Boris Johnson boasted about his foreign relatives before the last London elections, claiming “you can’t out-ethnic me.” But does he secretly wish for less “ethnic” relatives? The mayors’ tweet yesterday, wishing the racist historian Dr David Starkey was his uncle, seems to suggest so.
Unless Boris Johnson was on another planet he cannot have missed Starkeygate. He may yet claim that in mitigation, but until he does so the London mayor must be roundly condemned for tweeting: “I love David Starkey. Wish he was my uncle.”
The tweet has now been deleted but it reads like a ringing endorsement of an academic who sparked outrage last August by claiming the white working class were being “turned black” through mimicking violent gangsterism and not speaking proper English.
I wonder if Dr Starkey has ever visited a particularly rough white working class pub or housing estate, or heard of the Krays? Many youth of all backgrounds conform to a destructive urban culture promoted by the big music, media and gaming corporations yet many black youth will certainly have to fix up before stepping through their parents’ front door. And anyway, this argument has about as much to do with “black culture” as a giant Afro-wig at a suburban party.
The fact that the London Evening Standard – who can normally be relied upon to create a hoo-ha over every Ken Livingstone faux pas – could only squeeze the Boris/Starkey story into their Londoner’s Diary on page 17 speaks volumes. Hardly surprising considering they failed to print a single column inch about Boris Johnson’s articles describing Africans has having “watermelon smiles”, calling for the return of the British Empire or writing about “flag-waving picanninies.”
Another comment from Boris caught my eye this week. In an interview with The Voice newspaper the mayor declared that the Notting Hill carnival was “in my family.” He’s right. His sister, Rachel Johnson, wrote a novel about the carnival entitled ‘Notting Hell.’
The book reeks of the sort of snobbery against the Caribbean music festival which is rife amongst the wealthy residents of Notting Hill. You know the kind… they batten down the hatches on their gleaming five-storey Georgian townhouses and head for the hills at first whiff of Jerk Chicken.
Interviewed by The Voice the mayor offered verbal support for the event, claiming that he had attended in his youth. Indeed, every August Bank Holiday small, loud and ever-so ridiculous groups of Hooray Henry’s are always fixture. Yet there was no evidence offered to support his claim that the carnival ran in his family. I suspect this was merely a turn of phrase.
Notting Hill used to be noted for its’ old Rachmann slums – which housed many of the Windrush pioneers. They’ve since got a make-over and been turned into des-res’s for the rich and fashionable. And while the black community remained stranded in the housing estates of Westbourne Grove, including the grim Trellick Tower, the large properties were turned over to Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts types.
Sadly, for every cool open-top MG-driving, pot-toking, liberally-inclined advertising executive the neighbourhood boasts at least two beige corduroy-wearing, shirt-and-tie-at-weekends, dyed-in-the-wool Tory-voting financial managers. And so it has come to pass that a carnival which once included vast lands within its’ empire – stretching from Wormwood Scrubs in the west to the borders of Kensington Gardens in the south – came under sustained assault from the Tory-controlled Kensington and Chelsea council.
Despite pulling in a million visitors each year and rising, the carnival has been squeezed into a pint-pot of a route, which has the happy side-effect of protecting the property values of Notting Hill’s most salubrious streets. That is why every year putting on the carnival is playing Russian Roulette that there won’t be a devastating fatal crush of bodies. Not that the Hugh Grant’s of this world will be there to witness it; they don’t come back until at least the Tuesday.
The carnival is, as ever, in the midst of a crisis following the resignations of its’ two leading organisers, Ancil Barclay and Chris Boothman last September. With less than six months to go before Europe’s biggest street celebration the organising committee is still rudderless and in danger of collapsing.
You would have thought this is exactly the kind of idle drift towards disaster would instantly chime with our mayor. But no. Boris appeared to rule out financial support for the carnival saying: “I don’t believe in taking taxpayers [money] and squirting it at problems.” It seems Boris might feel the carnival beat, but his foot-tapping is not quite strong enough to shake a bit of loose change from his pockets to keep the event going.
I could understand if Boris came clean and fessed up that he’d already maxed out his fun budget on the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee in order to round-up a satisfying number of “flag-waving picanninies” to please our Monarch. This may well be the case but we can’t really expect the mayor to admit that now, can we? Not with the shadow of his campaign manager Lynton Crosby lingering on the wall behind him at any rate.
Over the last four years the mayor has axed the RISE anti-racist festival which was set up to honour Stephen Lawrence, cut funding for Black History Month, done nothing to tackle rising youth violence (aside from a pre-election police sweep) and made a right dogs dinner of a mentoring scheme for black youth. Boris says he wants another four years because he has built half a bridge and wants to finish the job. If he’s returned to office in June, by 2016 Londoners will be queuing up to leap off it.
Boris was accompanied to The Voice interview by Ray Lewis, described by the paper as the mayors’ “unofficial chaperone.” With a record in office like his I can fully understand why the mayor would want to bring a minder to an interview with a black newspaper. Too bad Lewis wasn’t around when Boris started tweeting about his love for Dr Starkey…
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cllrlesterholloway.wordpress.com 
Talented, insightful, well researched reporting that adds balance to the missing bits the media quite often fails to give us. All this wrapped up with the most fabulous humour to ease what quite often can be the sharp end of the racialised relations and experiences of black communities.