Is it something I can climb on?
White Man told me to piss off out of Scotland on the way home It was his finger pointing in my face It was only him giving a bellow of laughter As it was he, and only he, that walked away
Who commissioned it?
A hundred blind eyes were turned away from White Man Witnesses to a crime choose to ignore and forget Active ignorance is easier than acknowledging The hurt of the Other which spans generations This abuse is not criminal
How big is it?
Read the paper, open up the news, flick the channel They all spit out their own versions of hate Often in different guises, but always with some kind of rage inside Announcing to the nation of true Brits To White Man That thousands of people who look like me Are overrunning, multiplying, plotting
Invisible and everywhere at the same time.
David Cameron said aunties who can’t speak English are the root of the problem Lifetimes of migrating, adjusting, accommodating, resisting White Man Weaponised as being in opposition to British Values The dupatta-wearing host which transmits the virus of radicalisation Being Other is an intergenerational itch we can’t kick
The structure is a monolith.
It doesn’t need White Man shouting “Paki!” at me on the street He is an inconvenient existence for most Crude sideshow for others It is much more nimble than him The essence that overrides all else Racism is a structure, not an attitude There is no single architect, owner, form You can’t see its footprints Yet it governs our movements, values, ways of being A social being that is continually chattering in our faces Incessantly hissing through gritted teeth Criminalising us for not being white Heaving the colour bar into the present Protecting it with its life Inviting White Man in as its special guest
Yet, we are told it's all in our head The all-encompassing structure of racism is of our grandparents time Long ago demolished or maybe somewhere else How then to resist that which does not exist?