BENJAMIN ZEPHANIAH NO B E
Call me naive but I thought I should follow up Tony Blair’s invitation to share some ideas with him, so I wrote to him. I wanted to talk to him about the death of my cousin Mikey Powell. I wanted to share the idea of peace-talking as opposed to war-mongering. I wanted to share the idea of a police service as opposed to a police force. I wanted to remind him of what the Labour Party used to stand for, and give him the word on the street. I wrote to him a few times, but I got no reply. I had a lot to say to him. I knew stuff. I was involved in many demonstrations, so I could tell him how a lot of people were feeling.
Every year there’s a march for the families of people who have died in custody, and I regularly attend. There were also many protests about animal rights issues at this time, which I was also involved in. Our country was involved in two illegal wars, one of which brought over a million people onto the streets, and most of them would have heard of me. So I thought I could really help Tony out.
At one of these marches I was at the head of a delegation concerned with deaths in custody and it was my job to hand over a petition. A man who thought he was important stopped me outside Number 10 Downing Street, telling me I couldn’t go any further. So I said, ‘Look, Tony said I could pop in and see him, share some ideas and stuff, so tell him I’m here.’ He went away but Tony didn’t come. So when, out of the blue, I got a letter from Mr Blair, I was perplexed. This time it was he who’d had an idea. He wanted to offer me up to the Queen of England; he wanted me to bow before her and receive an OBE. What was Tony thinking? I thought. Did he really know who I was?
That week George W. Bush was in town, and I already had a small article printed in the Guardian called ‘Dear George’. I was among a group of people who’d written letters about the things we’d like to say to George Bush. I knew I couldn’t accept the OBE – it was against everything I stood for – but I didn’t want to go public on that for a week or two. So I wrote an article explaining why I had decided to reject it, and I sat on it for a couple of weeks.
The only person to see the article in those weeks was the poet Michael Rosen. I was never confident when it came to writing newspaper articles, and Michael was someone I could trust to keep it quiet and to give me honest feedback. After reading it he pointed out some misspelt words and said, ‘Benjamin, you really have something here.’
Tony Blair’s office rang my agent to ask what was going on, but she really didn’t know. She had to call me to ask if it was true that I was being offered an OBE, and I said, ‘Yes, but I don’t want it.’ So we left it and did nothing. Then I heard that Tony Blair himself had started ringing around for me, but I told everybody not to say anything. I wanted my rejection to be completely public. I had nothing to hide and I wasn’t going to respect his request for secrecy. Too much secrecy had been the problem with his administration; I wasn’t going to play that game. I wanted everyone to know my decision and why I’d made it.
When George Bush had gone home, and I felt the time was right, I handed the article over to the Guardian. They published it, for all the world to see, in November 2003. Tony read it when everyone else did, I guess. I wouldn’t know, as we haven’t spoken since.
I was absolutely sick of hearing people say how much the OBE and other government honours didn’t mean anything to them, and that they would never bow down before the Queen, but then, as soon as they were offered one, they found all kinds of excuses for their sudden change of mind. Most claim they did it for the kids, or for their parents or, the saddest one of all, for the community.
I say to anyone who accepts an award from the Queen and says it is ‘for their community’ – don’t keep the award, give it to the community. I knew what I did for my community, and I didn’t need a medal from the Queen to remind me. I hated the word ‘empire’, I hated the idea of empire, whether it was the Romans or the British or Christians or Muslims. In my little mind, anybody ruling over anybody else was wrong. And for those who would say that the Order of the British Empire doesn’t really have anything to do with the empire – and that it’s simply a word that’s been left attached to the award – I say, if it’s just a word and not that important, then they can remove the word. But I still wouldn’t take it.
The right-wing press used Trevor Phillips, who was then the head of the Commission for Racial Equality, to attack me. The commission, which was set up to support black people, was becoming an embarrassment to many in the community and Trevor was beginning to be seen as a stooge, which was rather sad because he was once seen as a progressive community activist. His attack on me might have been an attempt to help his friends in the media, or to get involved in the debate, but it backfired badly on him. The tabloids love it when one black person attacks another, but I was a bit bemused by his criticism because he had my number and could have called me if he had something to say to me.
The black community, and the wider community, really rallied behind me over the refusal. A week after my letter to the Guardian I counted over 3,000 letters, and then there was a short delay until the second wave arrived. These were from people based abroad, and in came another 3,500 letters. So I’d written one article and received over 6,500 letters, with only three being negative. Compare that to the government who invited letters from the public when it held an inquiry into the honours system, and they received 100 letters. I even had letters from people who said they’d accepted honours because they didn’t know how to refuse them.
Channel 4 asked me to go into their studio to talk about my rejection of the OBE on the day I should have been picking it up. I said I would do the interview but the TV crew would have to come to where I was, and I was spending the day with a group of children and supporters in a bookshop in the East End.
The interview was with Jon Snow. Coincidentally, Jon had also refused an OBE, but not a lot of people knew that. In the studio with him was my good friend, the journalist Yasmin Alibhai-Brown. Yasmin, to my surprise, had received an MBE some years before, and she was now challenging me about my position, saying that she accepted her award because it was an honour from her adopted country, and that she thought it was recognition and young Asian women would look towards her for inspiration.
But I told her young Asian women were already inspired by her – many had told me so – so she didn’t need some sort of royal or government approval. The programme was live, and it was a lively debate. Then, at one point, as I was mid-sentence, she interrupted and said: ‘Benjamin, Benjamin, stop, stop. You’ve convinced me. You’re right. I’m giving my MBE back.’
A few journalists and others said afterwards that they’d never seen anything like it. When live on air people tended to hold their ground and, even if they change their mind, they don’t admit they’re wrong until after the programme. I really respect Yasmin for having the guts to be so honest live on air.
The next day she wrote an amazing article about how she felt. It posed the question, ‘What do you do when you want to give your OBE back? Do you knock on the door of Buckingham Palace and say, “Hello, here’s your OBE, Your Majesty. I no longer want it”?’ It was a great, humorous article. She did get some criticism for giving it back, mostly from people who said she shouldn’t have taken it in the first place, rather than waiting for inspiration from me. Some suggested there was a whiff of hypocrisy in taking it and then returning it, but I thought she showed real courage.
I was also spoken about many times as a possible Poet Laureate – both before and after the OBE episode – but I’ve always made it clear I wouldn’t accept it. I had some sympathisers who thought that being Poet Laureate would be a good thing because I’d represent them really well, but I still say no. It’s a job where officially the Queen, or whoever sits on the throne, is your boss. You have to write poems for the Royal Family and their royal events, and yet you’re not expected to criticise them. It is this being unable to criticise them element that I can’t stand. The poet should always be critical. As well as all the praising a poet can do, the poet should also criticise the country, criticise the weather; poets should even criticise themselves.
As I’ve previously stated, I’ve worked with the British Council, which some may call part of the establishment, but in reality most people don’t know the ins and outs of the organisation. The so-called ‘Head of State’ is the patron of that organisation, so when I turned down the OBE I made it clear I had nothing against the Queen personally. I’ve met her; she came to one of my poetry readings at the Royal Albert Hall, and I remember thinking that she couldn’t help being born into that family. It must a burden for her. She was stiff and false, though, unlike Nelson Mandela, who was also present. He was open, smiling, huggable. He danced as he walked towards me, whereas the Queen marched.
Wealth is one thing, and most people want wealth (usually for all the wrong reasons), but who wants to live a life unable to walk down the street or to simply get lost without a load of minders knowing where you are? I’ve always considered this a rather sad existence, but I don’t feel sorry for the institution of monarchy. I find it difficult to respect an institution that has its roots in class division, robbing people of their lands, subjecting people to slavery and claiming a divine right to rule. Then there’s the fact of their privileges, their undemocratic positioning, their arrogance, their love of hunting, their support of evil wars, their ill-gotten fortune and their lack of accountability. Not much really! So why would I want to be their personal poet?
Hereditary privilege does not a meritocracy make, and I’ve always thought we are being hypocritical if we criticise countries that don’t allow people to vote for their head of state when we can’t vote for ours. My family is royal, and my mother is my queen. There are thousands of royal families around the world, and many live modest and humble lives with no wish to rule over anyone. So never mind the family, but damn the monarchy.
As every new laureate turns up, they say they want to change the role a little bit, but the bottom line is that it’s an antiquated role that compromises you. If you don’t mind being compromised that’s fine, but when the caged bird sings of freedom, it doesn’t mean it’s free. Every laureate claims he or she wants to bring something fresh to the job, and wants to connect to the grass roots, but they never do. I have no wish to leave the grass roots, work for the establishment, and then try to reconnect with the grass roots. It’s back to front, the wrong way round. The grass roots is where my heart is. Nuff said, so here’s a full stop.