Someone Held My Hands and Kissed Them

The fact that Nick Griffin was cleared of the race hate charges today has me think about an incident that happened in the hospital. A male Indian doctor was examining me. He noticed the purple and black discolouration I got from where the National Front protestor had punched me. He asked how I’d got the bruising. I explained. He then, unexpectedly grasped my hands in his, raised them to his lips and said: “My dear boy.” He then looked incredibly embarrassed by his unprofessional behaviour and went on with the exam. I cried later that night. Soft sobs so as not to disturb my comrades in pain of alert the nurses. I was so touched by that blast tenderness. It has been so long since someone held my hands and kissed them, so long since I have been dear to anyone.

I am glad Griffin was cleared. He should have an absolute right to say what he thinks and every time he says it, I’m prepared to get another beating by standing up and calling him and his colleagues pathetic, racist wastes of a functioning spinal column. We have to stand up for each other. We have to hold each other.