Sincerely, Saskia

The moment I arrived at Trafalgar Square and made my way through the crowd; a man was hurriedly huffing and puffing trying to get through.

“JESUS!” he said.

And immediately four or five of us stopped to check this man.

“What do you mean ‘Jesus?’” one woman said.

“Don’t be so disrespectful.”

“Well, I’m trying to catch a train,” he said.

“This is a vigil.”

“Yeah, yeah it’s always something.” He said it so smugly, and then felt the need to repeat himself again, smiling: “It’s always something.”

Usually, I would have said something. Usually, I would have said a lot, but this day I just stared at him in awe as he walked away, as did the rest of us as we collectively shook our heads in disgust.

He’s right. It is always something. And it’s usually because of men that look like him. Yes, he was white, but I’m not just talking about skin colour here – he looked like he could have been one of the very editors or writers of the very newspapers people have been protesting since news of Professor Jason Arday’s death.

Every time you see a video online capturing a blatant moment of racism or an outright attack on one of us, one comment that comes up again and again is: “We don’t make them uncomfortable enough.”

These racist individuals are so emboldened by their own beliefs that they can scoff at the so-called inconvenience of a vigil of another prematurely lost Black life because they have a train to catch.

I was already emotionally spent walking into this, but this man, his ignorance and entitlement put me in a state of: Is there really any coming back from this? Is there any way we are ever going to be able to just exist without being lynched, without being gunned down, without being disrespected, dismissed or demonised?

Before I even heard any of the speakers utter a word, I had tears streaming down my face. I didn’t stop crying throughout most of the vigil. Even though it was moving to hear of Professor Jason Arday’s life. Even though it was inspiring to hear from Dawn Butler, Dianne Abbott, friends of Professor Jason Arday and the many brilliant people who took the stage, my tears signified something I’m not happy to admit.

Even though we all know we’re stronger together, I could not shake the feeling that after this all settles down, we’re straight back to being comfortable in our divide. Because it’s not just Black against white, press against civilians, the 1% vs the masses, along with the far-right and right-leaning, we watched Black sites and commentators aid in Professor Jason Arday’s takedown. The longtime disgrace that is THE SHADE BOROUGH, finally has people waking up to the enemy of progress it really is. If a cultural divide wasn’t bad enough at times like this, there’s all these hidden enemies we as Black people have to deal with that makes the idea of genuine equality, peace and belonging feel impossible.

Nathan Cofnas was the centre of a lot of people’s pain at the vigil and online over these last few weeks. And, rightly so, but ask yourself who funded his research? He seems very out and proud about being a “race realist” and yet, until very recently, was still employed at Ghent University. People were listening to him, probably inviting him to speak and giving him a platform – and that’s where depression and hopelessness really get its power.

It’s never just: “look, he did it… he’s to blame”. When it comes to racism, we are always fighting institutions, final bosses, dealing with in-fighting and more. It comes from every angle and it is relentless and I hate that I felt it the most standing there in the middle of Trafalgar Square at Professor Jason Arday’s vigil. I don’t know why it was so heavy, so suffocating and so hard for me to ignore, even for the night. For the first time in as long as I can remember, in the fight for social justice I wasn’t angry or motivated, I was deflated.

Professor Jason Arday kicked down doors so other people would just be able to knock. Professor Jason Arday didn’t gatekeep or grandstand, he shared his experiences and stood on podiums reassuring everyone else in the room who looked and thought like him that they had a place because he did.

No Black person deserves to be pushed to their death. None of us.

But Professor Jason Arday being forced into that position feels like the killing of innocence. The killing of dreams and belief and ambition and community. Whether you knew him, knew of him or only know him now because of this horrific injustice, it all still stands. And now, all there is to live with is his legacy because his light was snuffed out. Killed, by the very institution I – and people I care about deeply – have devoted our careers to.

When Beverly Knight came out, trying to raise the spirits of the crowd with her music, I simply couldn’t join in. I had stopped crying and just stood there numb while everyone did their best to tap a toe through the heavy grief they were feeling. Everything I felt had come to a head and I thought, maybe I needed to leave.

Then, in my peripheral vision, I could see a Black woman start to walk up to me. She stopped in front of me and didn’t say a word, but what she did next was the reminder I needed as to why I wanted to show up for Professor Jason Arday that day. She put her arms around me and pulled me into a hug. The flood started again and I couldn’t let go of this woman. No words exchanged. No pleasantries. No encouragement. Just a moment of action. When I finally released her from my clutches, she squeezed my arms in one final act of reassurance before she walked off, lost to the crowd.

In that moment, I realised what I had been feeling this whole time wasn’t hopelessness, it was desperation. I’m desperate for actions speaking louder than words, for living up to what we say, for people, places and politics to focus on prevention instead of scrambling during the aftermath. Unless you’ve experienced it in some capacity, you’ll never know how exhausting and isolating it can be when your very existence is a protest. When you’re the only Black person on your team and carry that responsibility on making the right choices for your whole community. When a joke is never a joke, an accident is never really an accident, and micro aggressions happen so often are so brazen that there’s nothing microscopic about them.

I have spent so much of my life arguing with racists, receiving their hatred, fighting and advocating for my community, rallying, educating, taking up space and leading with pride. It hasn’t always been easy, in fact, it’s never been easy but it’s always been worth it and now is not the time to stop – no matter how sick and tired of having these feelings and having this conversation I am. Not for us, not for our allies, not for anyone who refuses to let hatred win, not for anyone who refuses to let Professor Jason Arday die in vain.

I do not want to still be having this conversation in ten, twenty, thirty years’ time… we cannot start from scratch every time… we cannot be surprised every time… we cannot put down the fight every time.

No justice, no peace.

No justice, no peace.

No justice, no peace.

We didn’t ask for this fight, but we owe it to so many to carry it on.

Rest in power, Professor Jason Arday.