Sierz, Interrupted
From In-Yer-Face Theatre, by Aleks Sierz:
“Imagine being born in 1970. You’re nine years old when Margaret Thatcher comes to power; for the next eighteen years — just as you’re growing up intellectually and emotionally — the only people you see in power in Britain are Tories. Nothing changes; politics stagnate. Then, sometime in the late eighties, you discover Ecstasy and dance culture. Sexually, you’re less hung up about differences between gays and straights than your older brothers and sisters. You also realise that if you want to protest, or make music, shoot a film or put on an exhibition, you have to do it yourself. In 1989, the Berlin Wall falls and the old ideological certainties disappear into the dustbin of history. And you’re still not even twenty. In the nineties, media images of Iraq, Bosnia and Rwanda haunt your mind. Political idealism — you remember Tiananmen Square and know people who are roads protestors — is mixed with cynicism — your friends don’t vote and you think all politicians are corrupt. This is the world you write about.”
Imagine being born in 1984. As Orwell’s prophecy is reconsidered, Thatcher attacks the unions. For the next thirteen years — just as your worldview begins to stretch beyond the edge of your market town — the only people you see in power in Britain are Tories. Nothing changes; politics stagnate. Then, in 1997, Blair arrives, having ridden a wave of soundbites and spin to Number 10. Britain is ‘Cool Britannia’; the biggest band in the world are from Burnage. Your dad has a gay friend. You know this because your dad says ‘This is Clive; he’s gay’ whenever he introduces him to anyone. Sexually, you bounce from one classroom crush to another. You think about boys while lip-syncing to Republica in your bedroom mirror. You watch Eurotrash at sleepovers then masturbate in the bath the following day. You also realise that if you want to protest, or make music, shoot a film or put on an exhibition, you can. You can do anything. You will live in flat like the one in Friends and be either a director or a writer or a fashion designer, maybe all three. You write your secrets straight onto MSN Messenger. In 2003, you drop out of uni, and are briefly thankful that your minimum wage bar job exempts you from student loan repayments. You smoke weed every day, binge eat Tesco muffins for dinner, and buy endless shit from Ebay because you’re never awake when the shops are. And you’re still not even twenty. In the mid-noughties, images of Lolcats erase Iraq from your mind. Cynicism is mixed with ignorance — you remember Neil Hamilton — that guy from Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. You discover Ecstasy when you’re 22 and tell everyone it’s better than ketamine. Your friends all vote LibDem and write long blogposts about Richard Dawkins on MySpace. It will be another decade before you can decline your parents’ money. This is the world you write about.
