*
I AM A COMMUNITY leader, or at least I was. I’m from the Pakistani community, but I didn’t grow up in Sudburgh itself. I would prefer that my name not be given, particularly because of the events of recent months. I see no real reason for my name to be revealed. Thank you for respecting this.
I am partly concerned regarding my identity because I have been involved at various times in political activity. I am not an extremist and I never have been, but I have worked alongside many from my community who were probably radicalised, even though they never spoke openly in those terms. So while I am not a radical, I can find myself having some degree of sympathy with radical ideas and positions. I think what you can say to begin with is that people on both sides are angry. But my community feels more vulnerable. They feel a minority, and often a hated one. They do not understand what they have done wrong. They have worked hard and did not set out to cause trouble. Many feel it is simply the colour of their skin and the difference of their religion that causes the hatred. But are these things really enough for hatred?
And many feel too that what White Rose and other groups want is to make things worse, not better. I have been a community leader, but my work was not only with my own young people. Much of what I did was to bring both sides together, to get them to begin to listen and share. And even though it was often step by small step, it worked. I saw it working and so did other people, even the politicians. But these are the kind of steps that can be destroyed overnight, and I think that made me give up in the end. The sad truth is that what groups like White Rose wanted was war. They did not want good community relations to happen. They wanted to break down the bridges that had been built and prove that this multi-cultural society was impossible. And they managed to create more anger on the other side—a great deal more anger—and that was exactly what they hoped would be the result. I believe things could have been done quite differently.
When you watch a youth club that has been built, actually put together bit by bit, burning out of control and to the ground, it makes you very bitter. I have witnessed this twice, and the second time probably made me decide that enough was enough. Of course I do not agree with radicalisation, but I certainly see where the seeds of it lie! And if anything, the politicians have sought to do more for the white communities they think are angry. I ask what about the Asian communities that are hurt and angry, what are you going to do to restore a sense of democracy for them? Because if they do not feel they have genuine democracy then they will reach for radical solutions. Surely the first is better than the second.
I have been told several times by young white men that I should go home. I was born and brought up in this part of England, but of course I know that they mean Pakistan. I have no home there, but sometimes I wish that I could leave and begin a better life there. I believe it would be harder, but I cannot believe it would be any less happy. It could not be. I do not believe that multi-culturalism has failed: I believe it has been made to fail. And I believe that is far more sad.
*
I’M THE DAUGHTER of Eric and Trish Semple and I have also asked that my own name not be revealed. Yes, I know that has been accepted, but I would like to explain my reasons. No, that is my right and I would like to begin by explaining my reasons! I have felt myself to be in danger over the past months and I do actually have police protection and very much feel the need for it. I am not living in the Sudburgh area for obvious reasons and have been back there on only a couple of occasions as my evidence will reveal. I have found that difficult because I grew up in a very close and loving home, and particularly because of what has happened to my family over these months. I’m sorry, I’ll be fine. Yes, I will continue. I want to continue. I just find having to talk about all this in detail very hard indeed.
I was with my family on the evening after the bombing of the White Rose place in town. I was actually trying to work for an exam and managing to get peace was almost impossible because the phone was ringing the whole time. What was my father like? I would say he was under a hell of a lot of pressure. I remember him quite changed after he was elected MP. I don’t actually think he ever expected it would happen. I’m not even sure now if he wanted it to happen. I don’t know for sure if that’s true and I would say I think it’s impossible to know. I didn’t talk to him much about politics; I think me and my brother just got sick of the whole thing and simply wanted our dad back. It just felt like he was an ordinary guy. I think a lot of my friends had very little relationship with their parents and that was a surprise to me; I couldn’t understand it. We had grown up very close and I felt both my parents were friends. That’s what makes it so hard for me. Yes, I apologise. No, I don’t need a break—it’s fine.
But I feel I did lose touch with him a lot over that year. I think it felt as if he was a lot angrier, if that makes any sense? I don’t mean angrier with us, angrier with the world. He read a hell of a lot and was away at least one day most weeks. I think it’s the first time I really remember he and my mum falling out big time; they had always got on—they just seemed great friends, and that changed. As I say, he seemed angrier and possibly more nervous. Anxious might be a better word. I think some of that may just have been the strain of long days doing political stuff. But I think he also knew he was taking a real risk standing for so much of what White Rose wanted.
I really don’t believe he saw himself as one of them. Of course, I can’t be sure of that, but it’s what I believe all the same. I’ve fallen out with my brother about this because he doesn’t agree, but it’s my opinion. I don’t believe my dad ever wanted what did happen in the end to happen at all. And I go back to what I said earlier on: I’m not even convinced he wanted to win the by-election. I think he wanted to give them a fright and get a good result; I believe he wanted to make them think. But that was it. He did speak about it being all over soon: I can remember him saying that to my mum. It was as if he wanted things to be back to normal himself. This was going to be his political bit and then he’d go back to being Eric Semple. Yes, I will take a break if you don’t mind. I’m sorry; I apologise. I’ll be fine, but I’ll take a break.
*
TWO LARGE FIRES are raging out of control tonight on the edge of Sudburgh. It’s not known how they started, but police believe that tensions are simply running high after the attack on the White Rose buildings in the centre of the city. The fires, which are believed to be visible from a distance of several miles, may have been started by groups of youths who are supporters of White Rose. One of the men severely burned in the attack on the Sudburgh office, Terry Radcliffe, died some hours ago as a result of his injuries.
A spokesman for White Rose has said that a march in his memory is to be organised for this coming Saturday, though police have not yet confirmed that permission has been given for the march to pass through a predominantly Asian area of Sudburgh. The police have again appealed for calm tonight following widespread incidents of looting and violence experienced for several nights now. In a joint statement, members of the Church of England and representatives from the Muslim Council of Britain have said that neither religion tolerates violence or the perpetration of acts of hate or revenge. They have appealed to White Rose to abandon any plans for a march through the city, saying that this would simply risk exacerbating an already severely troubled state in Sudburgh and in the region as a whole. They say that instead a joint service of prayers for reconciliation will be held on Sunday, though it has not been decided where this will take place. Let’s speak to our reporter, Dennis Bradley, who’s in Sudburgh city centre this evening…
*
AS I SAID before, I was working for an exam that night and I wasn’t in a great mood. That’s one of my regrets now; that’s something that will always live with me, the fact that I snapped at my dad. I reckon he must have put the phone off about nine o’clock; I think my mum couldn’t take any more of it and this was the first real bit of quiet all evening. I had just started to concentrate and get down to
things when he came in and asked me if I wanted a cup of tea. I know it was kindly meant but I just burst into flames and told him to leave me alone. It was the stress of everything, I suppose, but I knew I needed to pass this exam and that it counted for a great deal. Then afterwards you weigh things up and ask yourself what really matters, and had I known anything of what was going to happen I would never have reacted that way. I know, I’m sorry, I realise I’m leaving the actual story, but this is important all the same! I’m not just some machine that can spew out the facts and leave feelings to one side.
I remember my Dad going; he just closed the door very quietly behind him and didn’t say any more. I do actually remember looking up at the clock not many minutes later because I wanted to have a sense of how much longer I could work for. I had a digital clock on a shelf and I remember it was 21.13. I have no idea exactly how long would have passed then; it might have been twenty minutes, half an hour. I went out to the loo at that point—so you could say it was somewhere between half past nine and quarter to ten—and that’s when it happened. I really remember the silence there was at that point, I suppose because of the noise there had been beforehand. It was as though I’d shut the whole world up. There was just nothing.
The front door burst open and these two masked figures came into the hall. They were screaming all the time and I think they were armed. It’s so hard to know these things afterwards; you’re in such a state of shock and everything happens so fast. No idea if I was screaming or not; I do know that I just sank down there at the top of the stairs. I had this sense of wanting to make myself as small as possible, of wanting to go into a kind of ball. They were banging open doors and screaming; I think I could hear my mum shrieking in the living room. And then they simply dragged my dad out. I saw that happening down below me; I think I had my face half in my hands like a child, but I saw it all clearly. That’s the strange thing: he didn’t seem to put up any kind of resistance at all. I don’t know, it was as if he knew it was going to happen, or was prepared for it at any rate. They were dragging him and dragging him, but it was actually all totally unnecessary. I think he would have walked out the front door with them if they’d asked him to.
And just as they got there it was as if he knew I was there, as though he sensed me at the top of the stairs. He turned his face round and looked up and our eyes met for just a flash. I can remember exactly how his face looked, his expression, but I’ll never know exactly what it meant, how to interpret it. I thought for a long time there was fear there, but I don’t know. I’ve wondered if it was also a kind of sadness, a sort of asking for forgiveness. I’m sure fear was part of it, but I don’t believe it was everything either. Then it was over and he was dragged out the door. It was as though everything happened in a matter of seconds after that. The moment when he looked at me felt as though it lasted for ever; it was all a kind of slow motion. Then the door was just slammed shut and I heard the car outside humming away. It wasn’t like in some kind of clichéd film with the squealing of tyres and all that; it was just this humming and then dead silence. Total and absolute silence. And just the soft, soft sound of my mum crying.
*
IT WAS ALMOST the quiet before the storm that night, I suppose. I came back to Sudburgh about three in the morning; I’d been visiting friends in the Lake District and we’d actually been out walking—long days in the fells. Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself—my name is Kevin Langley and I work as a GP in a practice on the edge of Sudburgh. I’ve been asked to give evidence because of the community I serve, and I suppose to shed light on things from that perspective. Is that sufficient?
As I say, I was coming back to Sudburgh in the middle of the night, and I wasn’t actually aware of what had happened in the city earlier that day. I think these friends had almost dragged me away to give me a break. Not so much from the politics, more from the drugs and the sheer sadness of the place! I shouldn’t say the place actually, because that’s giving a dog a bad name. There’s Sudburgh and there’s Sudburgh. Every area is the same. It so happens that my district—or at least the district where the practice is—has to be one of the worst, or you might say one of the parts that faces the most severe problems. Sorry, but I think that’s worth clarifying.
But as I said, I was totally unaware of the bomb attack on the White Rose place earlier that day. We had had the television off for four days and there was no way I was going to listen to the radio on the way back. I had on classical music; I can’t remember for the life of me what it was. I was heading to my surgery first to pick up a copy of the next day’s schedule and the place was just absolutely dead. There wasn’t anyone about and I can’t remember seeing any cars. Normally there’s a joyrider or two, especially in the part where my practice is—but there was just nothing. It was quite eerie, especially because you could see the remains of bonfires everywhere. I saw one burned-out car and I can remember slowing down to look at it. I can remember it was half up on the pavement, as though the driver had driven up there, got out, and then the car had been torched.
I felt it was like being in a film. There was just a ghostliness about the place, as though something was about to happen. You kept waiting but nothing did happen. I was very awake; I felt absolutely wide awake, even though I’d been walking that morning and had then driven back, even though it was now well after three.
I saw just one face that whole time, at an upper window. It was the face of a girl, watching me. I’ve no idea how old she would have been. She was Asian and very beautiful; I was driving really slowly and able to look up for longer than the split second you’d usually have. It sounds stupid, but it was that that made me realise the place was alive after all, that it wasn’t dead. It just all felt so abandoned. There were White Rose symbols painted here and there; they shone out in the darkness, and that was eerie too. It felt like that was the intention. Everything else was just grey, the whole place. And they were almost like eyes, watching.
I got home shortly after seeing that girl’s face and I learned immediately what had happened earlier in the day. Not just that, I got a sense of what all the past days had been like. And perhaps I got a sense too of what was likely to lie ahead.
*
I DO REMEMBER the moment I heard about Eric Semple; I think many people will do. I was working up in my attic that morning and had the radio on. It was a very warm day and the heat of the attic was quite oppressive. We’d had a burst pipe and I was basically cleaning up a section of flooring that had got soaked. I wasn’t actually listening to the radio at all; it was just on in that kind of background way—a mixture of talk and song, a way of filling the quiet. Yeah, I think I’d call it Pollyfilla for the silence! And then I suddenly realised what was being said; it was as if the dials suddenly turned the voice sharp and I just sat there, on my hands and knees, not quite able to believe what I was hearing. That Eric Semple had been abducted by masked men late the previous night, that he had been driven off in a car without registration plates—a car that was later abandoned. And that police were appealing for any information that might help them with their inquiries. It took time just to absorb the words, to understand what they meant.
And then the radio seemed to return to being a blur. I just sat there, with the echo of what had been said repeating and repeating in my head. There was no doubt that tensions were high, but I don’t think anyone could have foreseen that. And it’s a mark of our democracy that there was no guard on his house. There were all sorts of outcries afterwards, that that was what he should have had to begin with. But the fact is that nobody expected it; no one even saw it as a possibility. And that says a great deal about the democratic process in this country. The fact was that he had been elected fair and square. And in this country we don’t deal with the things we dislike by assassinating people or abducting them.
I went out later on and everyone seemed to be talking about it, although that’s perhaps because it was the only thing that was in my head. I don’t think it was about anger
or grief; I think it was simply shock. That this could happen in Sudburgh. As much as anything it was just numbness, a sort of disbelief. And I don’t remember seeing a single White Rose badge either. It was just about ordinary people being shocked and going about their lives as though on tiptoe. The silent majority. I think there was sorrow for his family; I got the sense of that more than anything. A sort of helplessness, a feeling of not quite knowing what to do. I think most people kept on hoping it would all be over in the city. It had been one thing after another and with every lull people hoped it might come to an end. And I think I’m in a position to know. I work as a taxi driver in the city centre and many people end up talking about all of that. Usually it’s the drivers who get the blame for initiating it, but I’ve long since been too careful to talk politics in my neck of the woods! I’d rather talk about the weather. No, the boot’s on the other foot for sure. People want to get something off their chest; they’re in the back and they can’t see your face and so they talk more openly than they might anywhere else. I say sometimes I should be a Roman Catholic priest. They’re coming for a kind of confession. Not because of what they’ve done wrong so much as what the world has done wrong. It’s a way of working out the world. And me? The safest thing to do’s agree with everyone. It may sound like cowardice, but late on a Saturday night and heading out to a Sudburgh estate, it feels very much like wisdom to me.
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