Contribution
It is an honour to speak in the debate. I am proud to be the son of an Irish immigrant. My dad Richard came over to the UK with his family when he was a young boy. They were looking for safe accommodation and paid work. I remember him sitting me down when I was a young boy, and telling me that his family, when in search of those things, would often come across two notices: “No Irish” and “No Blacks”. To learn that at such a young age, and to understand that prejudice was so built into our society, fired in me a desire to fight racism. It also continues to shock me, because that was not the distant past, but very recent indeed. This Black History Month, we celebrate the black men and black women who shaped Britain’s history—Bournemouth’s too—but we must also remember what many of them were forced to endure.
I am proud to represent Bournemouth East. Bournemouth is a young upstart—we can compare it with Christchurch, which is 1,200 years old, and Poole, which is 800 years old—that was really built from scratch only about 200 years ago. It was made by people who came from London and the home counties. It is, and has always been, a melting pot, and it is proud of that. It is a beautiful place to live, work and be, and I am proud that it is such an inclusive place.
Because Bournemouth is such a young town, black history is built into what Bournemouth has been. I think of Thomas Lewis Johnson, who was born into slavery in Virginia in 1826 and experienced slavery’s full brutality—physical punishment, harsh labour, the denial of basic human rights, and the mental trauma that will have gone with all that—but eventually he found his freedom. He became a minister and travelled the world preaching hope and equality. In the 1890s, he made Boscombe in Bournemouth his home, and he named his house Liberia in tribute to African independence. He became a British citizen in 1900 and, supported by a local community who recognised his courage, was able to do such things as write his autobiography, “Twenty-Eight Years a Slave”, in Bournemouth. It tells a story of faith, resilience and humanity. In it, he wrote,
“Though my body was confined my spirit remained free, and it was faith that guided me through the darkest hours.”
I am also thinking about Lilian Bader, who broke barriers of her own decades later. When racial discrimination kept people of Caribbean heritage out of the armed forces, she refused to accept it. In 1941 she became the first black woman to serve in the Royal Air Force, training as an instrument repairer and rising to acting corporal. After the war, she earned a degree, became a teacher and settled in Bournemouth with her family, and that legacy of service continued through her sons. She said,
“Father served in the First World War, his three children served in the Second World War. I married a coloured man who was in the Second World War, as was his brother who was decorated for bravery in Burma. Their father also served in the First World War. Our son was a helicopter pilot, he served in Northern Ireland. So all in all, I think we’ve given back more to this country than we’ve received.”
That legacy of service and that history—that Black history—is British history, and it is Bournemouth’s history. Their contributions call us to keep on building a town and a country where everyone’s contribution is seen, valued and celebrated.
I want to pick up on a point made by my hon. Friend the Member for Clapham and Brixton Hill (Bell Ribeiro-Addy). It is absurd that we cram black history into a month, and that we do not have a requirement for it to be taught in our curriculum. We rely on teachers—who are already frazzled by their heavy workload, and who have been looking for light at the end of the tunnel for so many years—to do the research, and to find the resources and time to teach black history, as well as other history, such as that of the civil rights campaign that led to the Disability Discrimination Act 1995, the history of gender equality, and LGBT+ history. We need to entrench the struggles of our country in the teaching of our curriculum, so that the children we raise know fully, as citizens, what our country has been through, and what its story will be. That is particularly true because, unfortunately, those contributions are being erased.
Nobody in Bournemouth should feel uncomfortable, unsafe or undervalued, yet I know all too well just how many black and Asian members of my community have felt targeted and excluded. I am thinking of a recent surgery appointment; a young black medical professional came and talked about his desire to live in Britain all his life. He said he would finish his shift, and on leaving the hospital, he would have to look over his shoulder, because he was concerned about being attacked. I heard the same story from an employee at Bournemouth university. I also think of an email that I received recently from the mum of a lovely young lad I know in Bournemouth called Dan. The message said:
“Lots of us out here silently vibrating on an axis of vigilance—anxiety, powerlessness, anger—wondering when the violence will touch us and our loved ones.”
That woman describes herself as a London exile. She moved to Bournemouth for a better life and a more tolerant society, and now, in this day and age, she is worried about her young boy having to experience the violence that she fled when she left London. She says that in London, she saw the British National party rampaging in the streets where she lived, and she worries that is coming to Bournemouth. It should be no surprise, and no shock, that I, as their Member of Parliament, will say that black lives matter. Before it was a political movement or a social organisation, it was a statement of fact, and it remains one. Black lives are important, yet some, in their actions and words, seek to cast doubt on that truth.