Imagine Sara’s average day at the base. Busy supervising an aircraft refuel? Er... no. Organising a bit of enthusiastic PT for the other ranks? Being RAF, definitely not. Perhaps a bit of weapons training? Ditto.
No, Sara’s day consists of sitting behind a very important desk in a very important office trying desperately to find an unhappy someone of Diversity she can be an ‘ally’ to, so that she can be seen to be fulfilling her role and to further secure her utterly pointless, but very lucrative, place on the gravy train.
Sara spends her days in her big, very important office, chewing pencils. Every time the door opens, she bolts upright and quickly shuffles papers across her important desk to look busy.
But the truth is, Sara isn’t busy. There just aren’t enough gender and diversity issues in the RAF to warrant her role, and any that do exist, will be dealt with at unit level. Sara knows this, the Head Shed know this and everyone dressed in pale blue knows this. Sara isn’t there because she is needed, or even because she has a role. No, Sara is there so that the RAF can trumpet it’s diversity credentials to the mountain tops, so that it can deflect any criticism that the Guardian might throw it’s way that there seem to be more men than women in its ranks for reasons that can only be sexist.
So Sara sits in her important office, behind her important desk chewing pencils, frantically trying to think of things to say that make her seem relevant and not just the window dressing she actually is, a sop to a media machine which itself sits chewing pencils, desperately trying to find things to write about.
But look! Sara has found something! Girls are being called ‘guys’! At last, she has something, something that will (accidentally) get in the papers. Her day-long campaign will make the RAF glow with inclusive righteousness, will make Air Vice Marshalls smile indulgently and will possibly make Sara’s very lucrative role a little safer.
But that’s this month’s story from Sara, what abomination is she going to uncover next month to justify that lovely salary? Thirty long days racking her brains trying to find offence in an organisation that is already achingly Woke.
With a sigh, in her empty, but very important office, Sara opens a drawer, pulls out another pencil and with a furrowed brow, starts chewing.
