Helen Webberley is a Diversity Hero. Except when it Comes to the Disabled.

CW: Suicide

I am a trans ally. I love my trans brothers and sisters with a deep unbreakable compassion. I need to be clear about that. It’s what makes writing this blog so difficult. It is also what led me to apply for a job with Gender GP, the company owned and run by Dr Helen Webberley providing desperately needed healthcare to trans patients. I wanted to do something. I wanted to help. And the job was perfect. Before becoming disabled I had been a highly qualified specialist nurse at one of the country’s preeminent hospitals. Then I got sick and doing any kind of work became gradually more difficult. And the pay was good. Really good. That wasn’t the reason I wanted the job. I actually forgot to ask what the pay was to start with. Maybe it’s difficult for the able-bodied amongst you to appreciate quite what it’s like to feel like you are a leech on all those around you, to feel like you aren’t contributing. Thanks capitalism. But that was behind me. We’d finally be able to go on holiday. All the things I’d had to say “no” to my son for, I could now say “yes”. And I would be using my nurse training too! Just that would have been enough. To feel like I was a nurse again. When they offered me the job I was elated. It didn’t last long.

Less than a week had gone by when I was told I needed to have a “second interview” to discuss my “availability”. I have pretty good instincts for reading situations and my instinct told me that this was bad news. But I had the second interview and though it ended in a slight change of plans – the gradual lead in wouldn’t happen and the hours would be slightly different – I still had the job.

I was due to start on Monday 11th April. On Friday 8th I received my “onboarding pack”. I was due for an induction at 9am on the Monday morning. This didn’t bode well. One of the effects of my condition(s) is that I am asleep for most of the morning. Gender GP knew this. I had been absolutely explicit in all of my communication and the purpose of the “second interview” had been (in a large part) to discuss this very issue. But it was the weekend, there was no one to query it with so I decided I would just have to get myself up and dial in. I managed that fine. There was me and one other new starter. The initial introduction went well, and I was feeling good. There was a gap in our schedule after the morning sessions and to try and keep myself alert I decided to read through some of the guidance documents on the shared drive. As I was, I noticed some minor spelling and grammatical errors which I corrected. When I was finished it occurred to me that the history would show I had edited the documents so, to reassure people I hadn’t altered anything significant, I went on the team message board and introduced myself and posted a quick explainer.

Almost immediately afterwards I was publicly chastised by the clinical supervisor for doing so. I was then reprimanded again in a private message both for correcting the typos and for introducing myself on the message board. I apologised. I was met with another stern response. I was distraught. I was already exhausted by having to be (and stay) awake at a time totally unnatural and exhausting for me and on top of that I had made a bad impression on my first day. I managed to pull myself together for the next session – safeguarding training. Had the facilitator just delivered the training I’d have been fine. But he decided to also raise my transgression, in front of and in earshot of the other starter. I told him it had already been raised and got a bit teary. I muted my mic and composed myself. By the time the training opened up for group involvement I was back with it and contributed fully.

The following morning I received an email asking me to attend a meeting that afternoon with the clinical supervisor and the head of HR. I told my husband “They’re going to sack me”. He didn’t believe me. No one gets sacked for correcting a few typos. But they did. They sacked me. I told you I had good instincts. The reason they gave was that given that I had become upset when the issue had been raised at the start of the training and that made them concerned that I could be trusted to hold consultations with vulnerable clients. Nothing I said mattered. I told them it was due to the early start. I pointed out that there was a power element in being chastised by your supervisor that wouldn’t exist in a consultation. I reminded them of my years of dealing with patients and their families at the absolute worst time of their lives. I outright told them that this was disability discrimination. They didn’t listen.

I can’t put into words how I felt that afternoon. I can tell you that I wanted to die. I can tell you that after calling my husband he rushed straight home. He later told me that he was genuinely concerned that he’d find me dead when he got there.

I don’t mention suicide lightly. Not ever. My life was severely impacted by it as a child, as well as in adulthood, but in that moment all of the hopes and dreams that had been handed back to me by this job offer had been torched; not the first time a cross man with harsh words took away my best laid plans, indeed the first time was the closest I got to wanting to die until that day.

That night I received an email outlining that my contract had been terminated due to “unacceptable behaviour”. I replied asking for clarification – What had the meeting on the 12th been? Could I see the codes of behaviour that I had breached? What had I done – specifically – to breach them? When had the decision to terminate my contract been made and by whom? When I received no reply, I sent a chaser. Still silence.

So, I went to ACAS. I need to say that this point that I had no malice towards the company or the staff. It all seemed like such a terrible mistake. I knew there was no chance of me getting the job back, but some acknowledgement of wrongdoing would have been enough. But I got nothing. They responded once to the conciliator and that was it. So, the case progressed to an employment tribunal. Gender GP didn’t engage at all, not in the preliminary stages, not at any of the hearings. The court found in my favour on all grounds – failure to make reasonable adjustments, direct disability discrimination and harassment relating to disability. They didn’t even engage when the court decided the remedy. They didn’t engage when the penalties office issued a penalty notice for failing to pay up. And that’s where we are now.

So why say something now? The first nudge towards speaking out was when Helen Webberley was shortlisted for Positive Role Model Award in the National Diversity Awards. I’m quite active on social media and the moment this happened Twitter was awash with the repercussions – the TERF pile on to the NDAs, Helen’s apparent withdrawal and then reinstatement and the NDAs’ public statement. I need to be clear here, I don’t question for a moment Helen (or Gender GP)’s support for the trans community. They provide essential care that isn’t being provided (as it should be) by the NHS and they are strong and vocal advocates for trans rights. But the NDAs advertise themselves as “enhancing equality diversion and inclusion […] irrespective of race, faith, gender, gender identity, sexual orientation, age, disability and culture” (emphasis added). It seems to me perverse for such a body to recognise someone as a role model and hero when they are the head of a company that has flagrantly acted in contradiction of those principles and who continues to act contrary to them.

At this point it is worth me explaining why I take issue not just with the company but with Dr Webberley personally. It is not just that she and the company are inextricably linked in their public image. Helen knows what happened. She knows what the judgement was. I know this because I told her. I said I am a trans ally. As much as I feel hurt and betrayed by Helen and Gender GP, I know what they mean to the trans community and I know how hurtful it would be to my trans siblings if this story gets picked up by some TERF rag like the Mail or the Times. So, knowing that once I sought enforcement action this would be a possibility, I DM’d Helen on Twitter. It wasn’t the first time, we have exchanged tweets before. Indeed, I was told that Helen was “rooting for me”. So she knows. And she’s done nothing. Not even a “I’m sorry”.

And the NDAs weren’t the only thing. Both Helen and Gender GP have, in recent weeks, waxed lyrical on social media about the need for inclusion, about the protections of the Equality Act. And I’ve reached a point where the silence is too much. I reached the point where the bare faced hypocrisy has gone too far.

I am not naïve. I know what the potential outcome of posting this blog is. I’ll get accused of lying. I’ll be called a transphobe. I know this because it’s already happened. But I have faith. I believe that intersectionality is more than just a fancy word. I absolutely believe in standing shoulder to shoulder with other marginalised communities. I put my faith in allyship and the will to call out bad behaviour even by the people we respect. I trust that people will recognise that speaking out against someone you revere is not an attack on you personally, or your community.

I know it’s hard. None of us want to believe that our heroes have flaws. But good people can do bad things. And I do, despite it all, still believe that Helen is a good person who does great, wonderful things. But what Gender GP did to me was wrong and they need to be held to account. And if they won’t do that out of their own conscience and if they won’t do it because the court tells them they should, then maybe they’ll do it because you – all of you beautiful, wonderful people – make them. So, I’m here asking for your help. I’m not a celebrity blogger, I’m not a diversity hero, I’m just a lone disabled woman asking for some goddam solidarity.