2020. The year London stopped. The year that the Black Lives Matter movement in Britain became a mass movement. The year we mourned Belly Mujinga; …
So you say you want a revolution. 
The revolution will be live.
This room is a prison and a safe haven.
This room is too small for me to breathe and collect my thoughts.
A place where I am comfortably uncomfortable.
The city is loud.
Loud enough to drown our voices.
Stone is formidable but not infallible.
This breath is a vapour, but it is valuable.
I see change.
Will it stay?
I hear revolt.
Will it be violent?
When the statue came down anarchy 
rose up and it wrecked the status quo.  
The statue had been looking 
down, laughing at us for years. 
Not having the slightest clue of the pain and the misery it brought to people.
Feeling like you're in a trapped box not being able to breathe gasping for air
You're looking at the right and you're seeing a brother crying.
You're looking to the left and you're seeing a sister dying. Oh, lord!
Colston, you had to pay.
When the statue came down it was only the beginning of this generation's revolution,
where we will stand together, where we will put our foot down and we will stand up for what is right.
No, it won't help us heal but it's a start.
No, it won't take away the awful memories of what our family went through and what we're still going through.
But it's a start.
The boy looks out the window.
Boy notices how cluttered the skyline is.
The giants, now immortalized behind the glass,
not all of whom have all three of their dimensions living in the light.
Boy tries to speak.
No sound.
So boy wields democracy into his own hands.
Boy commands an army at his fingers.
My eyes are more open to the oppression than ever before.
They make me question how 
truthful my education was.
I hear the stories that have been muffled and silenced by the people who have power.
I want to learn more.
I will learn more. I need to learn more.
Stripped back colour,
now this jungle is grey.
but today we will break down these pillars
and the structures that say what we can and can't do
what is right and what is wrong
No.
We will have the final say.
Our words carry heavily
and stumble the stony sculptures that 
were made to be our idols of society.  
No.
We will have the final say.
Yes, we will have the final say.
Posturing and waving.
Shouting at the machine that built those structures results only in echoes
which begin to crack and fray as they 
shout.
Eventually, all it takes is for a group of people.
People. The foundations crumble and 
the tower collapses.
One building is gone, but the machine remains intact.
When the statue came down the sky was seen again.
Too heavy to bear the weight of the past.
we floated up to the surface.
When the statue came down our voices rose up [background crowds chants: Enough is enough. Enough is enough].
Hear us.
Fire is anger. It corrupts me and 
somehow freezes me.
Fire is destructive,
but it is also beautiful.
Bronze represents my failure.
My ears are clearer to hear.
My eyes are tired from all the tears.
This breath is my first not my last.
my only and my many.
Now my eyes are open,
as will yours be.
You may not understand exactly what I'm saying, but try.
I see change.
Will it stay?
Reimagining our stories.
Was it ever true?
Declutter the skyline.
My hands are buried in the soil,
in the hope that one day I become rooted in all that's been regrettably lost.
Okay, but when the statue came down anarchy rose up and it wrecked the status quo.
It felt like the world had risen again.
It divided, it conquered.
It gave hope and dismay,
it evoked and it provoked.
It felt like people stopped and realised that the statue caused nothing but pain.
It's a painful reminder of the suffering people had to go through.
For others, I mean for me,
I was finally heard.
When the statue came down it felt like finally people listened
and they finally understand how wrong it was.
My people were finally heard.
And for the first time, I finally wasn't defined by the damning white man
who colonised my people.
I was Black and British
For the first time I could walk around
and feel like I'm not getting judged because of my colour.
People are understanding the bad connotations that have been put on black people.
Finally!
Okay…
What happens now?
Yeah… what happens now?
I mean, it wasn't a cure for identity
Funny word, isn't it?
Identity.
Yeah!
What is that?
2020…
it robbed me of my identity but,
in a weird way it also gave it to me.
I don't know.
Am I Black or am I divided
by my nationality?
Do I matter more now or less because 
of the shade of the colour of my skin?  
Like, what happens now?
Yeah, what happens now?
I mean, the world is awake.
The world is awake.
Okay so… what's next?
What's next?
Hunger bores me.
Hunger is my boredom.
Burning, I open the window.
Statues stare at me,
curious to see what happens next.
Watermelon, too big for one, too small for two.
Savages dig out fruit, but why?
To sell?
A book, flicks, the next chapter.
Time freezes.
A drinking glass and pens creates
a triangle.
Danger outside.
Something white.
Could it be ice cream?
Yes, something refreshing.
No, no.
Why me?
[Coughs]. Buzzz. The last fly sits on the ice cream.
Mine.
Drones too big.
The wind blows.
A bag turning someone into a beast.
Beep. The phone rings.
Masks. Who needs masks? Another end [coughs].
Beep, beep. Hello? Cough.
Can't make it, sorry.
Train goes by.
People rush on.
Busy announcement.
20 minutes delay.
Why? Not again, I'm late!
Looking away our phones
We laugh. Time zooms and calls must come to an end. Soon too.
We won't hide behind the lies. Tell the truth.
We won't be voiceless. Tell the truth.
We won't hide in the shadows. Tell the truth.
We're here to rewrite our history. Out the lies.
the truth needs to be told out the lies.

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