Thoughts from the criminology team

Follow us on Twitter

What Kamala Harris teaches us about Mixed-Race

November 10, 2020 09:00 / 1 Comment on What Kamala Harris teaches us about Mixed-Race

As President-elect Joe Biden has seen off Donald Trump, the one people are talking about is Vice President-elect Kamala Harris. In her appointment, and even throughout this whole campaign, it is evident that race and America are like two peas in a pod; yin and yang; ice and fire… and Biden choosing her as his Vice President provokes America’s underbelly to show its teeth. Born to a Jamaican father and Indian mother, in Britain Kamala is someone that we would call Multiracial or Mixed-Race. However, in America, they still practice the one-drop rule where one Black ancestor makes a person Black.

And you only have to look at the media headlines as well as the rhetoric on Twitter to see how she, like many Black women in past and present is a victim of misogynoir

Being celebrated in numerous places as the first Black, first Asian, first Indian, first woman Vice President; of course there were flare ups on social media and it really makes me think about identity, pertinently for people that do not fit into monracial boxes. Mixed-Race is the fastest growing racial group but it’s also the one where important conversations are not being had. Like Kamala Harris, former-President Barack Obama is Mixed-Race, raised by his white mother but he is racialised as Black. Harris’ Jamaican and Indian heritage means she is also from a Multiracial background.

Moreover, Jamaica: a place that has been home to Africans, Jews, Lebanese, white European, Indians, Chinese, white creoles and more. What happened in Jamaica is also indicative of what happened on other islands, including Trinidad, Grenada and St. Kitts & Nevis. The Caribbean by its history of migration is Mixed-Race. Blackness has a Mixed-Race history. As far as race is concerned, the Black Lives Matter movement has shown me that Black is more of a political stance and identity, than a race. Race is a construct but if we take that construct at face value, there’s millions of people like me that “look Black” (darker skin / tighter hair) who are actually Multiracial.

The Black Lives Matter movement also is making me think about how much we don’t know about Blackness, Black identity, heritage and history; furthermore, how in Black communities, this is still an uncomfortable conversation

Barack Obama was celebrated as the first Black president of the United States but his mother was white. Both Harris’ Black and Indian identities are being celebrated, as well as being the first woman Vice President. In this reflection, it can be noted what identities are being used in political football and which ones aren’t. Using Obama and Harris as a conduit, it is a reminder of the monoracial boxes that Black history is being seen through. What we also have to realise is that Black has changed meaning over time and Black is not a monolith, and neither is Mixed-Race. Blackness is fluid.

Whether we agree with her politics is another conversation entirely, and whether Harris claimed her Black ancestry prior is another discussion; we don’t know what her relationship is like with her Blackness, as the road to being one with your own racial identity is a long one… I am not sure anyone’s in a place to judge – Black, white or otherwise.

Meet the team – Amy Cortvriend, Lecturer in Criminology

November 6, 2020 13:33 / 1 Comment on Meet the team – Amy Cortvriend, Lecturer in Criminology

I am one of the new members of the criminology team at UoN and have joined from the University of Manchester where I have been a teaching assistant (probably the equivalent of associate lecturer at UoN) for the last couple of years while I’ve been working on my PhD. I’m looking forward to my new role as lecturer in criminology and hopefully at some point meeting students in real life, face to face. It’s a bit strange starting a new job in a new town when I’m still sat in my living room in Manchester, but the rest of the team have made me feel welcome regardless.

My journey into criminology is a funny one. I did life the opposite to many people, having my first child at 16. When my second child went to school I decided to return to education and as I didn’t have A-levels I has to undertake an Access diploma to get into university. I was required to choose three subjects and at first, I opted for English literature because I love(d) reading (I’m sure I still love reading but I’ve not read anything non-work related for a long time). I picked sociology because it sounded interesting and the same with history. At the last minute I swapped history to criminology and never looked back. From my first lesson I knew this was my future, although at that point I wasn’t sure how.

I always had imposter syndrome and never thought my work was good enough (still do today but we’ll save that for another blog post), but my Access tutor believed in me and suggested I apply to the University of Manchester. As I was a mature student, I had to attend an interview with two of the lecturers. I was super nervous, but I got a place and never left. The undergraduate degree was difficult at times because there were only a couple of mature students and they eventually dropped out. I wasn’t in halls and had kids at home, so I didn’t have the same student experience as many of my cohort, however I made some great friends particularly those who stayed to undertake our MRes.

I finished my undergraduate degree with a first and was awarded a scholarship for my research Masters’ then luckily got another studentship for my PhD which is near completion and here I am. Since I’m teaching research methods modules this year my students will be pleased to know that my BA (Hons) and MRes were heavily focussed on research methods and my PhD has given me three years of real-life research experience. My dissertations and thesis have all followed my research interests in the psychology of victimisation and border criminology. My PhD thesis explores the victimisation of refugees and how they cope. That’s all I will say about my research right now, but I will write another blog about it at some point. Probably when I’ve finished writing it and the hard work is a distant memory.

On a personal note, the daughter I had at 16 is now grown up and lives on her own and my youngest is a sassy 14-year-old girl. We have also just got our Pomeranian puppy Prince. In my free time I’m usually doing something active. I’m a Crossfitter and many of my closest friends are gym friends so the gym is both my mental health crutch and my social life. When I do eventually sit down, I love a good box set. I’m currently watching The Morning Show with Jennifer Aniston and Reese Witherspoon. Recommendations via email are welcome.

Now you know a little bit about me. I’ll look forward to getting to know all the criminology students soon, either virtually or face to face. Hopefully some of you will put your cameras on at least for a day so that when we eventually meet, I’ll know who you are.

The Lockdown Lowdown

November 4, 2020 16:46 / Leave a comment

20294386_10155584220161468_7680678512660347384_n
– It’s just a temporary thing –
I took this photo a few years ago on a solo visit to Copenhagen, I had just quit my job and was in the process of leaving where I called home, my PTSD was certainly at its worst and the future was entirely uncertain…

A cosy Sunday evening, the flat has been hoovered, the washing is out to dry, lunch has been prepped for the following day…yet despite all of this normality me and my partner sit here on our cosy Sunday armed with the knowledge that another national lockdown is imminent. So whats next for us?

Before I explore whats next I want to reflect on what has been, it was only this time last year that my mental health was at its worst since I was diagnosed with PTSD some years ago and it was during this month last year that I found out I was pregnant. After many difficult conversations I decided that that chapter of my life was not ready to begin, not just yet, and so the guilt consumed me and I relied on anti-depressants to help me through that difficult time. Eventually as time passed so did the guilt and my mental health became stronger, because I willed it so, and after a short stint I stopped using the anti-depressants because I knew within myself I didn’t have to rely on them…

…More time passed and I found that the strength of my mental health had started to peak, I set myself goals that only I knew about and only I could achieve, I started to be critical of the people I surround myself with to ensure that I was living as authentically true to who I am as possible. This was my attempt at self care, As I withdrew from these friendships I simultaneously removed my negative addictions and repeated behaviours (drugs, alcohol, time-wasting, self-depreciation), I realised that my actions allowed me to concentrate my full energy on the things that truly matter in my life (my studies, my family, my relationship)… and then lockdown happened.

And boy was I prepared for that, I wont deny that I grew a few stretch marks and after some self hate Ive learnt to accept and love them as a natural process of my body. I realised I didn’t do much exercise during lockdown and my appetite was unruly, with zoom quiz night’s came alcohol and snacks (lots of them). Despite my growing waist I was okay mentally and yes I wont deny that having my own apartment and living with my partner helps but also having dealt with a bit of a breakdown some months prior helped order my perspective on my life, how I want to live it and how I would tackle this challenging time. As a 2nd year student I lost all hope and focus for a while as the outstanding assignments were piling up and I was heavily relying on the august submission date, I felt like I wasn’t worthy of being a university student, that I was never going to graduate and self doubt quickly reappeared into my life, Its a strange thing really during lockdown I didn’t really do anything at all, but I also never found the time to study? And the strangest thing is that actually most students felt this way and when me and my peers communicated how we were feeling we were able to support each other more and eventually those assignments were submitted and here we are… 3rd years!

So 3 days to go before lockdown 2 and how can I get through this?… how can you get through this? Undoubtedly there are many people who have dealt with a world of pain since coronavirus first graced our planet and yet in my experience I found this year to be quite grounding and it has allowed me to focus my energy on me, who I am, what I want and who I want to be (without sounding narcissistic but rather rightfully selfish), because I have no control over external happenings neither do you and thats okay. what we can do is focus on our little world; ourselves and the people around us. heres a few quotes I find to be quite relevant to this train of thought.

“To what goal are you straining? The whole future lies in uncertainty; live immediately” – Seneca

“Just keep in mind the more we value things outside our control, the less control we have” – Epictetus

“Man conquers the world by conquering himself” – Zeno

So how can you, how can we, get through lockdown? granted it may not be as-long as the last one but we’ve had a taste of normality again and so this time round it may be harder, this time we have long winter days and a lack of vitamin D combined with the uncertainty of celebrating Christmas with family looming over us, so in consideration of Epictetus’ wise words lets focus on what we can control; 1. lets schedule consistent self care( for me that comes in the medium of being disciplined, in terms of uni work.. and diet), 2. Lets move our bodies! go for a walk outside and pick up litter? (later in this blog post you’ll find some of my suggestions for walks around Northamptonshire), 3. don’t pressure yourself into being consistently pro-active! 4. do drink hot chocolate. 5. And if your sad about missing out on getting your Christmas shopping in early then try to buy from local independant businesses, you might find many local stores posting available items onto their social media pages and offering contact-free deliveries! 6. Check up on your friends and family, be mindful of keeping communication going, you don’t know who just might be struggling! 7. Buy a homeless person a warm meal!
(TIP: when looking for businesses check out this new hashtag on instagram introduced by some local Northampton businesses to get people buying more locally)… #SHOPLOCALSAVECHRISTMAS

https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/shoplocalsavechristmas/

Overall lets focus on our own self betterment and where possible our local communities betterment (and as always wear a mask!!)

And most importantly if you are struggling then reach out to someone and let them know, as always with my posts as the focus tends to be on mental health I will provide links to the university’s, the local communities and national charities mental health resources, so please take note and rely on them if you need to.

For my previous blogs/context have a read of the following:
Navigating Mental Health at University
Navigating your mental health whilst studying at university during a worldwide health pandemic

“Joy comes to us from those whom we love even when they are absent” – Seneca

“Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present” – Marcus Aurelius

“Don’t hope that events will turn out the way you want, welcome events in whichever way they happen: this is the path to peace” – Epictetus

I could continue on with a great deal more of these philosophical quotes and if you are interested in them then I’d recommend reading up on the discipline of stoicism, but if you’d like to read on you’ll find a few suggestions of areas to walk in and around Northamptonshire in aid of keeping your body moving during this lockdown, (and if you can take a bag and pick up litter).

Exploring Northampton’s Parks and Reservoirs

Abington Park; Located in the NN1 postcode a short distance from the town centre. The park has plenty of areas to explore with ponds, forestry areas and it offers some lovely autumnal photo opportunities, heres a particularly orangey-ember tree that caught my eye.

image9
One from my recent walk around Abby park
image6
One from a summery walk around Abington park, heading up the hill towards the church.
image1
You’ll likely find Abington Park filled with seasonal flowers.

Sixfields lakes and reservoir; Unless you know of this lake you wouldn’t know it was there, Its situated a little down from the Sixfields football stadium, there is a small roundabout you can take to go up towards the cinema (Walter Tull Way), down Edgar Mobbs way, or join the A5076, and there is a fourth almost hidden turning that will take you down a road adjacent to Duston mill road, it is down this road that you will find this little gem.
There are two lakes to walk around, one being the main option where most people park up (there is parking on site) at a leisurely stroll the walk will take around an hour, you may see plenty of fishermen and lots of wildlife!
There is a second walk which I’ve only recently discovered myself, just down from the car park there is a small gate and it is through there you can explore to your hearts content!

image5
One image from the summer; This is the main lake that I refer to.
image2
Apparently my crop function didn’t work on this image? Anyhow this is a lovely view from the walk around the main lake; it looks almost untouched by humans.

The Racecourse; I Imagine plenty of students and teachers alike will be aware of this location as it housed the university campus for many many years. As a budding criminologist I cant ignore the fact that the Racecourse has developed a rather unruly reputation for crime, I’ve personally never experienced anything and Ive lived in Northampton the majority of my life but thats not to say that it doesn’t happen, so as always be wise about your walk, perhaps avoid late night’s, let someone know where you are walking and stick to the street lights. The racecourse is a roughly 15 minute walk from the town centre and on good weather days offers views like this;

image4
dreamy skyscape at the Racecourse
image0
Looking up at the trees – Racecourse

a-bit further afield: Harlestone Firs; I would recommend driving to this location if you can, there may be local busses that run in the area but I would recommend checking the COVID guidance with regard to bus routes. So Harlestone Firs is a fantastic location to get lost in the woods for a few hours, and I literally mean get lost… I have been there countless times and I still lose myself in there, but its a welcome loss. You’ll find endless amounts of huge ferns, fir trees, endless pathways and there is a working timber yard in amongst this location too. Wear boots for this spot I always choose my trusty Dr.Martens.

image3
up in the woods… (kanye reference)

Brixworth Country Park/ Pitsford Reservoir; Another location you’ll likely need a vehicle to visit. This huge location offers a giant walk or a bike ride, you can of-course take your pooch with you too but keep them on a lead as theres plenty of cyclists at this location. I recently made the mistake of biking around here with the pooch on an extremely hot day and wow was that an interesting experience. There is paid parking on site or a little slip road you can park along. If you need to just take a few hours or even the whole day go and visit this location, take a packed lunch and sit and enjoy the view.

image7
That’s the pooch running in-front of me… soon to be a near miss incident with a cyclist.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CFXhqiipsPU/
Heres a little instagram reel of my recent trip to this location!

Here are some more locations that you may already know about and can explore during this lockdown, do make sure to check local COVID guidance, and even if you cant visit some locations now then make a note of them and visit them when you get a chance, Northamptonshire has such a vast amount of countryside to offer!

Becketts Park – Located just of the university campus offering a short distanced walk but plenty of wildlife and a nice view of the canals and lake.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CGuddk5ptOD/
A recent walk around Becketts park


Sywell Reservoir – You’ll likely need a vehicle to visit this location but you could also take the X46 bus (or X47?) Sywell takes around 2-3 hours to walk depending on pace, its one of my favourite spots as I grew up walking around this location.
Victoria Park and Dallington Park – Both are situated in St.James, and both are relatively small in comparison to the other locations but well worth incorporating into your daily exercise if you live within this location.
– Brackmills Country Park
– Delapre Park and Delapre Wood
– Earls Barton just of Doddington road, a pathway leading down to Summer Leys, here you can explore plenty of the river nene, beautiful views of the surrounding landscape and lots of horses!
– Rectory Farm fields; Here you can explore the fields (but be respectful of the farmers land) these fields stretch out to Overstone and Sywell, if you’d like to visit sywell reservoir and living within rectory farm then just take the fields route this route would take around 30 mins to walk to sywell reservoir and its well worth it.

So thats it for me, if you have any of your own suggestions not just in regard to walks around Northamptonshire but also how to keep your mind healthy during this next lockdown then please do comment any suggestions you might have, were all in this together!

If you’ve read this far then here’s one last quote to guide you into your day…
“The impediment to action advances action, what stands in the way becomes the way” – Marcus Aurelius

see below for references to guidance and advice.

School Boys’ Crush #BlackAsiaWithLove

October 30, 2020 11:40 / Leave a comment

At first, he would just smile at me from across the room.

During classes, if I rose my hand to answer the teacher, he’d just glare at me as if I were accepting the Miss America title, or giving a rousing speech.

I always felt stronger in class with him inside.

To be fair, I didn’t even know if he liked boys at first.

Or perhaps he was just grinning at me because I was foreign… exotic, and spoke English, the common tongue that everyone wanted to master.

Anyway, he was a foreigner, too, training to be a translator and interpreter and

Still had several languages to master; English was just one.

Our friend Sabine was pretty, blue-eyed, thin, buxom, wore form-fitting-flattering clothes, had long, flowing blond hair and was a native speaker of both French and Alsatian.

Surely, he’d go of someone like her.

Yeah, I threw in every doubt, but

I’d still wait outside for him before the one class we shared, International Relations and

All through the class he’d grin at me from across the room.

Or, I’d look for him when I knew his class was at the end of the hall.

Between classes, somehow, we’d find one another’s gaze.

I loved getting to go to class.

Twice a week, I even got to brush past him before the last period when it seemed that all the classes switched sides.

He’s taller than me, so as we brushed past one another.

Sometimes we would hold our heads up and catch each other’s gaze,

But initially this was too much for me,

I knew my knees would buckle if I stood that close to his deep brown eyes;

I doubted I could stop myself from reaching up and touching his dark curly hair.

I had to look away,

Or else I might just fall over and…

And he’d have to catch me.

Crap, then I’d surely faint!

So mostly I would look down as we passed in the hall between classes.

As he neared, he’d sigh heavily, and

So I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck.

He liked spearmint.

*Sigh.

Then, as we reached the opposite ends of the hall, he’d turn back and smile, and

He knew I’d look back, that I’d be waiting to catch his gaze.

I’d smile back.

Then, he’d turn away – look down – as if grinning to himself about a secret that only he knew.

I found myself on the other end of the hall doing the same.

Then one day, a good friend of his invited me over for her birthday party, and

Somehow, he and I kept creeping closer to one another.

We hadn’t yet formally met, so

He kept talking to his friends, and I kept talking to mine, but

As we shifted around the room, we got nearer and nearer one another.

As the party dwindled and everyone started making arrangements to walk someone else home that night,

I could see him waiting idly, quietly, to the side, until the end.

I wanted him to walk me home, which I had every right to demand, because,

Because I was a foreigner, and couldn’t really even tell you what part of town I lived in.

So, he agreed to walk me home.

And we ended up at his house.

I spent the night in his arms.

I spent the next six years there.

Over the years, he’d mastered and prepared dishes for me from all of the cultures from all the languages he was mastering.

I loved our international relations.

The industry of hope

October 30, 2020 10:58 / Leave a comment

There is expectation in hope that things will change.  Every personal and social issue that is not going according to plan, all the adversities and the misfortunes, are placed on the anticipation that eventually, things will change.  The conviction for the change is hope.  Hope is a feeling based on emotions, irrational and inexplicable.

Hope is a refuge for those whose lives are wronged and feel unable to do anything but to hope.  Millions of people hope for better days, better health, better relationships, better lives.  This hope keeps expectations high even when you are told of the opposite. 

Consider the following dialogues:

“The environment is changing, global warming, the pandemic and the economic recession.  It looks like we’ve had it!  We are one meteor away from a catastrophic event”.  “I agree with what you say, but I hope that despite all these we will find a way out of all these.”   

 “Your crime is too serious; looks like you are going to jail”.  “I hope the judge is lenient and maybe I will not go to prison”     

“The tests indicate that your health has deteriorated, it is unlikely to change; I am afraid you have only a few months to live”.  “I hope that God will listen to my prayer and cure me”.

“I do not love you anymore, I want to leave you!  “Don’t break my heart; I hope you change your mind.”

All these have one thing in common.  The respondent’s hope for something, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.  This unwavering conviction comes at a price!  The entire world is built on an industry of hope.  Institutions, systems, “experts” and many more who profit from the misfortune of others.  One of the main benefactors in this industry is undoubtedly religious institutions and belief experts. 

Some years ago, in one of my trips, in found myself in a monastery that has a tradition of snakes appearing on the day of the ascension of the Virgin Mary.  The revellers regard it as a sign of good fortune and favour from her grace.  I was in the monastery on a different day, when a group of boisterous Russian tourists were trying to buy some grace.  The lady in the church was clear; a small bottle of holy water 3 euros, a small bottle of oil 5 euros.  There were bigger sizes and of course for more certainty of hope, a purchase of both is indicated.  Since then, it got me thinking; what is the price of hope? 

Faced with a terminal disease, how much would any of us will pay to live a little bit longer?  The question is merely rhetorical, because each of us is likely to pay according to what they can afford.  There are those who may care less for themselves, but are willing to sacrifice anything for someone special; or a great idea. 

Since the discovery of electricity, Victorian scientists dispelled the expertise of those charlatans that spoke with the dead and commuted with the spirits. Even though there have been mounting evidence against them, their industry of hope is still booming. People like to hope. They embrace its positive message. After all Dum Spiro Spero.*

There is of course the other side; Nikos Kazantzakis famously said; “I hope for nothing. I fear nothing. I am free.” It is liberating not to hope, but it is very difficult to achieve. Personally, despite experiencing negative situations, and even after meeting some naysayers armed with a sour face in life, I will never stop hoping that people are better inside and they can change and embrace their better selves. My hope, I fear, is incurable.

*While I breathe, I hope

My Criminology Journey: Haley

October 23, 2020 08:21 / 2 Comments on My Criminology Journey: Haley

The start of my criminology journey is not very exciting. I am not fully sure of how or why I ended up studying the subject. I was advised to study hairdressing at school as my predicted grades were not good enough for university, but the idea of trusting myself with a pair of scissors was very unnerving. I had a dilemma at college as I was unable to decide whether I wanted to study healthcare or construction – two courses which bore no similarity. In the end I give up trying to make decisions and studied A Levels because that was what my friends were doing.

University may as well have been on Mars at this point, as it was completely mysterious and unknown to me. Whilst at college, I was asked by my tutor to go to an open day at Oxford University. I saw this as an opportunity to unmask this university ‘thing’ for what it really was, so I agreed to go. I felt completely out of place throughout the day and found myself gobsmacked by the sheer privilege of the place, the culture and the students etc. At the same time, I was fascinated by the available courses, so I decided to continue my studies into higher education.    

My first attempt at university did not go as well as I had intended it to. I had other issues to contend with at the time, so I dropped out after two weeks. However, in 2010 I enrolled at the UoN and never really left. I had a great time studying criminology at UoN as I thought that my course was very interesting and the teaching staff (aka @paulaabowles and @manosdaskalou) were spectacular.  

I did not realise this it at the time but I was well prepared for critical criminological discussions because I came from a background where people would be demonized for a whole host of social problems – it was clear to me at the time that this was unfair. Whilst enjoying the course content I did have to make a considered effort to improve on my writing skills, but it was worth the effort as this improvement worked wonders on my grades. As an undergraduate, I used my overdraft and savings from working part-time jobs to go travelling at the end of each academic year, this was beneficial for helping me to understand criminological issues outside of the UK.      

In 2015 I began teaching as an associate lecturer at UoN and I really enjoyed it. I also completed an MA degree in Social Research. To fast-forward to today, I now work as a lecturer in criminology – and this really is, beyond my wildest dreams!

Studying is not always a smooth ride for some, but if you work hard, you never know where you might end up.

Solitude. (Ode to Bankass) #BlackenAsiaWithLove

October 22, 2020 10:47 / Leave a comment

I first began to respect solitude in Bankass, the village on the edge of the Sahara, in central Mali, in which I lived for two years as a Peace Corps volunteer. At that time, there were no wireless anythings – no WiFi, no, tablets, no Bluetooth, and certainly no smartphones. This was the late 90’s, well when that technology was just growing among consumers.

Early in the morning, just after morning prayer, you could hear radios in the distance, men roaming around in the dark with their personal transistors. AM, FM and shortwaves, men would just go for a morning constitution. In case you’re unaware, outside of the light pollution of cities, the world can be pitch-dark. Yet even then, the fuzzy buzz of short-waves roamed around in the pre-dawn.

I had one, too, a rather swanky, handheld short-wave radio, the final gift from my godfather as I left America. That’s how I got hooked on BBC Worldservice. Outside of music, short-wave BBC was the only English I’d hear in any given day. Plus, I had my own CD player and a portable-enough collection of favorites. There I was, alone in my hut with the bootleg CD’s of the latest hits I’d obtained in shops in the regional capital, Mopti, half-a-day away by bush taxi. Janet’s Velvet Rope and Madonna’s Ray of Light; in my solitude.

Luckily, music was everywhere. It was young people wanting to understand Hip-Hop that got me to teaching English in the village school. Even back in training camp, boys my age called on me to translate and explain the poetic lyricism of Bob Marley, and I was only a nascent fan back then. Still, young people there fully expected me to speak knowingly about that music, first in French, then in Bambara, too. To help my own French, I got my friend Ali to break down Black So Man to me man to man, line by line, and eventually graduated to singing in Bambara.

As I am not Muslim, I did not rise with the pre-dawn call to prayer; this mesmerizing chant soothed me into a morning daze. What an awakening! And then I’d drift off back to sleep. Shortly thereafter, I’d hear the men roaming around the village with their radios. Then after that, I knew the kids would show up.

My host family on the day I learned the host father would take a second wife.

Just after morning prayer and breakfast, a group of boys – aged around 6-8 – would show up at my doorstep, knocking on my window, unable to conceive that any adult would sleep past morning prayer. “Moussa, Moussa,” they’d call out to me, using the name I’d been given by my host family in our training village. Enjoying the company and not wanting to disappoint, I would rise to their calls like clockwork. What would be this morning’s adventure before the kids were off to school? Could we tend to my meager garden which paled in comparison to the crops of millet their parents grew? Or perhaps, we could go fetch a few buckets of water at the local robinet, faucets of underground water, pumped into a tower, and sold for cheap in every neighborhood, compliments of the German government. Being the godson of Dan Massie, anyone who came around me had to be put to work – we could support each other in whatever needed to be done. Mind you, this was Dogon country, and so all the kids spoke Fulani and a few local Dogon dialects. Like me, they mostly learned Bambara in a classroom, not at home, so we were on the same level. Communication was fluid. Plenty of solitude, but I was never lonely.

The power of the written word: fact, fiction and reality

October 16, 2020 15:32 / Leave a comment

“‘LONG LIVE FREEDOM OF SPEECH'” by Newtown grafitti is licensed under CC BY 2.0

The written word is so powerful, crucial to our understanding and yet so easily abused.  So often what gets written is unregulated, even when written in the newspapers.  Whilst the press is supposedly regulated independently, we have to question how much regulation actually occurs. Freedom of the press is extremely important, so is free speech but I do wonder where we draw the line. Is freedom of speech more important than regulating damaging vitriolic hyperbole and rhetoric? Is freedom of speech more important than truth?

We only have to read some of the sensationalist headlines in some newspapers to realise that the truth is less important than the story.  What we read in papers is about what sells not about reality. The stories probably tell us more about the writer and the editor than anything else. We more often than not know nothing about the circumstances or individuals that are being written about. Stories are told from the viewpoint of others that purport to be there, or are an ‘expert’ in a particular field. The stories are just that, stories, they may represent one person’s reality but not another’s. Juicy parts are highlighted, the dull and boring downplayed.  Whilst this can be aimed at newspapers, can the same not be said about other forms of media?

A few weeks ago, I was paging through LinkedIn on my phone catching up with the updates I had missed. Why I have LinkedIn I don’t really know.  I think its because a long time ago when I was about to go job hunting someone told me it was a good idea. Anyway, I digress, what caught my eye was a number of people congratulating Rachel Swann on becoming the next Chief Constable of Derbyshire.  I recognised her from the news, remember the story when the dam was about to burst?

It wasn’t the fact that she’d been promoted that caught my eye, it was the fact that someone had written that she should ignore the trolls on Twitter. I had a quick look to see what they were on about. To say they were vitriolic is an understatement. But all of the comments based her ability to do the job on her looks and her sexuality.  I thought to myself at the time, how do you get away with this? I doubt that any of those people that wrote those comments have any idea about her capabilities. Unkind, rude and I dare say hurtful comments, made that are totally unregulated. The comments say more about the writers than they do about Rachel Swann. You don’t get to the position of Assistant Chief Constable let alone Chief Constable without having displayed extraordinary qualities.

And then I think about Twitter and the nonsense that people are allowed to write on this medium. President Trump is a prime example.  There isn’t a day that goes by without him writing some vitriolic nonsense about someone or some nation.  Barack Obama used to be in his sights and now it’s Joe Biden. I know nothing about any of them, but if I follow the Trump twit feed, they are incompetent fools and disaster looms if Biden is elected as president.  As I said before, sometimes what is written says more about the writer than anyone else.

I’m conscious that I’m writing this for a blog and many that read it don’t know me.  Blogs are no different to other media outlets.  If I am to criticise others for what they have written, then I ought to be careful about what I write and how.  I have strong views and passionately believe in free speech, but I do not believe that the privilege I have been given allows me to be hurtful to others. My views are my views and sometimes I think readers get a little glimpse of the real me, the chances are they have a better idea about me than what I am writing about.  I write with a purpose and often from the heart, but I try not to be unkind nor stretch the truth or tell outright lies. I value my credibility and if I believe that people know more about me than the story, I owe it to myself to try to be true to my values. I just wish sometimes that when people write for the newspapers, post comments on Twitter or write blogs that they thought about what they are writing and indulged in a bit of self-reflection. Maybe they don’t because they wont like what they see.

Your god is cruel #BlackAsiaWithLove

October 15, 2020 04:09 / Leave a comment

Norman Rockwell’s painting “The Problem We All Live With” depicting Ruby Bridges – the first black child to attend an all white elementary school in the South. Image from the website of the Norman Rockwell Museum.

I don’t trust your god

Your god is cruel

Your god is mean

Your god allowed generations of your people to enslave mine

Your god made it okay to look into the Bible and see white power.

You prayed to your god with every slave you took.

You prayed that your catch would be bountiful, and

Your enslavers safe.

You’ve prayed that you would gain money, and fame, and power.

And you did.

Your god gave you everything.

Thanks to your god-given wealth,

You built church after church, and

Cathedral after cathedral, all around the globe,

So that everyone could worship your god.

You prayed that we’d all pay homage to a mean and cruel god.

Your god’s played a trick on you,

Convincing you slavery was god-like, that white was right!

That dark was evil, and so

Your god’s given you moral dominion over the darker peoples of the world.

You and your god dominate.

Don’t you know,

Your god’s cross was used to conquer the Americas, and

A church sits smack in the middle of west Africa’s biggest, extant slave castle!?!

Yes, your god was right there with you as you captured human cargo, and

Stored them right next to your church so they could hear you pray, and

Marched them out of the door of no return, onto feed your greed that your god sanctioned.

You grew fat, bloated with power,

Thanks to your god.

I don’t trust your god.

Nor should you.

Now, with every attempt we have to take back our humanity, you resist.

We say “Black Lives Matter,” and you pray they don’t.

You pray for a champion – a big man – to come down from above and save you.

And when that big, rich, powerful man does descend,

And threatens to shore off all apologists for your god’s cruel past,

You treat him as heaven-sent!

And call out all defectors from your church,

All those so-called Liberals who’ve turned away from your god.

You pray that this big man and his family will bask in the gains of your god’s glory.

That somehow this big man’s glory attests to your god’s power.

You cheer when that big man waves a bible at you, in front of any church, and

You tell yourself: “My God is good,” and

You run-n-fetch your god every time the big man blows the dog-whistle,

Which you hear clear as day.

Run. Stay. Sit.

You follow your god’s orders.

Free yourself from your old god.

To erase that history, to look away from those facts, you must also erase yourself…

Because slavery, and continued subjugation is not just my problem, it’s…

The Problem We All Live With.

It’s in you, too.

‘Honours’ is also a Black Lives Matter issue

October 13, 2020 16:33 / 1 Comment on ‘Honours’ is also a Black Lives Matter issue

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

Part 1 of a two-part post on the Honours System

Growing up Black, being told Black people are criminals, lazy, stupid, thieves, rapists, illiteratre, how do you think society rewards those that exceed white expectations? When I see people that look like me accepting Honours from the establishment, I wonder what they are thinking. That when I see them with those three letters after their name, I remember the stories I read – about Nanny and the Maroons; and those about Morant Bay, where red-coated soldiers slaughtered children and pregnant mothers where they stood – and how the Arawaks jumped from Grenadine hills to avoid enslavement; how my ancestors were confined to those death camps we call slave plantations, where they were raped, tortured, killed… what I call a Black Holocaust.

The same system of oppression that kidnapped us from the African continent, forced Black people to endure Middle Passage and be thrown from the Zong, is a version of the system that orchestrated the Windrush Scandal, treats the Grenfell victims with contempt, and allowed London Met’s racial bias to run brigand throughout the Stephen Lawrence Inquiry (1993/94). That while we have been the victims of institutional violence throughout history from the establishment, we are also some of its proudest members, particularly with activists, academics and community workers. 

Photo by James Eades on Unsplash

There are people in my own community who have these awards; Black people and white people, in addition to people who are women and working class. This award carries with it a jingoism I saw in [hard] Brexit fever, harking back to the days of Suez, slavery and the Potato Famine. This insistence that Britons from Black and Brown backgrounds should be the diversity in a society that has shunned us since the days of Granville Sharp and the Black Poor. That in having Black and Brown people accepting Honours, it makes them okay for everyone else, because diversity:  

“often creates a happy impression; it is how an organisation appears welcoming to those who appear different by drawing on those who appear different. Diversity can appear as an invitation, an open door, translated into a tagline: minorities welcome! Come in, come in” (Ahmed, 2018: 334). 

To honour Black Britain in this way is a dishonour (especially during Black History Month and post-George Floyd). To honour people who are working class, women, gay, trans… in this way is a dishonour – since colonialism discriminated on more grounds than just race. That deserving people, especially still during Coronavirus, have been honoured – NHS staff, educators, and more – but when British history holds so much violence, how can one in good conscience accept that on the shoulders of your name?

For me, the British Empire is more than a historical footnote to a darker time in British history. It’s inside my identity: my ancestors’ blood, sweat and tears, which is my blood, sweat and tears. My last name, my slave name is the crime scene. My being, is an everlasting symbol of trauma and violence in this winter of our discontent that I cannot walk away from. When I think how both Benjamin Zephaniah and Ken Loach declined Honours, it gives me hope. But when I see Labour MPs with honours, it’s a disrespect to how the Jews and the Irish kicked Oswald Mosely out of Cable Street; it’s also in contempt of how Rochdale millworkers stood in solidarity with enslaved African-American during the Lancashire Cotton Famine.  

Yet, in the 21st century, where more people that look like me are writing books and speaking out, could it be down to empire not being taught on curricula to the reason why so many accept these awards? Is there an “I’ve made it” attitude from my parents’ and grandparents’ generation? Do my generation simply not know their history, so do not understand the significance?  Though, I wonder if people that look like me think about the history when they accept these awards. That while they are “honoured”, I can hear the establishment cackling in the aftermath of Stephen Lawrence and Hillsborough, Jamaica 50, Grenfell and the trauma of stop and search.  

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

In closing, how can anyone know the history and accept the (dis)honour, in the strong arms of colonial laws that stopped people who were Black / Brown, working class, women, gay, trans or had disabilities from realising themselves? And while Black and Brown activists are some of the establishment’s proudest members, they are overrepresented in the morgue, because of inequalities enabled by murderous policies that disproportionately impact people of colour. Evident now in COVID-19. And in the language of today, these are “unprecedented times”, or so they say.

Growing up British-Caribbean, it’s safe to say that I feel like an alien among my own people. That my relatives would accept an honour on the basis, that “they’ve made it” in the “Motherland.” I know them and many of their friends would go to stately homes unhindered by the qualms of colonialism. To dine in halls that would have hosted slave traders like John Locke, Sir John Hawkins, George Washington and members of the Royal African Company. Do I judge those that accept Honours? Not all of them. I have bigger issues with the system, and the educated – activists and historians,

the politicians… who should know better. Many of whom, whose work I have an enormous respect for. Which begs the question, did the sun ever really set on the British Empire? 

Post navigation

← Older posts Newer posts →

Categories