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Black Spatial Agency Matters: The Rise of Black Geographies By Malaika Laing-Grant

There is an unequivocal push to shed light on the deepening racial divides that continue to underpin the Black experience in the 21st Century. Black liberation movements around the world, from the bustling streets of London to the southeastern coasts of Jamaica, have brought the importance of blackness to the fore. Not only as a tool for understanding the Black identity, but also as a theoretical framework from which to view our emancipatory commitment to social justice, liberation and reconstruction.

From analyses of diaspora to the entangled processes of the transatlantic slavery, colonialism and modernity- Black thought has long been concerned with questions of race, place, and power. Yet, it’s plausible to suggest that these developments, which span centuries and continents, have been systematically excluded from more traditional notions of geography.

Within the past five years, however, Black Geographies as a discipline and epistemology has gained increasing institutional clout, with thanks to the tenacity and ingenuity of Black scholars to carve out institutional spaces for Black intellectual production. But, what exactly is meant by Black Geographies? 

“Black Geographies’ is diasporic in its foundation through centuries of race projects of displacement, concealment, and marginalization that seek to render the Black body as “ungeographic” (McKittrick, 2006)

As a critical nascent body of scholarship, Black Geographies pinpoints Black spatial agency and the intersections between race, the state, and the dynamic distributions of power present in society. From the transatlantic slave trade to the lack of racial integration of Black and white families with similar class affiliations, to the mass incarceration of Black people, Black Geographies examines Black spatial experiences, including how Black life is reproduced in the wake of gentrification and redevelopment. In doing so, Black Geographies exposes the rich processes of Black socio-cultural and spatial reproduction to resist the confines of slavery, underdevelopment, and traditional human geographies.

Importantly, Black Geographies is not just for geographers. Amongst other schools of thought Black Geographies can also provide a foundation of understanding for the various means of organising political movements to both undermine systems of oppression, and efforts to positively contribute to the communal well-being of Black communities; as opposed to the individuality and exclusivity of our current Western world. Indeed, the scholarship of Black Geographies transcends boundaries outside of formal geography.

As the Black Lives Matter movement sweeps the globe, renewed efforts to address the ongoing injustices of racism and inequality further challenges the formal canon of disciplinary geography that we seem to value so much. We have reached a critical moment, and it is now time to re-examine our complicity in racial processes, evaluate the processes and frameworks that address issues of racial inequality, and reengage the scholarship of Black Geographies as a body of scholarship. This new body of thought must add to our understanding of the ways that race and place are inextricably linked.

Written by Malaika Laing-Grant– BLAM’s Volunteer Blog editor

Malaika is a professional with over five years’ practical experience in the international development space, providing comprehensive programmatic support to drive programme success in areas such as youth and politics, social and economic development, education and capacity building. She is a strong believer in the power of the Black community, Malaika is also committed to education as a form of Black empowerment to dismantle cycles of oppression and systems of social injustice

Source

McKittrick, K. (2006). Demonic grounds: Black women and the cartographies of struggle. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press

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Why was the ‘Organisation of Women of Asian and African Descent’ (OWAAD) important?

The distinction between Black feminism and white feminism has long been established, due to the triple burden facing many Black women of race, class and gender. Black feminists have and continue to, highlight the differences in their experiences and issues they are confronted with. On the key issues of family, patriarchy and reproduction,

Black women have distinctly different realities to that of their white middle class counter parts, that often centre the feminist movement.[1] Black women are consistently confronted with racism, resistance and further oppression which white feminism has undermined and silenced. It was in acknowledgment of this that OWAAD was formed in 1978.[2]OWAAD functioned as an umbrella organisation, bringing together various groups of women with divergent interests and focuses.[3] OWAAD had a prominent impact on the women’s liberation movements in Britain, by placing the experiences of Black and Asian women on the liberation agenda. Attracting over 300 women to its first national conference, OWAAD successfully prompted the establishment of Black women’s groups across London.

The ‘Brixton’s Black Women’s Group’ opened in London as the first Black Women’s Centre and Asian and African – Caribbean women founded the ‘Southall Black Sisters’ in North West London.[4] As well as its undeniable influence, OWAAD contributed to several campaigns for the progression of the black experience in the United Kingdom. OWAAD joined the campaign to scrap the SUS laws, which gave the police the powers of stop and search without any cause and was disproportionately used against young Black men.[5] The impact of OWAAD and its initiatives are undeniably powerful and revolutionary. As Stella Dadzie (co-founder of OWAAD) emphasised, OWAAD worked to ‘show people sisterhood in operation’.[6] Not only did OWAAD take on the responsibility of upholding the Black-british community, they also established a legacy of justice and perseverance that remains a fundamental pillar of Black British History.

[1]British Library, ‘Sisterhood and After: The Women’s Liberation Oral History Project’, 3rd June 2011 <https://www.bl.uk/collection-items/stella-dadzie-owaad> last accessed 6/12/2019

[2] Ibid

[3] Bethany Warner, ‘The Organisation of Women of Asian and African Descent: constructing a collective identity’, 2016 <http://www.bristol.ac.uk/media-library/sites/history/documents/dissertations/Bethany_Warner2016.pdf > last accessed 6/12/2019

[4] Tess Gayhart, ‘Beyond the SS Empire Windrush: London’s Black History in the Archives’, 9thMay 2016

<https://blogs.kcl.ac.uk/kingshistory/category/teaching/> last accessed 6/12/2019

[5] Sophia Siddiqui,’ Still at the Heart of the race, Thirty years on’, 6th September 2018 < http://www.irr.org.uk/news/still-the-heart-of-the-race-thirty-years-on/> last accessed 6/12/2019

[6] Ibid(1)

By Isabelle Ehiorobo

A Public Media Lynching? Jason Arday and the Cost to Black Mental Health

Firstly, BLAM UK want to say that we are shocked and deeply saddened by the tragic death of Professor Jason Arday, the youngest Black person ever appointed to a professorship at the University of Cambridge. We send our deepest love and solidarity to his family, friends and everyone grieving this devastating loss. Professor Arday was more than a title, headline or public figure. He was a human being who was deeply loved. Rest In Power, Professor Jason Arday.

In 2023, Cambridge celebrated Arday’s appointment as Professor of Sociology of Education. At 37, he became the youngest Black person ever appointed to a professorship there. Cambridge presented him as a scholar of race, inequality and education and highlighted his autism and the barriers he had overcome. 

Consider the space he entered. In 2024/25 there were only around 270 Black professors across UK universities, approximately 1 per cent of all professors. 

Black people are repeatedly taught that excellence will save us. Get the qualifications. Enter the institution. Become undeniable.

But racism has never required Black mediocrity.

A Black person can reach Cambridge and still encounter anti Blackness. A title cannot regulate a traumatised nervous system. Prestige cannot manufacture safety. Representation without protection is not liberation.

Years before his death, Arday himself researched the psychological cost of racism in universities. His 2021 paper, No one can see me cry, drew on the experiences of 40 racially minoritised university staff and described how racism, marginalisation, isolation and inadequate culturally informed support affected mental health. He wrote about the “continual and residual trauma” experienced by racially minoritised academics. 

We should sit with that title.

No one can see me cry.

How many Black professionals are living some version of those words right now?

The Telegraph framed an early story as “Cambridge’s diversity poster boy in plagiarism row” and later published a piece about the “downfall of Cambridge’s diversity poster boy”. The story rapidly expanded beyond disputed academic passages into his childhood, charity work, teaching, professional appointments and personal history.

According to Steven Barnett, British newspapers published 289 stories about Arday in just 22 days, with almost two thirds appearing after he had resigned. Cambridge’s Chancellor Chris Smith has since said it was possible to defend academic integrity while refusing to participate in what he called a “racist feeding frenzy”.

This is what we mean when we describe what followed as a public media lynching.

Not a literal lynching. Not a claim about the cause of Jason’s death. A political description of a racialised tradition in which a Black person is turned from human being into public object, their alleged failures endlessly circulated, their entire life opened for inspection and their destruction consumed as spectacle.

How many Black lives must be shattered before Britain confronts its anti Blackness?

Racial trauma is real

Racism does not simply offend. It can injure psychological wellbeing.

Research in Britain has repeatedly associated racial discrimination with worse mental health. Longitudinal UK research has found links between experiences of racial discrimination and later psychological distress, while broader evidence connects racism with anxiety, depression, fear, isolation and other forms of psychological harm. 

Here at BLAM UK, We have made this argument before. Racism is a mental health issue. Black mental health cannot be separated from workplace discrimination, institutional racism, over policing, social isolation and the pressure to survive systems that were not designed around our safety. 

Now imagine adding mass public scrutiny.

Imagine waking up and seeing strangers debate your intelligence, your childhood, your career, your disability and whether you ever deserved to be where you were.

For a Black autistic person, race and disability cannot simply be separated into neat compartments. Research on Black autistic experiences remains shamefully limited, but emerging work explicitly recognises that Black autistic people can encounter distinctive forms of marginalisation at the intersection of racism and ableism. 

None of this tells us what Jason privately thought or felt.

It tells us why care should never have been an afterthought.

We must tell the truth about our own spaces

Radical Black politics demands that we look inward too. We cannot condemn the racial cruelty of British institutions while pretending harm cannot be reproduced inside Black spaces.

The Shade Borough, a major Black British media platform, published stories amplifying increasingly personal allegations about Arday, including claims from a former schoolmate questioning his childhood account and allegations from former students about his teaching and supervision. After Arday’s death, the platform issued a public statement amid significant criticism of its coverage.

This should prompt something deeper than another online pile on. Professor Arday could have been our brother. Our father. Our uncle. Our friend.

Screens make cruelty dangerously easy. A trending name becomes content. Comments become entertainment. A human life disappears behind an avatar. We cannot resist racist institutions while recreating their capacity for humiliation among ourselves.

Collective care is Black resistance

Black radical politics cannot begin at the funeral. It cannot be limited to flowers, hashtags and powerful statements once somebody is gone. Our politics must ask a harder question.

How do we keep each other well while we are still here?

We check in when someone is being publicly attacked. We interrupt dehumanising conversations. We refuse to make Black pain entertainment. We create Black led spaces where vulnerability does not become weakness. We take Black Mental Health seriously. We organise practical support. We ask someone how they are coping and stay long enough to hear the real answer.

That is not softness.

That is resistance.

BLAM UK’s own racial wellness work recognises the necessity of Black led spaces for healing, because Black people are so often expected to carry racism, pressure and trauma silently. 

We should remember Professor Jason Arday not only because he entered Cambridge, but because he was a Black human being whose life was bigger than Cambridge.

His humanity was never dependent on perfection.

Neither is ours.

We cannot continue showing up only after tragedy.

Protect Black minds while they are here.

Community care, love and empathy are Black resistance.

Mental health support

This article discusses racism, mental health and death. Please pause and seek support if you need it.

In the UK, Samaritans can be reached free, day or night, on 116 123. For urgent mental health help you can contact your GP or call NHS 111 and select the mental health option. If you or somebody else is in immediate danger, call 999 or go to A&E. Black Minds Matter UK also provides mental health information and culturally relevant resources, although its therapy service is currently paused. 

When Black Childhood Is Criminalised: How Daryl McLune’s Case Exposes Adultification, Anti-Black Racism and Human Rights Failures

In a landmark case, 20 year old Daryl McLune has won a race discrimination claim against the Metropolitan Police. McLune was only 16 when he returned home after his mother’s suicide attempt in July 2021 and was immediately treated as a suspect rather than a terrified son. A jury concluded the Met had “discriminated against Daryl McLune… because he was black” and that his treatment breached basic rights. This verdict is more than a one-off victory: it spotlights a pattern of anti-Black policing and adultification of Black children in the UK.

What Happened

On 25 July 2021, McLune cycled to his south London home to find his mother critically injured from a suicide attempt. Minutes later, officers confronted the 16 year old and despite seeing him arrive on a bicycle – arrested him for her attempted murder. He spent 23 hours in custody at Wandsworth Police Station, remaining handcuffed for five hours while officers took forensic swabs from his hands (samples that were never processed). McLune was never told if his mother had survived while he was detained, and he was questioned without his family present. The Independent highlights harrowing bodycam footage of McLune collapsing in tears, pleading, “I wasn’t even here,” as he was arrested. A previously diligent student, McLune dropped out of school after the trauma of the arrest.

The Jury’s Verdict

After a seven day civil trial, the jury found unequivocally that race had tainted the police’s actions. They ruled McLune was treated “less favourably than a non-black boy” would have been. In plain terms, if McLune had been a white or non-Black teenager, the jury believed he would not have been handcuffed or detained for hours. The court specifically found the officers did not honestly suspect McLune of attempted murder and that keeping him cuffed was neither “reasonable nor necessary”. Crucially, the jury held that the Metropolitan Police conduct amounted to “inhuman and degrading treatment” – a breach of Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights. His lawyers also secured findings of false imprisonment. Taken together, this means McLune’s rights under the Human Rights Act and Equality Act were violated. The judge will set the amount of damages, but McLune has claimed up to £130,000 to compensate for the ordeal.

Adultification: Black Children Seen as Adults

Experts call the underlying bias adultification: perceiving Black children as older, less innocent and more threatening than they are. The IOPC, policing’s watchdog, defines adultification bias as seeing “children, especially Black children, as older and more mature than they are, leading to unfair treatment, harsher discipline and diminished support and protection.”. This case is a textbook example. McLune was not treated as a 16 year old in crisis but as a hardened criminal. As his barrister put it: “Daryl was a child in crisis who should have been offered support… Instead, he was wrongly treated as a suspect because of his race.”. Likewise, the Independent reported the defence calling McLune’s arrest a “premature criminalisation of what was, in reality, a child in crisis”. The recent Child Q case and other studies have highlighted exactly this pattern: Black girls and boys are often met with force or discipline, not care, because officers assume they are “more ‘grown up’, less innocent and less vulnerable”.

Wider Context: Policing and Anti-Black Racism

McLune’s experience did not happen in a vacuum. British policing has a long record of racial bias and over-representation of Black youth. Official figures show stark disparities: Black people are many times more likely than white people to be stopped and searched, and similar patterns hold for children. A report by the Children’s Commissioner found Black children are nearly eight times more likely to be strip-searched than white children, and five times more likely to have force (handcuffs, Tasers, etc.) used against them. In the Youth Justice system, Black and mixed heritage children are hugely over-represented: one study noted 59% of youth remanded in custody are from ethnic minorities, with Black children (6% of the population) making up 27% of remand cases. They are 150% more likely to be stopped and searched than their share of the youth population. All this points to institutional racism: Black children are seen as threats rather than kids. As Rachel de Souza, the Children’s Commissioner, warned: too often “Black children [are] treated as adults while they are still children – with Black children most consistently and disproportionately subjected to [intrusive policing].”.

Human Rights and Legal Context

The case also underscores basic rights. The Equality Act 2010 imposes a duty on police (as a public authority) to avoid discrimination. The jury’s findings effectively confirm the Met breached these legal duties by explicitly judging McLune differently because of his race. In Human Rights terms, McLune’s Article 3 right (no torture or inhuman treatment) was violated. Racial discrimination also engages Article 14 of the ECHR (prohibiting discrimination in rights like privacy and liberty). In sum, the verdict formally recognises what activists have long argued: that anti-Black racism in policing can turn basic safeguards on their head.

Why This Case Matters

Daryl McLune’s victory is about more than one wrongful arrest. It raises a painful question: Why are Black children in trauma so often seen as criminals? Rather than being supported during his mother’s suicide attempt, McLune was humiliated and detained. The jury’s words make clear: his race “played a part consciously or unconsciously” in how harshly he was treated. For Black communities, this verdict confirms what many already knew: policing is too often skewed by stereotypes. As the Independent Office for Police Conduct has warned, “Too often Black communities feel overpoliced as suspects and underprotected”.

Daryl’s experience was a double trauma: first his mother’s attempt, then being criminalised for being a grieving son. The jury has now vindicated him, but justice demands action. Protecting Black childhood means challenging adultification and systemic bias in every interaction. It means insisting that Black children deserve care and understanding, not suspicion and force. McLune’s case sets a precedent – but its real legacy will depend on change: in training, in accountability, and in a policing culture that finally treats Black children as what they are.

Know Your Rights: What Laws & Regulations Protect Us from AI in Policing?

With the recent judgement which finds the Metropolitan Police’s expansive use of live facial recognition to be in accordance with the law, it is essential that Black and other racialised communities remain informed on the laws governing this use, and how this can be used for our protection when errors occur. 

The police are unable to use AI however they like; there are strict regulations attached to its deployment, and knowing those legal boundaries is essential.

Here is what the law says:

PACE 1984 

The Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 governs the statutory powers of the police in England and Wales. Code G of PACE is the relevant code here, as it sets out that an arrest is only lawful if an officer has reasonable grounds to suspect a person of criminal activity, and if the arrest is considered necessary.

This means that a facial recognition match generated by an algorithm is not, on its own, sufficient justification for an arrest. Officers must still be able to articulate why they suspected you. If basic checks were not carried out, or if the grounds for suspicion cannot be clearly explained, you may be able to legally challenge the arrest.

Equality Act 2010

Facial recognition technology has a well-documented problem with accuracy disparities, particularly when it comes to race. The cases of Shaun Thompson and Alvi Choudhury illustrate this danger: a false match by an algorithm can have life-altering consequences for the person on the receiving end.

Under the Equality Act 2010, police forces must have due regard to the need to eliminate discrimination. If a force deploys a facial recognition system known to produce biased results, it may be in breach of this Act, which protects us all from both direct and indirect discrimination.

Human Rights Act 1998 

Article 8 of the Human Rights Act 1998 protects the right to a private life. Facial recognition technology, by its very nature, involves the collection and processing of sensitive biometric data, and that raises serious privacy concerns.

Where AI-driven decisions intrude upon a person’s right to privacy without sufficient justification, those decisions can be challenged under this Act. The threshold for interfering with Article 8 rights is high, and the state must demonstrate that any intrusion is lawful, necessary, and proportionate.

Data Protection Act 2018 

Under the Data Protection Act 2018, biometric data is classified as special category data, afforded the highest level of legal protection.

Your face is your data, and it is protected by law. Scanning your face in a public space is a highly intrusive act of data collection. If there is no clear and pressing social need for that data to be retained, or if your image remains stored on a police database after you have been cleared of any wrongdoing, this may be challenged.

Links to further reading:

  1. DPP Law. Wrongful Arrest by Algorithm: The Alvi Choudhury Case and Your Rights. DPP Law Blog: https://www.dpp-law.com/blog/wrongful-arrest-by-algorithm-the-alvi-choudhury-case-and-your-rights/
  2. Topping, A. Facial Recognition Error Prompts Police to Arrest Asian Man for Burglary 100 Miles Away. The Guardian, 25 February 2026: https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2026/feb/25/facial-recognition-error-prompts-police-to-arrest-asian-man-for-burglary-100-miles-away
  3. Big Brother Watch. Facial Recognition Fight: Support the Appeal. Big Brother Watch Blog: https://bigbrotherwatch.org.uk/blog/facial-recognition-fight-support-the-appeal/

Why Black-led spaces make healing safer

This week is Mental Health Awareness Week, led by the Mental Health Foundation, and the 2026 theme is Action. That matters. Awareness can name a problem, but action changes conditions. For Black British communities, action cannot stop at telling people to breathe more, journal more, or simply “reach out”. Action has to mean building and protecting spaces where racism is named, our culture is understood, and healing does not begin with explanation. That is why Black-led mental health spaces matter so much right now. 

For Black communities in Britain, this conversation is deeply important. Mental health is not separate from the realities many Black people face every day. Racism, school exclusions, over-policing, workplace discrimination, financial pressure and social isolation all impact emotional wellbeing. Black people are often expected to carry stress, trauma and pressure silently while still continuing to survive systems that were never built with us in mind.

That is why Black-led spaces matter.

Black-led spaces create environments where Black people feel understood without having to constantly explain themselves. They allow people to exist without their experiences being minimised or dismissed. In these spaces, culture, identity and lived experience are recognised as important parts of healing.

Healing in Black communities has always existed collectively. Long before mental health became a mainstream public conversation, Black people created support networks through family, friendship groups, churches, community centres, youth projects, salons, barbershops and grassroots organisations. These spaces have often acted as places of safety, comfort and survival.

Healing is not only about therapy sessions or medical support, even though those services are important. Healing can also look like being in community, sharing stories, laughing together, listening to music, creating art, resting or simply feeling safe enough to be yourself.

The theme of Action asks all of us to think about what meaningful support actually looks like. Action could mean checking in on a loved one, setting boundaries, attending a community event, supporting Black-led organisations or speaking openly about racial trauma and wellbeing. It could also mean challenging the systems that continue to harm Black mental health.

At BLAM UK, we believe healing must be culturally grounded, community-led and rooted in justice. Black wellbeing deserves more than temporary attention during awareness weeks. It deserves long-term care, investment and protection.

Our mission is to create spaces of joy and freedom for Black people in the UK. Our Zuri Therapy programme was designed for Black British people, co-developed with Black therapists, and focused on racial trauma, racial microaggressions, identity, creativity and healing. That is what action can look like in practice. It can look like funding Black-led spaces, defending them, sharing them, and using them. It can look like directing people towards BLAM UK, Bayo and therapist networks such as BAATN. As Audre Lorde taught, self-preservation is political. For Black communities, healing is not separate from struggle. It is part of how we survive, how we care for each other, and how we build freedom. 

Black Books Under Attack Again in Greater Manchester.

A quiet act of censorship unfolded in a school library in Greater Manchester. A headteacher objected to a single title and within weeks more than one hundred thirty books were pulled off the shelves. It was an unprecedented move in the United Kingdom and it exposed how quickly fear and misinformation can erase voices from a public space that should belong to all of us.

Among the targeted titles were Nova Reid’s The Good Ally, Dean Atta’s Black Flamingo, Reni Eddo Lodge’s Why I am No Longer Talking to White People About Race, Bernardine Evaristo’s Girl Woman Other, Michelle Obama’s Becoming and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s We Should All Be Feminists. These books speak to the complexity of Black identity, racism, feminism and joy. Removing them does not protect young people; it denies them the language to understand their own lives and histories. Each text is an entry point into a world where Black girls can see themselves reflected and where boys from diaspora backgrounds know that their experiences are valid. Their absence tells a story of erasure.

Reading as resistance and belonging

Reading has long been an act of resistance for Black people. Frederick Douglass famously wrote that knowledge unfits a child to be a slave. Enslaved Africans in the Americas were punished for learning to read because literacy was a pathway out of bondage. Today when authorities remove books by Black authors they reproduce the logic that kept our ancestors illiterate. Reading is not only a method of self improvement; it is a communal practice that builds belonging. For Black communities in Britain each book is a bridge connecting the diaspora to our histories and struggles. When we read stories by authors like Reid and Evaristo, we learn that our experiences matter and that they fit within a larger narrative of resistance.

Bogle L’Ouverture: publishing as protest

In the nineteen seventies Eric and Jessica Huntley founded Bogle L’Ouverture Publications when mainstream publishers in Britain ignored Black writers. They named their press after Toussaint Louverture, the Haitian revolutionary, and Paul Bogle, the Jamaican freedom fighter. The publishing house became a statement of independence; it told the world that Black history and literature mattered. From their Walter Rodney Bookshop in West London the Huntleys sold books, hosted readings and provided a space where people could learn and organise. This was not just a shop; it was a community hub where the politics of liberation were cultivated. In the face of censorship and marginalisation the Huntleys built an institution that affirmed Black life. Their model reminds us that controlling our own narratives is a form of resistance.

New Beacon Books: a beacon of diasporic stories

A few years before Bogle L’Ouverture, John La Rose and Sarah White established New Beacon Books in nineteen sixty six. It was the first Black owned publisher and specialist bookshop in the United Kingdom and remains a vital resource today. For more than fifty years New Beacon Books has made literature from Africa, the Caribbean, the Americas and Black Britain available. Its shelves hold novels, poetry, history and political analysis that cannot be found in mainstream stores. The shop has been sustained by volunteers and supported by activists and students across generations. It functions as more than a business; it is a meeting place where people discuss ideas, organise campaigns and celebrate culture. In many ways it is a sanctuary against the tide of censorship. When a school bans books, New Beacon Books provides a safe harbour for those same stories.

Bookshops as sites of struggle

The history of Black bookshops in Britain is one of resilience in the face of violence. During the nineteen seventies and eighties there were few Black bookshops and those that existed were targeted by racist attacks including firebombings. Yet these spaces were always full. People travelled long distances not only to buy books but to seek advice, share information and start campaigns. Booksellers became counsellors, community organisers and keepers of memory. The attacks on these spaces reveal how threatening Black literacy has always been to those who benefit from ignorance. When we talk about a school removing books from its library we should remember that there has never been a safe time to read while Black. Every page we turn is an act of defiance against centuries of silencing.

A call to action

The Greater Manchester purge is not an isolated incident. It is part of a broader effort to control which stories children can access and to prevent them from encountering narratives that challenge white supremacy. To respond we must defend our libraries and support our own institutions. Demand that schools reinstate the removed titles; encourage children to read the banned books; donate to independent presses like New Beacon Books and buy your books from Afrori Books. Organise reading groups where you discuss texts that have been censored. Each book we read becomes a tool for liberation. When we choose reading we choose resistance and belonging over silence and erasure.

BLAM UK is Recruiting: Consultant Education Lawyer

BLAM UK is seeking a Consultant Education Lawyer to support our Advocacy Team, particularly within our School Exclusions Project.

This role involves providing legal guidance and expertise to help protect the educational and racial justice rights of Black children and young people. The successful candidate will work closely with our advocacy team to ensure that families receive clear legal guidance when navigating school exclusions and other education related challenges.

BLAM UK runs the UK’s only school exclusions advocacy service dedicated to supporting Black children and young people. Through advocacy, legal guidance, and community engagement, we work to challenge systemic inequalities in education and ensure that Black children and families are treated fairly within the education system.

Key Responsibilities

  • Provide expert legal advice to the advocacy team on education law matters.
  • Support cases relating to school exclusions and other education-related issues.
  • Assist with reviewing documents, preparing legal guidance, and advising on best practice for advocacy.
  • Work closely with the team to ensure the rights and welfare of Black children and young people are central to all interventions.

Requirements

  • Qualified solicitor or barrister with experience in education law.
  • Strong understanding of school exclusions, safeguarding, and issues specifically affecting Black children and young people.
  • Demonstrated commitment to equity, inclusion, and culturally competent advocacy.
  • Excellent communication and collaborative skills.
  • Ability to work flexibly and remotely, managing 5 hours per week.

Role Details

Hours: 5 hours per week (between 9am–5pm, Monday–Friday)
Rate: £28 per hour
Location: Remote / Flexible

How to Apply

Please send your CV and a short covering letter outlining your experience and suitability for the role to:

📧 hello@blamcharity.co.uk

Deadline for applications: 3 April 2026

If you are passionate about education justice and protecting the rights of Black children, we encourage you to apply.

Olive Morris: The Black Feminist Who Built Britain’s Radical Future.

March is Women’s History Month, and the theme this year is “Give to Gain.” For me, the name that immediately comes to mind is Olive Morris. Born in 1952 in Harewood, Jamaica, she moved to south London at nine years old. From a young age she saw Britain’s inequalities and, by her teens, she was already giving to her community. At 17 she intervened when police brutally harassed a Nigerian diplomat in Brixton and was herself beaten and arrested. Instead of backing down, she joined the youth wing of the British Black Panthers and dedicated herself to fighting for housing, education and justice. Olive gave everything she had, her youth, her courage, her labour, in order for her community to gain rights and dignity.

Olive’s own journey shows why we celebrate her today. In an era when Britain’s feminist movement often ignored race and class, Olive insisted that Black women be front and centre of liberation. She once cautioned that “if we don’t speak for ourselves, we’ll always be spoken for“. A statement anticipating the term intersectionality. She shifted the conversation from glass ceilings to the urgent issues Black women faced: police brutality, substandard housing and immigration law.

Building Black Feminism

In 1973 Olive co-founded the Brixton Black Women’s Group (BBWG). This was one of the UK’s first organisations specifically for Black women, and it created a space free from the racism of mainstream feminism and the sexism of male-dominated Black politics. Through study circles, newsletters and community projects, BBWG highlighted issues like childcare, education, domestic violence and workplace discrimination that white-led groups had ignored. In practice, BBWG put children’s centres, supplementary schools and housing justice at the heart of feminism.

Later Olive helped launch the Organisation of Women of African and Asian Descent (OWAAD) in 1978. This national network brought together Black and Asian women activists from across Britain to build solidarity and share strategies. Hundreds attended OWAAD’s first conference, a watershed moment in UK Black feminism. Olive and her comrades made it clear that any genuine women’s movement must fight racism and class exploitation as fiercely as patriarchy.

Housing as a Human Right

Olive’s activism in the 1970s proved that direct action could change lives. In 1972 she and friend Liz Obi squatted 121 Railton Road in Brixton to house homeless youth and community groups. They resisted multiple eviction attempts, even staging the famous scene of Olive on the roof refusing to come down. The flat became a hub for Black organising and eventually hosted Sabarr, one of Britain’s first Black community bookshops. Olive made clear her politics: housing is a right, not a privilege. She often said a “roof over your head isn’t a privilege – it’s a right”. This principle still drives tenants’ campaigns today. As Britain once again faces a housing and rent crisis, activists still invoke her example of squatters’ resistance and mutual aid for decent homes.

Confronting Police and ‘Sus’ Laws

Police harassment was another battlefield for Olive. After her own 1969 beating by the police, she refused to let that violence go unchallenged. In 1978 she returned to Brixton as a law student and worked at the local Community Law Centre, campaigning to scrap the infamous ‘sus’ laws that allowed officers to stop and search people on mere suspicion. Olive exposed how those racist laws terrorised the Black community – a problem that echoes today’s debates over stop-and-search. Her leadership meant that resistance to police brutality was rooted in Black women’s organising and legal struggle. Olive’s message was clear: Black women cannot rely on others to lead for them, because history shows they would be sidelined otherwise. She insisted working-class Black women must take charge of their own freedom.

Legacy: Giving to Gain

Olive Morris died at just 27 years old, but her impact was far beyond her years. In less than a decade of activism she built community centres, bookshops, schools and legal projects that still exist today. She gave her youth and safety to build movements that benefit us all. In the words of Women’s History Month’s theme, she truly gave in order for future generations to gain. By investing every ounce of her energy in collective struggle, she gained a blueprint for Britain’s future that we still follow.

As we honour women’s history this month, Olive Morris stands out as a perfect example of “give to gain.” She reminds us that leadership and sacrifice know no age limit. Her story, from squatting homes to forming feminist networks, has been under-told, but every Black activist today draws on the foundations she built. Everyone reading this should know her name and carry forward her legacy. How will we give to gain in our time?

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The N Word on National TV Again at the BAFTAs and What It Says About Britain.

On 22 February 2026, the BBC broadcast the BAFTA Film Awards from the Royal Festival Hall. During the ceremony, Michael B. Jordan and Delroy Lindo were presenting when an audience member, John Davidson, audibly shouted an anti Black racial slur as part of an involuntary Tourette syndrome tic. 

It matters to say this with care. Tourette syndrome is real. Involuntary tics are real. Yet harm is still harm when millions hear a slur in their living rooms. The editorial question is not whether the tic was intentional. It is why a broadcaster with time to edit still broadcast the slur at all. 

Did you know there was a two hour window to protect viewers

Did you know the ceremony began at around 5pm, but the television broadcast began at 7pm. That means the programme was not live television in the simplest sense. It was a delayed broadcast with an edit window. 

That same broadcast was also edited down from roughly three hours to a two hour slot. So decisions were being made about what stays in, what comes out, and what gets treated as urgent. 

Here is where selective urgency becomes visible. Reporting confirmed that part of an acceptance speech by Akinola Davies Jr that included the words Free Palestine was removed from the broadcast. 

We cannot honestly present motive as fact, because the broadcaster has publicly pointed to practical editing constraints in coverage.  But we can still name the political meaning audiences read into the outcome. Palestinian solidarity was treated as removable content, while anti Black harm was treated as survivable background noise. That is interpretation, but it is interpretation rooted in the pattern of what institutions repeatedly choose to protect. 

This is not the first time the N word has appeared on British screens

This is not an isolated editorial accident. In 2020, the Ofcom assessed a BBC regional news report that included the N word spoken in full in pre recorded packages. Ofcom stated that the use of highly racially offensive language in full was unjustified in that context, even though it did not pursue further investigation because the BBC had already taken action. 

That same incident triggered mass complaints and eventually a public apology by BBC leadership after initial defence. 

So when Black viewers say we are tired, we are not being dramatic. We are tracking a history of being asked to absorb trauma for someone else’s editorial framing of context, education, realism, or authenticity. 

The law can name some harms clearly and still leave others vague

Under the Equality Act 2010, harassment related to race is unlawful when it has the purpose or effect of violating dignity or creating a hostile, degrading, humiliating, or offensive environment. 

So why does broadcast culture still treat anti Black abuse as a debate instead of a clear breach of dignity. That is partly an institutional habit, but it is also about what gets named and operationalised.

The UK Government formally adopted the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance working definition of antisemitism in 2016, and government guidance and parliamentary material repeatedly stress the definition is non legally binding, a tool rather than a statute.  The IHRA text itself also states that criticism of Israel similar to that levelled against any other country cannot be regarded as antisemitic. 

Did you know there is no equivalent UK wide, government adopted working definition named anti Black racism, even though race discrimination is covered in law. You can find definitions in local and organisational frameworks, but the absence of a shared national working definition is not neutral. It shapes what feels enforceable, legible, and urgent. 

This is bigger than one broadcast

The point is not that only one broadcaster is failing. It is that anti Blackness is structurally normalised across British life.

In February 2026, Transport for London had a social media advert banned by the Advertising Standards Authority because it reinforced a harmful racial stereotype linking Black boys with threatening behaviour. 

In schools and policing, adultification bias has been repeatedly documented, where Black children are perceived as older, less innocent, and more culpable, with serious consequences. 

In politics, Diane Abbott has faced disproportionate racist and misogynistic abuse, including findings that she received an extreme share of abusive messages compared with other women MPs. 

Black radical thought teaches us to read moments like this not as a one off glitch, but as encoded institutional practice. Stuart Hall reminded us that media is not just reflecting reality, it is producing meaning through decisions made at every stage of production.  That is why an apology without change can feel like manipulation. The mechanism stays intact.

What Black communities are demanding is simple. Never broadcast the slur. Never treat our dignity as optional. Publish what failed in the compliance chain, and what will be changed before the next delayed broadcast. 

Audre Lorde’s Radical Self-Care.

Audre Lorde in 1980. Audre Lorde was a Black, queer feminist poet and activist who transformed the way we understand identity, care, and resistance. Through her writings and speeches, Lorde urged marginalized people to prioritize self-care as an act of survival, asserting that nurturing one’s own well-being is not selfish – it’s a necessary weapon against oppression. As we mark Lorde’s birthday (February 18) during U.S. Black History Month, we celebrate how this “warrior poet” used radical self-care to empower herself and her community in the fight for justice.

A Warrior Poet in the Fight for Justice

Audre Lorde often introduced herself as a “Black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet,” signaling the many facets of her identity and struggle. Born in 1934 in Harlem to Caribbean immigrant parents, she came of age amidst racism and segregation. Lorde found her voice through poetry at a young age and later became a librarian and educator. By the 1960s she was deeply involved in activism – from the Civil Rights movement to the women’s liberation and gay rights movements. Her experiences as a Black queer woman in America fueled her demand for intersectionality in social justice: she insisted that the different parts of our identities (race, gender, sexuality, class) cannot be separated in the struggle for equality. Lorde’s activism was broad and global.

She spoke at the 1979 National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights and co-founded Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press in 1981 to publish works by Black feminists. She even helped build connections with activists in apartheid South Africa. Through all her work, Lorde was a fearless truth-teller, unafraid to call out racism in feminist spaces or homophobia in Black spaces. Her life’s mission was to empower those rendered voiceless by society – and to show that embracing one’s full, authentic self is a potent act of resistance.

Self-Care as Self-Preservation

One of Audre Lorde’s most enduring lessons is her redefinition of self-care. In 1988, while battling terminal cancer, Lorde wrote the now-famous words: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” At a time when Black women like herself were expected to be selfless caregivers or strong workhorses, Lorde turned that idea on its head. She declared that preserving her own health, sanity, and spirit was a political act – a way to refuse the destructive pressures of a racist, sexist society. For Lorde, self-care was not about pampering or consumer comforts. It was “the sustenance that sustained her ability to enact change”. As a Black queer woman, she knew that the society around her did not prioritize her well-being at all – so she had to prioritize it herself. Lorde likened her fight against oppression to her fight against cancer.

In both battles, survival required strength and vigilance. She warned against “overextending” oneself in activism, noting that burnout and exhaustion only serve the systems that want to silence oppressed voices. By caring for her body and mind, Lorde equipped herself to keep speaking out, writing, and fighting. She urged her peers to do the same, especially Black women who faced the double trauma of racism and sexism every day. This holistic view, that mental and physical health are part of the freedom struggle, was groundbreaking. It challenged the idea that activism must equal self-sacrifice, and instead proposed that self-preservation is a form of political resistance.

Legacy of a Radical Vision

Audre Lorde’s radical self-care philosophy resonates powerfully to this day. In recent years, we have seen a resurgence of her ideas in movements like Black Lives Matter and Black feminist organizing. Activists cite Lorde when reminding each other to rest and heal, knowing that rest is resistance and that we can’t pour from an empty cup. Especially for Black people, women of color, LGBTQ+ folks and others on the margins, Lorde’s words offer permission to care for ourselves in a world that often neglects or attacks us.

Her influence is evident in the modern discourse around “radical self-care” and “community care.” For example, wellness initiatives in activist communities and the rise of groups like The Nap Ministry (which advocates rest as reparations for Black people) draw directly from Lorde’s insight that caring for oneself is not a luxury.

Moreover, Lorde’s life exemplifies that self-care and community care go hand in hand. She fostered communities of support – whether through creating a publishing press for women of color or organizing healing circles for Black women with cancer (as she did in The Cancer Journals). By openly discussing her struggles – from racism to her health – she showed that sharing pain and caring for each other can dismantle the system that wants Black and brown people to “keep it all inside”. Today, scholars and activists credit Audre Lorde for this crucial reframing of self-care. What started as a deeply personal revelation – a Black lesbian poet listening to her body and spirit – became a rallying cry for collective survival. Lorde’s legacy teaches us that tending to ourselves is not selfish, it is self-preservation, and in her words, “better we learn to mother ourselves” than to capitulate to a world that would see us used up.

As we honor Audre Lorde on her birthday and during Black History Month, we are reminded that her voice is a guiding light. Lorde showed that the act of self-care is a radical declaration of worth – a way of saying that we deserve to thrive even in a system that aims to break us. Her life’s work, spanning poetry, essays, and activism, continues to inspire new generations to speak up, to embrace their identities fully, and to care fiercely for themselves and each other. In Lorde’s spirit, caring for ourselves is not about escaping the world’s problems; it is about equipping ourselves with the strength to change the world. This Black History Month, let Audre Lorde’s example ignite in us the courage to rest when weary, to love ourselves unapologetically, and to fight on for liberation – because our self-preservation is an act of political warfare

Black British history beyond London.

Many people think of Black British history in terms of London events like the Windrush arrival or Notting Hill. But important stories happened all over Britain. Black communities in cities like Bristol, Leeds and Newcastle have reshaped the country culturally, politically and socially. Let’s explore some inspiring tales: a bus boycott in Bristol, Martin Luther King Jr’s visit to Newcastle, ancient Roman soldiers in Cumbria, and Britain’s first Caribbean carnival in Leeds.

Bristol’s Bus Boycott of 1963

In 1963 Bristol’s bus company refused to hire Black or Asian people as drivers. Youth worker Paul Stephenson and others led a protest against this “colour bar”. For four months local activists and the West Indian community boycotted the buses until the company finally agreed to hire drivers of all races. Their victory made headlines. It inspired Britain’s first Race Relations Act (1965), which made racial discrimination in public life illegal. The Bristol Bus Boycott is remembered as one of Britain’s earliest and most powerful Black-led campaigns for equality.

Martin Luther King Jr in Newcastle, 1967

In the north of England, Newcastle has its own civil rights moment. On 13 November 1967, Dr Martin Luther King Jr crossed the Atlantic for a one-day visit to receive an honorary doctorate from Newcastle University. (It was the only UK university to honour him in his lifetime.) During the ceremony, King gave an unexpected speech warning against racist ghettos and poverty in Britain. He told the audience that “Racism is … the coloured man’s burden and the white man’s shame”. Decades later, King’s brief visit links Britain’s struggle for equality with the American Civil Rights Movement, showing how ideas crossed the ocean.

African Soldiers in Roman Cumbria

Black British history goes back far beyond the twentieth century. In north west England, at a Roman fort called Aballava (near modern Burgh by Sands, Cumbria), archaeologists found evidence of North African soldiers in Britain. A Roman altar dating to around AD 253 records that Caelius Vibianus, commander of the Numerus Maurorum Aurelianorum (a unit of Berber soldiers from Mauretania, now Morocco and Algeria), was stationed there. In fact, Cumbria is home to Britain’s first recorded African community, some 1,800 years ago. These findings show that people from North Africa lived and had families in Britain in the third century. It is a striking “did you know?” story: Black people were part of Britain’s story long before most of us think.

Leeds’s First Caribbean Carnival, 1967

In 1967 Leeds became the site of Britain’s first Caribbean-style carnival parade. Community leader Arthur France, a student from St Kitts-Nevis, organised the very first West Indian carnival in Chapeltown, Leeds. Hundreds of people in colourful costumes and steel bands marched from Potternewton Park to Leeds Town Hall as part of the new “West Indian Carnival” procession. About 1,000 locals watched that inaugural event. This Leeds carnival set the trend for later festivals – including London’s famous Notting Hill Carnival. Today the Leeds West Indian Carnival is a huge annual celebration of Caribbean culture and community. In other words, a party in Leeds in 1967 helped reshape British culture.

Across Britain

These stories show that Black history in Britain is not confined to London. From Roman soldiers in Cumbria to activists in Bristol and Newcastle, to cultural pioneers in Leeds, Black people have made their mark across the country. Each event helped change Britain – overturning racism, inspiring hope, and celebrating identity. As one writer notes, these Black communities outside London “have reshaped the country, culturally, politically and socially”. By learning these local stories, we get a fuller view of Black British history – one that truly reaches from coast to coast.