Over the past few days, photos of buildings still covered in dangerous cladding did the rounds on social media. As an attempt to highlight an ongoing problem, they did what they were designed to. But the fact is, photos like this shouldn’t exist two years on from Grenfell.
For those of us who grew up in similar tower blocks, such images are a stark reminder that despite political platitudes from the left and right in the wake of the 2017 tragedy politics continues to fail our communities. When Stormzy said two years ago “that could've been my mum's house, or that could've been my nephew, now, that could've been me up there” he spoke for many of us from working-class and migrant communities who have felt deeply failed by the system.
The impact of Grenfell on working-class communities is not just a practical one—there’s a psychological cost too. More than £10m has been spent on mental health treatment on those affected and faith-based psychotherapy organisations report residents are approaching them for support.
It’s easy to forget how tragedies like Grenfell impact the mental health of individuals and communities—the impacts are often long term, and hidden away because of the unique challenges of speaking about mental health in working class, religious or minority communities.
It is no surprise, then, that a report concluded that ‘there has been a collapse of trust in public authorities, particularly the Council’ in the area of Grenfell. Who would trust public authorities, after this?
The beauty of growing up in tower blocks or estates in inner London is that you’re all forced to have something in common—you’re from that block, or that estate. The sense of community is different.
Your block is usually always minutes away from the wealthy, and in West London especially, you’re never too far away from millionaires. From the day you move in you are aware of the political isolation of being poor—the view from your balcony is a constant reminder that you are not as fortunate as others. What you do have is your neighbours, mates who you play knock down ginger with, and locals at the chicken shop. Your neighbours’ family becomes your family; you make friends with people in the lift when it breaks down again because the council aren’t maintaining the block properly. Your friends are friends for life.
That’s why Grenfell is so personal to many of us who grew up on similar estates. We know what went on in that block—the smells in the corridors, the sounds of the lift creaking and of echoes in the stairwells, the laughter and friendship between families and neighbours—we know what that livelihood is like: it’s home to us. When those 72 people lost their lives, we felt it in our blood and bones.
The response, too, is as much about helping communities heal from the emotional wounds, as it is about practical help. It’s not just about having a safe home—it’s about being listened to and respected by politicians before your fridge is empty or before you’re made homeless, and certainly before lives are lost.
It’s easy for people on the left to spout platitudes about being anti-austerity in response to the Grenfell tragedy—but what is equally important is for those of us in politics to always be mindful of how involved the working class, or migrants, or ethnic minorities are in our policy-making processes. It’s no good just ‘consulting’ or claiming that “only Labour can be trusted to unlock the talent of Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic people.”
Our anger at injustice may infuriate us, and we on the left may think we know what’s best for the disadvantaged and politically alienated, but more often than not it’s the communities themselves who have the answers to their problems. They’re just not listened to. If I feel that at someone on the inside, it’s no surprise that people like my mum refuse to join a political party.
Leadership on Grenfell has come more from local community figures than it has politicians—and that should shame us all. When I want to feel hopeful about the future for working-class kids, I listen to local rappers like Big Zuu, who understand the working class communities in West London and who made a Grenfell Tower Tribute song, or follow the incredible organising work of Justice for Grenfell.
When your Prime Minister doesn’t meet victims the day after a disaster, when victims are still living in temporary housing and when over two hundred tower blocks are still covered in unsafe cladding two years on—Westminster does not deserve the trust it thinks it is owed from working-class communities. And you don’t need the photos to know that.
