News Brief

David Lammy’s New Report Reveals Stark Disparities British Minorities Face in the Criminal Justice System

This report by Rt Hon David Lammy reveal the disparities black, Asian and other minorities are up against in the UK.

The Rt Hon David Lammy, Member of Parliament for Tottenham in North London and member of the Labour Party, has now published his report on the welfare of black, Asian and other minorities in the UK’s criminal justice system.

The main purpose of the Lammy Review is to “make recommendations for improvement with the ultimate aim of reducing the proportion of BAME offenders in the criminal justice system.”

The proportion in question is staggering. Black, Asian and other minorities make up 14 percent of the total population of England and Wales, but constitute 25 percent of prisoners. At present, BME youths make up 40 percent of those in custody.

Between 2006 and 2016, the number of BME youth's offending for the first time rose from 11 percent to 19 percent, as has the number of those reoffending. In the same period, the number of BME youths in prison rose from 25 percent to 41percent.

The names of 22,000 BME children have been added to the Police National Database for serious crimes, but also for police reprimands. This already blights the future of many young people as even if they later reform and become responsible adults, securing a job—whether as cleaners or as accountants—proves difficult, for nearly 50 percent of employers will not employ anyone with a criminal background. And when lawful jobs are out of reach, unlawful jobs present alternative means of livelihood.

One of Lammy’s proposed way of addressing this is to adopt a system used in prisons in the U.S. where offenders could apply for their criminal records to be sealed from checks, after they have prove themselves rehabilitated.

Some of Lammy's reforms are simply reasonable, if not expected. They include setting targets for more BME staff as decision makers—prison officers, governors, magistrates and the judiciary—not in the far away future, but in the next 5 years.

His other recommendations are a little more radical. Rather than try young offenders in court, his proposal is for hearings to be heard in libraries and community centers. This will treat young offenders less like criminals intent on causing harm, and more like children who have lost their way and are in need of guidance, as well as reprimands.

What, to some, might seem like a humane approach to reducing reoffending rates, could seem all too forgiving to others.

Lammy’s other reforms go beyond crime and primary offender, and aims to indict adults higher up the criminal chain who coerce many young people into drug trafficking and provide them with weapons.

To achieve this, he is proposing the adoption of the Modern Slavery Act which states that a person commits an offense if the person “requires another person to perform forced or compulsory labour and the circumstances are such that the person knows or ought to know that the other person is being required to perform forced or compulsory labour�.”

This could mean the arrest of more hardened criminals which could also give their young targets a better chance at succeeding their environments, many of which are already limited by low incomes or lone parentage, or both.

His research is not limited to the UK. He reveals similar racial disparities in the six countries and 12 cities he visited, mainly here in the West, to investigate how their own governments have tackled heavy bias in their criminal systems.

In France, Muslim people make up an estimated 8 percent of the population and between a quarter and a half of the prison population.

In America, one in 35 African-American men are incarcerated, compared with one in 214 white men.

In Canada, indigenous adults make up 3 percent of the population but 25 percent of the prison population.

In Australia, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people make up 2 percent of the population, but 27 percent of prisoners.

In New Zealand, Maori people make up 15 percent of the population, but more than 50 percent of the prisoners.

What Lammy has not done is to explicitly link these biases to the enduring legacy of the transatlantic slave trade, white expansionism and colonial rule, or what today is termed “institutionalised racism�.”

The phrase “institutionalised racism”� is linked in the public consciousness to the MacPherson report on the death of Stephen Lawrence. It has since been used as a byword for endemic racism, and is unfortunately losing some of its power due to overuse in the public sphere, and like the phrase “affirmative action,”� could not possibly sustain its power against a way of life and thinking that has lasted for centuries.

If this was Lammy’s own intention, it is well-thought and presents his findings and recommendations free from other publicly debated cases of racism.

Doing this would make stronger the tide against prison reforms because the many educated, hard working and law abiding staff of the Crown Prosecution Service surely do not see themselves and their decision-making as heavily influenced by race. Not even prison wardens and others lower down the chain, I imagine, would see themselves as mere functionaries of a racist ideology. To some, these might just be jobs they go to in the morning and return from in the evening.

What heartens and surprises is that the Lammy Report was commissioned by Prime Minister David Cameron, and has been supported by his successor Prime Minister Theresa May, both of whom are from a Conservative party that is traditionally harder on crimes and immigration than the Labour Party which has a larger base among black and Asian people.

What must now be done is the implementation of Lammy’s recommendations, and the presentation of truly satisfying reasons for why some could not be put into practice.

Not yet another round of debates and nit-pickings as has proliferated on social media and news programs, done with all the seriousness in the world, but with little of its actions, for whether because of a lack of political will or insufficient empathy, the lives of children, women and men are being wasted with every passing day.

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Photo courtesy of Sam Soko.

Interview: Sam Soko is the Kenyan Director Behind Sundance Hit, 'Softie'

We meet filmmaker Sam Soko who has made a stirring documentary about the Kenyan protest leader Boniface Mwangi

Filmmaker Sam Soko didn't intend on making a documentary about Kenyan photojournalist-turned-politician Boniface Mwangi.

The original idea he had was to make a manual of sorts, a short video guide, on how to protest, the do's and don't's. Soko, himself an activist artist who cut his teeth convincing friends to let him create political music videos for their apolitical songs, knew Mwangi's experience on the streets both photographing protests and staging them meant he had a lot to share with others.

But then came the blood. A thousand litres of it, to be precise. And the pigs. Dozens of them, with words like MPigs written on them. Like the graphic photos Mwangi had become known for taking—it was a sight you couldn't look away from. It was a protest Mwangi organized, in 2013, to decry corrupt members of the Kenyan parliament who had decided to increase their salaries, 2 months after taking office. And at his side, through the thick red liquid of it all, was Mwangi's wife, Njere, ready to be arrested with him.

"Once I was witness to his relationship, I started seeing him as a family man," Soko tells OkayAfrica. "Because he's planning a protest and all, but when you look at the footage, you start seeing the kids and you start seeing Njere. That's when it started hitting me, in the sense, that she was with him in such a crazy space."

Soko formed a creative and activist hub, called PAWA 254, with Mwangi, as they became part of the groundswell demanding democratic reforms in a country still left scarred from the division sewed between Kikuyu and Luo people by British colonizers. "We had a new Constitution at the time, and there was this hope that we finally could picket without being tear-gassed or being beaten, Like, our civil liberties could be held up." Instead, the government strengthened its police force into a notorious organization condemned by human rights activists. "That's very salient in the film," says Soko. "If you see how the police dress, for instance, at the beginning, it's very different; they become more militant towards the end."

Soko's debut feature-length documentary, Softie, which became the first Kenyan film to ever premiere at the Sundance Film Festival, earlier this year, is at once a love story between Mwangi and his wife and their three children, but also between Mwangi and his beloved Kenya, under president Uhuru Kenyatta. Central to the film is the tussle between how these different loves bump up against each other: what comes first — love of country or love of family?

We spoke to the Nairobi-based director about making the film, which opens in virtual cinemas, starting this Friday, September 18th.

Boniface Mwangi with his wife Photo courtesy of Sam Soko


OA: Early on in the film, we learn how steadfast Boniface Mwangi is — he talks about being willing to die for the ideals he believes in, which made me think of Nelson Mandela and his Rivonia Treason Trial speech. Boniface is someone in the present day who still shares this belief?

When we were working on the edit, and kind of crafting and thinking about what the story was going to be, something that we found that was really, really interesting is, with a lot of the stories, like the story of Nelson Mandela, you'd never see the other side. That's something we see later, up ahead, as a retrospective. We'd hear about Martin Luther King and then we'd read about Coretta Scott in, I think, 1990, like, 'Oh, this his was her struggle.' That sort of thing. But for me, Boniface and Njere represented a present day reality struggle that showcases what Mandela was going through, what Martin Luther was going through. That was kind of like unravelling the curtain; when you see Martin Luther marching, Coretta's at home, trying to help their kids do their homework. And this is the reality.

OA: And the film poses that question of love for your country versus love for your family, and which one should come first?

Exactly. They see it in different ways. Boniface sees it that if you improve the country, you improve the lives of those who you love. Njere's like, you have to have your family's back first. And that means everything else comes second. And she's right; she's not wrong. And he's not wrong.

OA: The film really is privy to some really private moments in Mwangi's life — how did you gain his trust?

When we started filming the short video, he was really involved with the protests, and we started doing the protests with him. So we were—quote, unquote—in the trenches with him in the protests, and somehow that's how he kind of welcomed us to his home. When you've been with someone in the streets, and you're tear-gassed together more than once, you already have a common bond. But then I started developing a relationship with him that was beyond the streets. Just checking up on him and asking, what's going on, what's taking place? That sort of thing. I think it took a while. And I think even from Njere, we kind of developed a kind of camaraderie that was separate from my relationship with Boniface, because I would actually be like, 'Hey, he said that, how does that make you feel?' And not necessarily on camera. But over time, he kind of accepted us to be there with a camera. At some point, I kind of felt like they were talking to me, and not necessarily the camera; like, the camera is kind of this thing that's there, but not there. That kind of trust, again, was built on a respect that I have for them and their values and what they're doing. I think that's something they saw. It made them trust me with their story and trust me with their family.

You're the director of the film, but you're also producer, writer and cinematographer. Did Boniface's own style as a photojournalist influence you in any way?

The film has three cinematographers, and a lot of my cinematography is within the intimate moments, because that's when they would only engage with someone they trust. But him being a photographer actually, to a point, made the work a bit hard because he's constantly looking at how you're doing it. He's in your face about the angle. He's like, 'Hey, why are you standing there, you should be there.' But in some places he did help 'cause he's been filming in the streets and filming protests for a very long time. So when you're there filming, he'll easily tell you, 'Dude, don't stand there. They're about to start tear-gassing. Go to the other side.' And it's weird, when you're on the other side and you're filming, and all of a sudden you see tear gas, you wonder, 'How the hell did he know?' You do that 234 times and you start knowing yourself, 'Oh, this is how,' and he was really helpful in that sense.

I can imagine that filming during the protests must have been one of the big challenges of making this film but what else did you struggle with? There were death threats for Mwangi, did that happen to you as well?

It's so funny, when you're filming and when you're in the protests, it's adrenaline talking. So you're not really thinking about whether you're going to be okay. This one time, I got arrested because the cop said I was a spy for the protesters. [We had everything] from cameras breaking to sound equipment messing up, but when it became a more political story, with death threats, it became scary even for editing the film. Because you don't know who's watching you. This one time, I was with him in the car, filming, and we were being followed. So we kind of had to be very careful who we are telling about the story. It was a very deep secret that we were making this film and there are people who are watching it now asking, 'How could you keep this from us from all these years?' Because we had to do that. Especially when the family was in the US. We had to do that for the sake of safety for him, Boniface, for his family but also the film team. I remember doing the pitches with different names. But then we were also lucky that we had our co-producing partner in Canada, Eye Steel Film, so they were able to house the edit there. I went to Canada to edit and that kind of also gives you a kind of freedom to think and work and create. That was the reality, and now I think we have PTSD from the film. I can't film another protest. I'm sorry. I'm out. Like, it tapped me out.

There are similarities to the Black Lives Matter protests here in the US, against police brutality and violence but the slogan takes on a different resonance in places like Kenya, where the police force is particularly heavy-handed. How do you see these protests as being similar but also different?

There are two things that you learn with the film. One, our voices can never be silenced. They will try, but I think humanity is like a pressure cooker. The more you boil us, the more you put that heat, the more explosive we become. And through people like Boniface's life, you see that there are human beings who exist, who do extraordinary things.

The other thing is the idea of activism doesn't necessarily just speak to the person who's on the street. It doesn't necessarily speak to the person who's holding the placard. An activist is someone like Njere and her life, and her family. And Khadija [Mohamed, Mwangi's campaign manager]. She's such a strong and powerful activist in her own right. She was Boniface's campaign manager for free. The work they did was so powerful. And you have these other people in the background who are doing such incredible things. The sum total of what they've done is [to] instigate… We have an election next year, but I am so sure that we are going to have so many candidates who are going to be like, 'We want you to donate to our campaign. We have these values and beliefs; this is what we want to do.' That is how we need to go about change or add on to the conversations of change.

The same thing that's happening with the Black Lives Matters movement. Yes, there are people going to the street and we should keep going to the street. But we need to push people to engage in policy and make sure these policy changes are made.

We need to stand for what we believe in, as filmmakers in spaces where we feel oppression exists. Like the rules that have come out with the Academy Awards, these are rules that should be celebrated because they add on to that conversation of diversity and representation. All these things—that sum total—is what makes the difference. It's going beyond the streets and going beyond our Tweets, going beyond our Facebook messages, making films and sharing films. We just need to keep pumping up the volume, keeping the heat up, keep pushing. It's gonna take a while, but we'll get there.


Photojournalist-turned-politician Boniface Mwangi during a protest in Nairobi, Kenya Photo courtesy of Sam Soko


That's where you as a filmmaker come in—this film was the first Kenyan film to get into Sundance, where it won a special editing prize.

There's another film I'm producing and, and, yes, I had my film at Sundance, that's great. But there's this other filmmaker who's making another film, and it's so cool, and this is the thing—we need to keep bouncing off this energy and this light and this vibe, and just keep pushing and making sure that the wheels keep turning. That's what we're all about.

How do you renew your strength, as a filmmaker but also as a Kenyan and as an African?

Being a Kenyan is hard. I think being an African is hard. Like, it's hard. There's a line I heard Boniface say once: 'I love my country, but I am afraid of my government.' But the way in which, personally, I find energy is when I meet new filmmakers, or you know, people who are like starting out and they want to make films that sound totally crazy. And they believe that they can do it. And I'm like, 'yes, yes, keep going!' We are planning to do a premiere. We have not confirmed the date yet but we're thinking it's around going to be early October in Kenya, because Kenyans haven't watched it. The government gave us an adult rating. They're putting us on the same level as porn.

This is the same government that banned Wanuri Kahiu's Rafiki because of its homosexual theme…

Exactly, that's what we're getting but the lemonade that we've made out of all this is, 'Guess what? This is cinema!' We're going to take it to a cinema. People are going to come to watch it in a cinema or watch it at home or watch it in the best way possible. And the people who've watched it have appreciated it as a film and a story, and their story. They've seen a reflection of themselves. That gives me so much joy because the Kenyans who've watched it, when they give you feedback, they say, this is truth; this is our truth. And they don't see just an activist. They see a couple struggling with love. They see our history in the last 10 years. And they're like, 'What the hell, we lived this?' and they see the things that are unresolved — and many things are unresolved. Seeing that reaction gives me so much strength and hope. But it's hard. It's very hard. Because, you know, you have to wake up and see the policeman getting a bribe. And you're like, 'Homie??'


"SOFTIE" Movie Poster



Watch the trailer for Softie here.

Softie | Official Trailer | A film by Sam Soko www.youtube.com

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