Hatred isn’t Patriotism
You do not love a country you are destroying
I’m a patriot. I love my country. Or, at least, I thought I did.
I am sickened by the headlines and scenes which have disgraced British news over the last few days. Last week, three precious children were brutally murdered at a dance class. False reports of the perpetrator being a Middle Eastern Muslim refugee have led to violent far-right race riots in many of our cities, with hoards of white men setting buildings and cars ablaze, destroying millions of pounds worth of public and private property, and worst of all, assaulting and attacking people – citizens and police officers alike. They are largely targeting Black and Asian men.
I find myself fearful when my fiancé leaves the house. I tell him anxiously to stay safe and vigilant, to walk away from trouble, to make sure he has an exit path in all situations. I tell him these things because he is from Ghana and he has Black skin. I tell him these things because I love him impossibly and a life without him is impossible.
Why should my beautiful, kind, funny, sweet, goofy, generous fiancé have to be vigilant against attacks against him because of the colour of his skin? Why should we live in fear that he, a hard-working and dutiful member of society who would help anyone in need without hesitation, might…
