No Justice, No Peace
No Justice, No Peace
On Friday, I attended the ‘Interrogating State Violence: Custodial Deaths, Justice and Resistance’ conference. The event, a collaboration between the Centre for Research on Race and Law, the United Families and Friends Campaign (UFFC) and Migrant Media, was spectacular. Put on to mark the 20th anniversary of the UFCC, the conference was advertised as a place where there would be a mapping of the ‘struggles for justice over two decades, highlighting new research and policy directions, as well as offering contextualised and historical understandings of state violence.’
Scheduled to run from 09.15-18.30 (not including the film and Q&A, which was set to run from 18.30-21.00), I worried about how I would hold up, considering I was feeling under the weather and very tired.
My worries were very quickly forgotten.
Akala kicked off the proceedings with a keynote which was purposefully understated and in which he paid homage to the families of those lost to custodial deaths; this was a just theme which ran throughout the day. To these families, most of them tireless campaigners, he declared, ‘The work you are doing is shaping global politics.’ Indeed, upon hearing the stories of many of these families throughout the day, it became clear that they are indeed ‘shaping global politics.’ Their groundbreaking work and expertise in the field were also frequently highlighted, deferred to and given the reverence that it so rightly deserves.
Each of the three panels which followed acted as a comprehensive explanation of state violence over the past century, with a particular focus on the past two decades. They also interweaved very personal and real experiences, interlinked with current research and policy, interrogating the extremely corrupt actions of both the police and the state as a whole. This corruption, including such things as the ‘mirages’, is often put in place to appease and pacify the underprivileged masses. The overriding message within each and every panel was that the ‘problem’ was not down to specific individuals or police forces, rather, the problem is systemic. Below, are some of the statements made by various panellists on this idea:
‘We are not talking about isolated, individual tragedies...this is systemic.’ - Deborah Coles
‘It’s the whole system. There is no independence.’ - Janet Alder
‘It is not just about individual officers, it is about institutional support of a racist state.’ - John Moore
‘The problem is systemic and structural.’ - Monish Bhatia
Many of us know that the problem is systemic, so the above will come as no surprise. To hear the systemic power spoken about in so many different contexts and from the mouths of people with so many experiences, perspectives, and interests was hard. It was exhausting. Further adding to my exhaustion were some of the brilliant questions and statements coming from the mouths of most people taking to the stage. In her keynote, Professor Sherene Razack, for example, challenged us to be very clear about what we define the system to be when we say that something is ‘systemic.’ For her, this is crucial when having conversations about the system. Otherwise, how can we be sure that our point is being properly understood? Razack also implored us to consider infrastructural racism and oppression when seeking the root of many of the issues surrounding state violence.
It was clear, two minutes into Janet Alder’s keynote, that she is something special; from her passion when speaking about her brother Christopher (murdered in police custody in 1998) to her unwavering fight for justice, not just for her family, but for the families of many others, to her overall unbreakable spirit. Unsurprisingly, Janet is hated by the police. She has been followed, threatened and disrespected by them on countless occasions. When she spoke about her treatment at the hands of the police, it saddened me to hear sounds of recognition coming from the mouths of the members of other slain people’s families. Heartbreaking. To also see her, and other panellists, speak directly to the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and children of those killed in custody was equally devastating. There was a moment when the brother of a man, recently killed whilst in police custody, told her that his family had been told that they could only go for a narrative verdict as opposed to an unlawful killing verdict. Her simple ‘they’re lying,’ held so much power. This, and countless other moments, sent shivers down my spine; not only shivers of anger and empathy, but shivers of love for the Janet Alders and others of this world, there to hold the hands of the new families, entering into this new and unexpected nightmare.
As someone who attends conferences regularly, I would have to say that this was one of the most impactful, well-put-together and life-changing conferences that I have ever attended. This was not because of sexy marketing, freebies or celebrity endorsement, nor because of catchy sound bites, perfectly timed to elicit audible gasps or spontaneous applause from the audience.
It was real.
From the families, academics and artists who made up the panels, gave keynotes and created original work for the conference, to those in the audience, sat for many hours, riveted...we all wanted to be there. We were all passionate about the cause. This wasn’t an opportunity to stunt for the gram. This was about life, death, and justice. Watching the academics shout out and defer to the bereaved family members turned activists, and observing their close bonds formed after years of fighting, working and grieving hand in hand, left me feeling slightly voyeuristic; as if I was intruding upon the most tender of moments.
As a result of attending the conference, it is clear to me that I know very little about much of the amazing social activism occurring in the field of custodial deaths and police brutality in this country. I mean the real stuff. The stuff that is not sexy or cute. The stuff that has people moving hundreds of miles, just so they can fight for what is right. The stuff that gives people the strength to use their trauma as a driving force to not only honour the lives and deaths of their loved ones, but to do everything in their power to try to stop other families from experiencing the traumas that have been inflicted upon them.
Many of us are ‘lucky’ enough to have not been directly impacted by the atrocity that is state violence, are (often happily) unaware of the atrocities taking place every single day. The thing is, state violence is something that we must all open our eyes to. Being lucky enough not to have been directly affected by it does not mean that it is something to which we should ever turn a blind eye.
A world in which state-sanctioned violence is allowed to continue is a barbaric one.
To be aware that such violence exists and not want to be a part of tackling it in some way means that we are complicit in its continuation.
