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Written and Spoken Word

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India

Tess&Manasa

In this photo essay, Emerging Voices' social media manager Tess O'Bamber shares her observations as a tourist in India. 

On her return, Tess chatted about her experiences to journalist Manasa Narayanan. Manasa is from India, now living in London. The conversation is shared alongside the images, giving an insider and outsider's perspective.

Tess: It was quite overwhelming, arriving into New Delhi, one of the busiest cities in the world. I loved that there were cows walking around, all the rickshaws…

Manasa: I was surprised to go back to India recently and not find it overwhelming. I've been in the UK for over two years and there are fewer people here. It's not busy in the same way, even in London. I was in Delhi, the month after you went. It was hot, it was busy, but it somehow didn't bother me. I didn't think about the fact that it was busy. Somehow my body just adapted to it very quickly. I thought I would see the place in a different way, as an outsider perhaps. I thought I'd notice the cows and the honking horns, the way people were rushing around, but I didn't.
 

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“If you're stuck behind a baraat you just have to wait half an hour. It's a bit of a travel nuisance.”

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Tess: We arrived into an intense heatwave. They'd introduced a mask mandate a few days before and it surprised me how many people were wearing masks out in the streets in the heat. I felt like I was in a privileged position, being able to get out for an hour and return to an air-conditioned hotel.

Manasa: It's not like people don't feel it, 'cause it's 45/50 degrees. That can make people agitated, and in crowded trains you'll see people start fighting out of nowhere. But it is how it is. People expect the heat, and you deal with something when you have to deal with it. You find shade. You'll see people spraying cool water on the vegetables in their shop, because they don't have the privilege of a fridge.
 

Tess: Udaipur was probably the most touristy place we went. The highlight was this big wedding. They started the procession of the groom from our hotel.

Manasa: It was very noisy, wasn't it?

Tess: Lots of drums. There was an elephant.

Manasa: The groom was sitting on an elephant? That's the royal treatment. Usually it's a horse, which is a North Indian tradition. In other places, it will happen very differently. But the culture is transforming, I guess. You can see in Bollywood movies that the groom arrives on a horse so there are people in South India who've adopted it.

Tess: It was really fun.

Manasa: Did you get stuck behind the procession? They move around everywhere, so when you're living in a city the procession blocks whole roads with dancing. If you're stuck behind a baraat you just have to wait half an hour. It's a bit of a travel nuisance.

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Tess: It was interesting to see what looked like a depiction of Mary and Joseph from the Bible. In the UK these images are everywhere, but in India you also see them cropping up in various contexts. I've read that some Hindus view Jesus as a spiritual teacher and Muslims view him as a prophet.

 

Manasa: There's a strong presence of Christianity in India. We were a British colony for two centuries. It's interesting that you found it in the City Palace, though. I think it's more about kings being patrons to art. They would commission artists from different religions to come in and create. Nowadays, people are frantically holding onto their religious identities. It’s become a competition.

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“It's not cool. It's so common. You see so many people on a scootie.”

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Manasa: I drive one of those. You can get the license when you're sixteen. I took it for a drive when I went home recently, just for the fun of it.

 

Tess: So in India, is a bike or moped a cool thing?

 

Manasa: It's not cool. It's so common. You see so many people on a scootie. Unless you're in a big city, there's no public transport, so this is how people get around.

20220507_142045.jpg

Tess: We went to the Patrika gate. On either side of us, engagement shoots were happening. I couldn't get my perfect Instagram shot, but I loved seeing it.

 

Manasa: These photoshoots are interesting. Photographs are memories. It’s something you capture, a sense of the time when you took that picture. Sometimes with Indian wedding photography, people will duplicate the Titanic pose. It gets quite ridiculous.

 

Tess: At various tourist attractions, I kept seeing women in big white gowns having photos take and I even congratulated one of them. But my friend who lives in India said that wouldn't be a bride. People just like to dress up for the Taj Mahal! I guess brides don't wear white in India?

 

Manasa: Christian weddings, yes, a white sari. But otherwise not white for a wedding. In Hinduism, white is the colour of death. It's what people wear to funerals. I like white, but if I suggest wearing white to a festival my mum will say, 'It's not a funeral!'

Manasa: This shot is very mystic. I feel like your photographs have gone from chaos and moved into more serene stuff. They've become more pristine.

 

Tess: I guess at the beginning what I noticed was the busyness. But as we went on, I enjoyed the still moments, the quieter places.

20220508_065733.jpg

“Guys would pretend to take a selfie but actually be taking a picture of you! Our guide said it was people who weren't from the cities and hadn't seen many White people before.”

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Manasa: Agra is particularly known for monkeys. I used to wear glasses, and I have experiences of monkeys trying to snatch them or take my food. I do love monkeys, though.

 

Tess: I was a lot more excited by the monkeys than the Indian tourists.

Tess: A lot of the tourist attractions we'd been to, people wanted to take selfies with us or photos of us. Guys would pretend to take a selfie, but actually be taking a picture of one of us! Our guide said it was people who weren't from the cities and hadn't seen many White people before. I didn't throw many peace signs because I felt uncomfortable. But whenever I flipped the camera, people were ready to pose.

Manasa: Some of it is a sense of fascination for people who don't look like you, especially if they're children. People don't want to make you uncomfortable. London's diverse, but if I go to a very White town in the UK where there aren't many Brown or Black people, I see that people notice me when I’m walking around.

Tess: I never thought it was coming from a bad place, but I felt uncomfortable with the idea that I was fascinating to people. Why am I fascinating? Is this healthy?

Manasa: I guess it's the reverse exotic experience. It's everywhere. I'm sure it's less than what it was in the nineties before the internet. But some of the fascination is still there. I've had times when I'm just existing, and suddenly people connect to my Indianness and see it in a really exotic way.

20220511_070133.jpg
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20220514_202653.jpg
20220514_173453 (1).jpg

Tess: My final stop was Mumbai. I was staying with a friend who lives there. She took me to the hipster part of town where there was an art gallery with a blow-up elephant, fancy filter coffee, cool graffiti. That's why I went for square frames. I enjoyed seeing that kind of India, all the young, cool people.

 

Manasa: When I was growing up, none of this was around, but it is now. There's always a mix of things going on with India. You'll see unusual aspects of urbanity cropping up in the midst of other things. There are people who are accustomed to this cosmopolitanism. Others are still trying to figure out that enlarged space, those who haven't been so exposed to global culture. If I go out with my grandmother, she has this lovely way of getting on an escalator. She's so careful. For me, it's  completely natural but it's still foreign to her. Did you find anything different to the life you knew, even in the urban parts?

 

Tess: It was definitely more colourful. This was a Catholic neighbourhood. We saw a few Jesus figurines, but he'd always be wearing a flower garland like one you'd see on a Hindu shrine. I was amazed when my friend opened an app on her phone to book us a rickshaw. In my head, you either book an Uber on an app or you walk up to a guy in the street and offer however-many rupees for a rickshaw.

Tess: It was quite overwhelming, arriving into New Delhi, one of the busiest cities in the world. I loved that there were cows walking around, all the rickshaws…

Manasa: I was surprised to go back to India recently and not find it overwhelming. I've been in the UK for over two years and there are fewer people here. It's not busy in the same way, even in London. I was in Delhi, the month after you went. It was hot, it was busy, but it somehow didn't bother me. I didn't think about the fact that it was busy. Somehow my body just adapted to it very quickly. I thought I would see the place in a different way, as an outsider perhaps. I thought I'd notice the cows and the honking horns, the way people were rushing around, but I didn't.
 

20220430_160724 (1).jpg
20220430_160043.jpg

“If you're stuck behind a baraat you just have to wait half an hour. It's a bit of a travel nuisance.”

20220501_092656.jpg

Tess: We arrived into an intense heatwave. They'd introduced a mask mandate a few days before and it surprised me how many people were wearing masks out in the streets in the heat. I felt like I was in a privileged position, being able to get out for an hour and return to an air-conditioned hotel.

Manasa: It's not like people don't feel it, 'cause it's 45/50 degrees. That can make people agitated, and in crowded trains you'll see people start fighting out of nowhere. But it is how it is. People expect the heat, and you deal with something when you have to deal with it. You find shade. You'll see people spraying cool water on the vegetables in their shop, because they don't have the privilege of a fridge.
 

Tess: Udaipur was probably the most touristy place we went. The highlight was this big wedding. They started the procession of the groom from our hotel.

Manasa: It was very noisy, wasn't it?

Tess: Lots of drums. There was an elephant.

Manasa: The groom was sitting on an elephant? That's the royal treatment. Usually it's a horse, which is a North Indian tradition. In other places, it will happen very differently. But the culture is transforming, I guess. You can see in Bollywood movies that the groom arrives on a horse so there are people in South India who've adopted it.

Tess: It was really fun.

Manasa: Did you get stuck behind the procession? They move around everywhere, so when you're living in a city the procession blocks whole roads with dancing. If you're stuck behind a baraat you just have to wait half an hour. It's a bit of a travel nuisance.

20220503_103609.jpg
20220503_111256.jpg
20220503_111051.jpg

Tess: It was interesting to see what looked like a depiction of Mary and Joseph from the Bible. In the UK these images are everywhere, but in India you also see them cropping up in various contexts. I've read that some Hindus view Jesus as a spiritual teacher and Muslims view him as a prophet.

 

Manasa: There's a strong presence of Christianity in India. We were a British colony for two centuries. It's interesting that you found it in the City Palace, though. I think it's more about kings being patrons to art. They would commission artists from different religions to come in and create. Nowadays, people are frantically holding onto their religious identities. It’s become a competition.

“It's not cool. It's so common. You see so many people on a scootie.”

20220504_105208.jpg
20220503_143921.jpg

Manasa: I drive one of those. You can get the license when you're sixteen. I took it for a drive when I went home recently, just for the fun of it.

 

Tess: So in India, is a bike or moped a cool thing?

 

Manasa: It's not cool. It's so common. You see so many people on a scootie. Unless you're in a big city, there's no public transport, so this is how people get around.

20220507_142045.jpg

Tess: We went to the Patrika gate. On either side of us, engagement shoots were happening. I couldn't get my perfect Instagram shot, but I loved seeing it.

 

Manasa: These photoshoots are interesting. Photographs are memories. It’s something you capture, a sense of the time when you took that picture. Sometimes with Indian wedding photography, people will duplicate the Titanic pose. It gets quite ridiculous.

 

Tess: At various tourist attractions, I kept seeing women in big white gowns having photos take and I even congratulated one of them. But my friend who lives in India said that wouldn't be a bride. People just like to dress up for the Taj Mahal! I guess brides don't wear white in India?

 

Manasa: Christian weddings, yes, a white sari. But otherwise not white for a wedding. In Hinduism, white is the colour of death. It's what people wear to funerals. I like white, but if I suggest wearing white to a festival my mum will say, 'It's not a funeral!'

Manasa: This shot is very mystic. I feel like your photographs have gone from chaos and moved into more serene stuff. They've become more pristine.

 

Tess: I guess at the beginning what I noticed was the busyness. But as we went on, I enjoyed the still moments, the quieter places.

20220508_065733.jpg

“Guys would pretend to take a selfie but actually be taking a picture of you! Our guide said it was people who weren't from the cities and hadn't seen many White people before.”

20220510_180159.jpg
20220511_063044.jpg

Manasa: Agra is particularly known for monkeys. I used to wear glasses, and I have experiences of monkeys trying to snatch them or take my food. I do love monkeys, though.

 

Tess: I was a lot more excited by the monkeys than the Indian tourists.

Tess: A lot of the tourist attractions we'd been to, people wanted to take selfies with us or photos of us. Guys would pretend to take a selfie, but actually be taking a picture of one of us! Our guide said it was people who weren't from the cities and hadn't seen many White people before. I didn't throw many peace signs because I felt uncomfortable. But whenever I flipped the camera, people were ready to pose.

Manasa: Some of it is a sense of fascination for people who don't look like you, especially if they're children. People don't want to make you uncomfortable. London's diverse, but if I go to a very White town in the UK where there aren't many Brown or Black people, I see that people notice me when I’m walking around.

Tess: I never thought it was coming from a bad place, but I felt uncomfortable with the idea that I was fascinating to people. Why am I fascinating? Is this healthy?

Manasa: I guess it's the reverse exotic experience. It's everywhere. I'm sure it's less than what it was in the nineties before the internet. But some of the fascination is still there. I've had times when I'm just existing, and suddenly people connect to my Indianness and see it in a really exotic way.

20220511_070133.jpg
20220514_173246.jpg
20220514_165656.jpg
20220514_202653.jpg
20220514_173453 (1).jpg

Tess: My final stop was Mumbai. I was staying with a friend who lives there. She took me to the hipster part of town where there was an art gallery with a blow-up elephant, fancy filter coffee, cool graffiti. That's why I went for square frames. I enjoyed seeing that kind of India, all the young, cool people.

 

Manasa: When I was growing up, none of this was around, but it is now. There's always a mix of things going on with India. You'll see unusual aspects of urbanity cropping up in the midst of other things. There are people who are accustomed to this cosmopolitanism. Others are still trying to figure out that enlarged space, those who haven't been so exposed to global culture. If I go out with my grandmother, she has this lovely way of getting on an escalator. She's so careful. For me, it's  completely natural but it's still foreign to her. Did you find anything different to the life you knew, even in the urban parts?

 

Tess: It was definitely more colourful. This was a Catholic neighbourhood. We saw a few Jesus figurines, but he'd always be wearing a flower garland like one you'd see on a Hindu shrine. I was amazed when my friend opened an app on her phone to book us a rickshaw. In my head, you either book an Uber on an app or you walk up to a guy in the street and offer however-many rupees for a rickshaw.

Jane Wymark

Jane Wymark 

Jane Wymark has worked extensively as an actor on stage, screen and television. After five years  abroad (in Dhaka and Copenhagen), Jane returned to acting and is possibly best known for playing Joyce Barnaby in Midsomer Murders. She has also run school drama workshops for the National Theatre, worked as a continuity announcer for BBC Television and Radio 4, and tutored at Guildhall School of Music and Drama. Currently, Jane is a Facilitator at The London Literary Salon: www.litsalon.co.uk/. See Jane's offerings at www.litsalon.co.uk/drama-studies/.

 

Jane interprets three poems, chosen for their resonance to the war being waged on Ukraine. They are W. H. Aunden's September 1, 1939; Sigfried Sassoon's Everyone Sang, and UK poet laureate Simon Armitage's Resistance, written March 2022.

Katrina

Grenfell
by Katrina Hicks 

In November 2016, The Grenfell Action Group (GAG) issued the following haunting statement: 

“Only a catastrophic event will expose the ineptitude and incompetence of KCTMO (Kensington and Chelsea Tenant Management Organisation, formally known as TMO). We predict that it won’t be long before the words of this blog come back to haunt KCTMO management, and we will do everything in our power to ensure that those in authority know how long and how appallingly our landlord has ignored their responsibility to ensure the health and safety of their tenants and leaseholders. They can’t say that they haven’t been warned.”

I have resided in the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea (RBKC) for a large portion of my life; becoming a North Kensington resident in the summer of 2015. Grenfell Tower stood as a central pillar to the community and those of the Lancaster West Estate. Standing strong since 1974, many of the residents have a history going back for generations.

When I moved to the area, work was being carried out on the tower. I later discovered that renovations were approved to commence from 2015, completing in 2016. These included a water-based heating system, works to the windows of flats, and Aluminium Composite Rainscreen Cladding (ACM) fitting. Application for fitting the ACM was granted on the grounds of the cladding improving heating and energy efficiency, and enhancing the tower’s external appearance. However, the main consensus amongst residents is that the cladding was used to make a 'run-down building look nice in an affluent area'.

I remember the evening of the 13th June 2017 well. The weather had been hot and humid, and I was returning home from work. I took my usual route on foot once I exited the tube at Latimer Road Station, which entailed walking past Grenfell Tower. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Young children played in the small playground next to the tower, closely watched by their parents or carers. Locals were scattered on various surrounding benches. And people were frequently exiting the often busy Kensington Leisure Centre.

 

I remember watching a group of people embrace next to a car parked outside Grenfell Tower. Part of this group then entered the building. To my regret, I never did catch a clear enough glimpse of their faces. Not well enough to identify whether or not those people survived what was to follow. I have often asked myself, “Who were they?” and “Did they get out?”

At approximately 00.54 am the next day, Behailu Kebede, a resident from Flat 16 Grenfell Tower (located on the 4th floor), made a 999 call to the London Fire Brigade (LFB), stating that there was a fire in his kitchen. It was later found to have been caused due to an electrical fault in his refrigerator.

The first responders arrived to what they believed was a contained fire. Residents were advised to adhere to the policy, which was to 'stay put'. The essence of this policy is that in buildings when residents are not directly in an area impacted by a fire, they should remain inside their flats with their windows and doors closed. Unbeknownst to them all, however, the fire had caught on to the flammable cladding exterior of the building.

By 1.27 am (33 minutes after the initial 999 call), the fire had spread up the 24-storey building, and at this point, had reached the roof. This part I find particularly difficult to recite. This was the approximate time that I awoke to an unusual commotion. There was a distinct mixture of voices yelling over cries. Grenfell Tower consisted of 129 flats, and individual fire alarms were simultaneously ringing on a constant loop. I also heard the ongoing sound of wailing sirens both nearby and distant.

The cries I heard still haunt me years on. Two voices, in particular, will forever stand out. One from a man desperately pleading for help from within his flat and one from a child separately crying out for their mum.

At the time, I continuously scoured the building with my eyes, and I found myself looking into separate windows with countless figures behind them. I’m not a religious person, but I felt helpless and found myself praying, “If there is someone out there, please find a way to get these people out of that building”.

By 2 am, the flames had spread around the tower’s 'crown' and had begun to expand diagonally. At this point, the LFB declared the scene to be a 'major incident'. The count of people gathering around the building grew as the minutes ticked on. The majority of them were distressed, and there were various cries for loved ones trapped within the tower. I can’t recall a time frame, but I remember a ring of cheers amongst the cries: “She’s out!”

As refreshing as that was to hear, the fire was still furiously ravaging Grenfell Tower, and the figures behind the windows were becoming increasingly more desperate. Every time I find myself looking up to the tower as I pass by, I envisage ‘the lady with string lights’. She was on one of the higher levels of the building. She never got out. As was later confirmed, only two people had survived from the highest two floors of the building. Even now, I struggle with that. Watching helplessly whilst people awaited their demise – that will forever fill me with guilt. “I should have tried to do more!” I often tell myself.

At 2.47 am (1 hour and 53 minutes after the initial 999 call), the LFB revoked the ‘stay put’ policy, advising surrounding neighbours, relatives and friends to contact anybody they could reach within the tower and urge them to try and find a way to escape. With one central staircase (which was now filled with toxic black smoke) and one exit, it was an almost impossible feat.

Through the early hours and morning, 70 fire engines had arrived on the scene. 250 firefighters were involved in tackling the blaze.  I’d walked past the tower almost daily since moving to the area, yet I hadn’t ever been inside. I naively recall thinking at the time, “I’m sure that they have some sprinkler system inside, that’ll surely help?” Unfortunately, I later discovered that Grenfell Tower, like the majority of tower blocks in the UK, had no functional sprinkler system. By 4.44 am (3 hours and 50 minutes after the initial call), Grenfell Tower was entirely engulfed in flames.

The skies were a shade of light blue, yet before me was this orange glow. I can still visualise it clearly. I wept as I mentally pictured the figures behind each window. Each window had now disappeared behind the flames and smoke. At around 5 or 5.30 am, I sent my mum a message on WhatsApp. I informed her that she would wake up to some bad news, but that we were okay. To this day, if there is one thing from that night that I am thankful for, it is that my child slept the night away, blissfully unaware. I can’t allow myself to become too consumed in that gratitude, as I think back to the children who lost parents; the parents who lost children; and the children who, unlike my child, witnessed it all unfold.

\

From approximately 6.00 am, I had Sky News on the television. They were covering the fire, and I was desperate to know who had made it out. I also needed confirmation of the fatalities. As strange as it feels to admit, a part of me thought that I needed confirmation to mourn those gone, even if I didn’t know them personally.

The final resident of Grenfell Tower to be rescued from the building came out at 8.07 am. My son had woken up an hour earlier and struggled to comprehend what was unfolding as the fire was still raging furiously nearby. Despite this, he insisted that I take him to school, which I did. My biggest regret is that I too went to work afterwards. Looking back, I wish I’d called off work that day and stayed home to help my community. All day in the office, I refreshed news pages, desperate for more information. I felt a  glimmer of hope when I witnessed the community come together so quickly. I felt an instant sense of pride for my area and the people I resided with.

In the immediate hours after the fire, online platforms were awash with the earlier Grenfell Action Group (GAG) blog posts. Residents had repeatedly expressed concerns regarding fire safety in Grenfell Tower. In 2013, GAG blogged a 2012 report written following an assessment by a KCTMO health and safety officer. They, too, had recorded multiple fire safety concerns, such as condemned fire extinguishers and firefighting equipment that hadn’t been checked for around four years. The building didn’t even have a centrally activated fire alarm. 

In June 2016 (1 year before the fire), the Grenfell Tower Leaseholders Association carried out an independent assessment, I later found out. Their assessor raised 40 serious fire safety issues and recommended further action being taken in a matter of weeks. In October 2016, KCTMO was questioned why half of the issues raised prior had still not been resolved. In November 2016, the London Fire and Planning Authority served KCTMO with a fire efficiency notice for Grenfell Tower. It ordered that works to fix issues including lack of fire-safe doors and repairs to the smoke venting system, be completed by May 2017 – one month before the fire.

In total, 223 people escaped the tower alive, although 74 of those sustained various injuries. It is widely believed that because it was the holy month of Ramadan, many who survived did so because they were awake in the early hours enjoying ‘Suhar’, a pre-dawn meal.

It had initially been confirmed that 71 people lost their lives due to the fire at Grenfell Tower. Still, this toll officially rose to 72 when Maria Del Pilar Burton, who also suffered serious long-term health issues, died in hospital in January 2018 – seven months after the fire. 

The youngest of victims of the blaze included a six-month-old baby, Leena Belkadi, who died in her mother’s arms. The mother also died whilst she tried to escape. And baby Logan Gomes was stillborn in hospital. Even though his mother survived. Eyewitnesses reported to various news outlets at the time having seen people jump from the tower to escape. I didn’t witness this myself. It was later confirmed that four of the deceased victims had sustained injuries consistent with falling from height.

It has been previously speculated in the community that the official death toll could be higher. Grenfell Tower had no formal register for residents, and there were claims of there being undocumented migrants and asylum seekers who lived there through sub-letting.

In total, the fire burnt for over 60 hours and was officially declared extinguished on the evening of 16th June 2017. In the immediate aftermath of the fire, the London Fire Commissioner Dany Cotton said this: “In my 29 years of being a firefighter, I have never seen anything of this scale”. She later admitted to receiving counselling following a decline in her mental health, alongside 80 fire crew and metropolitan police officers (present during the fire) who also subsequently suffered from mental health issues.

The fire at Grenfell Tower has since been declared the worst UK residential fire since the Second World War. Online figures show that 67% of bereaved relatives, friends and survivors of Grenfell Tower have had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). 26%-48% of residents who witnessed the blaze have also been diagnosed with PTSD. I’ve been told by those closest to me that I may have developed some stress disorders from that night, but I’ve always felt too guilty to seek help; “who am I in comparison to those who suffered worse?”

In July 2017, a month after the fire, a local volunteer reported to a Grenfell Response Team meeting that 20 locals had attempted suicide. Four years on, I wonder if any did continue with their attempts and if they succeeded? I hope it is not the case, but we should include their names in the official death toll if that did happen.

Walking around Latimer Road today, one is met with various murals to commemorate those lost and to celebrate all those within the community. The community spirit I felt when I moved there has certainly not been dampened alongside the fire. For it was the community that came together to offer aid, love, and hope. Groups such as ‘Grenfell United’ and ‘Justice For Grenfell’ continue to tirelessly campaign for justice – for those at fault to be held accountable.

In the fire’s aftermath, the government commissioned an urgent independent review into building regulations and fire safety. It also commissioned urgent reviews on buildings across the UK with similar cladding types. It pledged £200 million to have replace cladding on residential tower blocks in England.

However, upon recent research, I have discovered omissions. ‘Inside Housing’ published a report in April 2021 highlighting that material identical to Aluminium Composite (that was used on Grenfell and subsequently declared as the ‘primary’ cause of the fire) was still on 233 other buildings across the UK. And remedial works had still not been done.

The report goes on to say that 44 of those buildings were yet to start work. This is despite the government threatening ‘enforcement action’ on building owners who did not comply. Names of such companies can be found on the government’s monthly building safety data, but what more could be done to enforce actions?

In 2018, during the lead up to the first anniversary of the fire, Theresa May (Prime Minister at the time, later replaced by Boris Johnson in the summer of 2019) acknowledged the failings: “It was a tragedy unparalleled in recent history, and although many people did incredible work during and after the fire, it has long been clear that the initial response was not good enough. I include myself in that.”

Theresa May was slammed by the survivors, the bereaved and the local community for not seeing them during her initial visit to the tower. The lack of empathy felt like a massive slap in the face to the community. After facing heavy criticism in the press, she later did return and was subsequently heckled by locals. She then said of accusations of her not caring, that it “never was the case”.

It had been exposed previously that the council’s cabinet member ignored the previous pleas from the Grenfell Action Group over the building’s lack of fire safety and the aftermath of the fire saw council officials and councillors forced to resign due to their ‘poor handlings’.

In January 2020, Mohamed Ragab, who lost his nephew Hesham Rahman in the fire, spoke to Boris Johnson during a meeting about his own time working for TMO (KCTMO). He went on to reveal that Boris Johnson had questioned what TMO was. It would appear that ‘ignorance’ amongst the conservative party is still too big a factor. Even more concerning is that in the fire’s immediate aftermath, a government task force took over parts of the RBKC’s functions.

From September 2017, public inquiry hearings opened. An inquest has also been opened and is pending further police investigations and enquiries. The hearings have often been met with criticism. Grenfell justice groups claim that biases present amongst some chair members. And there have been situations where relatives and the bereaved have been prevented from attending some meetings.

It has been over 1,600 days since the Grenfell Tower fire. Only six arrests have been made, with no convictions. By June 2018, 5 individuals were arrested for fraud, some of whom had even made false claims of losing loved ones in the fire. Rydon, the leading contractors in charge of works carried out on the building, came under intense scrutiny, both at the public inquiry and in the media. Artella (administration), Max Fordham (specialist mechanical and electrical consultants), and Harley Facades (cladding) also found themselves in the firing line.

The companies that worked alongside the council were massively criticised for their ‘penny pinching’ tactics. It was revealed that RBKC had ditched plans to proceed with their original works contractor, Leadbitter, due to costs estimated at £1.6 million higher than the proposed budget. RBKC, in turn, decided to hire Rydon, whose refurbishment works had been estimated at £2.5 million less than Leadbitter.

Acronis Reynobond PE and Reynolux Aluminium Sheets were the two proposed cladding types fitted on Grenfell Tower. RBKC decided to use the cheaper composite material. Celotex RS500 Pirthermal was used for insulation beneath the cladding, being fitted to the exterior walls of each flat. RBKC had refused an alternative option with better fire resistance, again due to cost. I often find myself asking, “What drove the officials from the wealthiest borough in Britain to penny pinch so carelessly when it came to the health and safety of the residents within the borough?” I then find myself stumbling across the same answer every time, which is simple. It came down to class, and it came down to race. Many of the residents within Grenfell Tower were from either lower or working-class backgrounds. Many also didn’t originally hail from the UK. Their needs, their concerns and their voices didn’t appear to matter enough to those they relied upon to house them in safe conditions.

The LFB also faced heavy criticism, both at the public inquiry and in the press. It was stated that they should have discarded the implemented ‘stay put’ policy 1 hour and 20 minutes before it was actually revoked. It was also reported that the LFB had broken protocol during their rescue efforts by entering a building without knowing if it was structurally safe.

I clearly remember, at regular times, witnessing burning debris fall from Grenfell. I did have my concerns at the time if the tower was going to collapse. I often compare the scene to that of the Twin Towers during the 9/11 collapse. “If they could come down, couldn’t Grenfell?” Frequent explosions were also heard coming from within the building. It was later revealed that up to 100 firefighters entered Grenfell Tower at once. I’ll never forget their smoke-stained faces, lined up against the wall of the leisure centre, their eyes red and tear-filled.

Come to think of it, I can’t recall receiving a visit from council officials in the aftermath of the fire or even in the months to follow. Volunteers, yes. Local charities, plenty. Not RBKC members.

To my family and I, the LFB were absolute heroes. For it was them who risked their own lives attempting to save those trapped in Grenfell Tower. Mariem Elgwahry, 27, and Nadia Choucaur, 33, had also previously campaigned regarding fire and health and safety concerns at the tower.

Mariem and Nadia, alongside other GAG bloggers, had been threatened with legal action by RBKC in the years before the fire on the grounds of ‘character defamation’ and ‘harassment’. Mariem, Nadia and 70 others lost their lives in the early hours of 14th June 2017 in the fire at Grenfell Tower. It would appear that the ‘suits’ behind the councils’ decision-making are the ones who defamed their characters. As Grenfell Action Group once protested, ‘they can’t say that they weren’t warned.’

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Katrina Hicks is a freelance writer with particular interests in reportage, using interviews as a basis for commentary. She is also drawn to poetry.  Residing in North Kensington with her family, Katrina frequently advocates for justice towards her community. Her social justice commitments were further strengthened after the tragedy at Grenfell Tower in the spring of 2017. Katrina is also founder of creative writing website Katrina's Kreations, which launched in 2021. 

Amy Allen 

Amy

Three poems read by Amy Allen, north London actor, writer, storyteller.

 Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night: Dylan Thomas

Making a Fist: Naomi Shihab Nye

Try to Praise the Mutilated World: Adam Zagajewski

Gülce Tulçali

THE HOUSES I DID NOT BUILD 

by Gülce Tulçalı

“I should say: the house shelters day-dreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace.” - The Poetics of the Space,

Gaston Bachelard 

I  do not remember the first house I lived in. I have had many houses that touched me. And I touched them. But the first house I would have seen, where I would have learned to walk and talk, is a lost memory. It’s a metaphor for the houses awaiting me ahead.

 

I do recall many other houses; stable memories of my upbringing. I remember touching rough walls and them touching me back. I remember the taste of an afternoon nap at my grandmother’s. I was left alone to dream, in a garden with chickens or by the sea, always watched by my family.

 

During adolescence, there was a naive period where you were too old to stay in your own home all the time but too young to go to a nightclub. I loved going away to other people’s houses during this period. Everyone had distinct objects for decoration, and the light struck differently in every house. Each dwelling smelled unique, spices in the ones where cooking was done frequently. Other places had the ambiguous smell of old furniture, undertones of bleach, odors in a space empty all day, waiting for their humans.

 

After moving abroad, around eight years ago now, the most stable existence I had was a flat I stayed in for almost two years. Sometimes I had no choice about leaving; sometimes I had the chance to stay but chose to leave. I laughed, grew, grieved, observed, and dreamed in many different houses throughout these years in Milan, Turin, Izmir, Istanbul, Berlin, and different parts of  London. 

 

But the one I am trying to get out of right now is not just the first house I refuse to be in, but the first one my body itself rejects. I cannot stay in it,  even for a couple of minutes. The scent of the house is not only old but also sharp. So many could-have-beens linger in the air. The smells not only go through my nose but through my whole body. The shape of the house is the same. My frame, which I barely hold together within the space, is not what it was before the loss.  


Many lives were intercepted here, living under the ‘sponsorship’ of two landlords. After all, this is London. There is little space to waste and many formalities come with living in strangers’ houses. 

 

This is not the first house I decided to leave before the end of the contract. Contracts, automated messages, online forms, and office hours are made for those who have a regular day, so this is not easy for me. London makes me want to find a decent house without much history, and see what happens if I just start living in it. Here I am between Aldgate East and Tower Hill,  and I am asking myself how long I can go on pretending I’m fully adjusted to this constantly changing urban world. 


It’s as if we humans are waiting for the tube to move again. We’re waiting for a signal from someone, somewhere. But we are stuck within an anxious self. Whenever something breaks down, or some terrible disorder happens, I contrast it in my head with sunset on an endless coast. I keep thinking that being able to travel very fast throughout a city doesn’t sit right with me. My body was not made for this. The older I get, the more upset I am that I’m missing everyday sunsets as I’m waiting on that signal which will unlock and move me in a truer direction.

 

Living fully is linked to spending time in nature with noble habits for most of us. We need more days that we can say, “I have lived in harmony with the earth today.” 

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Illustration by Gülce Tulçalı

A Lament for Afghanistan 

Tess O'Hara

Produced by Tess O'Hara 

I Still Have Time

ORIGINAL POEM BY
Partaw Naderi


TRANSLATED BY
Yama Yari WITH Sarah Maguire


It's well past midnight
I should get up to pray
The mirrors of my honesty
have long been filmed with dust


I should get up
I still have time
My hands can yet discern
a jug of water from a jug of wine


as time's wheeled chariot
hurtles down the slope of my life


Perhaps tomorrow
the poisonous arrows aimed at me
will hunt down my eyes
two speckled birds startled into flight


Perhaps tomorrow
my children
will grow old
awaiting my return

I Will Become a Traveller
Again

ORIGINAL POEM BY
Mohammad Bagher Kolahi Ahari


TRANSLATED BY
Alireza Abiz WITH The Poetry Translation Workshop

I will become a traveller again.
My boots laced up,
I will let my nails go uncut
I will let my chin sprout a bush of hair –
like the immensity of these mornings
that stand between me and a beautiful death.


As I near my beautiful death
I will wander among faces
like a homesick pilgrim,
like a bird falling from the nth tree of the world
as the last star sets
in a basket of apples –
there, early one morning.

Ariel Resnikoff

Spring 2021 Features 

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00:00 / 02:07

R  snikoff

[poland-palestine letter]

 

for Ahmad Almallah

 

so that these words shall not  be written to no-one        :       go ahead into the city of al kuds         what the ancestors called jebus            & when you      come to the first gate              wait 9 weeks in meditation                                                        fast, & drink no water

 

& when we approached the first gate i remember      a bloody larynx hung at the  threshold         a sign by which we shd not go on                 & by which you cd not               so that we swept our feet across the entry-floor      as a sign to the guards       we wd not leave          

 

then in dusty corners  of entry                        we  assembled groups of students & teachers       poets & craftspeople                   wherever &             whenever our words were exchanged the first            thoughts          we  immediately grasped for

 

each after        the whole matter         at hand from it                         & from its meaning                 as in

numerable keys popping up        in     thoughts  as    words joined   up        & at last         we saw the first                       who also sat as teachers & students dressed-up like us        in shatnez coats

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

they immediately asked after  you      at which point we have come            but have not the strength to say         what they asked          for       the ancestors who took that burden on their backs                       who packed themselves tightly in exile              tho dispersed 

Con(de)structionAriel Reskinoff
00:00 / 03:16
00:00 / 00:54

[sliced from the stairs & w/ all the stairs]

 

translated from the Hebrew of Avot Yeshurun

one day a door sliced the second-story

& the whole sand-loam-concrete floor rose & shifted & moved

& spilled & fled & was thrown from the stairs & w/ the stairs.

the room on the second-story remained lit in the sun as before in wood’s ­supports naked

as before.

from whence was this taken?

from where does it derive?

what’s it called?

what’s it say?

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Approaching the Black SeaAriel Resnikoff
00:00 / 01:43

[approaching the black sea]

 

for Rachel Blau DuPlessis

 

approaching the black sea      hidden in light             & on the other side of the sea                          a valley whose height they say reaches the sky                         at what we shouted     be what may    so we began to walk on a slant through the air across diagonal crevices     until we reached the bottom what they said       where having felt the ground              we stopped walking in the dark                      instead a cliff              of mountain  air        & seeing that because of steep smoothness   forced to clamber        with hands & nails      teeth & tongues          for sheer violent strength to reach some top        & as soon as we stopped  an extraordinary silence:               & there were many failed believers there       seized by  joy             & we did not want to walk on the mountain with our whole bodies, saying to ourselves: we must protect ourselves

[con(de)struction]

 

for Gabriel Levin

 

in whatever shape or form it takes what breaks drills the body wakes into “a land not promised you.” on archipelagos of sound, a silence rains, maimed & claimed as one of those who knew you well. whomever sounds the sound resounds & sorts the mounds & bodies left 4 dead. when the sun sets over a different place. the place is not the place but the face, she says. moment-to-moment, mouth-to-mouth, in the cave of the shark in the body of a bird. i'm in bed by 10 a.m. with my earplugs in & still the drilling persists. neurotic mists conjure valleys of erotic shit - valleys of the wretched myth of persistence. subsistence consists of existing conditions. a fist in the shape of a rose. in the valley of resurrection. morning re-covers strangled birds on all sides by blinding light we can’t see. it is the light before dark. it is the darkness probed in light. if I am the site give me sight. to hold & behold, the cold not the cold, our hunger not our hunger. w poems btwn our teeth, feasting on the least & starving on the bones. in the beginning we cut stone. in the beginning we roamed & combed ticks from our sheep. sites & excursions excavate our lines. find & do not find, in mine & not in mind. the yellow berries that followed me thru sleep. corrupting my distracting by the wheat of the week & saying we are those who have gone crazy. mark yrself in ash above the temple. sort what cannot be sorted the mortuaries mountains below above the summer snow. to know, no never to know, to go after what cannot be— 

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On Ariel Resnikoff’s Unnatural Bird Migrator (The Operating System, 2020)

 

Notes from Daniel Viragh

 

Yiddish, Hebrew, Aramaic and Akkadian all make regular appearances in the infinite mosaic of Ariel Resnikoff’s Unnatural Bird Migrator. What holds this collection together is the author’s steadfast dedication to a translingual Jewish poetics. Resnikoff has taken on the cosmic-cultural Jewish symbolic world, reframing that world’s wisdom and complexity in a way only a poet can. This book makes us re-evaluate the different strands of our own identities, whatever our backgrounds and traditions, no matter our individual or collective hangups.

 

Take, for example, the following from the book’s first section entitled “Yinglossia”. The poet excoriates the reader to go “spill yr guts against the synagogue” and then adds, helpfully (!): “[lit. house-of-entry]”. Of course, those who have some familiarity with Hebrew, or with Jewish customs and traditions more generally, will immediately recognize in “house-of-entry” the Hebrew word for “synagogue”. And that is precisely the beauty of Resnikoff’s work: it comes at you from the side without your being aware of it. And then the translation (or mistranslation) suddenly hits, and you’ve somehow bypassed or sidestepped your usual interpretive mechanism.

 

Positing himself as the “chew-among-chews,” Resnikoff tackles many facets of what might be called ‘the Jewish experience of otherness.’ He writes of the Ashkenazic devotion to the old-world palate, noting that “you can shake-stammer in impending fire” -- does he mean pogroms? -- “from stuffed cabbage to stuffed cabbage,” adding that those cabbages are also called “stuffed (holebshes/holishkes/ holubtshe)” depending on which side of what border you might be having your meal.

 

There’s a reference in those words -- “shake-stammer” -- to the seemingly endless Jewish path of exile, diaspora and never really belonging. But there is also space for love, worry and care: “sweetheart darling child in me -- sweet little soul in me -- what difference does it make whether we live or die? the inf(l)ected tongue -- may it keep its distance! & the impure food [slang, lit. pig feed] doesn’t do a thing.”

Unnatural Bird Migrator is not an easy read, and sometimes the “practice of translingual- poetic deformance” and “interlingual punning & fusion-slangs” which Resnikoff proffers can be daunting, even to the most initiated. But when the poet cries out, a bit like Tevye, “o, god in heaven, master of the universe,” only to catch himself and add, a bit slyly, with the twinkle of his eye: “who knows if he’s the real mccoy”... you know you’re in for the ride of your life.

 

The words of Ariel Resnikoff’s Unnatural Bird Migrator mix, morph, transmogrify and transplant themselves from language to second language and through half-first and half-last languages. This is a book that bridges the unbridgeable and enjambs the (seemingly) unenjambable.


 

Daniel Viragh website:

https://www.danviragh.com/

Extracts of Ariel interviewed by Rose on; A Poem Blows Through Us, Diaspora: Responses to Exile, Perpetual Departure, Imagined Space, Infiltration, and Directed Wandering.

Bio:

 

Ariel Resnikoff is the author of Unnatural Bird Migrator (The Operating System 2020);  the chapbooks Ten-Four: Poems, Translations, Variations (Operating System 2015), with Jerome Rothenberg;  and Between Shades (Materialist Press 2014). His writing has been translated into Russian, French, Spanish, German and Hebrew, and has appeared or is forthcoming in Golden Handcuffs Review, Dibur Journal, Protocols, The Wolf Magazine for Poetry, Schreibheft, Zeitschrift für Literatur and Boundary 2.  With Stephen Ross, he is at work on the first critical bilingual edition of Mikhl Likht’s modernist Yiddish long poem, Processions. With Lilach Lachman and Gabriel Levin, he is translating into English the collected writings of the translingual- Hebrew poet, Avot Yeshurun. Ariel has taught courses on multilingual diasporic literatures at the Center for Programs in Contemporary Writing (UPenn) and at BINA: The Jewish Movement for Social Change. In 2019, he completed his PhD in Comparative Literature and Literary Theory at the University of Pennsylvania, and is currently a Fulbright Postdoctoral US Scholar.

                                  for Ariel's PennSound Page

                                  for the latest interview with the publisher; The Operating System 

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Black Lives Matter Features, Summer 2020

Click on image to hear individual features

Jewku, Summer 2020

Jewku Anyaegbuna

Spoken Words Feature, Summer 2020

Jekwu Anyaegbuna graduated from the University of East Anglia in Norwich, England, with an MA in Creative Writing.

Jewku reads Nigerian poet Wole Soyinka’s Night.

 

Wole Soyinka, Nigerian playwright, novelist and poet, was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2019. The Wole Soyinka International Cultural Exchange is based in Nigeria, and honoured the Nobel Laureate with a celebration of his 86th birthday last year.

 

Links: https://wolesoyinkainternationalculturalexchange.com/ws98-conference/

https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/literature/1986/soyinka/biographical/

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Loveness and Mazvita, Summer 2020

Mazvitashe Ngoma and Loveness Sola

Spoken Word Feature, Summer 2020

Loveness Sola and Mazvitashe Ngoma read the poem Dry by Edwell Zihonye. Follow him on Twitter at Edwell Zihonye (@ZihonyeEdwell) | Twitter and on Facebook.

 

They also read Londoners, by Zimbabwean poet Kristina Rungano, Zimbabwe’s first published female poet. See another of her works: https://www.poetryinternational.org/pi/poem/5900/auto/0/0/Kristina-Rungano/The-Woman/en/nocache

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Tadi Words, Summer 2020

Tadiwanashe Chirongoma

Spoken Words Feature, Summer 2020

Tadiwanashe Chirongoma, born in Zimbabwe, was brought up in South Africa. He moved with his professor mother and counselor father to California in 2013. He remained after his parents’ return to Zimbabwe. After receiving his undergraduate degree in 2021, he will attend medical school.

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A Wartime Wife
00:43
A Poem for Zimbabwe
01:00
A Child's Parliament
01:59

Jade Amoli-Jackson

Written Word Feature, Spring 2020

Jade Amoli-Jackson was born in northern Uganda, studied journalism and worked as a sports reporter on television and radio, and on national and local papers. After her husband, sister and father were killed during a period of internal conflict, and with her own life in danger, she sought refuge in England in July 2001. Jade has read her poetry across the UK and is a volunteer at the Refugee Council.

Faded Dreams

 

‘The big man wants to see you.’

Everything stopped

Our hearts stopped pumping blood

We could not eat or swallow the food in our mouths

Our children’s eyes were wide with suspicion.

In my mind I knew what might happen

I had already been through it.

My friend’s husbands

Brothers, even sisters

Were picked the same way.

 

He put on his shoes

Looked at me and smiled

I knew he did not want

To be shot in front of me and the kids.

At home, I tried to cheer them up

But the dreams were fading away very fast.

I sat down with our children and told them

‘Mum is going to find out where dad is.’

We said our goodbyes, all in tears.

 

‘I have come to take my husband home.’

‘We have no idea what you’re talking about!’

Then, a young soldier beckoned me towards the gate.

‘I know where he is

Wait for me near the market.’

I walked like a zombie to the square

And waited.

 

‘He was killed the same day he was brought here,’

The young man in civilian clothes told me

The man who was in uniform earlier.

‘Can you show me where his body is?’

‘For a price, the boss wants money.’

‘How much do you want?’

‘Four hundred!’

I had only three hundred pounds on me.

I was bargaining for my husband’s body

Which might already have started to collect maggots.

Finally, he accepted what I had.

 

He came out still dressed in his suit, headless

I am at peace now

He seemed to say.

Look after the kids and yourself.

I could not touch him

However hard I tried

The dreams faded away

Leaving only tears and heartache.

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Moving a Country

Move the evergreen trees

Meandering rivers

Lakes and seas

Wild and domestic animals

Birds of all sizes

Pack them all up

In the suitcase of my brain.

 

Leave behind the soldiers

Covered in old sacks

Or place them on the tip of

My foot

I’ll kick them into the deep blue sea

So my head can’t remember

And my heart can’t bleed

And the dark memories

Can fade slowly away…

 

I ran out of the house

Without packing anything

Even my sanity

How can a country I called home

Became a butcher’s den

And my bed a foreigner’s heaven!

 

I walk through fire

And find no water to cool

My burning heart

Only distant recollections

Fond memories of my youth

And the good old days

I search my head and heart

But the huge dark memories

Planted in my brain remain

I will treasure the good ones

And loathe the bad ones.

Britain

 

You have accepted thousands of different people

To live here with their own traditions.

You encourage us all to respect others’ culture and religion

Even colour, because you have accepted all of us.

I have to learn your language so as to know you better.

I can’t speak my language

You will not understand me.

 

I have travelled a long way from my land

Of fighting, killing and poverty.

I want to learn your language so that I can shop

To buy the things I like

To go to the cinema

And understand what is said.

I want to say hello to my neighbours

English, Russian, Polish, Somali and from Pakistan

They do not know my language.

 

My next door neighbours

Kenyan, Italian, Kosovan

Have started an English course.

I want to learn ESOL

I will study until I get it right

I want to get a job and pay taxes, like everybody else

I want to help other people

But I cannot do that hiding in my room.

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Jade Amoli-Jackson, Spring 2020
Carole Satyamurti Winter 2020

Carole Satyamurti

Written and Spoken Word

Feature and Tribute, Winter 2020

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Carole’s masterpiece was the Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling. Her incredible feat was to render into English and modern verse this ancient story, central to Hindu culture. Fifteen times longer than the combined length of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament, the original narrative developed over half a millennium, reaching fruition around 300 CE.  Based on the tale of an ongoing fierce war and our human difficulty with right action (dharma), it tells a universal  story. In her preface, Carole states she was 'repeatedly struck by parallels, both at individual and at societal levels, between that world and our own'.  

 

This 2015 Mahabharata is a staggeringly impressive accomplishment. Janet Henfrey reads three selections from Carole’s towering work of poetry, scholarship and insight, Mahabharata, and continues with four readings from  other poetry collections.

Mahabharata

Mahabharata no. 1Carole Satyamurti, read by Janet Henfrey
00:00 / 00:22
Mahabharata no. 2Carole Satyamurti, read by Janet Henfrey
00:00 / 03:10

Carole's prolific poetry collections reflect the many worlds she witnessed and inhabited. Ourstory  (probably her most read poem, featured in London’s Poems on the Underground project) exhibits her feminist sensibilities.

 

Ourstory

OurstoryCarole Satyamurti
00:00 / 00:30

Carole's first collection Broken Moon features poems of love, loss, motherhood, sexual awakening and the discovery of places and people both new and familiar. This sense of awakening is a thread throughout her work. Each word is a discovery of something both fragile and strong in herself and the world, reflecting her explorations of psychoanalysis and poetry. 

 

Whether in outrage, delight or sadness, Carole's work speaks of something to be discovered and treasured. Listen to her fierce poetic courage as she takes in the news of her cancer diagnosis; a poem that speaks of  being in the world with disabilities; her words on the anxieties of love and ageing and loss.

 

 Diagnosis

DiagnosisCarole Satyamurti
00:00 / 01:12

On Not Going Anywhere

On Not Going AnywhereCarole Satyamurti
00:00 / 00:27

 The Seven Stages of Decrepitude

Seven Stages of DecrepitudeCarole Satyamurti
00:00 / 00:33

Carole has died, but her voice is ever-present, helping us confront the enormity of  loss. Her concluding words in the Mahabharata remind us:

 

‘We are born, we live our lives, we die;

happiness and grief arise and fade.

But righteousness is measureless, eternal.’

 

And the words of this poet are also measureless and eternal.


 

……………..


 

Footnotes:

Mahabarata: A Modern Re-telling.  W. W. Norton and Company, 2015.

 

Countdown, Bloodaxe Books, 2011.

 

Stitching the Dark: New & Selected Poems. Bloodaxe Books, 2005.

 

Broken Moon. Oxford University Press. 1988.

 

See also:

Acquainted with the Night: Psychoanalysis and the Poetic Imagination; The Tavistock Clinic Series, 2003.

 

Check online to see Carole reading her work on YouTube, as well as tributes and articles about her.

Carole Satyamurti, prolific poet,writer, academic and winner of the 1986 National Poetry Prize, died on her 80th birthday in August 2019. This is a tribute to a woman of huge compassion and overarching intellect.

 

She listened, spoke and wrote carefully, with humour, a love of absurdity, a wellspring of outrage and tenderness. Her work weaves the personal and the political, inviting us to consider the smallness of our existence along with what binds us to the grandeur of endless history. Those who knew her, those who were touched by her, and those who will meet her and themselves anew through her poetry, will continue to find illumination in her work.

Ruth Valentine

Spoken Word Feature, Autumn 2019

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Ruth Valentine has published several collections of poetry, as well as a novel, The Jeweller's Skin.  She is active in  Haringey Welcome, a grassroots organization  which campaigns against hostility to refugees and migrants who have settled in the borough. 

https://haringeywelcome.org.

 www.ruthvalentine.co.uk

Ruth Valentine, Spoken Wod Autumn 2019
Angela Neustatter, Spring 2019

Angela Neustatter

Spring 2019

Blog Journalist  working for national papers and author of 12 books including Hyenas in Petticoats - A Look at Feminism between 1968 - 88 and This Is Our Time - the Crisis of Midlife.

 

For two years editor of Young Minds magazine, for young people’s mental health charity. Now working on family memoir. Lives in North London, has two grown up sons and three grandchildren .

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Crossing Borders: an Intercultural Family in London


 

From my sitting room, I can hear my daughter- in- law Kio downstairs. On tiered platforms, she is setting up an elaborate display of china dolls dressed in ancient Japanese costumes. Kio does this every year in March to celebrate Hinamatsuri - Japanese Girl’s Day.  The costumed dolls represent the imperial court of the Heian period (A.D. 794 to 1185) and feature the emperor, empress, attendants, and musicians dressed in traditional garb intended to ward off evil spirits. May will bring Boy’s Day. At the accompanying party, all the children will wear kimonos --which in no way will inhibit their riotous game playing.

 

This is just one of the ways in which my husband Olly and I share a way of life where Japanese and British customs are intertwined. The integration began when our son and his pregnant partner Kio moved into the flat below us. Kio explained that in Japan, living close to family when you have children is a core value.

 

Kio is very clear that our grandchildren Nina and Si must have the extreme good manners expected in Japan. These are often in conflict with the brash words and expletives-not-deleted of their peers at school. They have to meticulously clear up toys in their home. My son reprimands me and Olly for failing to be firm enough  about this. Kio and my son are a good deal stricter with the children than feels comfortable to our laissez-faire 1970’s parenting style. But I vowed I would never be a critical mother-in-law. The lovely and loving relationship I have with Kio is worth biting my tongue. On the other hand, she does not hold back in telling me, with infinite politeness, if she disapproves of something I do. I assure her I like that far better than if she said nothing. I would never want her  holding back to result in less family interaction. We share much of the heart.
 

We have stayed with Kio’s parents in Japan, indulging in smiling, nodding, bowing and reaching for Google translate, as none of us speaks the others’ language. Nina and four-year-old brother Si are amused watching us struggling.  They are both fluently bi-lingual and can’t understand why we aren’t. For us, this precious opportunity to learn about their culture in such an intimate way is worth the linguistic challenge.

 

The children flow in a free range way between their flat and ours. They have come away with us for weekend trips with the firm proviso that we abide by stern bedtime, sugar overdose and TV rules. At the same time, Kio and my son  know the children run riot around our place and play hectic games not permitted downstairs. They are fine with our more open ways--in our flat. As a result, we have a wonderfully joyous relationship with the children, even if we are excluded when they chatter away in Japanese and refuse to tell us what they are saying. We do not think of them as mixed race. But I have sometimes had to sit and chat at length with Kio when she has been upset at Nina being talked about as different by her classmates, teased about thinking she is special because of coming from Japan.  I see too how it upsets Nina, with the result that she has more close Japanese friends from a Saturday club than at her primary school. It’s upsetting because we can see these things undermine Nina’s self-confidence. Olly and I often tell Nina and Sia what lovely kids they are, hoping our love will banish the unkindness of some.

 

Kio regularly invites us to share a sushi meal. At these meals, to the children’s amusement, we struggle with chopsticks They never fail to remind me how foolish I am about the strange raw wriggly fish they eat in Japan and I (literally) cannot stomach. On the other hand, Nina instructs me firmly to cook turkey and roast potatoes for the traditional family Christmas. And when the children present us with the enchanting gifts they have made, guided by two very artistic parents, we bask in the shared cultural world we’ve all created.

 

There may be downsides to having grandchildren who are part of a culture  which I understand only superficially. But I don’t see it - yet, at least. And I cherish the closeness we have with Kio. She who would not naturally talk about feelings, does so these days. My son is clearly pleased she and I get on. The children are matter- of- fact about our being  a multi-generational family under one roof. Although I cannot calculate how much it helps them to feel integrated in English society, I get the sense it does when I hear Si telling how we are real grandparents --just like his Grandma and Grandpa in Japan.

Kendall Perry

Autumn 2018

Kendall is my teacher and my friend.  From them, I learn to understand gender in a profoundly new way. When I was a young girl in the fifties, you were male or female--period. Any 'deviation', like same sex attraction, was abnormal, wrong, something to be cured if possible.  Today's gender fluidity, and the worlds it opens up, is an enormous shift. I embrace it, guided to new understandings by the gentle touch of my friend Kendall's hand. - Rose L.

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“gender dysphoria has not been kind to me this summer,

and yet at the same time, it has certainly taught me a lot more about love.

to love despite the raging battle inside my mind and heart,

to love in the form of tears for the world,

to love in the form of speaking out, in setting boundaries,

to love in the form of standing up time and time again.

the messages i need most, i want to share with you too,

you are enough, so enough.

it's okay to feel the weight of sadness,

and this will get better.

you are beautiful and loved. “ - Self-Portrait, August 25th, 2018

In just a few months in the approaching London winter, I will be lying on a surgeon’s steel table, wrapped in a disposable gown and wheeled into the surgery theatre.  In moments, or, three and a half hours to be precise, my body will emerge in a way I have always dreamed of. Once healed, I will run my hands smoothly down my chest. Button ups will sit flat.  I will sit up straight without hunching. I will be flat chested. Flat as I haven’t known since before puberty!

 

I am twenty-six years old.  Ten years ago, when I was sixteen, I had  breast reduction surgery. Up until puberty, my gender was wild and free.  I could express myself as a so-called “tomboy”. My slim hips and flat chest  accommodated my androgynous expression.  It wasn’t until puberty, when curves began to appear, and something began growing out of my chest, that gender binary issue became a consuming state.  Who am I?

 

I was one of the first in my grade to begin developing breasts.  I tried to hide them with large t-shirts, hockey jerseys, and to hide my hips with sweatpants. I despised going shopping.  Feeling trapped when I felt the only option now that I am a “girl” is to shop in the “girls” section. Pink. Dresses. Tight tights.  Whimsical patterns. No, not for me.

 

Well, what about the boys section?  But, with my already internalized transphobia, I felt as though the ceiling might collapse on me if I were to venture into the boy’s section.  And we are only talking about clothes here! At that age, in my early teens, I knew something was deeply troubling me. But I didn’t know where it was coming from, or what it was about.  I just thought this is just the way I am, and I should do my best to fit into the boxes society wanted to push me into.

 

At fifteen, I had a consult with the surgeon, who would perform my breast reduction surgery.  I distinctly remember asking “can you please make them as small as possible?”. I think what I really meant was, “can you please just take them away entirely?  I don’t fit in this body. I am a genderqueer non-binary trans person!”. But I didn’t have this language or self-knowledge yet. I didn’t even know you could be outside the gender binary.  That knowledge didn’t come until my early twenties.

 

Fast forward  to the first year of my university life.  I came out as queer and felt an enormous sense of freedom to feel open about my sexuality.  I cut my hair, changed my wardrobe, and finally felt I could wear “boys” clothes and present as masculine-androgynous.  However, that backfired a few years later, when I l felt that being a part of the ‘girls who love girls’ crowd also didn’t feel quite right. I tried a more feminine phase (for the first time ever!), with dresses, even long hair.  No, that wasn’t right for me. Definitely not. What is going on?! Why do I feel so deeply out of place?

 

After meeting more and more gender-non conforming people and finding  friends in the trans community, a little voice inside (my subconscious) kept saying -- “Yes, Kendall! This is you too! Will you let me show you more? Say yes;  it will eventually be okay, actually more than okay! It will seem terrifying at first, but saying yes to opening the pandora’s box of gender identity will be one of your greatest teachers in this life. Take your time, but I hope one day you will say yes to me.”

 

After two years of this little voice piping up, I finally did said “yes!” after a rough summer of many breakdowns and a heightened state of constant anxiety.  I ordered my first chest binder from GC2B, I put it on, and was delighted to see my chest was as flat as ever.. Who cares that it was uncomfortably tight and made it harder to breathe; my chest was finally FLAT!  What a liberating feeling. At the same time, I decided to try they/them/theirs pronouns with close friends. It took getting used to, but now it feels like a I am truly seen for who I am when I hear it being used.

 

Now, many ups and downs and decisions later, I am on my way to top surgery, A.k.a., a double mastectomy with nipple grafts.  This surgery removes your breasts and nipples, reconstructs your chest according to pectoral muscles and upper ribs, reattaches the nipples, thus creating a more masculine chest.  

 

The day I emerge out of surgery will be a new beginning.  I will be proud of the scars across my chest. I will contribute more trans visibility to this world, and hope to make it a safer place for more trans and gender non-conforming people to come out and express themselves fully.   

 

Every non-binary, trans, genderqueer person has a different journey.  This is where I am now. Gender exists on a spectrum (or off of the spectrum entirely if you’re agender). I fall somewhere on that spectrum in the transmasculine non-binary area.  Transition is not a linear journey. It’s okay not to know all the answers. You don’t need to have any surgeries or go on hormones to be trans. Some do, some don’t. Some trans people are binary, some are non-binary.  Some are queer, some aren’t. It’s okay to question, to be confused. It’s all part of the journey to becoming. This is a vignette of my queer, non-binary, creative self today.

Some written, visual, and audio resources for learning more:

 

Chella Man, Youtube Channel

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCa1vUXV2WMRobPo-ZfEeRhg

 

Sam Dylan Finch articles:

Maybe Being Transgender Wasn’t a Mistake

https://letsqueerthingsup.com/2017/11/30/maybe-being-transgender-wasnt-a-mistake/

I’m Transgender but Trust Me I’m Just as Surprised as You Are

https://letsqueerthingsup.com/2018/02/11/im-transgender-but-trust-me-im-just-as-surprised-as-you-are/

 

Jackson Bird, Transmission Podcast

http://www.jacksonbird.cool/blog

 

Jamie Raines, YouTube Channel

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHSIA2JRC5PWvUX4Sl8OrcA

 

Ash Hardell: **They have put up a free PDF of an accompaniment to their book**

The ABC’s of LGBTQ+

https://mango.bz/books/the-gaybcs-of-lgbtq-by-ashley-mardell-365-b

YouTube Channel:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCXwXB7a3cq9AERiWF4-dK9g

Kendall Perry, Stories Autumn 2018
Jeannie Davidson, Summer 2018

Nancy

Nancy's wedding day

Nancy and her daughter's stroller

Jeannie Davidson

Read This Book Feature, Summer 2018

Jeannie Davidson was born in Edinburgh in the same year as the NHS.

She has lived in London since 1974, reluctantly leaving her beloved home city to accompany her former husband to London.  The city now feels completely like home, though Edinburgh retains pride of place.

Jeannie is deeply curious about cultural movements and how ‘tribes’ and affiliations function, questioning what tribe she is now in. She involves herself in projects aimed at making a difference and enriching lives.

Jeannie Davidson: Your Written Word
Watch Now

From If It's Not One Thing, It's Our Mothers by Jeannie Davidson.

There are consistent themes running through the stories in this book, and a wonderful diversity of mother-daughter relationships. The intensity of the connection with the most important person in our lives has yielded many insights that I want to share with others.---Jeannie

'Possibly the worst relationship, showing the worst part of me, has been with my mother. The feelings I felt around her were just awful, to the point where she couldn't do or say anything right.'---Kerry

'My memories are fortunately very good. I feel blessed really that I had such a nice relationship with her.'---Pat

'I don't know how Mum managed when we came to England. Settling in this cold country, with language barriers and racism, was a real challenge.'---Parminder

'There was a hinterland that I don't feel I ever reached and maybe none of us did. But maybe none of us do with our mothers.'---Hilary

'I had a lot of unfinished business with my mum. That's why this project has been so good for me coming to some kind of acceptance and realising that other people have had similar experiences.'---Hannah

'During the process I have thought more and more about the relationship, and what other people have to say about their mothers was so much  better than what I had to say about mine. But you get a more rounded picture as you continue talking about it. I thought more about things about her that were good. I needed to get rid of the rage.'---Sue

Ailsa

Shakuntala Sandhu

'I can think now, some years after her death, about what my mother gave me, which was a really strong sense of being a Scotswoman. It's something about having a particular identity and heritage. The night she died there was a crackling thunderstorm. I was lying in her bed in her flat where I was staying in Edinburgh and I remember feeling a jolt of something like lightning going through me. It felt like she was passing something on to me. Now that sounds completely crazy but I just had a sense that she'd passed her essence on to me. It was a lovely feeling, but then I remember really missing her and wondering where she'd gone, having that classic lost child feeling which so many people talk about when a parent dies.'---Jeannie

[Book price is £15 including p and p. Please contact Jeannie.davidson@btinternet.com for copies.]

Janet Henfrey

Spoken Word Feature, Spring/Summer 2018

Janet Henfrey is an actor who has performed in theatres throughout the UK including the Royal Shakespeare Company and the National Theatre.

 

She’s also had ongoing roles in the tv series The Singing Detective and As Time Goes By and more recently,appearances in Wolf Hall and The Crown. Janet is also a Human Rights campaigner.

The two poems are Emily Dickinson's 'Hope is a Thing with Feathers' and Elizabeth Jenning's 'Friendship'.

Hope is the thing with feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers
Hope is the thing with feathers
00:45
Play Video

Hope is the thing with feathers

Friendship
01:02
Play Video

Friendship

Janet Henfry, Spoken Word Summe 2018
Alexa Wright, Spring 2018

A View From The Inside:  Alexa Wright

Read This Book Feature, Spring 2018

A View From Inside (2012). A limited edition artist’s book. Ten digital C-Type prints, 76 x 100cm, mounted and framed + limited edition artist’s book.

 

 

Available at https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0957155808/ref=rdr_ext_tmb

 

Working with people who experience episodes of psychosis, Alexa Wright created ten photographic portraits. Whilst the men and women in the presentations appear entirely ‘normal’, their ability to function within society has been affected by the experience of a psychotic ‘disorder’ such as bipolar or schizophrenia. The 18th Century photo settings have been altered, both digitally and physically, to form ‘stage sets’ for the internal experience of each person when she/he is not in consensual reality. These highly constructed settings give clues to each individual’s private world. 

Visual, auditory and other sensory phenomena that occur during a psychotic episode contradict accepted notions of ‘reality.’ Yet for one person they are absolutely real. This work asks: what do we mean by reality? It also aims to reduce the stigma that surrounds those who experience mental health issues. In the book that accompanies the exhibition prints, each portrait is accompanied by a statement from the person portrayed.

 

Alexa Wright is an artist based in London, UK. She uses a wide range of media, including photography, video, sound, interactive installation, performance and book works to explore narratives of otherness through the personal stories of people whose life experiences place them at the boundary of what is acceptably human. At the intersection of art and medical science, Alexa's works explore human inter-subjectivity through qualities like vulnerability and empathy.

 

Alexa's work has been shown nationally and internationally. Recent exhibitions include: Piecing it Together, (curator, participatory project), St Pancras Hospital and Tavistock Centre, London (2016-7); Visions in The Nunnery, Bow Arts, London (2016); Hybrid Bodies, KunstKraftWerk, Leipzig, Germany (2016); Phantom Limb, Victoria Museum & Gallery, Liverpool (2016).

 

Alexa teaches at University of Westminster, where she is Reader in Art and Visual Culture. Her book, ‘Monstrosity: The Human Monster in Visual Culture’ was published by IB Tauris in 2013.

WEBSITE: www.alexawright.com

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