It was 1983 and I was Labour's parliamentary candidate for Bermondsey, a deprived inner-city area of south London. But as I picked myself up, I thought: 'I'm not going to let them beat me.' That incident was much worse - I knew I could have been killed. I was terrified every time I stepped out of my flat. Over the previous few months I'd been spat at, kicked, had dogs set on me and been attacked with cricket and baseball bats.
'Tatchell, you communist p**f!' a man shouted out the window. Splayed on the pavement, cut, bruised and my heart pounding, I watched as the van sped off. Some split-second instinct made me veer to the gutter, but I still got side-swiped off my bicycle, narrowly escaping being crushed under the wheels. I glanced over my shoulder to see a white Transit van coming straight at me. As I was cycling along a quiet road, the sound of a vehicle close behind alerted me to danger.
0 kommentar(er)
