#alex wheatle

[stemmehistorian]

Rest in Peace, Alex Wheatle.

Alex Wheatle was an award-winning writer from Brixton, London born to Jamaican parents and he was imprisoned after the 1981 Brixton riot. He was known as the Brixton Bard and he helped pioneer Black British representation within British literature. Crongton, a CBBC show based on his book Straight Outta Crongton (2017) which follows the lives of working-class Black Brits is set to come out this month.

[ubourgeois]

Alex Wheatle (2020) dir. Steve McQueen

[galina]

I wrote a piece for work on remembrance of the new cross fire of 1981. the piece is simply an overview of what happened and a look at what the legacy of the events has been, but it made me think about my own relationship with the story and how it has become part of a history of resistance and community where I live.

when I moved to new cross 7 years ago I was on the cusp of adulthood and had never really known what it meant to have a community, having grown up an liminal state. I had moved around a lot, in a multinational family which had no ties to any one place, and the place I had spent the most time, northern england, had mostly left me feeling disassociated; more like an outsider than a part of something. I was the child of immigrants, I didn’t belong and that was often reiterated, especially as a teen when xenophobia became especially rife in the north.

then I moved to london, seeking to blend in with the multicultural cityscape. south east london is vibrant, buzzing, nothing is too strange, too ugly or too beautiful. it became very clear to me, as it does to many students, that the university was a small part of something that spread far beyond the lecture hall. new cross especially has a deep history of community values which were alien to me. I had entered into a community which was not mine but which welcomed me so naturally that it was overwhelming. it’s just part of the fabric of se london.

one story I learned from walking around was of the new cross fire of 1981, which tragically took the lives of 13 young black people. I was walking past the house on new cross road, thinking: at 18, I was standing there where 18 year-olds whose lives were cruelly cut short should be standing now; they should have been 51 years old. I  didn’t grow up in new cross but I grew up in new cross. I became an adult there. when I passed 22—the age paul ruddock, the eldest of those taken by the fire, was—I couldn’t comprehend the finiteness of their lives. it opened my eyes to a violent inequality present in our history. things that should be, aren't.

this is all just to say that the way the bereaved, the families, the ncmac and its supporters united against police negligence, media silence or distortion and white supremacy in 1981 is still rippling through time to now. 

looking at what happened then and where we are now, one might draw a line from 439 new cross road, to ella kissi-debrah, to grenfell tower, and remark that it feels like so little has changed. with this collective anger and grief in mind the most appropriate way to celebrate and remember the lives lost and the many community members who fought and continue to fight for justice is to stand in solidarity, and rage, and declare that these lives do matter and their loss is of great significance to us, our community and our history. it still is, even, especially, 40 years on

— today we remember: andrew gooding, owen thompson, patricia johnson, patrick cummings, steve collins, lloyd hall, humphrey geoffrey brown, roseline henry, peter campbell, gerry paul francis, glenton powell, paul ruddock, yvonne ruddock, anthony berbeck. 

[moviemosaics]

Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure

directed by Stephen Herek, 1989

[cupofteajones]

2022 Books by Black Authors

2022 Books by Black Authors

View On WordPress

[blackbloodunderthemoonlight]

Linton Kwesi Johnson - New Crass Massahkah

The following poem was written as a memorial for the 1981 London house fire that took the lives of 13 young people at a party in New Cross, London. 

We didn’t know ourselves could have happened, you know Any time, anywhere Fire don’t it happen to we and the nations, them are ready

But in spite a all that everybody was still shocked When we get the cold facts about that brutal attack

When we find out about the fire over New Cross About the innocent life Dem were lost About the physically scarred The mentally marred And dem relatives who take it so hard

And, you know, although plenty people were surprised They no say dem kind of thing there could’ve happened to we Inna this here Great Britain Inna London today

And a few get frightened and a few get subdued Almost everybody had to sympathise With the loved ones of the injured and the dead For this here massacre that we come to realise It could have been me It could have been you Or one of few pickney dem Who fell victims to the terror by night

But wait You not remember how the whole of Black Britain did wrack with grief? How the whole of Black Britain did turn a melancholy blue? Not the passable blue of the murderer’s eyes But like the smoke of gloom on that cold Sunday morning

But stop You no remember how the whole of Black Britain turned a fiery red? Not the callous red of the killer’s eyes But red with rage like the flames of the fire It’s a hell of a something fi true, you know

What a terrible price we have to pay, though, man Just fi live a little life Just fi struggle fi survive Every day is just worries and struggle and strife Imagine so much young people cut off inna dem prime Before the twilight of dem time Without no reason nor rhyme Cast in the shadow of gloom over our life

Look how the police and the press try dem desperate best Fi put a stop to a quest for the truth You remember? First dem say it could be arson Then dem say it could be not First dem say a firebomb Then dem say it was not Them implied coulda white Them implied coulda black Who response for the attack Against those innocent young blacks

Instead of raising the alarm Let the public know wha gwaan Plenty paper print pure lie fi blind your public eye

And the police, them plot and scheme Confuse and conceal Me hear seh even the poor parents of the dead dem tried fi use But, you know, in spite of them wicked propaganda We refuse fi surrender to them ugly innuendo For up till now not one of them Neither Stockwell, neither Wilson nor Bell Not one of them can tell we why Not one of them can tell we who Who turn that night of joy Into a morning of sorrow Who turn the jollity Into a ugly tragedy.

[zalrb]

“For this here massacre that we come to realize, it could have been me, it could have been you, or one of the few pickney dem, who fell victims to terror by night. But wait, you not remember, how the whole of Black Britain did wrack with grief. ”

Small Axe: Alex Wheatle (2020) dir. Steve McQueen

[scenesandscreens]

Small Axe (2020), Episode 4 - Alex Wheatle

Director - Steve McQueen, Cinematography - Shabier Kirchner