Happy New Year!

And so it starts; another round of introspection, planning, goal setting and life juggling as we look ahead to 12 months of fresh challenges.

But, to my mind, January is a bit of a self-imposed boundary that strives to cancel out everything that went before it – the whole idea of a ‘New’ year suggesting that we have somehow tossed out everything that went on with the old one.

If life was just about ‘do-overs’ and we didn’t need to learn any lessons from the past, that would be one thing. But as we all know, we can’t turn our backs and ignore history if we are to have any hope of improving the future.

For me, the somewhat artificial start line of January 1st hasn’t cancelled out the impact of the events that took place in the United States in the last few weeks of this past year, when it seemed as if the roll call of my brothers of African origin dying at the hands of law enforcement would never end. Because the losses of young – and not so young - men like Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Sean Bell, Amadou Diallo, Rumain Brisbon and Ousmane Zongo force me to think about the idea of ‘racial otherness’ and when being different can cost you your life.

Racing to Where?

As someone of African origin who lives in London, I often find the idea of being a ‘racial minority’ – a term that always suggests to me in some way being racially handicapped and ‘less than’ - somewhat absurd. If I were to take a six hour flight, I would find myself surrounded by a majority of people who look exactly like me. (Actually, I’d probably find the same situation in certain parts of London).

So why should a six hour window of time affect the definition of who I am and how I should be treated? Does anything change between the time taken to go from London to Accra that makes me any less or any more worthy as a human being? Should the place my physical presence sits in, and what the majority of people there look like, be what defines my worth as a person with dignity and rights?

America’s history and the legacy of slavery no doubt impacts on the issue of race in that country in a different way to my own experience. Not knowing which plane will take you to your home of origin where you will be surrounded by those related to you means that you have to fight for your place and rights in your country in a way that’s not incumbent upon me and my personal circumstances.

Maybe the labelling we use also adds to the problem. ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal’ says the United States’ Declaration of Independence. Yet, maybe when you use the word ‘race’ often enough, it becomes ingrained in the subconscious that those of another race are different – that they are not men or people created equally, but another species entirely.

But fundamentally it seems to me to come down to worth, and how that is defined. One can argue that each loss of life was different; that Trayvon’s circumstances were not the same as Michael Brown’s, and that Michael’s case was not the same as Eric Garner’s, and so on. But the real heartbreak behind all of these lost lives is that we know, if we are really paying attention, that the rule of law is not always delivering a system of justice.

We know that when all is said and done, because they were different and defined as ‘the other’, their lives, and the lives of countless others such as Patrick Dorismond, age 26; Timothy Stansbury Jr, age 19; Sean Bell, age 23; Orlando Barlow, age 28; Aaron Campbell, age 25; Victor Steen, age 17; Steven Eugene Washington, age 27; Alonzo Ashley, age 29; Wendell Allen, age 20; Ronald Madison, age 17; James Brissette, age 40; Travares McGrill, age 16; Ramarley Graham, age 18,were not seen as lives of value.

We only value something when we know what it is worth. An old teaspoon or a shabby painting can be transformed in worth when we find out that the teaspoon was used by Queen Victoria or that the painting is a Rembrandt. In the same way, it is only when we know the story of the ‘other’ that we see them as we see ourselves, and value them as we do ourselves.

Telling Our Stories

I strongly believe in the need for us to tell our stories and to let our voices be heard. When I wrote ‘Everyday Heroes’ it was partly because I wanted to showcase role models to young Black people, but also because I wanted to introduce people to the idea that Africans and other Black people are no different, and that we all, as human beings, have the same struggles and aspirations, no matter our skin colour.

We have to tell and share our stories because we shouldn’t be the only ones to know that we are valuable. It’s not enough that I have pride in who I am. Everyone needs to know that and the laws of where I live – wherever that is – should support and recognise that.

Because the truth is that we cannot be a fully evolved society of people until our laws – the bedrock of our society and the rules that should keep us all safe – are written and interpreted with compassion, humanity and, above all, justice.

Rapidly changing ethnic demographics and politically manipulated race baiting notwithstanding, if our society is to be a fair one, whether we live in London, New York, Lagos, Johannesburg or Cairo, our laws have to be just and to serve all the community, not just some. Because in our diversity lies our strength, and in our strength lies our salvation as a society.

So, as we start a new year, let’s not forget the lessons of the old year, sitting just behind the shiny new barricade of January 1st. The story of the people of Africa has long been one of struggle. Slavery, colonialism, war, political dictatorship; you name it, we’ve seen it. But it’s also been one of triumph and survival, and today’s times and the challenges they bring for Africa’s people and its diaspora will be seen off, just as others have.

So I start the year mindful of the losses, but filled with the optimism that a new year should also bring. Is it easy to remain optimistic in the face of injustice? No, but it’s necessary. It’s important that we continue to rise to the challenge of moving from hopelessness to hope, despair to laughter, suffering to striving, and our collective history is proof of that. As a well-known African-American once sang, we were moving mountains long before we knew we could.

Author of ‘I Want to Work in… Africa: How to Move Your Career to the World’s Most Exciting Continent’ (www.IWanttoWorkinAfrica.com) and ‘Everyday Heroes – Learning from the Careers of Successful Black Professionals’ (www.everyday-heroes.co.uk)