Portrait of Benjamin Zephaniah, 2021.
I love history. I am history. We made history. We were the people of Maroon Town, Jamaica. This is where I was born on 15 October 1947. But long before I was born – I'm talking hundreds and hundreds of years ago – the Taíno and Arawak lived in Jamaica. […] I didn't learn any of this at school in Jamaica. In school I just got taught English history. It was my grandma, my mum and the elders in Maroon Town who told me about the real history of Jamaica. It wasn't written down, but passed on by word of mouth, from one generation to the next. They even taught me songs and poems about our history, but we weren't allowed to sing those songs in school. Instead we had to sing “God Save the Queen” and “Rule Britannia”. […]
The British government had posters all over Jamaica telling people that they would be welcome to come to Britain, to help rebuild the country because the war had left it in ruins. Jamaicans were told on radio and in town halls that Britain was the “land of opportunity” where “the streets would soon be paved with gold”. They were told that they would be greeted with the great British hand of friendship, because they were British citizens, and they were welcomed in the mum country. My dad couldn't resist. He felt that he had to do something, for Britain and for himself, so seven months after I was born, he boarded a ship and sailed to England. He promised Mum that after a few years of work he would return, and everything would be all right.
So my dad left when I was just a baby. As soon as he landed he sent a letter back to Mum and Grandma, and a postcard for me. The postcard had a picture of the ship that took him to England. It was called the Empire Windrush. On the back of the card he wrote,
I am a Windrush man,
so you, my child,
are a Windrush Child.