80 years old, grannies with our
knitting, we’re going to look back and
we’re going to be really proud of what
we’ve done and how we’ve done it.”
She’s excited to be part of WEP,
a relatively new political party, and
one with a blank slate. “It’s so refresh-
ing being in politics and part of an
organisation that doesn’t have baggage,
isn’t tainted. I feel sorry for a lot of
great Labour MPs who have to defend
themselves against anti-Semitism and
horrendous institutional problems that
their organisation is struggling and
failing, frankly, to deal with. [With] WEP,
you don’t have that problem. What we
have is a really noble mission. We want
to do ourselves out of business. It isn’t
about us trying to perpetuate our own
existence. We want the job to get done,
then we can lock the door, switch off
the lights and, hopefully, end up on a
beach somewhere.”
She might have only been in
the job for a matter of months, but
already Mandu has made history. She
is the first black leader of a political
party in the UK and, as a bisexual
woman, the first LGBTQI leader of apolitical party in England. How does
that feel? “Amazing, on some fronts,”
she beams. “I feel hugely privileged
and humbled to find myself in that
position. But, honestly, I feel a pres-
sure and a sense of intimidation,
too. I’m a little bit daunted. Those
latter feelings; those slight feelings of
unease, I think, are quite natural and
quite normal... My adrenaline levels
are often very high, my cortisol levels
are very high,” she laughs. “I’m still
getting used to it, it’s a kind of stage
fright I suppose. Some clever person,
an actor, was telling me stage fright
is good because it’s actually your
body preparing you to do the thing
you have to do, rather than it being
something that’s there to prevent you
from doing that. So I really try and
keep perspective and maintain my
integrity. I don’t want to be someone
who wears a fancy dress costume of
being a politician. I want to wear what
suits me. I want to be the person that
I am. I don’t want to change the way
I communicate and talk in order to
‘fit in’ with the establishment. I don’t
think I’d be doing as good a service asa representative if I tried too hard to
fit in. I hope that that doesn’t backfire
but, whatever happens, I want to
be able to look back and feel that I
was true to myself. That’s a really
deliberate, conscious decision that
I’ve taken.”
Indeed, being “visible and audible”
as a mixed-race black bisexual wom-
an is hugely important to Mandu,
who personally has struggled to see
representation of people like her in
public life, and, as she says, it’s some-
thing she definitely won’t shy away
from talking about. “If I can help other
people overcome some of their own
self-doubt about the role they could
potentially play in making change
happen or fulfilling their own priori-
ties, dreams, hopes, ambitions, I think
that is worth it in and of itself.”
Still, it’s hard enough being a
woman with an opinion in 2019, never
mind someone who is also in the
public eye, not white and not straight.
Mandu admits she is “fearful” of
the kind of vitriol black women in
politics like Diane Abbott and Nimco
Ali receive on a daily basis, but says>>>68 SEPTEMBER 2019