"I could not exist, much less live a fulfilling life, without my carer"

Writing for National Carers Week, Hannah Buchanan explains why the role of carers in our society is so important, and why we should be more aware of what they do for us.

This week is National Carers Week. In my eyes, carers are a group of unsung heroes who do not get the recognition they deserve.

Of course, as human beings we all know what it means to care. We believe in things we are passionate about, we care about friends and those who mean something to us. But being a carer is something different altogether. It means taking responsibility for somebody else’s life while forgoing your own. It is not an easy job and is fraught with challenges but is one that is very rewarding not to mention necessary.

For example, I write regularly on many different subjects. But let me put a very simple question to you – how do I get to the computer to file my pieces? How do I get enough energy sustenance and nutrition to complete the task? If I fancy a night out clubbing with my friends, how do I get there and who is waiting for me when I come back?

In all three scenarios the answer would of course be with my carer’s help. I could not exist, much less live a fulfilling life, without my carer.

Having been born with cerebral palsy, the role of caregiving has always been extremely important to me. In the earlier part of my life my main caregiver was my mother, who brought me up as a single mother and undertook all the duties around caring for me. She did this with little help from the Government, and very little help from the outside world. She was one of the army of unpaid carers who devote their time and energy to their children with disabilities.

My mother nurtured me in many ways, encouraging my ability to read and write, and also musical abilities too. She wanted the best for me and fought to ensure I got it. This meant my mother made many sacrifices for me. She could not go out to work nor earn money because her life was consumed with looking after me. She knew there was nobody else to help and the buck stopped with her. Although we visited my grandparents regularly when I was younger, and I could be left with them for short periods, they were not in any position to offer long-term assistance.

When I was 18, I went away to boarding school to do my A-levels. I took them at Alton College and boarded at Lord Mayor Treloar National Specialist College, a facility specially equipped for those with disabilities. Once at university in Oxford, I was cared for firstly by in-house students on gap years, and then later on care was provided by specific agencies, enabling me to take full advantage of the rich academic and social programme Oxford had to offer. It was a beautiful city, a beautiful time and there was never a dull moment. It was the first time I felt truly alive.

Following university, I moved to a local authority facility in Hampshire where my freedom was somewhat curtailed due to staffing constraints. I existed but looking back I never really lived. This was nobody’s fault - it was just the circumstances I found myself in at the time.

But it was when I moved into my bungalow that caring really came into its own. After meeting many nice people I established a firm relationship with the carer and friend I have to this day. She encourages me to live life to the full and I couldn’t do what I do without her. She enables me to take risks - not risks that put me in mortal danger, but perhaps situations I have not faced before that I would benefit from. Can you believe that before I met her I had never experienced the London Underground?

I feel in control of my own life thanks to carers. I feel empowered and able to make choices. But at the same time,  I never take my carer for granted and miss an opportunity to appreciate them. It is true to say that disability is to some extent a social construct. Since I met my current carer I feel far less disabled than I used to. I feel stronger and more confident – ready to participate in life.

I used to struggle to come out the house. I didn’t have agoraphobia or anything like that – I was just frightened. I’d been cooped up in the disability hostel for a long time and was just out of practice with life. But my carer helped me to regain that confidence.

However, I also feel that carers are highly underestimated and underappreciated in patriarchal society. To me, the job of carer should be on par with that of doctor. Doctors save lives but carers maintain quality of life so that a hospital admission is not needed in the first place. They keep people clean, hydrated, well-fed and happy. They help them maintain their hygiene and dignity. In short, my carer enables me to be an active participant rather than a spectator in my own life. That is a great thing to help somebody do and I feel it is woefully undervalued, both financially and personally, in 2013.

We need to be kinder to carers, pay them better and value their contributions more. Without my carer’s help, I literally would not be able to get out of bed in the morning. Without her encouragement, I would never have whizzed around the Underground. I am glad she’s here.

 

Everyone needs a hand to hold. Photograph: Getty Images

Hannah Buchanan is a blogger with a specific interest in LGBT, disability, and feminist issues and the potential crossover between them. Follow her @HannahBoo3131

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Ariana and the Arianators: "We really are like a family"

The pop star provides her fans with a chance to express themselves joyfully - their targeting was grimly predictable.

Ariana Grande’s concert at Manchester Arena on 22 May began like any other. Children and teenagers streamed through the doors wearing pink T-shirts, rubber wristbands and animal ears (one of Grande’s signature looks). They screamed when she came on stage and they sang along with every song. It was only once the music had ended, and the 20,000-strong audience began to leave the venue, that the horror began – with a bomb detonated at the main entrance.

The show was just one date on Grande’s Dangerous Woman tour, which began in Phoenix, Arizona in February, moved across the United States and Europe, and had stops scheduled for South America, Japan, Australia and Hong Kong. (Since the Manchester attack, Grande has suspended the tour indefinitely.)

Since releasing her debut album in 2013, Grande has successfully transitioned from teen idol to fully fledged pop star (all three of her studio albums have sold over a million each) with a combination of baby-faced beauty and Mariah Carey-style, breathy vocals. Her most popular records are bubblegum pop with a Nineties R’n’B influence, a combination also expressed in her fashion choices: Nineties grunge meets pastel pinks.

She entered the limelight at 16 on the children’s TV programme Victorious, which ran on the Nickelodeon channel, pursuing her musical ambitions by performing the show’s soundtracks. Many of the young people who grew up watching her as the red-haired arts student Cat Valentine on Victorious would become fans of her pop career – or, as they call themselves, the Arianators.

As she outgrew her child-star status, Grande’s lyrics became more sexually suggestive. Recent songs such as “Side to Side” and “Everyday” are more explicit than any of her previous hits. She has repeatedly insisted that young women should be able to speak openly about sex and feel empowered, not objectified.

“Expressing sexuality in art is not an invitation for disrespect,” she tweeted in December. “We are not objects or prizes. We are QUEENS.”

Grande also has a reputation as something of a gay icon. She has advertised her records on the gay dating app Grindr, headlined shows at Pride Week in New York, and released a single and a lipstick to raise money for LGBTQ charities.

Cassy, a 19-year-old film student and fan, told me the fanbase is “made mostly of young women from 14-23, but I run into guys and non-binary fans all the time.”

“It’s pretty well known that Ariana has got a LGBTQ+ fan base. She’s so outspoken about it and that’s what draws us to her. Because she’s accepting of everyone, no matter who you are.”

Like many child actresses-turned-pop star, Grande has a fan base skewed towards the young and female: teenage and pre-teen girls are by far the majority of her most dedicated supporters. A writer on the Phoenix New Times described the typical Ariana Grande crowd as “pre-tween, tweens, teens, young gay (and fabulous) men, moms with cat ears, and multiple candidates for father of the year”. The Arianators form tight-knit groups on social media. I spoke to several over Twitter after the attack.

Arena concerts, which often have more relaxed age restrictions than nightlife venues, have long been a safe space for children, young people and teenage girls. They provide a secure place for concert-goers to dress up, experiment, play with burgeoning sexualities, dance, scream and cry: to flirt with an adult life still slightly out of reach. Glitter-streaked tears stream down the unapologetic faces of fans touched by an emotion bigger than themselves. It is appalling, if grimly predictable, to see children, teenage girls and young gay men targeted by agents of regressive ideologies for expressing themselves so joyfully. On 23 May, Isis claimed the attack.

Andréa, a 17-year-old fan from France, told me about her first experience of a Grande concert. “It was incredible,” she said. “Everyone was so kind, excited and happy. We really are like a family.”

The fans are devastated by Monday’s bombing. Thousands of messages appeared on social media to commemorate those who lost their lives. “As an Arianator,” Alexandre, aged 16, told me, “I’m really sad and I’m scared.”

“We’re all taking it really hard,” Cassy said. “We’re a family and we lost 22 members of that family last night.”

Ariana began her gig in Manchester with the song that has opened every night of her current tour: “Be Alright”. In it, she repeatedly reassures the crowd, “We’re gonna be all right.” It’s a phrase that her fans are clinging to after the attack. So, too, are the lyrics of “Better Days”, by Grande and her support act Victoria Monét, which was also performed the night of the explosion. “There’s a war right outside our window,” the words go. “I can hear the sirens . . ./I can hear the children crying . . ./I’m hoping for better days . . .”

“It’s hit us all very hard because we’ve lost some of our own,” said one Arianator who runs a popular Twitter account about the tour. “People we interacted with on a daily basis. People that just wanted to have a night of fun. These are dark times, but we are looking forward to better days.”

Anna Leszkiewicz is a pop culture writer at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 25 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Why Islamic State targets Britain

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