Blackness is pride. Blackness is wearing your hair out as your uncle puts the corn on the grill. It’s going out and supporting local businesses. It’s exceeding the grades predicted of you and going to a good university. It’s faking like you got it when you don’t and hiding it when you do. It’s those lazy Sundays, playing Street Fighter whilst listening to Wu-Tang, before settling in to watch a Bruce Lee movie. It’s celebrating every birthday after your 25th like the minor miracle it is. It’s the peaceful reassurance that we’re one people, a faith in our African homeland and the unwavering belief that Blackness is meant to be special.
Blackness is suffering. Blackness is living with the inherited trauma of our ancestors. Of captive slaves and subjugated kings. It’s stop and search. It’s having your sexuality policed in a way that is never afforded to your white peers. It’s watching your heroes and idols denigrated and murdered. It’s being kicked out of your home for daring to not afford the rising price of milk. It’s been forced into an unending Mandingo fight, because if we worked together, we wouldn’t have to be Black anymore.
Blackness is seasoning. Blackness is the Nando’s lemon and herb sauce; a mild veneer of flavour applied to the bland chicken that is white society. It’s Post Malone and Urban Outfitters. It’s TikTok dances and youth vernacular. It’s Obama and the Democrats. It’s lips and curves and hair and sun-kisses and dreads and braids and whatever else they want to take next. Blackness is bullshit. Nebulous, confusing and ill-defined, always risking exclusion with each inclusion.
I guess you know it when you see it.
And yet, there’s an expectation for each of us to live up to and embody all of these contradictions. How am I supposed to live with all the contradictions of Blackness, let alone the rest of the contradictions that form my personhood? Blackness is a constant existential struggle to reconcile aspects of yourself constantly at odds. Being mixed race, I was often forced to qualify my Blackness and too often I relied on the definition of Blackness being suffering. My grandparents were of the Windrush generation, only a handful of generations removed from slavery. My mum was spat on whilst on the way to school. Like every other black person, I have inherited the trauma of my kin. I understand black pain. Granted, I understood it through proxy. I have let it define me, but in retrospect, I should never have felt the need to do so. It doesn’t matter which definition of Black I suit, they’re all meaningless.
They say I’m a Black Briton, but how could I ever assume the identity of an empire which pillaged my homeland, ate my kin, took me from my home and put me in chains? The atrocities committed by the British Empire rival any other tyrannical regime you could name (yes, even that one). I didn’t choose to be Black and I certainly didn’t choose to be British. I had Blackness prescribed onto me, by census, by policing, by regime, by white gazes and anti-Black movements. Blackness is defined by a series of racialising processes and whiteness is merely the absence of them. To be Black is merely an expression of oppression.
Being a Black Briton is dangerous and I have never felt more at danger than I have since moving to Brighton. I’m scared to walk this city’s streets alone and that can be hard to explain to someone who loves this city and has been allowed to make it their home. I’m sure, to some, there’s an appeal to Brighton’s style, amalgamated from the whitest parts of more diverse cities. I, however, quickly grew tired of it. I can only speak anecdotally, and there’s no legitimate argument to be made that racism is any worse in this city than anywhere else in this damned country, but the breadth of my experience cannot be denied.
I was stalked by a peer for daring to call out his bigotry in a seminar. I was once told by a strange man that I couldn’t dance with my friend, a white woman, who I came to the club with, because it “didn’t look good.” I’ve had women, in the same club, approach me and say they wanted me because I was probably “bigger” than anyone they’d had before. A friend and I were asked by a stranger at a bus stop to explain to her why Black lives mattered when more “Blacks killed Blacks anyway.” I was chased out of a party by a ketted-out crasher for requesting a funk song and subsequently called a “nigger.” I was pulled by my ‘fro and thrown down stairs and called a “nigger.” I was followed home and cussed out by some teenagers who were looking for a fight and called a “nigger.” And I was, once again, thrown down stairs, only this time to face a white knee that viced my throat between cold concrete until I lost consciousness.
The bell of recent events has rung very familiar to me.
These are not microaggressions. These are tangible acts of violence that occur in the everyday. These are just the events I remember, or considered noteworthy and they only constitute my own personal experience. I am not unique in my suffering. I wager every Black person in this country has had experiences such as these and those who say otherwise are affected by some degree of false consciousness.
The most offensive part of hearing the n-word, as a slur, with such frequency, is how boring it is. Seriously racists, take a creative writing class! Please pick up a thesaurus, because you niggas are repeating yourselves. There’s nothing about that word that can hurt me anymore. God knows I probably use it more often than they ever could. In all honesty, there’s some truth to it. I am a nigger. I always was and always will be a nigger and to them, that’s all I can be. That’s okay. They mean to demean me, but I don’t need them to recognise my personhood. When they say I’m a nigger they mean to say I’m ‘less than’. When I say I’m a nigga, yeah, nigga, what of it? I’ve just got what everyone else wants. They want our nigga walk, our nigga talk, our nigga clothes, our nigga music. But I earnt the right to all these things because I, like every other Black person, have to live with the burden of embodying all the complexities of niggadom. That’s something that someone who’s never been a nigger could never understand, no matter how much my niggahood may be intimated. Like Paul Mooney said and JID elaborated: “Everybody wanna be a nigga, but nobody wanna be a nigga when it’s time to be a nigga.”
As grave as some of the events that have affected me have been, none of these acts of violence are anywhere near as insidious as the structural violence this country has worked hard to maintain. Look to our impoverished, segregated neighbourhoods that are suffering the effects of the Coronavirus far more gravely than the rest of the country and exposing racism as a public health crisis. Look to the social murders at Grenfell for an example of the fatal neglect of people of colour. Look to the education system that neglects to teach children the realities of slavery and colonialim; subsequently enabling racist beliefs. Look to our culture of ‘politeness’ which makes it impossible to call out racism without being left exposed. Look to the deportation of British citizens for the colour of their skin and the racist rhetoric surrounding Brexit. Look at the burning of our planet, with resources farmed from the backs of the third world, left starving by the remnants of the British Empire. The climate crisis is a race issue. Every single one of these acts of violence affirms one thing: society does not need Black people. And it is more than happy to jettison its superfluous denizens. It will burn them, imprison them and employ officers of the state to murder them. I cannot comprehend the belief that we succeed in a society which seems hellbent on keeping us down; a flower cannot bloom in a dark room.
We are entering a recession. We were before COVID-19, and now it’s about to get a lot worse. The current economic climate has meant my 54-year old mother has been forced to move in with my grandparents in their eighties. She is an NHS worker working during a pandemic. Many other black, essential workers have been forced into similar living situations. The system has failed us. Further engaging with a failing system will just fail more people.
There’s an unspoken difference between when my white peers and I say ‘Black Lives Matter.’ When they say so, ‘Black Lives Matter’ and that’s what they mean. When I say those words it means, ‘please don’t let me die.’ I am not asking to be treated as an equal. The fight for equality lacks my urgency. This is a fight for survival and the meagre solution being offered is the erasure of the symptoms of racism such as blackface sitcoms and non-inclusive language. They will always try to satisfy us with symbolic victories rather than economic equity and justice. Instead of advocating for the removal of somewhat questionable episodes of The Mighty Boosh from circulation, [1] we need to be fighting to improve the material reality of Black people. First and most foremost, what we should be working towards is the abolition of the police.
The idea that we will collapse into anarchy without the authoritative presence of the police is frankly a stupid, bad faith argument. People are inherently too decent and moral to succumb to a Purge-like chaos in the absence of adult supervision. In asking for the abolition of the police, all we’re asking for is the same privilege that is afforded to affluent white society; the ability to live day-to-day without the threat of state violence. Some reading this probably don’t encounter the police most days, unless their parents are suspicious of their new Nigerian postman. For the rest of us, the threat of state violence looms over our every action. For the police are not the righteous defenders of the innocent that television makes them out to be. They don’t solve murders. They refuse to prosecute rapes. They never helped me get my Nintendo Wii back. So what are the police for?
The purpose of the police is to enforce the law through violent coercion. They are allowed to do so as officers of the only group legally permitted to use violence: the state. The state designates the laws which routinely criminalise expressions of Blackness and persecutes those who do so. The law is an inherently corrupt, unjust system serving only the societal elite and the police are its guardians. Put simply, they are the protectors of the way things are now, and the way things are now are broken. Due to their exception and protection from the law, they remain inculpable for their morally repugnant actions. They are unpoliced and therefore it becomes the duty of each and every one of us to hold these thugs accountable. The only way to do that is to completely eradicatethem.
Of course, abolishing the police shouldn’t happen instantly. It will take time to empower local communities to police themselves and to establish suitable replacements - such as first responders who are mental health professionals or community mediators who can all be hired with the reappropriated funds. Any rushed attempt into these new systems is likely to fail and will be used to argue a return to our abusive present. We cannot allow our current system of policing to exist into the future, but we need to go further than simply abolishing the police. Abolish landlords. Abolish homelessness. Abolish private schools and tuition for higher education. Abolish the hoarding of vast quantities of wealth. Decriminalise drugs and sex work and all things vice. These are all things that can feasibly be done in a liberal society in order to materially improve the lives of Black people. It won't be anywhere near enough, but it’s a start.
For years we’ve been told myths of Black success. We’ve been told to pull ourselves up by our trousers and stop making excuses for ourselves. We’ve got to go out there and get it, by any means necessary. Seduced by the Smiths and the Winfreys and the Cosbys, we have been deceived into believing their lifestyle is feasible. Take our hustler mentalities out of one trap and into another: Black Capitalism. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not saying it isn’t important to support one another. I make an effort to support Black businesses no matter their economic status. I frequent Carribean restaurants and wear local designs, whilst shamefully using Tidal and making an effort to watch every film Denzel is in, regardless of my feelings towards the previous Equalizer. But, obviously, supporting a struggling local hairdresser is not the same as supporting a billionaire who once rapped he was not a “businessman,” but rather a “business, man.” Enormous economic success will almost certainly come at the expense of others, including the underpaid, undersupported workers who are left to fend for themselves. And even if you make it to the stratospheres of high society, you can never wash the Black off. You will still be treated as less than, or worse, as the exception. Even if you’re in a Benz, you’re still trapped in a coop. Our Black leaders have regularly betrayed us. In trying to assimilate into white society, they’ve routinely lost interest in the liberation of Black workers and instead have all developed limps.
Hypothetically, if true social mobility was afforded to Black people, what would the cost be? In this fantasy world where education doesn’t routinely fail people of colour, Capitalism would still require inequality in order to function. In this absurd scenario, where Black people could earn the capital required to live wherever they pleased, the subjugated labour of workers would still be required to earn it. In this laughable dreamland, where Black people achieved true and complete equality, someone else would take their place at the bottom of the proverbial totem pole. Whether this would be the already suffering white working-class or another ethnic or religious group is hard to determine.
These are not problems that can be solved merely with more Black CEOs or nameless job applications. They require massive reform and the restructuring of society in a way that will make anyone who is currently comfortable, very uncomfortable. To start, we need to have a very long, serious conversation about giving Black people - and all other victims of colonialism - what they are owed. Not just for the indentured labour in the Carribean and the Americas, or the rape, starving and murder of the colonised Africans, but the continuous segregation, torture and murder at the hands of liberal society. Those words are probably very scary for some reading this; that’s okay. I am scared too. But the safety and wealth of some has for too long been predicated on the oppressions of others. This is not a fault of Capitalism, it is its very mantra. It cannot be reformed and needs tearing down, or there will be a million more George Floyds. A million more Breonna Taylors. A million more Mark Duggans. A million more Rashan Charleses. A million more dead, Black trans women, whose names the media will never tell us.
If you do not understand all this - that Black people, along with all victims of colonial violence, are owed reparations, that Capitalism is incapable of existing without the continued oppressions and murder of the working classes and that the police only exist to uphold institutional violence - then, simply, you have not read enough. And yet, Black people cannot assume the responsibility of educating you whilst simultaneously fighting for our own survival. The resources are out there and readily available. If you do not make an effort to teach yourself, you will never be able participate in this fight effectively and if you are not part of the solution, you are the problem. Black or white, if you refuse to understand how our current economic system has suffocated Black people and murdered George Floyd, it might as well have been your knee on our necks. This may seem extreme, hyperbolic or just downright impolite, but I am in no mood to mince words. If you are not actively advocating for Black liberation, in all its forms, you are complicit and you are guilty. And when you’re ready to apologise and take action, I will be ready to forgive you.
Now, I don’t have the energy to supply a reading list. Truthfully, I doubt the sum of all I’ve read would be comprehensive enough to satisfy a decent list. All I can do is toss you a Twitter thread, or a song, or a surprisingly woke superhero show, or an article about reparations. Thankfully, there are masses of reading lists out there, [2] but it’s important to be aware of the flaws of so many of these lists. Not least, the answer to the question of who they’re for. So many of these lists appear to be designed to cater to white people who have lived without the experience of Blackness and that’s okay, but it certainly leaves me unsure as to what I’m expected to be reading. And, presuming the primary audience of these lists aren’t Black, there’s the worry that, when so many books are only detailing systemic racism, that they resultantly paint suffering as the totality of the Black experience. This is both inaccurate and harmful and continues the long history of the commodification of Black pain for white audiences. And lastly, so many of these lists are entirely non-fiction and are, therefore, objectively incomplete. For those who aren’t Black, literature is key to developing an empathetic understanding of the Black experience, rather than a purely theoretical one. In fact, engaging with Black culture and Black art of any medium is the most reliable step toward truly recognising us as more than just our histories and our oppressions, short of actually befriending us. (And if I was really being contrarian/true-to-myself, I would probably argue there is more merit to listening to the complete discography of Chief Keef than there is reading The New Jim Crow, but that’s an argument for another day.)
The response to recent events has moved me. There is a seeming unprecedented resolve to action and to see such a wealth of love and support from my peers is overwhelming (although the ‘are you alright?’ messages are a touch cloying, if still appreciated). Though, sometimes it can be hard to differentiate sincere expressions of solidarity from those intending to absolve themself of their own racism. I suppose if you cannot tell, it might not matter.
That said, the masses of people seen at every protest has been incredible. My city finally resolved its ongoing debate by throwing the statue of its architect into the very harbour he trafficked slave goods through. I, however, am disappointed that the former prosecutor that leads the party that claims to represent us, has condemned this action. Do not fall for the false equivalence between property and human life. Anyone mourning for the destruction of brick-and-mortar, whilst we’re mourning the loss of a living, breathing person is both morally misguided and likely still hasn't-gotten-around-to-watching Do the Right Thing. It is disheartening to hear pundits tell protesters to calm down and Pepsi up when we’re struggling to breathe. Whenever someone changes the discussion about protest from systemic murder to property damage, they are implicitly saying a Black life is worth less than white people’s shit. They’d probably be more upset about these murders if Black lives were still white people’s shit. Yet, to me, if every building in this country burned in exchange to prevent the premature theft of one more Black life, that would be just.
However we must be wary of rioting as riots are dangerous. They should not be encouraged, idealised and, least of all, fetishised as they are by many on the Left. They are, however, extremely necessary. Great change does not occur through peaceful action. Nonviolence is a fiction designed to placate us. We’re taught distorted truths about Dr. King’s message of pacifism by the men who murdered him, then are expected to live up to those fictive ideals. Those who advocate for us to be nonviolent are usually the same as those condoning the violent actions of the state. Telling us to not take action to defend ourselves is asking us to sit back and watch as corrupt politicians recruit more warriors for the fight against the fight against fascism. Then they’ll throw their horses at us. Rubber bullets and pepper spray. They put their knees on our necks as they tell us to take the high road. That’s some Commissioner Bull-shit. Violence is undeniably corrosive and will rot your soul, but what else have we left to give?
This took me a long time. This article’s draft sat empty from the day George Floyd died until very recently. I publish this two months to the day after George Floyd’s murder. To attempt to translate my feelings into the digital ink was a struggle. And even now I still believe I’ve failed. In part because I could never capture the totality of my own struggle, let alone the experience of other Black people. But also because I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say. That may seem silly considering the length of what’s written, but it’s the truth. We all feel like we’re meant to say something, but I’ll be damned if I know what it is. To this, I’ll attribute my lack of focus. I have neither answers nor solutions and I imagine anyone coming here for advice on how to be a better ally will come away mostly disappointed. More than anything else, this article mostly serves my need to vent, but I really needed to fucking vent.
Simultaneously, I’m worried that I don’t even have a right to talk about any of this. I’d be the first to admit my own limited knowledge has probably led to many mistakes and, given the importance of this subject, I don’t want to get this wrong. And I worry that people will think me a hypocrite for the jokes I used to make at the expense of others: other ethnicities, women, trans people, hell, even other Black people. I worry that they wouldn’t be wrong to do so and I still have beliefs of my own that I need to evaluate. I like to think I’ve grown as a person, but if someone asked me about the man I was a few years ago would I have the nerve to condemn him? For all of us to truly grow past our racist conditioning, it requires taking responsibility for our past actions, otherwise we’ll never truly be able to move on.
Now that I’ve eventually moved past those concerns and actually managed to write something, I fear too much time has passed and that the rest of the world has stopped caring about our plight and have moved onto the next thing. I wonder if I died tonight would it remind people that my life mattered? It’s hard to know. We go through this cycle so often. We watch another person die, and we swear this time is different, until it isn’t. And then onto the next thing until the next person goes. Everyone’s an ally until they hear what change actually requires, then we’re being ‘too extreme’ and ‘too unreasonable.’ It’s hard not to be cynical and it's even harder to have hope. It’s frustrating and it leaves me perpetually angry. Maybe that’s why they cross the street when they see me.
Black lives matter.
If you are affected by any of the issues brought up in this article and want to discuss them, feel free to email the BRICK email address. The address is open for whatever reason, whether that’s questioning your role as an ally, or any expressions of fear and concern, or, shit, even if you want to just argue with me. bricksussex@gmail.com
[1] Supposing, for a second, that not all episodes of The Mighty Boosh are questionable
[2] Including at Sussex Library