A black Anglican priest who has investigated institutional racism in the Church of England was told, ‘Don’t bite the hand that feeds you’
As a young teenager I won an award for being Catholic of the Year in my school. The school in west Yorkshire was called St Michael’s, and on my blue blazer there was the school emblem of St Michael wielding his sword, ready to protect. But St Michael did not protect me. School could be brutal. The playtimes were rough. I was a reader and a pianist, not a footballer or a fighter. I made excuses so I could stay inside. It felt safer there.
Three boys in particular (let’s call them Joey, Dave and Chris) would obstruct the corridor. They formed a human trap; their roaming eyes pinned me and objectified me. As I tried to escape their net, they would hiss: “Golliwog!” At playtime they would purposefully barge into me, dropping the poisonous insult in my ears as they ran by.
I felt constantly trapped by the tormenting, even when the boys were not there. My chest would grow tight. I would fumble for my blue inhaler. I did not retaliate, as I did not know how. I was unsure who to talk to about it. Those three white boys seemed immune. They were seen by the teachers as cheeky lads, mucking about, as boys do. Harmless. The school system was silent. It wasn’t interested in my plight.