I’m sitting here writing this on my laptop, which is resplendent with it’s huge trans flag sticker on the lid, at 8am in the main meeting area of Portcullis House, directly opposite the Palace of Westminster. In a week it’ll be my last day working here.
It’s busy, there’s a lot of people wandering about with rainbow lanyards, it’s hideously noisy and the echo is awful. As a workspace it’s a terrible design, and the big glass roof often leaks when it rains, so it’s entirely on brand for the UK. It’s our very own Mos Eisley, our own wretched hive of scum and villainy at the arse end of the galaxy.
So, what’s it like working as an openly out and proud trans woman in the heart of UK Government & Politics?
Well, the fact I’ve been openly stared at at least 10 times in the last half hour, with way more than half of those stares being nakedly hostile, should tell you everything you need to know.
I’ve been working for Jamie Wallis, the only openly trans MP in the UK, for the last year. I won’t be talking about Jamie, or what they’ve been through as that’s not my story to tell, and I’m not going to talk about the work I was involved in. What I will say is that while we don’t agree on most things politically, we did share some pretty geeky middle ground, and I was treated very well and completely accepted by Jamie and all of the team of people I worked with.
So, if it’s been that good, why quit?
Let’s rewind. I’m probably breaking some sort of omerta in writing this, so if I’m disappeared then someone please go have a word with MI5!
It’s a bit of a weird and unexpected story on how I got here, so let’s start by jumping back to February 2023, when a friend mentioned a job was going, and asked if I’d be interested. I said sure, thinking nothing would come of it.
That unexpectedly resulted in a long chat and an interview offer to work as a part time Parliamentary Researcher for Jamie. On the day of my interview I got a tour of the Parliamentary estate and sat in to watch Prime Minister’s Questions (PMQs) from the MP guest gallery – which was interesting, if stupidly, horrifically noisy. This place is not friendly for people with sensory issues either, and why they don’t invest in a bluetooth audio system instead of the crappy inbuilt speakers on the benches I’ll never fathom.
TV doesn’t do PMQs any justice – if you think they look and sound like a bunch of badly behaved schoolkids on TV, the reality is far, far worse. It’s utterly depressing to watch such pathetic behaviour from grown adults. I had a pretty low opinion of politicians in general before starting this job, and that’s only declined further in the last year.
I couldn’t see Starmer, but I could see Sunak. In person Sunak is even less impressive than he appears on TV, and weirdly, Blur’s song Charmless Man pops into my head very time I see him. But going on voice alone, Starmer sounds like a Prime Minister. Shame he’s letting the ‘gender critical’ bigots set the tone in Labour’s leadership.
Anyway, at the time, and being totally honest, I was a bit overawed. Like ‘how in hell did this happen’ level overawed. The funniest bit of the day was waiting for my guide in Central Hall after PMQs, which is the part of the Palace of Westminster that joins the House of Commons, House of Lords, Westminster Hall and the rest of the Palace together.
Who do I see, but none other than trans hostile MP Rosie Duffield looking pompous and waxing lyrical to two other people, accompanied by lots of animated handwaving. Incidentally I also saw Angela Rippon and Andrew Marr on the same day!
I was right in Duffy’s line of sight, and I’m pretty obviously trans, which is one of the perks of being a late transitioner. I don’t attempt to hide who I am anyway, as being trans is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, and I was wearing a damn great faux fur coat. I’m watching out for the inevitable stare from her – but surprisingly it takes a good 2 or 3 minutes to arrive, because despite what the gender critical bigots say – no, you can’t always tell.
Anyway, after a couple of furtive double takes from Duffy, I get the entirely expected long, hostile stare. If you’re trans then you know exactly what I’m talking about. So I stare right back at her. She wasn’t expecting that, I can tell you, as she very quickly looked away and went very red, before shuffling off from Central Hall as quickly as she could with both of her ‘guests’ in tow.
Fast forward to the beginning of May 2023, where I officially started work. I was very excited and nervous – the previous weeks had been getting security clearances and my pass sorted. We worked in an open plan office, and I got introduced to my team and the staffers for the other MPs – everyone was pretty friendly, which took me by surprise given just how bad the Tories are with trans people. I was instantly accepted as ‘one of the girls’ (not my words) by my team, and both my colleagues and manager were adamant that they wouldn’t tolerate any nonsense coming my way.
One thing you need to understand is that UK Parliament is not a normal place to work, by any stretch of the imagination, and the whole place has a major, ongoing identity crisis going on. One minute you’re in the Palace of Westminster, parts of which go back about 1000 years (and it’s absolutely freezing, even in summer), the next minute you’re in a 90’s office block, then something like the lobby of Google, and then another part looks like a seedy 50s hotel complete with peeling wallpaper, fading paint, ancient TVs that don’t work and sticky carpet.
No, I won’t speculate as to why the carpet is sticky. Stuff (like doors) breaks all the time, and take weeks to get fixed. It’s little wonder the place, and it’s denizens, is so utterly dysfunctional.
You also come across these ‘Behaviour Code’ Posters dotted everywhere. Now I’ve worked in small businesses and big corporates, and while behaviour codes are often noted in the staff handbook, I’ve never, ever seen such blatant, in your face warnings that such a code exists, alongside constant reminders to attend training on how it applies and the processes by which you should address any abuse should you experience it.
Not that that process is any good, mind – from everyone I spoke to they all considered it to be pretty pointless. I actually took part in a consultation on it, and told them exactly where I thought they were failing – for all the good it will do. Fun fact – I was also told that young guys were more at risk from predatory behaviour than women are.
Parliament is a place supposedly populated by the most respectable, civilised and decent of us – as we all know that’s not true, and the advertising of the Behaviour Code is a constant, in your face, jarring reminder that is not true, with more than 50 MPs being investigated for sexual harassment and abuse at one point recently. A normal working environment on ‘Normal Island’, and one that exemplifies everything wrong with the UK in general, and UK politics in particular.
Between May and September things were pretty good, I was included in the open office conversations, went to meetings, met lots of people. It was exciting, if a bit disconcerting. It’s a bit like being dropped into a parallel dimension – people speak the same, look the same, and act the same, but you get a sense that there’s something ‘off’. It’s very, very weird, and even a year later, as I get ready to leave I’m still not quite used to it. You can see why they call it the ‘Westminster Bubble’. Even commuting on the train and tube was pretty painless.
And there were some funny incidents while I was there. Sometimes creepy, but also very funny if you have a dark, twisted sense of humour like I do.
Like the time Penny Mourdant stops dead in front of me while I was queueing for a coffee and gives me a thorough ‘up and down’ look before smiling at me and moving on. Glad what I was wearing met with your approval Penny, not that it was wanted or needed.
Or the time Duffield saw me again and was so desperate not to look at me she bumped into a brick pillar. I actually burst out laughing at that one, and every time I’ve taken folks on a tour of the Palace of Westminster I point it out, to much hilarity.
Or while taking notes in one of the many trans hostile debates (which is damn hard on your mental health), and having Joanna Cherry not ten feet away casting embarrassed, furtive looks at me while spewing transphobia. Don’t even bother to try to deny it JoJo, it was all on camera on Parliament TV.
Probably the funniest involved Lee Anderson – the neanderthal ex-Labour, ex-Tory MP that recently defected to Reform UK, because the current Tories just aren’t fascist enough for his tastes. You might know him as 30p Lee, and he makes a lot of noise about knowing ‘what a woman is’, if you believe his twitter account.
Picture this.
I’m leaving work and I have to go past The Red Lion – it’s a pub right next to part of Parliament, and it dates back to the 1400s. It’s a frequent haunt of MPs, staffers, SpAds (Special Advisors), wonks and various other hanger ons, as it’s on a direct path between Downing St and the Parliamentary estate.
It’s May, it’s a little warm. I’m wearing a nice, just above the knee polka dot dress and heels (same one I’m wearing today, incidentally). And who do I spy outside the pub but 30p himself, pint in one hand, looking down at his phone in the other.
He obviously hears me coming, and he starts looking up from his phone, his gaze working his way up my legs before lingering on my chest. He obviously likes what he sees as he has this big, stupid grin on his face as he leers at me. It’s a pretty foul feeling being letched at, especially by this poor excuse of a human being, but something pretty much every woman has experienced at some point or other.
The Glinner of UK politics, only with even less charm, if that’s possible.
I’m almost parallel with him by now, and he finally decides to look at my face, but only after a final good, long look at my breasts. Hilariously the leering smile turns into a look of ‘Ive just drunk a pint of milk that was off’ as it finally dawns on him he’s been leering at a trans woman. But you can always tell, right Lee?
He wouldn’t look at me for months after that – I often saw him in Portcullis House looking like a little lost boy, standing around all on his own, wondering why he had no friends, all while leering at other women. Utterly pathetic.
Still, I’m actually enjoying myself at this job – steep learning curve, alien environment, but very, very interesting. I’d get the very occasional hostile look, but nothing I couldn’t handle.
Overheard some awful stuff in the open office which soured me on my staffer colleagues who work for other MPs. Kids with ASD were referred to as ‘badly behaved little shits who were doing it for attention’. That one rankled, especially as someone who is likely to be on the spectrum myself. And just to be clear I never heard such language or comments from my own team.
When Truss tanked the economy and everyone else was talking about the cost of living crisis, all the other staffers were concerned about was whether they were going to be invited to various parties, including at Chequers. They were utterly tone deaf to what was going on outside of their own privileged little bubble – but not surprising as most of them seemed to hail from the ‘all expenses paid by daddy’ upper middle class university set.
Now don’t get me wrong, being a staffer is bloody hard work, especially dealing with constituent cases and demanding but otherwise clueless MPs, but the complete lack of empathy & awareness was honestly quite shocking. And yes, when I overheard such crap I did call it out, for the little it was worth.
Every time a by-election was held the mood in the shared office tanked. I probably didn’t help by being the only one laughing about it, and they genuinely couldn’t understand why the Tories were constantly doing so badly. I told them, but they just didn’t want to listen.
Things started to change however after the massively transphobic Tory Party Conference in October 2023. Suddenly the atmosphere in the open office did a complete 180 degree turn. Previously I’d get a hello when I came in and a goodbye when I left, and suddenly that all stopped. Then it would all go quiet when I arrived – conversation would either cease completely, or continue in low, hushed tones until I left the office.
For various reasons I was frequently the only person from my team in the office, and it got so bad I ended up working from a common area downstairs instead, or worked from home. That experience slowly replicated – open hostility on the Parliamentary estate increased a thousand fold, whether in the office, at lunch, or just walking through the estate,
That came alongside increased open hostility on the way too / from work as well. Unsurprisingly it all mounts up, and my mental health was starting to decline.
Now I don’t want to make out like everyone working in Parliament is a massive anti-trans bigot, because that’s far from the case.
I have nothing but huge respect and deep admiration for the Parliamentary estate staff – you know, the normal people, the ones that run the coffee shops, catering, restaurants, cleaning, security, building works and everything else that makes the place actually function while the elected and unelected bray at each other like donkeys.
All of those staff that I encountered, and I do mean all, treated me with absolute kindness, joy & natural friendliness – something I didn’t see other staffers get. More than once, while sitting on my own at lunch, someone from the estate staff would ask to join me and we would get chatting. It might have been because I treated them like people when many others didn’t.
I had many a chat with the estate staff, and they will be my absolute fondest memory of the place and my time working there. Certain MPs and their staff stand out in this regard too – particularly Ben Bradshaw, Michael Cashman, Nadia Whittome, Kate Osborne and a couple of others, and their staff.
The real problem are the staffers, SpAds, MPs & Peers, and all of the hostility came from those quarters. All of it. There’s probably some political wonk going ‘but not all’ at this point – and yes that’s true, but the hostility came from the vast majority in those roles.
It got so bad that I unconsciously started avoiding the place – I’d hole up somewhere, earphones in with a bit of Sophie Ellis-Bextor playing, and I’d just get on with things. But one day in January I just broke down in floods of tears in front of my manager. It was not long after I narrowly escaped being attacked at an LGBT venue at a Christmas Party, and I’d started electrolysis so dysphoria was kicking my backside as well. My mental health suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, hit rock bottom.
That day was the last straw and I told her I was resigning. After a long chat and agreeing to think it over, I worked from home for a few weeks, and my mental health improved a little. But it tanked every time I came into work. The team ended up moving to a private office space, but by that time the damage was well and truly done. I’d had enough, and by mutual agreement I handed my resignation in, working my notice organising an event, doing training, analysis and keeping abreast of goings on that are affecting trans people in the UK.
I exclusively used the ‘ladies’ toilets here for a year without a single challenge, including from the hypocritical ‘gender critical’ MPs. It’s almost as if they are scared of breaking the law, or something. I’m thinking of getting a T-shirt made up with ‘Im trans and survived using the ladies in Parliament Tour 2023/2024’ to commemorate the experience.
And I made damn sure that every trans person I got on site to meet with Jamie used the toilets they were most comfortable with.
Seethe harder, bigots, seethe.
I honestly can’t thank Jamie, my team and manager enough for the opportunity to work here. I had hoped I could make a small difference for our community, but if I’m honest – if I did it was a drop of fresh water in a huge, salty ocean of hate, lies and misinformation. Or as Stephen Whittle put it during a parliamentary event recently, ‘Talking to Thin Air’. Big thanks to What The Trans for the coverage.
Will I miss it?
Well, political anti-trans hate infects the whole place like cancer, and it needs a good dose of chemo to clear it out. But I probably will, in time. Especially the food – the chefs and catering staff are frankly phenomenal, and if you ever get the opportunity to eat there, take it. The Jerk Pork is simply fantastic.
How I never put a ton of weight on I’ll never know.
It’s been an incredible learning experience. And to be fair, after seeing first hand just how bad many MPs are – 95% of the people I meet every day would do a better job, and are less hypocritical. And who knows, I might stand one day myself, especially as I never saw my awful, openly trans hostile MP Jackie Doyle-Price once in the year I worked there. Not once. Ever. Estate scuttlebutt has it that she spends most of her time in the bar, which might explain why, but I wasn’t able to confirm it.
But UK politics needs to massively diversify, as even today in the 21st century it’s a haven for the incompetent upper middle class ‘elite’ and their wannabees, who are totally divorced from the day to day realities of the people of the UK. In general the quality of our elected representatives is incredibly low.
In the meantime, I’m going to have a little break, catch up on some neglected projects and get my mental health back on track.
