If this boy had been more prudently 
dropped into life on, say, a street 
with trees that throw out their annual yellow 
to make a welcome parade for the sun; 
had as childhood neighbours a Circuit Court Judge 
whose front door had no letter box, 
a Garda Chief Inspector with an opinionated 
and over-confident dog; 
kicked a ball up and down summer evenings, 
dead apart from the occasional well behaved bee, 
with the boy next door (but one) who blossomed 
into a political correspondent 
and now gets to make up truth, 
another way would’ve been found.
But for coming at Gardaí 
with a chemical imbalance, 
what some people are calling 
a machete 
and a totally inappropriate 
post code, 
the only sentence 
was that ethically administered, 
democratically accountable, 
bolt action firing squad.
The eminent and learned 
bottoms we employ to sit 
on the inquiry into this 
need not fret the task ahead of them. 
For their report is already written.
&nbsp;
<pre>Photo Credit: <a class="owner-name truncate" style="color: #808080;" title="Go to Paolo Trabattoni's photostream" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/mctraba/" data-track="attributionNameClick">Paolo Trabattoni </a>/ Flickr</pre>

Garda Police

Poem: The Case of George Nkencho

Ominous opening credits theme ebbs 
to silence. Fade in: shaky-cam footage 
from various news agencies; a montage 
establishing time, place and the threat
unfolding unstoppably on a global scale. 
Headlines whirl. Graphs and charts stamp 
stark projections onscreen. Editing ramps 
up urgency, drama, the stakes. The tale
about to unfold is one of humanity 
at its worst and best. The selflessness 
of carers and keyworkers put to the test 
and emerging heroic. Cut to: the inanity,
the dithering, the bullshit of those 
in high office, the Etonian provocateurs 
bluffing and blustering, pitifully unprepared 
for a crisis that can’t be diffused
by three-word slogans and posh-boy jeers 
during PMQs. We’re on shaky ground. 
Any half-aware test audience crowd 
would demand a hero they can cheer,
not some Greek chorus of doorstep applause 
curtailed in the second act as too political. 
This floundering narrative is antithetical 
to mainstream cinema. It’s like Star Wars
from the POV of an admin assistant filing 
the performance review of a storm-trooper 
who got shot two scenes ago, or the blooper 
reel from a public information film on tiling
or basic plumbing for beginners. It’s not 
the film you paid your money to see. 
You didn’t pay to watch the idiot-in-chief 
ignore the science, grin deathlessly, toss off
some half-arsed soundbite, execute 
a soft-shoe sidestep from responsibility. 
Whither the nurses, shop workers, delivery 
drivers &#8211; the real heroes? Let’s reboot
the project, focus on them; let’s weave 
multiple stories, Short Cuts style, celebrate 
the under-appreciated, the underpaid; 
let’s give the audience a reason to believe,,
a grand finale. Let’s put a Hollywood spin 
on this year-long real-time clusterfuck, 
flip the narrative, double-down on feelgood; 
rewrite, recast, re-edit. We can do this thing.
&nbsp;
<pre>Photo Credit: Andrew Parsons / No 10 Downing Street</pre>

Boris Johnson Coronavirus Update Conference

Poem: The 2020 Movie

for Susan
Whenever I show them the Future, 
they refuse it; 
say: this future has bad hair, 
waves its arms around too much, 
is too Jewish, 
or not Jewish enough, 
too not-a-woman, 
or the wrong sort of woman.
This Future has a face that one day 
might raise the corporate tax rate 
by zero point five percent, 
and is a little too insistent 
that poor people be allowed live, 
give or take, as long as the rest of us. 
That sort of thing scares the people we dine with 
nights we’re not dining with you.
I ask the barman for more finger food, 
picture the ocean raging into the restaurant, 
and them still sat there muttering at the chicken goujons: 
the people we talk to won’t vote for 
such extreme solutions. No one wants to live in Cuba, 
one of them says, as she’s washed out the door.
I pray, when all the futures 
they’ve turned their noses up at 
are safely in the mud 
and the men in boots and leather come 
to escort us all to the Processing Centre 
in the back of a truck 
that I be shot, cleanly through the skull, at the front gate, 
so I don’t suffer their groans 
about the quality of the gruel, 
and how that last beating one of them got 
was clearly in breach of the Human Rights Act 
and worthy of a curtly worded, 
but still civil, letter to The Observer.
&nbsp;
<pre>Photo Credit: <a style="color: #999999;" href="https://unsplash.com/@henniestander?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText">Hennie Stander</a> on <a style="color: #999999;" href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/barman-restaurant?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></pre>

Kevin Higgins_hennie-stander-O3oIr1j65EM-unsplash

Poem: Our Posh Liberal Friends

Heart of the Nation: Migration and the Making of the NHS, the newly launched <a href="https://heartofthenation.migrationmuseum.org/">online exhibition</a> from the Migration Museum, is a digital journey through the makings of the <a href="https://platformonline.uk/tag/nhs" target="_blank" rel="noopener">NHS</a> over the past 72 years through the eyes of the many immigrant workers who make it tick.
Hailing from a family made up of two generations of NHS workers, from both English and ethnic minority backgrounds, this exhibition was right up my street. Combining photos from the present day with pictures from the NHS archives, it tells a story of the people who have made our public healthcare system possible. The exhibit shines a spotlight on little-known figures like Dr Harold Moody, a Jamaican born, London-trained physician who was repeatedly denied jobs due to the colour of his skin and Mary Agyapong, Ghanaian nurse who, at 35 weeks pregnant, tragically died in ITU after contracting Covid-19 whilst caring for patients on a Corona ward.
Apart from being a little bit frustrating to navigate digitally, Heart of the Nation tugged at my heart strings to no end. Seeing the faces of the people who I have worked alongside for the last seven years of my NHS career filled me with pride. The exhibit begins with the context of <a href="https://platformonline.uk/articles/coronavirus-crisis-ethnic-minorities-on-the-nhs-frontline" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Covid-19</a> framing a very different perspective to that of our NHS in recent months. The sudden necessity of NHS workers to carry the burden of the pandemic has raised important questions on who exactly has been looking after us and running this organisation for the last 72 years. It has highlighted all those who remained working whilst the majority of the nation was under lockdown, who didn’t have a choice but to just get on with it, and who would take the hits when it came to light that BAME people had a higher risk of succumbing to the virus.
The exhibition continues with stories of individuals who have immigrated to the UK to work in the NHS or who have found themselves working in it anyway, detailing their experiences, the racism they endured on arrival and what they’ve had to give up to get here. One particularly moving example of this is the story of trainee nurse Gulzar Waljee. Originally from Tanzania, Gulzar was told by her South African Matron that she must pass her upcoming final exams otherwise the UK ward would not be taking on any more Tanzanian girls. Already feeling the weight of her family&#8217;s hopes on her shoulders, Gulzar now had the fates of all future nurses from Tanzania in her hands, purely because some Tanzanian girls had failed exams previously and this was apparently a trait of her ethnicity. She tells of hiding in the sluice crying after repeatedly being told off for her English, the misery of always feeling out of place, and then the weight of being a representative of all future Tanzanian nurses on her shoulders. This particular story of being defined by your ethnic group, rather than your individuality, is something that I myself, and I’m sure many others from BAME backgrounds, feel especially close to home.

gulzar-waljee-in-1959-from-the-migration-museums-heart-of-the-nation-exhibition-image-courtesy-gulzar-waljee

Gulzar Waljee in 1959, from the Migration Museum's Heart of the Nation exhibition (Image courtesy Gulzar Waljee)

These stories of hostility contrast with the sentiment of pride that the exhibition’s participants have in working for the NHS. They show not only pride in what they do, but pride in their colleagues and the diversity of those they work with. My own experiences of working in the NHS have been undeniably shaped by the wealth of cultures and backgrounds that I have had the pleasure to encounter. One of the few silver linings to emerge from the Covid-19 pandemic thus far has been recognition of this and I can only hope that the attitudes I encountered in medical school from older, white male consultants referring to &#8220;Begum Syndrome&#8221; and &#8220;Fat, lazy West Indian midwives&#8221; will soon be a thing of the past.
I encourage you all to take a look and immerse yourselves in the stories of those who came from far and wide to build our NHS, and the generations that came after them to keep it running.
Visit the exhibition here: <a href="https://heartofthenation.migrationmuseum.org/">https://heartofthenation.migrationmuseum.org/</a>
&nbsp;
<pre>Featured Photo: Nitha Naqvi</pre>

Dr Nitha Naqvi and sister celebrating Christmas

An emotional journey through a new digital exhibition that shines a spotlight on the contribution of BAME workers to the NHS 

Appreciating the Heart: The Immigrant Workers Keeping the NHS Going

Look closely when the Central Line spits 
you out into a river of impatience, 
and you’ll see that angels’ wings are made 
from shop-doorway beds – cardboard.
Drill down into your listening and you’ll hear 
a heavenly voice asking for change to spare, 
above the guffaws of the comfortably numb, 
swilling their pints on the pavements of Holborn.
From time to time, pause under the lights, 
and slowly inhale these squares and streets. 
You’ll sometimes catch a faint seraphic scent, 
through the death stench of asset management.
&nbsp;
<pre>Photo Credit: <a style="color: #808080;" href="https://unsplash.com/@daveast?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText">David East</a> on <a style="color: #808080;" href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/homeless-london?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></pre>

david-east-unsplash

Poem: Look Closely

My butterfly net, 
mindful archive for this Alchemilla leaf 
with its mercury raindrops.
Late on my pillow 
I swipe into the blue light, 
into a mycelium of new smiles, 
endless as waves on the sand.
They say smart. 
But smart enough 
to remind us that the hilltop, 
and the crowded art gallery, 
request our presence, naked-eyed?
to remind us that fingertips are for skin?
We stay smart, 
if we sift the blessing from the curse: 
Foot-soldier of dystopia, 
indispensable encyclopaedia of life; 
bridge, 
wall; 
superstore of infinite shelves, 
leaving nothing to the imagination.
&nbsp;
<pre>Photo: <a style="color: #999999;" href="https://unsplash.com/@yanneskiefer?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText">Yannes Kiefer</a> on <a style="color: #999999;" href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/phone-train?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></pre>

yannes-kiefer-mu7wzbdVlMg-unsplash

Poem: Smart Phone

On A-level Results Day I was fairly confident – I had worked consistently hard and trusted my teachers to know which grades I deserved. I was also aware that I went to a grammar school in an affluent area, so the blatantly classist system would work in my favour.
I was fortunately able to get the grades I expected and was able to get into Cambridge University, but I soon realised I was mistaken. In our school, half the students had their grades downgraded – we were a state school and couldn’t escape the system after all.
The cursed algorithm affected almost everyone – I looked around me and talented students with such great potential had been cruelly belittled by the pervasive system. What this system and its defenders showed us was that we are a society that believes in numbers over people. We thought we could simply judge each student by the place they live and the students that came before them and calculate it into a grade. No measurement of the hard work, revision hours, quality of teaching, stress, breakdowns and tears that actually go into A-levels was offered. And rightly so, because there are some things you simply cannot measure.
This obsession with quantifying is already present in the normal grading system. Defining a student’s worth by a letter or a number is justified to increase our competitiveness in relation to other countries, such as the likes of Singapore. Not even our overwhelmingly state-funded schools are free from the narrow shackles of capitalist enterprise. The mantra of “get good grades – go to a good university – get a good job” that we feed our children from the very start of their lives reveals nothing of the values we should really be holding in education; the joy of learning and personal development. All of that gets drowned away under the crippling pressure of anxiety-inducing exams (largely without coursework) that practically destroys mental health.
Imagine all of this at the same time as attending an under-funded college, in an area with no job prospects, where most people end up working for low wages in the insecure service sector, university degree or not. On top of this, you might be juggling part-time jobs or care work while struggling through A-levels like everyone else. You might be marked down by teachers from the implicit prejudices that arise from the colour of your skin. Still, many people are able to put in the extra effort and break through the obstacles that should never have been there in the first place. All this new grading system has done is reflect the already classist education system we have, putting it blatantly out in the open.
This time with the case of the algorithm, however, it was different, because students weren’t even able to try. Our grading system has always been unjust, but, since birth, it has been instilled in us that if we just worked hard enough we’d be able to “make it” in the world. Of course, this was always a farce. Writer of Chavs, Owen Jones, dates this individualist every-person-for-themselves belief to Margaret Thatcher’s destruction of the trade unions. It is no longer fashionable to want to improve the prospects of the entire working class by respecting their work and ensuring their jobs are well-paid and secure. It is fashionable for students from working-class backgrounds to “rise up” and break class barriers. There are more provisions to help students from poorer backgrounds to get over the hurdles than eliminating the hurdles in the first place.
It was these working-class heroes that lost out the most following this year’s Results Day – the ones who toiled through all the unfair obstacles in their place in the hope of a better future. Many people argue that these people would be able to retake their exams and defer their offers, but A-levels can be traumatic and costly, not to mention nobody has been able to attend college since March. Some schools finished the course with their students through online classes, and even offered help with university admissions (the private schools); others were left with nothing (the state schools).
Many like our Prime Minister Boris Johnson, who went from Eton to Oxford, would never be able to sympathise with the realities of those who were downgraded – who were told by Ofqual and the government that their future prospects would be defined by their postcode. It showed the hypocrisy of a government and a society that sings the praises of “social mobility”. Tony Blair’s famous declaration of “we’re all middle-class now” has been shown for the utter lie that it always has been. We will never be able to rectify the class inequalities that have been revealed earlier this month if we keep denying that class exists.
However, just like in Scotland, we the students spoke out. We mobilised. We showed the government that being young doesn’t mean being silent. Young people are often at the heart of protests for change – the climate strikes and Black Lives Matter protests come to mind especially – yet we are still wrongly labelled as apathetic by politicians. It is difficult to keep faith as an activist when battling with a system so determined to silence you, but the <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/education/2020/aug/17/a-levels-gcse-results-england-based-teacher-assessments-government-u-turn">latest government U-turn</a> shows that there is hope. If we keep exposing the lies of the government, and of our classist society in general, we can make change.
The global coronavirus pandemic calls for wider institutional change in all sectors. We watched as Priti Patel’s “low-skilled workers” quickly turned into society’s “key workers”. Education should be no exception. Yes, the glaring classist algorithm was defeated this year, but we must continue to address the subtle inequalities of the system that will still exist next year. We won’t let the government conveniently deny the existence of class issues. Only when we abolish the horrific capitalist values that have invaded our lives – the quantifying of people’s value, the incessant competition with our peers, the ruthless lack of empathy in Thatcher’s “there is no such thing as society” world – can we create a more equal and kinder society. I refuse to defend an unjust system, even if I’ve benefited from it, and I hope that this is the kind of politics my generation will inspire.
&nbsp;
<pre>Photo Credit: Jasmine Glenister</pre>

How this year’s A-Level results revealed the glaring class inequalities in our education system perpetuated at the top.

A-Levels 2020: The Algorithm of Class Oppression Amid UK Government U-Turns

Look! There it is, your civic pride 
back from putting an X in a right wing box, 
back from egging on a bigot down the ‘Spoons, 
back from trolling Facebook, Twitter, 
giving it all lives matter and I’m not racist but, 
back from Incel 101, back from dude, bro, 
brah, one of the lads, excitable boy innit, 
back from awright darlin’, only havin’ a joke, 
fuck you then, femiNazi, PC gone mad, 
an Englishman can’t speak his mind anymore.
Look, here it comes, full of The Sun, full of 
The Daily Mail, full of easily disproved scare stories, 
full of somebody else’s rhetoric, full of hate. 
Here it comes, your civic pride, blaming it 
on the blacks, the Asian (BAME? what’s BAME? 
fuckynell, PC gone made innit), blaming it 
on the Scots, the Welsh, the Irish, blaming it 
on the Jews, the Muslims, the Catholics, 
the Protestants, the Hare Krishnas, blaming 
it on anyone who looks different, sounds different, 
buys the Guardian or reads books on public transport.
Here comes your civic pride, barely able 
to articulate what “it” is but shrieking blame 
blame blame like a demented character 
on a Sunday evening BBC melodrama.
Civic pride with a hard-on for World War II, 
civic pride with a collection of military insignia 
bought off the net, civic pride with back issues 
of Guns &amp; Ammo and a second hand paperback 
about the SAS. Civic pride down the pub 
giving it our lads, Churchill, Union Jack 
(glass in the face for the smartarse who mentions 
it’s only a jack if it’s flown on a ship). Civic pride 
at chucking out time giving it Thatcher, Falklands, 
Port Stanley, Belgrano. Civic pride giving it 
bring our brave boys home and send in the troops 
and not really seeing the difference or the problem.
Civic pride with a union flag bumper sticker 
on a German or Italian or Japanese car, 
civic pride with a union flag tee-shirt 
necking a pint of Heineken, a pint of Grolsch, 
civic pride with a moby in a union flag case 
ordering an Indian, ordering a Chinese, 
settling down to an America cop show.
Civic pride advocating Buy British. 
Civic pride wanting British jobs for British people. 
Civic pride saying Britain first and not seeing 
the problem, and not seeing the problem. 
Hatespeak and division and not seeing the problem. 
Parroting media barons and not seeing the problem. 
Blaming the gays and not seeing the problem. 
Blaming women and not seeing the problem. 
Blaming the jobless and not seeing the problem. 
Blaming the victims and not seeing the problem. 
Being part of the problem and not seeing the problem.
Look! Here it is, your civic pride, 
breathless from pegging it over hill 
and field, from glen to glen (oh Tommy boy, 
the dog whistle politician’s calling &#8230; ), 
hammering through the hamlets, the villages, 
the towns, the cities, full-tilt heads down 
see you at the end through this green 
and pleasant land, screeching up 
just in the nick of time like Jim Dandy 
to the rescue only it’s Tommy innit? Tommy this 
and Tommy that. Ought to give him a statue.
&nbsp;
<pre>Photo Credit: FCO via <a style="color: #808080;" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/foreignoffice/41642401391/">Flickr</a></pre>

St Georges

Poem: Civic Pride

* Contains mild spoilers
BBC’s one-off drama <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episodes/p08g29ff/sitting-in-limbo">Sitting in Limbo</a>, directed by Stella Corradi, is a lesson in black British identity – and what it’s like to have that identity systematically stripped of you piece by piece by a government that is meant to establish justice and promote the general welfare of its citizens.
It follows the real-life story of Anthony Bryon (Patrick Robinson), a second generation West Indian who settled in the UK as a child more than 50 years ago and became one of the many victims of the Windrush Scandal. It is also about a familiar juxtaposition when it comes to race, namely, how we see ourselves positively as opposed to how we are viewed by others negatively. Indeed, how can we fight to protect our humanity when a more powerful external force, like the British state itself, seeks to remove us from our homes and take away our ability to provide for our families, receive care and treatment, and contribute to society? How do we remain British when it feels like Britain is rejecting us?
The government have thrown the lives of many people from the Windrush generation into turmoil by creating a “hostile environment” for people they categorised as illegal immigrants to the UK. In its focus on achieving a quota of reporting and detaining illegal immigrants, the government have also caused legal migrants and existing UK citizens to become victim to the hostile environment. As the then Home Secretary, <a href="https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/874022/6.5577_HO_Windrush_Lessons_Learned_Review_WEB_v2.pdf">Amber Rudd, stated</a>, while she stood down for the treatment that her own department had subjected the Windrush citizens to during this scandal: “[I’m] concerned that the Home Office has become too concerned with policy and strategy and sometimes loses sight of the individual.”
In Sitting in Limbo, Anthony is fired from his job after his employers receive a letter from the Home Office stating that he is not eligible to work in the UK. From that moment on, Anthony is forced to deal with government agencies questioning his identity at every turn. He has to keep proving who is. He is repeatedly asked by the Home Office to find evidence that “supports his claim that he’s lived here since 1965”. What they fail to tell him is that they have lost documents that prove he has right to remain in the UK. Furthermore, the Home Office has demanded entirely <a href="https://www.jcwi.org.uk/windrush-scandal-explained">unrealistic paperwork</a> from British nationals (one official document from every year that the person has lived in the UK), making it impossible for them to achieve. Naturally, Anthony’s efforts in proving his identity fail and he is almost one of the <a href="https://metro.co.uk/2020/06/08/sitting-limbo-who-anthony-bryan-what-windrush-scandal-12820348/">83 people who were wrongly deported</a> for being an illegal immigrant, at least 13 of whom died before the mistake was acknowledged. If it wasn’t for legal and media intervention, he would have been deported to a country that he didn’t know and had not been his home since the age of eight, like many others. This is made worse by paternity tests to prove that he is the father to his children, Gary and Eileen, playing right into the racist trope of a black man being a criminal and a serial adulterer. When these tropes are used to threaten your right to be in a country, they take on an even more sinister shape.

sitting-in-limbo

Sitting In Limbo

Immigration has historically been a political football used to strike fear in the hearts of the UK electorate. Rhetoric suggesting loss of jobs, strain on public services and racial mixing have all been used to <a href="https://www.versobooks.com/books/3064-hostile-environment">incite fear, hate and often violence</a> towards migrants. Such rhetoric was expressed when British subjects from Commonwealth countries arrived in the UK like the Empire Windrush generation, just as they have been used in Brexit and other debates more recently.
As stated in an <a href="https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/874022/6.5577_HO_Windrush_Lessons_Learned_Review_WEB_v2.pdf">independent review</a> to the House of Commons (March 2020): “The causes of the Windrush Scandal can be traced back through successive rounds of policy and legislation about immigration and nationality from the 1960s onwards, the aim of which was to restrict the eligibility of certain groups to live in the UK.”
Theresa May who came up with the “hostile environment” immigration bill while Home Secretary <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2013/oct/10/immigration-bill-theresa-may-hostile-environment">said in 2013</a>: “What we don&#8217;t want is a situation where people think that they can come here and overstay because they&#8217;re able to access everything they need.” She continued in this vein stating in <a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/theresa-may-immigration-policies-speech-conference-2015-tory-conservative-party-views-a7209931.html">her 2015 speech</a> at the Conservative Party conference that immigration was of no benefit to the UK. She said: “While there are benefits of selective and controlled immigration, at best the net economic and fiscal effect of high immigration is close to zero.” She added that “mass immigration” was the reason for the housing crisis, high unemployment and the lack of investment in schools, creating a perception that has been contested by many. Inevitably, we later found that May’s policies affected the lives of British citizens, their families and <a href="https://www.publicfinance.co.uk/opinion/2018/12/assessing-theresa-mays-immigration-legacy">public sector workers</a>, who were forced to become whistleblowers.
This hostile environment policy effectively turned employers, landlords, hospital workers, bank staff, social services staff and others into immigration officers by getting them to check immigration statuses. However, the most damaging act of Theresa May’s Home Office was to wrongly categorise hundreds of British subjects from Commonwealth countries, and <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2019/dec/18/three-generations-of-windrush-family-struggling-to-prove-they-are-british">in many cases</a> their UK-born children, as illegal immigrants who had to prove that they were eligible to remain in the country that they called their home for most, if not all, of their lives.
What Sitting in Limbo successfully conveys is the failure of the government to treat people with dignity. Anthony, like many others, was wrongly targeted and repeatedly detained as an illegal immigrant. Anthony and his wife were treated like criminals. The trauma and lack of trust took its toll on him. Every government official he met failed to give him any explanation or offer any support.
As the <a href="https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/874022/6.5577_HO_Windrush_Lessons_Learned_Review_WEB_v2.pdf">independent review</a> to the House of Commons recommends, the Home Office needs to improve in a number of areas to stop this from happening again. It states: “it must change its culture to recognise that migration and wider Home Office policy is about people and, whatever its objective, should be rooted in humanity.”
The scandal is far from over, as it was recently revealed that only a small fraction of those affected by the Windrush scandal have <a href="https://www.voice-online.co.uk/windrush/news-windrush/2020/05/28/windrush-scandal-just-60-people-have-received-compensation/">received compensation</a>. As of May 2020, only 60 of the 1,275 people who have made claims, have received payment, which has been slammed by opposition MPs. Former Shadow Home Secretary <a href="https://twitter.com/HackneyAbbott/status/1266051697601896448">Diane Abbot said in a tweet</a>: “Government ministers shed crocodile tears about #Windrush scandal. But the pathetically small number of people who have got any compensation, tells you how much they really cared.” The backlog of outstanding cases with Home Secretary Priti Patel and the Windrush taskforce are in the <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2020/apr/30/windrush-case-backlog-remains-at-3700-home-office-reveals">thousands</a>.
Watch BBC&#8217;s Sitting in Limbo <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p08g29ff/sitting-in-limbo">here</a>.
&nbsp;
<pre>Photo Credit: BBC / Ludovic Robert</pre>

Sitting in Limbo BBC Windrush Large Option

On Windrush Day, Stella Corradi’s television drama is a good opportunity for audiences to understand the failures of British government immigration policy.

BBC’s Sitting in Limbo: One Man Trapped in the Windrush Scandal

The poem’s 24 equal-length lines represent the 24 floors of Grenfell Tower. It is written in memory of all who died three years ago, and in honour of the families, local residents, campaigners and advocates who continue to fight for justice.
&nbsp;
The old Lombardic for guard, guerin: gren; 
and the French word for settlement, ville: fell.
But between pink bloom-blushes of the June 
night and morning, a new splinter of hell
pushed its way up and onto the skyline. 
The hatches were loose, not battened down well
enough to keep the flames of corporate sin 
at bay. For years they’d licked and jumped through all
those bent cracks between promise and action. 
Now they bit into their human stubble.
If you were told it was your family’s turn 
to put the children on a carousel
without tight bolts, without belts, would the fun 
be worth it? If signed up to play football,
would you care about the hidden land-mine? 
So why stand ready to die or be killed
for this vast tungsten ocean, this ribbon 
of lights on the West Way? Truth is, until
power is held by its ankles upside down, 
the comfortable have their back to the wall,
and justice pours down like the summer rain, 
then shadows of emptiness and charcoal
will stretch like policies across this town. 
Stay put, in that home, that circle, that school.
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<pre>Photo Credit: The Platform</pre>