Today, for the fourth or fifth time this week, I received a message from a friend telling of another persons’ child who had died from Covid 19.
Today, I opened my WhatsApp to read a message from one of our long-term volunteers who is having to deal with the death of her son. She is having to consider how she will support her grandchildren through this madness.
Last night, I sat through a documentary telling the stories of the trauma experienced by the childhood friends of Damilola Taylor on the north Peckham estate.
On Monday (18 January), the BBC are airing a documentary exploring why black men disproportionately die in police custody.
I could go on and on to create a list much longer than this space allows, remembering the children of black people who are lost to racism. Who are lost to the people and systems which collude to ensure that we exist in communities of suffering and communities of fear.
In 1981, I was 19, living in North West London. If my memory serves me right, I had not heard of New Cross. I was in fact on a ‘Youth Opportunities Programme’ based in a youth club off the Harrow Rd.
Without Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, the internet or computers, the news of the New Cross fire and the death of 13 members of our community moved through like an incendiary device. Even amongst us, who had never heard of New Cross, there was no other conversation to have. There was a desperate need to come together. A desperate need to say, ‘no more’.
The news of the impending Black Peoples Day of Action provided a focus around which all of us could act and a space where we could collectively come together to mourn the loss of our thirteen brothers, sisters.
“13 dead and nothing said” was the chant I remember from the day. I remember it echoing, as an army of black people marched through London’s finance quarter, with suits, ties and the occasional ‘Cathy’ peeping and pointing from their fifth-floor offices.
After the march my long-time friend Dr Michael McMillan and I, with a group of ten or so other Black angry teens created the Brent Black Youth Theatre and a theatre piece called “Day of action.” We toured it at local youth clubs and community venues. Evening after evening we performed the piece, and talked and chanted with our peers.
“13 dead and nothing said” was the chant on the day. It’s almost 40 years and we continue to chant.
Today, for the fourth or fifth time this week, I received a message from a friend telling of another persons’ child who had died from Covid 19.
Today, I opened my WhatsApp to read a message from one of our long-term volunteers who is having to deal with the death of her son. She is having to consider how she will support her grandchildren through this madness.
Last night, I sat through a documentary telling the stories of the trauma experienced by the childhood friends of Damilola Taylor on the north Peckham estate.
On Monday (18 January), the BBC are airing a documentary exploring why black men disproportionately die in police custody.
Michael Hamilton
Programme Director of The Ubele Initiative
