An Almost Forgotten Legacy: The Miner's Strikes of the 80s.

In the 1980s, pretty much the entirety of the coal mining work force in the north of England went on strike as an act of solidarity against the closure of their industry. They wanted job security, like we all do. The narrative of Thatcher’s government made them out to be villains of the nation; “the enemy within” was what she called them. Thatcher’s false conviction left many areas of the country in a state of disrepair, and the evidence of which can still be seen today.

I know what you’re thinking – “this happened over 30 years ago, why should we care?” Well, I’m not writing this blog post to tell you why you should care, I’m writing this to tell you why I do. Granted, I have an emotional attachment to the struggles the miners faced all those decades ago. Those struggles are a fundamental and integral part of my political affiliation and my identity. Watching the news this evening, I saw that the main solicitor, and chief investigators that investigated the police brutality during the strike were the same people that covered evidence of the Hillsborough disaster, and the worst part was that I wasn’t even surprised. My question I would like to ask is this – “why has it taken over 30 years for justice?”

My grandparents would tell me stories about those dark times, stories that will stay with me forever. I suppose that without the emotional attachment, a lot of people don’t care. It’s one of those things, isn’t it? It’s never really an issue unless it happens to you or someone you love. My grandfather was responsible for his entire family. By that, I don’t just mean my grandmother, uncle, and mother, but also his brothers and sisters whose professions and husband’s professions were in the coalmine. He was responsible for the safety of his colleagues… “The man with the lamp”. But what happened to the miners that simply couldn’t afford to strike? The ones whose savings weren’t enough to feed the hungry mouths of their children? The ones that prioritised paying the soaring energy bills over solidarity with their fellow workers? Scabs. They were run out of communities, they were abused; their children were bullied at school; their friends turned to enemies. The miner’s strike not only entrenched the narrative of the north/south divide, but divided communities, families, and friends.

I understand that there were faults on both sides. The leaders of both sides had the highest degree of false conviction that modern British history has seen. Neither side sought resolution; the only goal was what they wanted. The war that raged between Thatcher and Scargill in the 80s left people broken, in a state of poverty, and stripped them of their dignity. There is no dignity in being on the losing side, there is certainly no dignity in betraying a sector of a country and leaving them in the dirt, and there is certainly no dignity in a false conviction that left people and communities in ruin.

I will never forget the stories. I will never forget my grandfather telling me stories of children no older than my eight-year-old brother being sent out into the dark hours of the morning to rummage for coal on the abandoned fields to heat their homes and cook their breakfast. No matter how successful I may or not be in my future, I will never forget the struggles that have shaped my identity, and I will be damned if the children I may have will grow to be unsympathetic, cold-hearted robots with a false conviction. I will forever be proud of my grandfather, and I will forever be proud to be the granddaughter of a miner. The north never forgets, and nor do I.