Month: February 2016

Dear Ms Hopkins,

         I came across one of your articles in my English lesson. Funny that, because in your piece you talk a lot about England. But you seem to enjoy disrespecting other people who are not fully English. I am black Caribbean and you need to understand that my ancestors have already gone through adversity in history to assert our rights to live on equal terms with everybody else. Additionally, without all of us “cockroaches”, as you call us, England – especially London – wouldn’t be the multicultural hub it is right now. Regardless if you get paid for it or not, I am quite frankly astonished that you think it’s all right to write stuff like that on your blog. When we had the Second World War, who helped build London back up and make it a better place for yourself and the next generation ?  Secondly,  we all know if it was a “coloured” person writing the same prejudiced views and you were just an ordinary citizen reading them, for example in the newspaper, you would think that it was very disrespectful and you would take action over it. Thirdly, immigrants contribute far more to the economy than they take away in benefits:  there are more people claiming unemployment benefit in Hodgehill and Ladywood (two Birmingham constituencies) than Polish people getting the dole in the whole of the United Kingdom. You need to understand that London is a multi – racial culturally diverse place and that is the key reason for its success.

         Growing up in London and going to school here, you learn not to look at any one differently- it doesn’t matter what skin colour or race you are. As we know you have a family: now how would you feel if London was for example Africa and Africa was London and you wanted to go there to get a good job so your kids could get a good education? You need to look at things from another perspective and understand the backgrounds of other people’s ethnicity, and why they would want to come to the UK.

        “NO, I don’t care. Show me pictures of coffins, show me bodies floating in water, play violins and show me skinny people looking sad. I still don’t care.” What this quote illustrates is that you have no respect for the human race other than yourself or (white) British people .“Watching them try to clamber on to British lorries and steal their way into the UK, do I feel pity? Only for the British drivers, who get hit with a fine every time one of this plague of feral humans ends up in their truck.” This is sickening to read because there are people dying and you show no emotion, and all they are trying to do is come to the UK and make a better life for themselves. When you refer to immigrants as swarms, feral and cockroaches, you are not just cold hearted, you are being racist.

         Your article reads as though you have done no research whatsoever into the very real contribution that migrants have given to Britain not just now but through the history of the British Empire. The Economist found that ‘in 1995 and 2011 the migrants made a positive contribution of more than £4 billion ($6.4 billion) to Britain, compared with an overall negative contribution of £591 billion for native Britons,’ and from 2001-11 Eastern European immigrants gave back  £5 billion.  The NHS would be on its knees without overseas doctors;  but at the same time you should know that research has found no meaningful impact on unemployment in the UK as a result of immigration.  The UK had fewer applications for asylum in 2015 than six other EU countries.  And finally there are 610,00 empty homes in the UK that we could open up to refugees from war torn countries.You need to look at the reality of immigration in the UK. It is as though you live in a bubble completely cut off from the outside world. I recommend you to go round and see the type of state these migrants live in and then compare it to your own.  

     Yours sincerely,

                            Makai Byrne

In the beginning, there is nothing: then as the game begins thousands and thousands of fans are screaming and shouting, their aggressive chants arguing from one side to the other like waves of crashing sound, growls and insults rattling across the stands to build up confidence for their team and drain away confidence for the opposite team. At every chance scored or missed the fans are forever going crazy.

As all teams do, they put on a show for the fans with their fancy footwork and amazing long range and short passes which make the crowd start chanting – a cheeky noise which normally builds in a wave which ends in laughter that makes it look like a mockery to the opposite team. They start singing players’ names to keep them playing well, but sometimes the fans put their own team down by reacting badly especially when their team misses an important opportunity. However, all crowds are different – they might take it as a good thing where their team’s being positive by being on the front foot and creating chances, or they will react badly by hurling stuff on the pitch as their team keep missing chances and the crowd doesn’t think they can dig out a goal.

To me watching the games it always feels like the game is played at a fast tempo where there’s a lot of fast physical players with unbelievable talent zooming from one end to the other with the ball. The amount of challenges that goes on is crazy; there’s some really good challenges and some really bad challenges, but once you start to look into the game it’s like it goes in slow motion and you see everything in pure detail – the foul language, every drip and drop of sweat and rain you can only see when the floodlights are on. Most people in the world will probably say, “Oh it’s football, it’s just a game” . No it’s not just a game! It’s everything to the players – it’s their career. Every time they go out onto the pitch they have got to go through the abusive language (racism) and they are also at risk that their careers can end from one single challenge – just go and witness the amount of fitness you need to last the whole 90 minutes. The game’s intensely emotional; the the ups and down of emotions you have in one hour and a half is completely abnormal, and I leave the match feeling like I was on a never ending roller coaster.

From the player’s perspective:

 As I come out of the tunnel, it feels like a long journey to success. I can hear the crowd roar; they can’t see us, but we can hear them. There’s a trickling feeling on your skin while you have butterflies in your stomach, and the prickling of sweat starting to appear on your fingertips as the rate of your heart increases. It brings me happiness as I’m coming out the tunnel because the crowd starts singing my name recording and taking pictures of me; they probably think we don’t notice, but we do. If we didn’t have to go onto the pitch so quickly I know I would make a fans day by giving them a free shirt or signing an autograph, because without the fans football will never be the way it is today.

 The game starts, the whistle blows. The ball is streaking across the slick smooth grass. And every pass that’s made, you can see the little sprays of water as the ball cuts through the grass. You make space, calling for the ball to give your team mate an option before he gets tackled – but he wastes the opportunity.The crowd gets frustrated. I get frustrated. Our manager jumps out of his seat and starts swearing in a different language . My team mate gets injured; now he has to come off, all because he didn’t pass the ball. Now I have to go into a position I didn’t want to play in. My eyes roll; then I spit on the ground. The opposite team player sees I’m annoyed so he mutters a sly comment underneath his breath thinking no one could hear, so next time he get the ball there’s a high possibility a nasty challenge will be put upon him. The crowd goes wild – they love it. The opposite team hates it; I get booked then get subbed off. I take off my top and walk into the changing room consumed with regret, flashbacks of everything that happened in the game repeating in my head, thinking why did I do this? I’m panicking a little bit, thinking about the consequences and what the manager’s going to say. I might not get picked at all for the squad – I probably won’t make the bench. Anger starts to kick in . I throw my boots at the wall. See, football’s not just a game – it’s our heart and passion. Now my face is in my hands thinking about the worst that could come out of it.

Your sincerely,

Makai Byrne