London Riots

I don't know where to start. London is up in flames and there seems to be no stopping it. What started out as a peaceful protest against the questionable killing of a Tottenham man, turned into riots in Tottenham, which has now spread across most parts of London.

It is frightening for anyone in London or with family or friends in London. We don't know where to go or where to stay, what is safe, what isn't? I watch Croydon in flames, knowing that friends are living just a ten minute walk from where the fires are. We all feel anger over this reckless violence that is hurting innocent people, destroying homes, properties and businesses.
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(Picture taken by my friend Woolstey, from her flat, just a few hundred metres from the mayhem in Croydon)

In all this, I feel so frustrated with the moron Home Secretary, Theresa May and the rest of the authorities for not understanding that there are underlying issues. Instead of approaching the problem from that angle, she points out that those parttaking in this will be prosecuted and focuses on praising the police. Nothing wrong in that, sure, but when you completely ignore (or are so stupid not to realise) that there are underlying issues, the problems will never die down.

Whether it was the death of Mark Duggan that started this or not, there are so many more serious issues (most likely, political, socioeconomic, class and racial and police/community tension issues) that need to be targeted:

What on earth compels the youth to get up in broad daylight and destroy everything around them, in their own communities?
How is it that they even have the time to do this?
Why is their lack of respect for authority and the police, in particular, so great that they'll do this unmasked, in daylight and purposely confront the police at any given chance?
How best can the authorities open a dialogue with this disgruntled group of people and find a long-term solution to these issues, rather than attempt to shut them up by threatening to imprison them?

London is burning, London is crying. We need to act quickly before it all goes up in flames

Racism lives

Another event makes one doubt whether it is worth it for foreigners to live in Sweden. A fire broke out in a block of flats and six people died, a mother and her five daughters.(English link!) Heartwrenching, isn't it? What makes it extra sad and scary is that according to witness reports there was an unusual delay before the emergency services arrive, a delay which may have cost the victims their lives. Why, you ask?

The fire occurred in Rinkeby, a Stockholm suburb with a majority immigrant population. This is not the first time something like this happens. When the fire of Gothenburg broke out almost eleven years ago, emergency service took 15-20 minutes to arrive at the scene even though the closest station was a five minute walk away. Why? They claimed they couldn't understand the distress calls that were made, because of the broken Swedish that was spoken (despite the fact that the numerous calls made were by foreign children born and raised in Sweden (i.e. speaking very coherent Swedish)).

Alexandra Pascalidou (Swedish), a blogger, writer and a person who actively speaks out against racism, also adds that when she called the emergency services after her mother was the victim of a break-in in the aforementioned Rinkeby, she was put on hold for half an hour and no rescue ever showed up. What to do? If this is how the emergency services behave, what hope does the average Abdul Mohammed have?

And just this weekend I encountered my first ever verbal racist assault. Is it any wonder I look forward to leaving soon?

Ten years on...

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was in Gothenburg for a week, half-term, the first time back since making the big, adult move to London. I remember the arguments, my little brother wanting to stay out till the party ended at 6 a.m., my mother standing her ground. All factors working against Mr. T. Mr. T and I asking my mum why she was being so strict this time, come on, it's not every day there's an all night Halloween party for under 18s. My mum firm in cutting Mr. T's curfew by an hour or two. Something deep down inside her must have told her to do that.

I had my friends over for 'tjejmiddag' (dinner with the girls), we enjoyed, chatted and laughed. Just after they left, Mr. T came home with his best friend. By the time he had made it to the venue, he only had twenty minutes to spend inside before he'd have to head home to make the curfew. Instead, he saved his entrance fee and rather hung out with his friends just outside the entrance to the make-shift club. He left at 23.40. At 23.45 it all broke loose, hell.

Picture from Aftonbladet

I had promised to wait for him and met him at home around midnight. We talked for a bit then headed to bed. Before I woke, there had already been action in the house. Best friend's worried mother calling, demanding to speak to her son before she'd believe he was alive. Panicked older brother calling to check that Mr. T was really alive and safe. My parents not sure what was happening until they turned on the news.

The next days were filled of numbers, 48 dead, 53 dead, 72 dead, 61 dead. It settled on 63 in the end. Mr. T at the ripe old age of 15 was in and out of hospital, checking on his friends in the ICU, or worse, waiting to hear who had passed away.

I still remember it like it was yesterday. Lauryn Hill's album which I bought on the 29th of October still reminds me of that week, those days. Track 3 (I think?), Ex-factor, still brings me to tears when it's played. That was my song of grief. And yet, I was not close to anyone who passed away.

Ten years on, I can only wonder how the families of those young children, teenagers, are coping. Probably wondering where their sons and daughters would have been today. Ten years on, how are those, that made it but suffered from nightmares for years, surviving, those that had bite-marks indented in their thighs, from weaker people trying to hang on and get out with their everything, living? We can only wonder and hope that something like this never happens again.

Text reads:
The night of 30th October 1998 a massive fire broke out in this building.
Sixty three teenagers lost their lives and several more were injured.
Gothenburg became a city in mourning


I know the number is small, I know worse things happen everyday in the world. But in Gothenburg, this was, is, our tragedy. When 12-23 year-olds leave their houses to go to a Halloween party and end the night in bodybags.