It's 2am and I can feel it coming. I’m at a Halloween party and an acquaintance I haven’t seen in a while gears up for it. ‘So, Hanna,’ he goes, ‘can I ask you a question?’ ‘No, please don’t,’ I sigh. ‘If it’s about my mum or politics, I’d rather you didn’t.’
This is what it’s like when your mother’s a politician – in my case, Caroline Flint, Labour MP for Don Valley. Sometimes, people, whether I know them well or not, will find a way to talk to me about her politics, expecting me to be her spokesperson, even when you’re half-drunk at a party. Especially when you’re half-drunk at a party.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Mum was elected to office on 2 May, 1997 – part of the Labour landslide. I was five days away from turning 10 and I can remember the day before, wearing a red Labour T-shirt, driving around with my family in our Ford Galaxy, covered with posters and D
Mum, of course, had to be down in London during the week to attend Parliament, which meant my dad was in charge of me and my brothers and, credit to him, we could be a handful at times. At first, I had thought when Mum would arrive back on Thursday or Friday nights she’d be free for us, but that’s not the case for an MP. Parliamentary work might be done but constituency affairs take over, which includes weekend surgeries, local events to attend, and casework to sort.
We didn’t have a nanny so I spent a lot of time at fetes and fairs and waiting outside rooms while my mum chatted to constituents. The homemade cakes were a welcome consolation prize. During my teen years, I began to realise the gravity of my mum’s job when a teacher asked me how she was going to vote on the UK’s participation in the Iraq war. A pretty awkward situation for a 14-year-old to have to deal with, yes, but it certainly prepared me for more of these types of inquisitions as I got older. And now with social media, they can come from every direction.
I began to realise the gravity of my mum’s job when a teacher asked me how she was going to vote on the UK’s participation in the Iraq war.
Through my work as an entertainment journalist, I have a decent presence on Twitter and I try to keep my political views to a minimum. But every now and then I’ll see Mum in Parliament and tweet something light about it. Mostly the response is positive, but when I recently compared Mum’s reaction to an Anna Soubry speech to the time I told her I was vegan (ie, she found it laughable), a few replies were negative. It was a joke about Christmas dinner, Amanda. Have a day off, will you?
Media attention also comes with the territory. In 2007, a newspaper sought out my biological father to create a front-page story about my mum’s supposed ‘SECRET TUNISIAN HUSBAND’. Not such a secret to her family.
I was a uni student, coming home for the weekend, but had to go to my friend’s house because there were reporters outside my own. That was weird and pretty tough to deal with, but not as baffling as in 2015, when I became the story because of a feature I did on latex dresses. ‘MP’s DAUGHTER RACIER THAN MUM’ was the headline, accompanied by pictures stolen from my Instagram and quotes from the article. Must have been a slow news day.
The one thing I never thought I’d have to worry about is my mum being murdered. I was in a newsroom when Jo Cox was assassinated and I ran to the toilet to phone home in a panic. A year later, I made a similar call when the Westminster attack happened and discovered my mum was on lockdown for nine hours. And, we’ve never spoken publicly about this but, in 2010, Mum had to work with the police to find the man subjecting her to malicious mailings for nine months. Last year, she revealed one death threat had warned her: ‘You’ll be hanging from a rope.’
It’s all just terrifying. Yvette Cooper’s daughter Ellie pointed out recently that politics seems to be becoming an ever more dangerous field because of the provocative language used by influential figures and amplified by people on social media. After 22 years of my mum being an MP, I do think that abuse towards politicians, especially female politicians, is becoming more palpable – so it would be nice if everyone could simmer down a bit.
Luckily, being the daughter of an MP hasn’t affected my personal life. Not surprisingly, I’ve always gravitated towards left-leaning people, so when the subject of Mum’s job comes up with friends or dates the reaction is mainly relief that she’s not a Tory. Not that I make a habit of telling people who my mum is. I keep it to myself unless it’s relevant, if someone directly asks me or, you know, I’m writing a piece for Grazia.
Now an election is on the way and I’ve already been up North to help mum campaign. It’s my seventh time on the Labour doorstep as it’s my daughterly duty to help out when I can, even if it’s freezing. I still cannot believe Boris Johnson called this in the winter. Election time is always stressful, but it’s also a nice reminder that people do like and appreciate the work Mum’s been doing all these years. So as long as she wants to do this job I’ll be there to support her. That’s just what you do if your mum’s an MP.
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