Posted in Blog

New Years in Vienna

Now that I’ve finally finished my module and have a couple of weeks off, I can FINALLY write a post about my new year’s in Vienna!

We spent our stay at the Vienna Inn Apartments, which we found on booking.com. Unfortunately it wasn’t the best place we’ve ever stayed, however, the location was perfect and it was good enough to lay our heads down for a couple of nights.

I’ll start with NYE, which was our first day (we arrived on the night of 30th).

We woke up quite early so that we could see as much as we could. Vienna is such a beautiful city, with tall, magnificent buildings gazing down upon the pebbled streets and alleys. We took the tram into the city centre (it’s so easy to get around the city!) And travel is also really cheap.

Mozart himself!

We visited Mozarthaus Vienna (Mozart’s Apartment) (I had heard that it was quite small and on first glance you think that everybody was wrong, however many of the rooms were not actually part of his original apartment; for the purpose of the museum, many of the other apartments had been opened up to accommodate all of his possessions from other places he had lived, as well as all tourists who come to visit. He’s not one of my favourite composers, however you can’t deny how talented he was and it was incredibly interesting to read about how hard he worked to get where he was, leaving the security of his family to chase his goals because he truly believed in this talents, attaching himself to the right people (bit of a hustler LOL), whilst working incredibly hard at his craft to become the legendary prodigy he was and still is today.

The streets outside in the city decorated in lights, truly magical. It was during these celebrations I realised that for the first time in ages, I was smiling at people in the street. I felt so comfortable around these strangers, which is not a feeling I experience in the streets of London; London can be a fairly isolating city anyway, but it can be incredibly intimidating when you are a minority or “look different”.

After leaving Mozarthaus Vienna, we popped into this lovely coffee house called Café Hofburg, for coffee and pancakes. It was incredibly luxurious and I felt rather underdressed in my ripped jeans and doc martins!


Every year the city holds a massive street party that begins in the day and goes on into the early hours of the New Year’s Day. (They also hold a masquerade ball for New Year’s but unfortunately it’s so exclusive that the tickets were a little bit out of our price range!) The party includes stalls with food and drinks – including mulled wine (which was actually probably the best I’d EVER had!) – and live music. Around the city centre there were about three stages with bands playing. Another one was playing waltz music on a sound system and had a dance floor attached for people to join in some ballroom dancing (there’s nothing like hearing the Viennese Waltz in the streets of Vienna!).

After drinking too much mulled wine and still hours away from midnight, we realised that we were freezing and in need of shelter. We found a lovely restaurant called Café Rathaus, a welcoming restaurant with a 1940s décor and incredibly welcoming staff. The waiter who served us asked the chef to cook us a vegetarian meal of cheese toasties, fries and salad as there wasn’t any veggie options on the menu. We spent HOURS in here, staying warm, eating an incredible amount of food and getting even more drunk on red wine. So much fun!

We managed roll ourselves out of Café Rathaus just before midnight! At midnight, there was the traditional countdown followed by an insane fireworks display; I think we actually came into 2019 a little late because the announcer on the stage messed up the countdown and it fell out of sync with the fireworks setting off, so everybody in the crowd was like whaaaaat is going on? LOL. But we all had fun welcoming in the new year regardless. Again, I guess being drunk influenced this, but everybody was in merry spirits, happy to be around people, dancing with one another and greeting each other – even before the clock struck midnight. I’ve spent new year in the streets of London and again it is a very different experience.

We got back to the apartment incredibly late but as New Year’s Day was our last full day in Vienna, we didn’t want to waste it so even though we were hungover, we got up relatively early to make the most of the day. The problem was, although we wanted to do some last minute sightseeing, we needed to refuel first and unfortunately because of the holidays, many restaurants and cafes were closed. Which shouldn’t be surprising when you think about it, however many had forgotten to update their websites so were advertised as open on New Years day, only for us to rock up to a shut building. We eventually found a Vapiano’s which I’m pretty sure I’d heard lots about so suggested we eat in there, opting to choose it over the alternative option which was Maccy D’s. I will regret this decision for the rest of my life: Not only is the food awful; as this was our first visit to a Vapiano’s we had no idea how it worked and nobody explained it to us. You know how every time you rock up to a Nando’s they always ask if you’ve been before? Because if not they’ll explain the process of ordering food to you? Not at Vapiano’s. We were thrown this card and moved along, so we had to Google what to do with it and what to do from there. The perk is that after you’ve stood in a queue for 30+ minutes to order your food, if you’re having pasta they cook it for you there and then at the cooking stations, but this means that the wait is just even longer and you end up watching your dinner companions eating two pizzas in the time it takes just for you to get your one bowl of pasta. The pizzas are also freshly made and cooked to order and they use a similar device like many big chain restaurants in Central London where they give you a device to alert you when your table is ready, but in this case the device tells you when your pizza is ready. And boy is it cooked! So much so that the crust is inedible and the rest of it tastes like cardboard.

WORST… PIZZA… EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRR

There’s just no logic to the service; there is absolutely nothing on the tables so you have to search the building for stuff – no signs and no staff to point you in the right direction either. Needless to say, it was a stressful experience and we will NOT be going back!

Thankfully the rest of the places we went to for food were miiiiiiiles better! On our first night, we got into the city quite late and decided to pick up a pizza from a takeaway place on the way to our apartment, which was much yummier than the Vapiano’s version. The following morning, 31st, we found a great café for brunch. On our final night we found this amazing Japanese restaurant, Restaurant Kosu, for dinner, where the staff were so lovely and accommodating to my very limited German (I did manage to get by for a lot of the trip, but had to rely upon my German girlfriend to help me remember certain phrases). The food was incredible and the restaurant has a lovely ambience. Speaking of learning German, I actually used Duolingo in the months running up to the trip to learn (it’s a great app, you do a bit every day and it keeps track of what you’ve learnt and sets goals for you to achieve based upon you progress).

Dessert at Restaurant Kosu. YUM. Mocci (rice cakes) filled with dark chocolate


I did get a cold on the final day; although it is a beautiful city, it’s also a VERY cold one! I actually had to by a new winter hat on our first day there, because my one from home just wasn’t cutting it (probably didn’t help that I’d just had a buzz hair cut done, leaving the back of my head exposed to the winter winds, even through a woolly hat!) and was quite proud of myself for being able to communicate with the shop assistant, which is an improvement from my visit to Berlin a few years ago.

New hat! Unfortunately you can’t see my awesome new hair cut underneath

After our disastrous Vapiano’s brunch, we took a walk to the Mumok, a modern and contemporary art gallery with some incredible abstract pieces. One of my favourite exhibitions was Film and More, a history of Austrian film using the work of Kurt Kren and Ernst Schimidt jr. in contrast with each other to explore the language of film, which was actually one of my modules during the first year of my undergrad studies, so it was great to revisit that theme. My other fave was Photos/ Politics/ Austria, an exhibition taking you on a visual journey through the history of Austria using photography and mainstream media items. It was especially fascinating to see how history repeats itself around the world. Of course, the gift shop was a hit, however it’s quite awks to carry loads of stuff back home (London) with you when all you brought along was a carry-on bag 😦 so I opted for self-control over splurging.

Vienna, is by far one of my favourite cities. I was actually really sad to leave and not because I don’t like London (as much as it seems like I’ve been bashing it quite a bit in this post, I will probably grow old in London and draw my last breath on the tube in London (LOL), that’s how much of a “ride or die bitch” I am for this city. But, Vienna really did take my breath away.

Posted in Blog

Happy New Year! Happy New Gigging!

First post of the year!

Sincerest apologies for the lack of blogging.

Since the new year chimed in I’ve been incredibly poorly and trying really hard to get better, whilst battling seizures and juggling assignments and volunteering. Have I mentioned how much I hate winter? Like seriously, I feel like every winter I age another ten years. Earlier this week during my therapy session, we used dolls for play therapy and when I had to choose a doll that represent me, I picked the oldest lady in the bunch, because that’s how I feel!

So I will blog about Vienna soon, but firstly I want to talk about my first gig of the year, which was Ben Howard at the O2 Brixton Academy. Brixton Academy used to be one of my fave venues until last year when I went to see Feeder, since which it’s unfortunately been a venue that makes me incredibly anxious. However, one of my new year’s resolutions is to have “Big Dick Energy” LOL. It’s a term we use a lot on “Black Twitter” for having insane amounts of confidence and while walking around Vienna, I realised that I was no longer walking using long strides and had my head down a lot, probably projecting to passersby that I’m not only not very confident, but also a target for pushing around. In a city like London, you cannot show any weakness, especially when walking through the streets and Underground stations, otherwise you get picked off by the fittest.

So, since I’ve been back, I’ve been experimenting with my hypothesis and I think I’ve proven it true! People tend to not push you out of the way if you’re walking down the streets with long strides and a fixed stare facing your front.

Anyhoo, I digress; since the Feeder gig I’ve been too anxious to go to gigs on my own and have felt extremely vulnerable, exposed to the elements of victimisation. (In December I went to see Razorlight on my own and not only did I ensure to arrive late so that I wouldn’t have to stay long, I also stayed at the back to ensure that I was around as few people as possible.) However, having booked the ticket to see Ben Howard a while back, I’ve had ample time to prepare myself mentally and was very much able to protect myself. Going to a gig is very much like a battle: you must stand firm and protect your territory and people become almost fearful of disrupting you! For the first time in ages, I had people apologising for bumping into me, and asking permission to pass me by, basically treating me like a fucking human being. For the first time in ages, I also felt safe in a crowd again. Giving off “Big Dick Energy” I guess also gives off the impression that you belong in that space, just as much as everybody else.

The last time I saw Ben Howard was at Citadel Festival in 2015. I barely remember his performance to be honest, because by then I was absolutely wasted, but I do remember it being beautiful (he was headlining so it was night time) but being extremely annoyed by the people around me screaming out the lyrics to his “hits” and then talking loudly during the songs they didn’t know the words to. It just kinda ruined the atmosphere for me (I’m a snob get over it). His last album Noonday Dream is incredibly atmospheric, so I was glad to read that during his first night at Brixton, he played it in its entirety. Many critics and “fans” however took this as him snubbing his true fans who wanted to hear him sing his classics from his debut album. So, I Forget Where We Were came out almost five years ago, this is his current album tour, so is there not a clue somewhere that he might be promoting his latest album as opposed to first hits? In 2008, I went to see Radiohead in Victoria Park for their In Rainbows tour and was not disappointed that the majority of the set contained songs from that album! It wasn’t a greatest hits tour! I knew what I was getting myself into!

So many critics accused Ben Howard of refusing to play his hits and “getting too big for his boots, forgetting his roots and the people who put him there”. When did musicians become such public property?

Ben Howard review – serious music sabotaged by a charisma vacuum

I know that Ben Howard has struggled with his fame and growing up in the public eye, which has had negative effects to his mental health. The public tend to struggle with the concept that people do grow as artists, hence their art grows too; some people perceive artists as Peter Pans who never age and I’m sure that this has a lot to do with our connections to certain songs, for instance Ben Howard’s “Keep Your Head Up” played a significant part in my mental health journey while I was still living at home when I was 27. However, just like musicians, I’ve grown too; I’m not the same person I was when that song came out and I love when artists grow with you. It almost feels like they continue to be a part of your life because you’re both changing and moving forwards, sometimes in similar directions both mentally and psychologically.

Many people online also commented that although he’s very much a studio performer, he should alter his performance to accommodate for bigger venues by interacting with the crowd more. However, interacting with the crowd is asking him to change his personality and why should he be forced to do that just because he’s famous? Secondly, to me he’s a poet who also sings (in fact, he took a break from music to focus on poetry and came back with the STUNNING Noonday Dream), so I would expect his performance to focus on lyrics as opposed to stage presence.

Finally, he did adapt his performance for a bigger venue by having two drummers and an orchestra for sound, and lighting and imagery for production! And even if he did apparently did “take 40 minutes to say hello to the crowd” (he didn’t), at least he didn’t call us a bunch of c*nts like he apparently did a few years ago!

Taken just before the encore

For me, last night’s gig was beautiful: Atmospheric, mesmerising, heartwrenching – everything I needed and expected the gig to be.

Taken during the encore – in fact, the gig was so beautiful, this was the only picture I took the entire night!

It’s just a shame that so many others failed to appreciate that. There was A LOT of talking within the crowd – which I always find incredibly rude anyway (who the fuck comes to a gig to talk?? That’s what bars and social media is for!) but it was clear from the talking on and off social media that people found the set boring.

I, on the other hand, did not.

Posted in Blog

Razorlight Gig: Reliving My Youth

Last Friday I went to see Razorlight at the O2 Kentish Town Forum.

I actually bought the ticket while drunk in an Uber months ago (lol) and when I saw it coming up in the calendar, I was like hmmmm this might have been a mistake…

This year has been a big year of musical reminiscence. There are many bands I’ve loved since my adolescence but could never afford to see them live at their peak. That and also my mother wasn’t big on my music tastes (she thought that rock music was devil music and hip hop was violently demonic).

Since turning 30, I guess I’ve been on a journey of rebellion which has included finally seeing the bands/artists I craved to see as a teenager! Now two years later, I have five tattoos, three piercings (excluding my ears) and quite a few ticket stubs stuck to my wardrobe door (that’s where I keep them as my memory box is too chockablock).

Razorlight were a huge part of my early adulthood. Being from London and moving away for university I was constantly homesick – not for my family but for my city. I loved London but I felt like I had to leave to escape the clutches of my home. Many of Razorlight’s songs tell stories about the city which really spoke to me. I didn’t even care that the lead singer Johnny Borrell was a bit of a douchebag (Andy Burrows, one of the original band members actually came to my uni to do a DJ set, got really drunk and bitched to me and one of my friends about how awful being in a band with Johnny was LOL. He left the band quite soon afterwards).

So on Friday, I dragged myself to the gig after downing a coffee and got caught up in the memories of my long distant youth.

The greatest thing about it was that although I hadn’t listened to them in god knows how long, I still remembered quite a lot of the lyrics to their songs! My epilepsy affects my memory and this is something that has been pretty heartbreaking for me; I’ve always loved singing and I used to pore over the lyrics of my favourite songs, committing them to memory (I used to buy Smash Hits for the lyrics cards). But since starting medication almost five years ago, I’ve been struggling to remember a lot of the lyrics I could once sing in my sleep.

Going on my own also was a huge step for me, as my anxiety has been preventing me from doing that. But one of the best parts of a gig is the vibe from the audience, as you’ll see in this video!

So, last gig of the year was a huuuuuuuuge success and I’m looking forward to loads more live events next year!

Posted in Blog, Mental Health

I’m a Pro-Black Rock Chick; Why Is That A Hard Concept to Grasp?

I grew up listening to rock and indie music, not because I grew up in a white centric environment, but because it was the music I grew up with and resonated with my own narrative. My father loved rock music and most of my favourite bands now are many of his own favourite bands. I even have some of his old LPs which I managed to salvage from the collection my mum threw out after he left.

 

When I suffered from bullying because of racism last year, I was extremely conflicted by my music choices. For the first time in my life, I began listening to hip hop music; for the first time in my life, I realised that white men like Thom Yorke and Robert Smith were not the same colour as me and probably didn’t care about me, perhaps didn’t even care about racism and what fans like me were going through as a young Black woman. As you’re reading this, if you’re white you’re probably saying/thinking

 

“what does race have to do with it?”

 

“why does it matter that I am a different colour to these bands? Or from a different culture?”

 

Well it does. Especially when you are constantly being abused for the colour of your skin and told that you don’t belong.

 

I say this time and time again and I will forever say it: Kendrick Lamar literally saved my life last year.

IMG_20180622_163026

One of my tattoos (The Blacker The Berry, by Kendrick Lamar)

 

I had always been a fan, but I had never really sat down and listened to his lyrics, until I went through what I went through last year; he spoke to me in a way a musician had NEVER spoken to me before; he allowed me to be unashamedly angry for the first time in my life. Another rapper I find similar to Kendrick so resonated with is Open Mike Eagle: he also speaks about violence against the black community and how his perceptions of blackness have developed from childhood to adulthood. I love him because he’s a great storyteller as well as visual artist. I never knew that hip hop could do this, probably because I’d never given it the chance; throughout my childhood, my mother had always told me that Tupac was just a thug, until last year I discovered he was a better poet than any of the classics I’d taught as an English teacher.

 

For many months, I stopped listening to rock music, and invested my time into hip hop, because these were people who looked like me and could see where I was coming from.  However, recently I’ve now found a good balance where I can still enjoy my rock and indie music, while also embracing hip hop (old and new), so essentially marrying the new me with the old me, and while my black comrades have finally fully embraced this, because they can still see that I’m a pro-black woman who just fucking loves music from different genres, many white people – including my girlfriend – find it difficult to wrap their heads around this concept. I’ve been accused by white people of giving them a free pass for racism because I listen to “white music”; that I’ve forgiven white people for the racial torture they frequently put me, and my brothers and sisters through, just because I’ve started listening to The Cure again and am currently obsessing over DIIV (both white rock bands). Listening to rock music, also doesn’t mean that I’m going to visit some white artist at the Tate (Jenny Holzer), just because she thinks her anti-patriarchal art is progressive, when she refuses to acknowledge intersectionality in her “progressive” feminist pieces.

 

WTF?

 

Listening to rock music doesn’t make me any less pro-black; it doesn’t change the fact that I think that all white people are born with racial biases and many are unwilling to accept that they are born with privilege. In fact, I find it beautifully ironic that every day as I walk through the streets of North West London, I am being judged for the colour of my skin and sometimes verbally and physically abused, whilst listening to Led Zepplin or Roxy Music on my phone through headphones. Which is why when white people say to me “colour doesn’t matter” well actually it does because white people perceive me as lower and “other” just because of the colour of my skin and furthermore, I AM FUCKING DIFFERENT TO YOU so have some respect for my skin colour and culture by recognising that. However, the irony of othering me while I’m listening to the bands you also may like, is that we still have things in common which most white people refuse to acknowledge.

 

I cannot change who I am, God knows I’ve tried. However, the point I’ve now come to is that I am no longer ashamed of who I am. I’ll always be a rock chick, but I’ll also always be pro-black.

XOXO

Posted in Blog

Fenty

I don’t usually do beauty posts however yesterday, I had such an awful day mentally, that I decided to finally treat myself to Rihanna’s Fenty make up range.

At £25 for foundation that actually matches your complexion, that’s not asking for much!

Fenty.jpg

I did queue outside Harvey Nicol’s in Knightsbridge for almost 2 hours in the rain though….. but do you know what? It was totes worth it.

I was telling my partner about buying make up as a teenager from Afro-Caribbean hairshops in Peckham, South-East London and how you dare not touch your face because that stuff would transfer onto your hands and then onto your exercise book. Plus my complexion is an in-betweeny colour – I’m neither light-light-skinned, nor dark-skinned, therefore I could never get the right shade to match my skin. And forget about buying anything in Superdrug or Boots, because the high street only sell make up for Lady Casper and her friends.

So I’d never had the whole make up experience before either, until yesterday.

The girl sat me on the stool and tried three different shades and the third one was the hit, and it was like rubbing chocolate onto my skin…. beautiful.

They didn’t have the shade in stock for the Pro Filt’r soft matte Foundation, so I just took down the shade number and bought it online when I got home. But before I left, my eye caught the Match Stix Matte Skinstick concealer. So, I’ve never tried concealer either, because again, I’ve never found concealer in a shade darker than a milky bar LOL. Until yesterday. The girl took this stick, rubbed it under my eye and it was like magic. As you can see from the picture below, the coverage is immaculate:

IMG_20170921_205714

So I bought that and some Gloss Bomb Universal Lip Luminizer. And when I got home, I also bought some Killawatte Freestyle highlighter (blusher).

Over the last year I’ve barely worn make up and I know some girls of colour who like me, have just kind of given up on make up. However, when we knew Fenty was coming out we just had to get behind it because this is the first time anybody has done anything for us. There was a girl in the queue in front of me who said to me: “it’s weird how she’s done so many shades right?” My reply: “that’s because it’s needed!” Desperately needed! The girl was white Columbian so she didn’t get it. In the queue with us were so many young girls! I can’t imagine what it must feel like to be valued like that in your teens. I cannot tell you how shitty it felt to have to make up your own colour of foundation for so many years, because there just wasn’t any thing on the market for you. Boots No7 came close – that’s the last foundation I bought 2 years ago, however even that was too dark for my complexion.

Yesterday was glorious, to look in the mirror, and finally see my melanin face made up how it should be.

Rihanna has created a brand for us and shown us that we are valued and appreciated, because black is fucking beautiful baby. Finally.

Thank you.

XOXO

Posted in Blog

Winston Churchill – The Murderer

“England celebrates their genocides. The ‘Winston Churchill note’ has entered circulation. Honouring a man who swilled on champagne while 4 million men, women and children in Bengal starved due to his racist colonial policies.”

Thank goodness for contactless payments, because the thought of holding a £5 note now makes me want to vomit. I’ve worshipped a murderer for twenty years; you fuckers taught us in school that he was a hero and when I was a teacher I taught the same. 

You even taught us that he was “one of us“, before my eyes were opened.

Churchill was born on 30 November 1874 in Blenheim Palace. What endeared me to him was his speech impediment, which he overcame. He was also a sickly child. He was a successful journalist and author of bestsellers, and before World War I he had already served as home secretary, president of the board of trade and first lord of the admiralty (head of the navy). During World War I, he was appointed minister of munitions, then secretary of state for war and secretary of state for air. After the war, he became secretary of state for the colonies and, finally, served as chancellor of the Exchequer from 1924 to 1929.

During the build up towards World War II, Churchill was an isolated hero, valiant enough to take on Hitler; in school we were taught that Chamberlain was the cowardly “Appeaser”, frightened of the Third Reich and it was Churchill who saved Europe from complete Nazi control. 
Churchill addressed the people directly only a few times, but when he did, up to two-thirds of Britons sat in front of their radios, hanging on his every word. I still remember the shivers I used to get whenever I used to listen to the “We shall fight on the beaches” speech from 4 June 1940. Churchill’s strongest weapon was the word. The equally eloquent John F. Kennedy, son of the then US ambassador in London and later president of the United States, once said that Churchill had sent the English language to war, and this is how he connected with his people, and what made his MY hero. He gave magnificent speeches, and even the Nazis were impressed by his eloquence. “In his crudeness, he does command a certain amount of respect,” Joseph Goebbels (1897-1945) wrote. Churchill emphasized a total commitment to the war. While the Third Reich exploited forced laborers and ransacked the countries it occupied, the Britons were expected to contribute directly to the war effort by these rhetorical performances. Churchill convinced them that without their efforts at home, the War could not be won on the Front.

He did all of this through his words.

So imagine my dismay when I discovered that not only were Churchill’s speeches plagiarised, (a similar passage to “We Shall Fight” appears in Rudyard Kipling’s collection of stories: “The Jungle Book”); Britain greatest hero is a mass murderer. 

At the Palestine Royal Commission (Peel) of 1937, Churchill stated that he believed in intention of the Balfour Declaration was to make Palestine an “overwhelmingly Jewish state”. He went on to also express to the Peel Commission that he does “not admit for instance, that a great wrong has been done to the Red Indians of America or the black people of Australia. I do not admit that a wrong has been done to these people by the fact that a stronger race, a higher-grade race, a more worldly wise race to put it that way, has come in and taken their place”.

Churchill was the archetypical white supremacist, and this is why racism still exists in Britain because we’ve been teaching it in our school for years. Like a fool I’ve been teaching it! Churchill didn’t want to stop Hitler, he was just lusting for non-white blood.

During the Second World War, Churchill decided to torture India; he wanted to start a civil war because he despised them as a people, he despised their religion, and he wanted to make money:

Bengal-Famine

(Image Source)

The British Army took millions of tons of rice from starving people to ship to the Middle East – where it wasn’t even needed. When the starving people of Bengal asked for food, Churchill said the ‘famine’ was their own fault “for breeding like rabbits”. The Viceroy of India said: “Churchill’s attitude towards India and the famine is negligent, hostile and contemptuous”. Even right wing imperialist Leo Amery who was the British Secretary of State in India said he: “didn’t see much difference between his [Churchill] outlook and Hitler’s”.

Neither do I, because his blood-lust didn’t just stop at India either. My Grandfather was Indian. Were his parents back in India during the 1940s? Did they suffer during that famine? Were they victims of Churchill? I have no way of knowing. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. The very thought that I possibly celebrated their torturer tears me apart.

Two weeks ago, my partner and I went to Windsor castle and saw a room of spoils the Empire had “acquired”, including this one:

Indian Crown

I’m sorry, did I say acquired? I meant stolen. Yes this was before Churchill was born, however this photograph – as well as the entire castle really was a reminder of the damage Britain has done to non-White people all over the world.

British Colonialism has played a huge part in shaping today’s society. It has facilitated Britain’s economic expansion by ensuring its control over distant territories and peoples, in a large-scale domination scheme that required and promoted huge disparities in power and the subjugation of innocent populations. The British and Europeans used “tests of intelligence”, falsely proving the people of Africa to be less able intellectually, to control of their resources and justified it as the “natural outcome” – this is also how they justified land seizures and slave-trading for profit. 

Although most colonies gained independence after the Second World War, the contemporary flow of goods, capital, people and culture in many countries still retains the colonial pattern. Colonialism requires strong social and psychological mechanisms of domination and control, which have become more pervasive and subtle over time (Moane, 1999), which we now refer to as racial microaggressions.

Yet for our past – particularly our Caribbean island – we’ve received no apologies and no reparations from Britain, for the racist crimes of theft, rape, torture, and severe damage to our mental health.

I’ll leave you with this as food for thought from your hero, Winston Churchill, who died on 24 January 1965 in Kensington, London:

“Churchill suggested the motto “Keep England White” when debating the adoption of new laws limiting immigration from the Caribbean.”

I’m jubilant to finally know the truth now. I’ve spent many months searching for the truth about Churchill, and I’m finally liberated. I just wish that Britain would be honest with its history, because as a society you are concealing some densely racist skeletons.

 

Written by a Black-Caribbean blogger, born in Britain, with family from St Lucia, Caribbean, India and France.

All quotes from https://crimesofbritain.com/2016/09/13/the-trial-of-winston-churchill/ 

Posted in Blog

I’m Black, I’m Not Stupid

I wasn’t going to write about this, however I feel like I’ve been backed into a corner and the more I think about it, the more angrier I become and if I don’t get it down “on paper”, then I’ll probably have a seizure.

Last week, I posted a picture of myself with my new glasses, and alluded to the racial microaggressions I’d suffered in my previous employment, to the point where comments were made and I was forced to alter the way I looked, in order to fit in. When the post was shared, one of my white friends responded with:

“are you sure that’s what they meant?”

Eye Roll

Why do white people do that?

 

I’m not going to apologise if that comment upsets you, because I suffered for EIGHT MONTHS.

Every single time I went to one of my University tutors with my concerns, who were both white, their response every single time would be:

“are you sure that’s how you heard it?”

or

“I’m sure that’s not what they meant”

or

“I think you heard what you were feeling, not what was actually said”

 

My concerns were about comments made about my epilepsy, as well as my race.

I may be black, but I’m not fucking stupid.

 

I’m currently reading “Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Racism” by Reni Eddo- Lodge:

Reni Eddo-Lodge

When people say that this book was begging to be written, even after everything I had been through this year, as well as the hype on social media, I still thought that it was all hype. I wasn’t expecting to be so blown away. I remember struggling to get through the first chapter, because it was so hard-hitting. I actually had to take a break from reading it and now, I can’t put it down. I remember thinking: “why the fuck don’t they teach us this in school????” (Speaking of school, did you know there were black Tudors??? Because I didn’t! I used to teach about the Tudors as a Learning Support Assistant to young, disillusioned black girls and I had no idea, that there were black Tudors – that’s not in the book by the way, I just happened to stumble upon this book: Blackamoores: Africans in Tudor England, Their Presence, Status and Origins by Onyeka, which is on my Amazon wishlist.)

Reni’s book and this year, has made me realise how much of an immigrant I am.

It doesn’t matter that I was born here in Britain, or that I have a British passport; it doesn’t matter that I have a white partner; it doesn’t matter that I’m highly educated; it doesn’t even matter that I have more white friends than Black friends. White people will question my intelligence, my identity, my authority to abode all the fucking time.

This week I went on my first racial protest, following the murder of Rashan Charles, on Saturday 22nd July 2017, at the hands of a white policeman. He was a young Black boy of twenty years old. I’m not denying that he lived a straight life, but I’m definitively and loudly crying out that he did not deserve to die. The people on social media who were saying that he did, were all white – they said he was scum. Thankfully, the white people who were on the protest with us, were not narrow minded, right-wing, heartless, awful people, but brothers and sisters, standing with people of colour, who are tired of being murdered by the state and by white people in authority. I overheard one black man say to the man with the megaphone, that instead of shouting “Black Lives Matter”, we should be saying “all lives matter”, to include everybody who had joined us on the march. Rightfully, the man with the megaphone said no, and I say thankfully because we do have to keep on shouting “Black Lives Matter” until somebody fucking listens.

 

Before the march, we stood outside Stoke Newington Police Station in protest and I was so proud to hear young people of colour, bravely speaking up about their stories of persecution, at the hands of the police, and at the hands of others in authority (especially teachers). As a teacher, I’ve seen young Black people ruthlessly persecuted for “attitude problems”, for the way they stand, the way they wear their hair, etc, etc.

And then get told it’s all in their head. 

Crazy Eyes

When the Government are cutting funds and closing down community centres and youth projects, where else are young people going to go but onto the streets? Which are run by older men and gangs, who bully young people into doing things either they don’t want to do, or make them believe they need to do, in order to survive on these streets they’ve grown up in, with their families?

The role models they need aren’t around, because everything is being gentrified: their towns, even their schools. My school didn’t even want their one of two token black teachers, because I was fucking defective. My kids looked up to me – they told me every day, how awesome it was to finally have a Black English teacher in the school.

The reason why I went on that march on Monday, was not just for Rashan, but for the kids who I used to teach, who I still miss every day. Because what happened to Rashan and SO many others before him, could happen to them.

We need justice.

I’m going to stop now, because I feel I’m ranting.

But for now, I’m going to keep talking about race, because this year I’ve finally woken up thirty-one years too late.

RIP Rashan and love and peace to your family, especially your daughter.

XOXO