the folds of the world’s biggest dress to lobby their MPs and hold a service of repentance. Phil Colvin explains how and why.
Pre February
Nobody quite remembers how the Big Dress idea came about. There were some people in a room. And there were ideas floating around about campaigns they could run to raise awareness of injustice in the garment industry. Someone mentioned involving the media…And voila!
The fledging SPEAK Network dispatched its members (at that time, a few hundred in maybe a dozen groups) to create 30cm by 30cm material squares decorated with prayers, messages and responses to injustice in the garment industry. Eventually, we were told, these would be sown together and form the world’s biggest dress. A massive visual petition which would be displayed in central London so industry chiefs and MPs would not just receive signatures of support, but walk inside and a tangible expression of a campaign aiming to give a voice to those who couldn’t speak for themselves.
A crazy idea? Absolutely. But, dutifully and prayerfully, the SPEAK Network went about it. Three years later…
February 21st
07:00am
A ridiculously early start. Even for political campaigning. On the other hand, though, the folks actually constructing the dress had been up since five. The poor lambs. For the rest of us stewards, then, a quick breakfast and a quick jaunt down to St Martin in the Fields, Trafalgar Square and a service to prepare ourselves for the day ahead…
10:00am
… Except those of us with the yellow tabards had to be elsewhere. Again. Off we trotted to Berkley Square. Previously known throughout the world as either a Frank Sinatra song or a mawkish nineties mini-series with someone from Ballykissangel in it, Berkley Square is in the centre of Mayfair and, on a cold February Monday, teems with people going to work and/or Starbucks.
The location for the dress had proved to be something of a mystery right up until a few weeks before the day itself. Trafalgar Square was mooted, but didn’t happen (they opted instead for an unreasonably scary androgynous athlete made of fibreglass) and the Houses of Parliament was seen as its ideal home (within walking distance for MPs to come along) Ultimately, though, thorough searching and negotiation on behalf of SPEAK granted a space slightly away from the power holders, but right in the middle of the City.
And thoroughly impressive it was too. It’s one thing to talk about a two storey dress. It’s another thing to make little sections of it. But to see one from four blocks away in a park in the centre of the City and then to wander inside of it is incomparable. Around the square the public seemed to be behaving in a pleasingly British way to the sight. Bemusement, a little interest and, more often than not, giving the area a wide berth and pretending they hadn’t noticed.
12:00pm
Even stewarding has its slightly duller, standing around side… With volunteers working since five in the morning (remember them?) the setting up for the second shift was minimal. There were a few logistical quandaries to sort out (just how do you attach long lines of material squares to a structure of material without the whole thing collapsing?) and a large pair of weighing scales to be watched carefully in case of collapse (more on them later)
For the rest of us, then, came the always unenviable couple of hours which were standing in optimum positions of importance to explain what was happening to passers by and make sure the place didn’t collapse, or something. And not moving. At all. For hours. Hey, didn’t we all give up work for a day to come and do this?
13:00pm
I’d still not moved. Not an inch. Except for that quick sandwich and cup of tea. Otherwise I have been the world’s best steward. It was an exciting couple of hours with the masses arriving from Trafalgar Square and photographers scurrying around taking pictures of our odd construction. The braver London types were becoming more interested in the Berkley Square crowds. Many a discussion was had, many a leaflet was distributed.
The highlight of the early afternoon was a service of repentance led by the Bishop of Barking. It was a symbolic service, with the sort of dramatic presentation which some find a little odd (see Rick Wakeman’s Jesus Who) Maybe it was the effect of observing the whole thing in a rather conspicuous yellow tabard, but the combination of cries for repentance and ashes being poured onto sackcloth rather did the trick for me. It certainly set quite an incredible mood for the subsequent taking of communion.
With the service complete, and a buoyant mood all round, attention turned to the business of the day. Meeting MPs and decision makers, and showing them our contribution to the debate on trade justice. Time to dispense with the tabard and get serious. With briefing in hand, verbal interest expressed by our local MP and fellow Bristol campaigner at my side, it was confidently off to Westminster for us and the inevitable victory of trade justice surely just hours away…
17:00pm
Two and a half hours is a long time to be sat anywhere. But when you’re on the polished cement floor of the House of Parliament central lobby with MPs, tour groups and journalists constantly walking past you soon begin to fill the numb setting in. It was around this time that we begun to think that, possibly, Valerie Davey MP wouldn’t be able to see us that day.
Westminster lobbying operates on the cutely antiquated system of ‘green carding.’ After gaining entrance to the central lobby (quite a simple matter if you’re out to green card, you can avoid the tourist queues) you fill out a small lime coloured piece of paper asking for your MP to come and meet you and explaining what you’ll be harassing them about. And, if they’re in town and not otherwise engaged governing the country, they’re obliged to come and see you or dispatch one of their minions to nod furiously in your direction. Having not been able to nail down an appointment ahead of time with the elusive member for Bristol West, this was the option we used.
Unfortunately for us, although the severe white bow tied official who took our card did tell us that green carding can take anything up to three hours, she failed to mention that another SPEAK Network member, living in Sheffield but originally from Bristol, had been in earlier in the day to green card Val. Had we known that, we would probably have not sat for so long and so hard whilst the sky darkened above our heads. Thankfully, though, other SPEAK Network members had much better joy with others not only meeting their MPs but also getting important types like Stephen Timms to come down and see our Big Dress. It almost made all the sitting around worth it… Almost.
23:00pm
A quick, rainy trip across London (that’s what happens when you park in Hackney) and then, finally, the long haul back to Bristol. The Big Dress was launched, many people (decision makers and public) saw it and were intrigued and many photos ended up in various press outlets to intrigue others around the country. And, of course, plans for the future were already well underway. The dress has been built and shown, but not nearly enough. Coming next… the Big Dress tour! And even if it means sitting on the floor beside stained glass windows of various British saints for another two hours, I’m there.
