A million letters sheathed in a million envelopes. A million pleas for justice to the powers of the land. Years of work had brought us here and we stood quietly, a vigil in the cold night air. So many people holding on to lanterns, a symbol of the hope that at last a wrong would be righted.
And not only the wronged were there. Others who knew and cared were there too. Waiting, lending support. At last. At last a famous victory was within our grasp. Equality. No longer second class.
The moment had arrived and a powerful silence escaped from the hush of a thousand whispers – they were going into the lobbies!
Bloated minutes clung like cold syrup to a spoon.
But suddenly, like a row of collapsing dominoes a gasp ran down the waiting line. The vote was lost. And in that moment hope gave way to anger and pain.
My lantern flickered. The flame blew out.
How could they not understand the messages sent by those million hands. How could their bigotry be blind to so bright a light. And then a single voice called out “Charge the gate”, and the crowd became a mob. The gate swung shut and the ones who had done this entombed themselves, reinforcing the fortress of their prejudice.
But even in their anger, the mob knew their cause would not be served by the sight of bloodied MPs and they sat, silently, defiantly, an impenetrable, prickly undergrowth through which no man, least of all an MP could pick his way.
This day will not be forgotten. This day, this injustice will be avenged. But for now, one by one, we take our leave.
Not beaten, but strengthened and determined that we will win the war.
(UK Parliament vote on equalising the age of consent for gay sex – which failed)