TW: Racialised Violence.

I’m sitting a table in an independent coffee shop on Green Lanes. I’ve just order a matcha tea latte and a Paistes de Nata. Yes, I admit it this is about as middle class as it gets on this north London street.

It’s the summer the warm air circles and loops around the chair and awning. It’s a beautiful day and I’m talking to a man of south Asian heritage and white woman about my new found love for refined sugar. I know, I know. It’s was a light news day. 

I lean back in chair, slouching, no, no, let’s say a gentrified lounging movement – to the point where it starts to rock back but the waist high outer fence of the coffee garden stops me from hurtling towards the ground as my teachers always told me.

We talk our way around subjects the way the warm wind circles twixt the chair legs. Laughter and friendship were ordered with my serving of diabetes on my plate but then came a unwanted course.

A young man in his mid twenties vaults the fence walks past our table and sit opposite a couple closest to the door. He proceeds move the chair from the table like he own the land upon it was sat – he perches bow legged and points his attention towards the woman of colour. The abuse came so quickly it hardly registered. Hardly and HARDly registered. 

Blink 

I’m a small child walking with my father “excuse me” we ask a mother and son as we pass on by, the child moves and his mother berate him “never move out of the way for these people they’ve taken enough”. 

Blink

I fix my gaze, sit bolt up right, clear the table in front of me and speak in soft Punjabi – “ne deki – Panga hona” (look there is trouble). I empty my pockets of my phone, shrapnel and fix my glare. 

Blink 

Year 8 science class it’s Monday morning and I rocking on my stool “you’re really bright it’s a shame you’re no white you could has made something of your self”

Blink 

Before the owner of the cafe arrives the man has lost interest and wanders in the street

Blink

Walking home from school a group of men jump out a van and chase us home. ‘Go home we are told we are not welcome’. 

Blink 

My weight is on the balls of my feet now, my heart is racing and I’m trying to not let my facial expression betray my oath to always do the right regardless of consequence. 

He is now hassling people of colour of the street. 

Blink

I seeing our elders in our community being hassled and bullied by the police when they reach out for support. 

Blink 

Pushing a random ensues and honestly it looks superifical, nothing to worry about I tell myself. A few swings and our neighbourhood racist is the victor. No one is hurt. 

Blink

I am the child who has been sidelined because his math isn’t good enough and he isn’t great with numbers… believe me it was more than good enough. 

Blink 

Our racist empowered by his new found victory start to beat random brown and black people on the street. 

I’m now on my feet. 

Blink

At various points in my life I would have acted differently. At times to join the melee and at others to wipe away tears. Sometimes the only thing we can do is cry and keeping blinking those tears away.

Please remember, I am a 38 year older man with a lifetime of experience of self regulation, grounding and self awareness. I still carry those multiple events with my like a rolodex of sepia toned photographs. Even with my years of practice I still don’t own and control that legacy I was in a state of high arousal and anxiety for 3 days. Now place yourselves in the shoes of the young people and act in a manner that seeks to hold them in a place of love while they process their position in this society we have create for them.