Knee
I can’t breathe
When I see that fleeting judgement
Before the polite smile.
I can’t breathe
When you tell me you want brown babies
“not dark like you but, you know, a nice coffee colour”.
I can’t breathe
For fear of being too direct, discussing with too much passion, laughing too loud.
I can’t breathe
For laughing along with jokes that are about my kind
For not being allowed to challenge descriptors like “Indian giver” or “lying Arab”
Because they’re “just a saying”.
I can’t breathe
When you “don’t even notice” the colour of my skin.
I can’t breathe
Because I can’t speak
In case I’ve just got a chip on my shoulder Or I’m just playing the race card.
I can’t breathe
When I’m designated the expert when ordering takeaway curries From someone else’s country
But not consulted for anything else.
I can’t breathe
For walking with my head and my gaze downward Trying to be unnoticeable
So as not to cause offence.
I can’t breathe
For holding my breath,
in case anyone else who looks like me does anything that might be offensive or annoying or disagreeable or ridiculous, anything to bring attention to the fact we just don’t quite fit in.
I can’t breathe
in the box you put me in.
I can’t breathe
When you tell me to “go back where you came from Because you’re breathing our air”.
I can’t breathe
Because there’s a knee on my neck, Incremental brutalities, a slow asphyxiation.
by Anna Hembury
We stood with our community in Queens Gardens, Hull last Wednesday and protested that Black Lives Matter. We heard truths that have been repeated tirelessly by black people in spite of silencing, but are only beginning to be heard. We listened to Janet Alder, the sister of Christopher Alder, who has been muffled and knelt on by Humberside police, still not seeing justice for her brother 22 years later, in spite of the verdict of unlawful killing by four officers. We want to stand with you for justice for Christopher Alder.