interview with patrick jarretby Terry DonaldsonFirst British Serial Rights |
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It is a rainy morning and I am off to meet Patrick Jarret, whose mother
was killed in a police raid on the then notorious Broadwater farm estate,
Tottenham, north London back in the eighties. It was this death - which
has never been satisfactorily explained - that triggered a new phase of
open defiance from black people against the police, and official intransigence
which runs with that. ‘The killing of a black woman in Brixton’ he tells me, as we sit down in Starbucks in Exmouth market, close to his home, ‘Had only happened the week before. Also a photographer from The Daily telegraph had been killed in the massive riots that that death had triggered, so things were really simmering’ he tells me. I sit there fascinated, as I wasn’t in the country at that time, and only heard about this years later. 
‘All up and down the country black people were simmering, and riots
were breaking out. But the press tried to put a muzzle on it all.’
‘I had a phone call - that she had been pushed down by the police, and was dying. She was only 42, but a big woman. This was DC Randle. ‘On September 28th 1985 armed police accidentally shot a black woman during a raid on a house, and the black people throughout Britain erupted in fury. A week later Patrick’s brother was stopped at searched over a false tax disc, and because of this the police decided to raid his house.’ |
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| ‘The following day a small demo outside Tottenham police
station took place, which was peaceful. But later things kicked off. Two
police officers were attacked and seriously injured by the crowd, and three
journalists were treated for gunshot wounds. ‘Later that evening a police van answering a 999 call was surrounded and attacked, being blocked in by barricades being erected around it. Two police officers were seperated from their van and one, Keith Blakelock, was killed, the other seriously injured. The locals were using machetes, knives and sticks. Bernie Grant, then local Member of Parliament went down as saying ‘That the police have had a bloody good hiding’, an allegation he subsequently denied. ‘Three local men, Mark Brathwaite, Engin Raghip, and Winston Silcott were convicted of murdering Blakelock, but three years later their convictions were overturned as it transpired that the plice had tampered with interview notes. ‘Winston Silcott is a good mate. I grew up with him. I’ve got his number. Again the police tried fitting him up. His last case had two trials. ‘Black people so seriously distrust the police, as they do all white authorities. It’s all too far gone, in this country. Even if a black person goes to report an accident the chances are they get arrested for something. White people don’t know how it is, what we have to go through. They think we’ve all got a big chip on our shoulder, but we have serious problems and no-one listens until there is an explosion of some kind.’ Patrick leans forward in his chair, smiling, the glint of gold flashing from his front teeth like a lighthouse in the darkness. ‘I went to report being attacked by someone the other day - at a newspaper stand - but the police showed me some photos and then shrugged their shoulders. They just aren’t interested. So we black people have to sort things out ourselves. And we do.’ All this is news to me - like most white people I hadn’t realised things have gone this far. |
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‘Things are going to get worse’ he predicts. ‘The refusal
of the white society to listen to the problems of black people is why black
youths are carrying knives and starting to arm themselves, and this society
is still not really serious about wanting to bring about a real unity -
only suppression.’ ‘Were you ever offered any counselling after all your trauma?’ I ask. ‘No’ he says, sighing, the tears welling up in his eyes as he recalls his mother dead there in front of him, up at Hornsey Coroners’ Court. ‘No support groups, nothing so’ he tells me. I ask if society has ever offered any compensation. ‘No, not even that. Not that that would bring back my poor mother, but at least it would help me bring up my three sons, and be a nice token of apology to her descendants. It would take away some of the bitterness her grandchildren are bound to grow up with.’ Patrick is no stranger to the pain of loved one’s dying unexpectedly, though. ‘My girlfriend Marcia Alexander - her father was killed in Brixton Prison in ’93, and her brother was found hanged in Euston Fire Station in ’92. My own friend’s son was murdered in Tottenham in 2001, but in none of these cases have the authorities investigated and found out who killed them.’ I ask about Marcia, and the tears come back into his eyes even more than before. ‘We got married, and a week later she died of cancer. It was a terrible blow, even more so for being unexpected.’ ‘So what are you doing now with your life?’ I ask.  ‘I
am doing a lot of work with my music - I have even produced a number of
tracks, including one called Weather Report - a remix of PROGIDY. Also,
I have managed to get some work as an actor and an extra.’ I ask if I might have seen him in anything. ‘The Volkswagen ad - also one for Barclays Bank, and one for Chrysler.’ Clearly this remarkable man is on his way to success, and, hopefully, more happiness than his past has shown him. Terry Donaldson 2007 |
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