4th of May 2020 here with us again amidst the Covid pandemic lockdown. Yet that isn't stopping the acknowledgement of the Symbolic day. This day in 1978 Altab Ali was attacked, stabbed and then died of his wounds. Murdered by three young boys for their escapade, fanned by the values of a fringe organisation during the election time, the National Front (NF). Eversince then Altab Ali's name has been a Symbol to the Bangladeshi Sylheti community and the Symbol of defience as Altab Ali didn't die without a fight. He faught the attackers and staggered 200 yards to the bus stop on Whitechapel Road with his shopping in his arms to live.
So much has been written about the incident but very little is known about him, him as a person and his life. I have started researching on him and his life and have progressed fruitfully with the help of many prominant individuals who have been honouring Altab Ali and his legacy for decades and who are have become the authority in the "Couse" of keeping the anti racist, anti facist and the enabling of a placid community to rise up, the incident that lit a fire in the soul, that instantly became the furnace; furnace that created the turning point, galvanised, point of no return, migrants to immigrants; from within that furnace came out the "Symbol" in caste iron.
Then in 1978 I was'nt event 10 years old, too young to have taken part in the struggles and yet the struggle was fighting for me to protect me. As a young person growing up in UK, amidst the integration and assimilation in to the way of life, I was in my bubble, an envirnment cleared for me, a benefactor of the outcome from the blood of Altab Ali. It was too easy to lose myself with everything going on in the society and community we lived it. Every change since the murder of Altab Ali, it all had ramification to everyone and all, outwardly to United Kingdom and Sylhetis throughout the world.
As a benefactor I progressed through the social changes, the Youth and Community sector and had a full circle of life in that; a young person playing in the centres to then providing services as an employee in the youth and community sector. It is here in my latter part of life in the youth and community field it dawned on me as it has to all other community champions, who can see how the community are drifting away, moving away from the roots and those relatively new comer from the 90s onwards, how the struggles of the past have no reality in their lives. For me too, it was the case until, it dawned on me too, how it was my roots and how I need to extent my life skill that the Youth and community instilled in me to ensure that there are factual information about the events for the future young poeple of the Bangladeshi Sylheti community can make informed decisions about their future and find value in the past.
To the end writing about the Symbol and the struggle has lead me to many avenues where research if fruitful. I planned to publish my finding in the coming year, how ever in the meantime, as an artist and a writer, I was inspired, I worked on the mundane images out there of Altab Ali and have written few proses and poems that spill out of me. These arts and writing will be featured in a separate book, this will be released later in 2020. In the meantime because it is Altab Ali day I wanted to share a glimse in to the book and the content.
High Forever
By Mayar Akash
He was waiting at the bus
stop
To catch the bus to hospital
He's just been attacked,
mugged and stubbed
Yet he said you'll never
stop me
How was he to know what his
injury
was going to do to him
He wasn't going to let it
stop him
He got himself to the bus
stop
His longest journey yet,
toughest one it was
Yet he wasn't going to take
it
He was getting help, that he
accepted
He made it to the bus stop
What courage when set upon
out numbered yet not down
and out
It wasn't the white, it
wasn't the black
It was the stub he fought
and stood his ground.
White, Black, Scum, mugged
stubbed and run
Altab bloodied, hot, on
endorphins and adrenaline
Carried himself over,
courage, gallant he never gave up
He gave his all till his
last.
Those fascist racist muggist
paki bashing scums
You took his money, you took
his groceries
But you couldn't takes his
might, the will of a tiger
He tread the red carpet with
his head held high forever. [5-10-19]
Bus Stop To Heaven
By Mayar Akash
What
did I know
That
Jesus would end my way to heaven
When
I get to the church of St Bonifice
Little
did I know, Gabriels will meet me there
Oh,
what a calling, gloomy walls that set my fall
Trinity
would be the ones who release my soul.
Under
the watchful eye of the bells,
Jesus
in St Bonifice set me to get to heaven.
Wow,
just like Baroness Uddin,
Tony
Blair took her straight to House Lords.
I
wasn't ready to get to heaven
But
it seems Jesus in St Bonifice had message
Send
Altab Ali on his way
to
reach his bus stop, it's waiting to go to heaven. [11.12.19]
There are much more in the book which includes works from other people too.
If you would like further information about the book, work or me, you can reach me through email: mapublisher@yahoo.com or FB or Twitter.
For more information of my others work you can visit through this link.
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