During the Brexit referendum, I was just 15. Old enough to feel the weight of the situation, but too young to vote. Shortly before the big day, my tutor, who was not supposed to influence her students’ political views, handed out scraps of paper so we could cast our ‘votes’ in a mini tutor group ballot.
My main source of Brexit statistics at that point, other than the internet (a contradictory mess), was my dad, who was pro-Brexit to the point of Facebook preaching. I have never used ‘Brexiteer’ as a slur for rich, old white people, because my dad is none of those things (depending on your definition of ‘old’). Furthermore, when Brexit was in its infancy, nobody could have predicted the shambles awaiting us.
So how did I, an overthinker, come to a decision in this mock vote? I deliberated, thought of what my dad and other people had told me, scribbled ‘leave’ on my sliver of paper and handed it in.
And the stress ended there. Or so I thought.
All but two of the 20-ish students in the group voted to remain. Myself and the other girl who had voted leave were happy to reveal ourselves, not expecting the flack we would receive from both our peers and (you guessed it) the ‘impartial’ tutor.
They bombarded us with accusations that people ‘like us’ were ruining Great Britain.
The other girl resigned and changed her vote, but I was stubborn. I saw no reason to change my mind when I was no less informed than anyone else. My tutor continued to hound me until I was quite literally saved by the bell.
Today, I feel that Brexit was a mistake, but there was no way for anyone back in 2016 to know that. Therefore, I stand by the decision my 15 year old self made, and I’m proud of myself for not giving in to the heckling of people who were just as clueless as me.
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