Race,policing and me: Inclusive leadership in the twenty-first century for the 25th anniversary of Macpherson Report and the Stephen Lawrence Inquiry

Abstract

‘Race, policing and me: Inclusive leadership in the twenty-first century’ is a participant observer’s experience of policing, politics and prejudice from a 30-year career in the Metropolitan Police Service (MPS) that spanned the 1993 racist murder of Stephen Lawrence, the 1999 Macpherson Report, which labelled policing institutionally racist, and the battle to come to terms with the fallout that created. A battle this observer believes policing has lost. He reveals how the most senior officer of colour in the UK for the past decade battled racism as a child, adolescent and young professional before joining a profession that did not act as it though it wanted people like him. The early successes to improve its diversity after Macpherson were not sustained and policing now rejects the term and Basu provides some thought for police leaders at how they might tackle issues of diversity and prejudice to regain their legitimacy with minorities who have been over-policed and/or under-protected for too long. To ignore this requirement to regain its legitimacy lacks the humility to understand that it is wrong about this debate on diversity. After the catastrophic loss of trust and confidence following the 2023 Dame Louise Casey Report into culture in the MPS, policing's refusal to admit it remains institutionally racist by the Macpherson definition, and indeed institutionally prejudiced by the Casey definition, imperils the Peelian concept of policing by consent. If policing cannot accept the moral case for Diversity, Equality and Inclusion, it should think of the business case that Peel, Rowan and Mayne built that underpins consent. It may be the only way to maintain order and keep communities safe, which must be its primary mission.

I am not appropriating the cause of institutional racism through the lens of the Stephen Lawrence Inquiry. I hope Black readers will see me as an ally. I am not a brother because I can never be that, but as a race advisor once described me, I am a close cousin. I am proud of that. I am an ally through empathy. I know what this feels like.

People with protected characteristics should empathise with each other but are often too busy fighting their own fight to look up and see allies in front of them, sometimes hiding, but always in plain sight.

My trauma does not compare with what had happened to the Windrush generation of Black Afro-Caribbeans and their descendants. Not all Black communities are experiencing the same level of prejudice either. But we suffer enough to understand. I empathise and this article explains why.

More than mixed race, I am a cop and spent 30 years in my beloved Metropolitan Police Service (the ‘Met’), before retiring to a non-stop barrage of criticism and collapsing trust and confidence. No one should retire from a profession they love and hear that. It is scarring. It should not have happened and wouldn't if we had paid much closer attention to the lessons of that defining public inquiry into the murder of Stephen Lawrence. But we didn't and here we are again.

This article is essentially based on a speech delivered many times since the murder of George Floyd. I have always been woke – I always understood the need to be alert to issues of racial and social justice since I was a child – but I hid that from a world that didn't want to hear it. Had I been outspoken then, I would not be published as a former assistant commissioner (AC), but as a police constable (PC). I doubt I would have been published at all or made it through my 30 years.

The words lived experience, anti-racism, woke, white privilege and institutional racism tend to cause immediate defensive, hostile reactions. I use them all, but this is only my opinion. I am not an academic. I am an expert in only one thing – me. I am a participant observer in life not a social scientist. The reader should feel free to say exactly what they think and feel, so we can all have a debate. Censorship is toxic.

No one with protected characteristics has yet said they don't understand my experience, but many white people do not. If it's conscious or unconscious, the bias still exists and we feel it, and that has to change. I can spot a malicious racist and I am not talking to them. I no longer think it's possible to change adult minds who feel that hatred for what they don't know or understand – but you can influence the young, who are not born prejudiced. And we can influence many who want to do the right thing. It is important we keep talking to white people about race.

My last operational job was the national lead for Counter Terrorism Policing, the Assistant Commissioner of Specialist Operations or ACSO. I stepped down on 4 July 2021, and when I did I was the highest-ranking officer of colour in the UK and the fourth to reach that rank since 1829. I was race and faith champion in the most diverse force in the most diverse city in the world.

When I joined the Met it was less than 1% people of colour – it's now 17% – better but way short of the 45% that would represent modern London. In the UK some, but especially young, Black Afro-Caribbeans, still consider policing ‘institutionally racist’. They judge police through the Macpherson definition of 1999. Some think it means all police are racist. This misunderstanding of Macpherson's point has been disastrous, but it's also insulting not to accept the term because you think it ambiguous.

No one affected by it thinks its ambiguous, and we know the difference between an overt racist and someone whose organisation acts with bias. Even if people misunderstand the nuance it's a leadership responsibility to simplify and communicate complex ideas.

Some people choose to take it as fact that all police are racist because they never had trust and confidence, and carry scars from decades of suppression, being both over-policed and under-protected. Policing's disturbing legacy of racism and corruption has to be faced and admitted, and apologies given if it is to move on. Moving on means taking action so that we are not writing these papers in another 25 years.

Society's attitude to prejudice is better than when I joined the police in 1992, but hardly perfect. The latest indictment of UK policing was the Casey Review into Metropolitan Police standards and culture. It wasn't just about racism, but all prejudice. Policing lost the trust and confidence of Black people, women and girls, the gay and the disabled. There is an argument that it never had their consent. Pollsters are frequently wrong.

Today, the majority of the public's trust and confidence has fallen. This is a potential existential crisis capable of undermining the model of consent-based policing that has existed for nearly 200 years. If people do not consent, the only way to keep order is by force. That must not happen.

In the wake of Sarah Everard's grotesque murder, policing found it easier to accept misogyny than racism. It admitted the collapsing confidence of women and girls and within three months formed a fully funded, dedicated task force, led by a deputy chief constable who launched a national action plan. It was supported by all chief constables in England and Wales and is now a national strategic priority.

Not so race. Two years after George Floyd and 29 years after Stepehen Lawrence, a sub-standard race action plan was launched in 2022. It does not have broad support. Even the foreword was argued over incessantly, delaying its launch. Golden opportunities to admit institutional racism; the protests, the plan's launch, the Casey Review, the appointment of a new Commissioner, were all missed. Policing should ask why it's easier responding to violence against women and girls, but not violence against Black, Brown, gay and disabled people. I think it's because we all know, love and respect a women or girl in our lives. How many of us have deep friendships with the other protected characteristics, and even if we do, how many ask them about their experiences?

Does policing really want to be representative of all the people it serves or just the people it likes. Does it believe this is a way to restore trust and confidence? Many say it but do they mean it? Would they rather avoid admitting anything that will annoy politicians or upset a certain part of the front line? Because it will. No one wants to compete harder and better representation means the old guard competing harder against a wider pool of talent. Would they really prefer the status quo? No change is easy. Who likes change? It's easier to say the majority don't support this view anyway, so let's not change. I worry that positive change has stalled and the status quo is looking too attractive. Policing has to show leadership to change that world view, not fear.

But some police chiefs care less about the trust and confidence of marginalised people, improving representation in their ranks, or reducing disproportionality in their actions. They care more about crime figures and keeping their politicians onside – particular the latest brand of populist, far right conservatives.

They say that's not true. Even our previous Home Secretary said she wanted representation, trust and confidence but also championed anti-wokeness, political incorrectness, the stopping of diversity leadership and recruiting cops who are ‘strong in character and physique’ more than intellect. She campaigns against multiculturalism. If she doesn't care why should police chiefs? All our governing bodies and the new Commissioner followed her lead.

Given this bleak introduction the reader may wonder why I joined, why I stayed for 30 years and how I got to lead counter terrorism. In 2021, I directed the Strategic Command Course at the College of Policing and sat on its board as its leadership advisor. I based the course on future police chiefs understanding politics, prejudice and their role in police legitimacy. In 2022, my board seat and leadership role was taken up by the country's most anti-woke chief constable and Home Secretary favourite who doesn't think the public want him to be interested in diversity leadership. It is an important indicator of the direction of UK policing policy. It is a red flag.

Before this I was ACSO – in charge of the Met's counter terrorism and protective security commands and the national lead for Counter Terrorism Policing. I had a £1bn budget and 10,000 staff, responded to 12 terrorist attacks and disrupted 29 plots. The UK threat level came down. I briefed the Home Secretary every week and have briefed four home secretaries, five security ministers and two prime ministers. I could get a seat at National Security Council and the Home Secretary's National Policing Board. I was one of the highest paid public servants and a loud voice in law enforcement.

I am not saying this to be arrogant. I believe humility is one of the most important traits of good leadership. Before direct entry I said every chief constable should remember they were a constable once. I say it because I don't want readers feeling sorry for me. I don't feel sorry for myself. I had the best job and rose to one of our highest ranks. I am no victim, but you might consider me a survivor.

I may have gone further but I spoke out about our continued institutional racism. Here I want to speak for everyone who looks like me, or has any protective characteristic, but none of the power or platform I had. I have woken up.

What problems do I face now? Three: first, making people understand the importance of this time; second, trying to develop empathy for people who have protected characteristics; and third, persuading leaders that it is important they act. I want to tell you why inclusive leadership is crucial, whether you like it or not.

I’m mixed race, born to a 1961 immigrant dad from Calcutta, and a white Welsh mother from a village in North Wales and raised in a small, white English town where I went to mostly white schools. My earliest memories are being alone in the playground and seeing my father suffer a racist assault. I was strapped into the car seat behind him.

One teacher told me if anyone mistreated me because I was different I should see him. I didn't know I was different because I was 5. The 29 other five-year-olds listening also had no idea I was different – until then. After being racially abused by older kids, mum would explain that it wasn't my fault, it was theirs. Hard for a white mother of a 7-year-old Indian kid.

On day one at high school, I was beaten and stuffed into a locker. I took abuse for years. Of 1,200 kids, the other one of colour was my older brother. We never talked about it until my mum's 80th birthday party. He was 56. I was 54. I thought he got off easy and I was wrong. Fifty years is a long time to bottle it up.

I was born the year after the National Front formed, whose favourite chant was there ‘aint no black in the Union Jack’. In the 1970s and 1980s, casual racism was everywhere – on the street, in the classroom and on TV. My best friends’ favourite expressions were ‘but you’re not like them’, and ‘play the white man’. Playing the white man was a matter of survival in 1970s England.

By the mid-1980s I was built like a brick out-house, a sports captain, with the highest grades and no longer bullied. I had white girlfriends – one told me her family couldn't stand being touched by Indian doctors. She told me this while holding my hand and my dad was an Indian doctor.

I wasn't chippy, angry or militant. I was shy. I kept what happened to myself. I went to college and made friends with mostly white public school boys – several were casually racist. On graduation I joined a bank involved in apartheid and witnessed corruption and greed. I resigned to join the police and applied just after a BBC documentary called Black in Blue. This was about the hopes and dreams of young Black and Asian police recruits. It was not uplifting. My friends thought police racist and corrupt, and I was insane. I thought the same about the bank. I waited 18 months to join, so became a salesman for a company who thought I could sell to Asian shopkeepers. They never asked me where I was from or if I spoke any Asian languages. I speak more Welsh than Indian – exactly one word.

I grew up knowing how it felt to be different from everyone in the room – and how hard it is to speak when you’re different. I was taught to be twice as good to get noticed and never to fail – because there was no second chance. I’m competitive and learned to win, meaning I worked so hard I left nothing for family and friends. An unjust consequence of being told this is the only way to succeed, and a biproduct of working in a racist society.

This leaves you with a profound case of imposter syndrome. What changed was age, experience, good coaching and mentorship, and real resilience. Resilience didn't come from family, friends and fitness or faith. I’m not a religious man. It came from understanding my purpose.

It is said there are two important days in your life – the day you’re born and the day you find out why. I found out why when I became a cop. My resilience came from my sense of mission and my values. I knew why I was there, who it was for and what I wanted to do. It was all about protecting people. It's why I stayed in a profession that does not always act like it wants people like me.

In 1992 society was different – still racist, but more underground. At training school in 1993, the commandant wanted an officer of colour for that year’s recruitment brochure. There was little choice. The Black man, Indian woman and turban-wearing Sikh were unacceptable. My Asian female training sergeant said she’d never speak to me again if I agreed to be the token darkie. But I did. I did it because I thought if someone who looks like me sees it and joins, it's worth it. It's important to have thick skin if you have dark skin.

I was unsuccessful – few joined – but it was an early attempt at diversity leadership without rank or power. In the station some colleagues of colour took abuse, but I wasn't an easy target. We all suffered racism from the public.

An older colleague who called a boy ‘a black bastard’ in front of me immediately apologised, but to me, not the boy. I got used to the public always turning to the white officer, even as I became the most senior officer on scene. I got used to being stopped by police as I drove through London off duty, to being ignored in bars, or walking in for last orders to shouts of ‘are you my taxi?’.

At my age, when people are rude you think it's because of your colour. They could just be rude but I’m never 100% sure. I have hundreds of stories like this. People who look like me, working with you and for you, have more. Most don't have my platform or rank as cover. They are afraid.

Now you know how it felt; born in the 1960s, raised in the 1970s, coming of age in the 1980s and trying to get promoted in the 1990s – in a white, straight, male majority profession and society. Ask how psychologically safe you would feel telling these stories. After George Floyd many spoke out; unfortunately they weren't all old like me.

In the Met, I had something to do with that. My diversity leadership was a single, simple blog I wrote on the 28 May 2020. Before that I tried to lead. Stephen Lawrence was murdered a few days after my first foot patrol in London. People barely noticed. By 1998, I was a sergeant on the Lawrence Inquiry Team advising the board on how to deal with the charge of institutionally racism that was coming. I wrote and said things that ended up in policy.

I’ve been interviewed many times, given evidence to political inquiries, and led three diversity boards in the Met. In 2012, nearly 20 years after Stephen's murder, I wrote a report for the Commissioner called the ‘diversity health check’. We were not healthy. It said the same things being said today but was buried. I sat on Cressida Dick's Management and Diversity boards and had my say. I spoke out at Chief's Council and sat on its Race Action Plan Board.

But when you retire it's common to feel something is unfinished. It's how I feel about this subject. The Stephen Lawrence Inquiry hasn't finished. What's the point of leadership if you don't do difficult stuff? Leading the fight against gangsters and terrorists is easier than leading a fight against racism and prejudice. So I wrote that blog four days after George Floyd's murder. I wrote it to white colleagues to help them understand how people like me might feel.

It was read and immediately leaked to the Daily Mail. Not everyone liked it, including fellow officers of colour who felt patronised or exposed. Some didn't know what I was talking about and some thought I was calling their white colleagues racist and stood up for them. They said I should support white colleagues called ‘racist’ as they were called ‘race traitors’ by the same furious protestors. All while they stood shoulder to shoulder, not Black or white but as the thin blue line.

I thought that pushback was brilliant. Black officers defending white officers and vice versa – just like the mix in the protests – was a sign of hope; an improvement in policing and society.

I didn't feel safe writing that as an AC. I wouldn't have written it as a PC. My views on racism compromised my career when right-wing media described me as the ‘Super-woke so called head of counter terrorism’. I laughed. Better to stand by your values than be asleep. And I had been asleep.

People without my protection wanted to speak out. Their stories were hard to hear: embarrassing – but had to be heard. I wrote it because a white police officer killed a Black man like an animal in 8 min 46 s. It didn't matter that it was thousands of miles away in a different police culture and history.

I was horrified and ashamed of my profession, and vulnerable. A medical report was being published confirming what the old, poor and non-white already knew, COVID killed us faster. We were criticised for racist pandemic policing even though our approach was modelled on policing by consent. But then the arrests and tickets proved disproportionate and we couldn't say why.

This wasn't even my leadership. I spoke because a Black female superintendent asked why no one in power had said anything – not the Prime Minister, the Commissioner or her boss. Me. She felt she had no voice and I was ashamed. I had a responsibility to speak for her and I wasn't brave enough to do it as a constable. I would be a PC not an AC if I had.

To be a police officer of colour in May 2020, tested my vocation in a way I hadn't felt since Macpherson. It was hard to be a cop then, Black or white. But the harsh medicine was necessary. For a while, policing and society changed. What would this new watershed moment do?

Many say we are still racist and corrupt. We were, but until 2020 my answer would have been no longer, but I was wrong. Floyd told me that, and in 2023 the Casey Review into the Met proved it. Our culture was wrong. We had not changed enough.

We have overtly racist, corrupt officers and staff in plain sight – fewer than the media believe – but more than police leaders realise. My leadership experience is that about 20% or people are lazy, incompetent, corrupt or prejudiced, and sometimes all four. Motivating and retraining the lazy and incompetent is leadership, but so is firing the prejudiced and corrupt with zero tolerance. Too many leaders don't get that.

Policing has systems and processes that still have inexplicable and disproportionate outcomes. That's a straight Macpherson fail. It's hard to say you are not institutionally racist when the evidence is there. Constantly re-examining the data to disprove disproportionality or agreeing its disproportionate but it can be explained because we are just responding to what we’re told, are dangerous delusions. If it can be explained, I have yet to hear the reason from any chief constable.

Some chiefs are trying to fix this. They show signs of wanting to be anti-racist and are taking action, but it starts by admitting what they are, apologising and then acting for change. Without the acknowledgement communities don't believe they want to change – even if they take action.

Post Macpherson, diversity equality and inclusion improved for 20 years, but stalled. In society and policing a reversal began, started by Brexit and the nationalism it released or created, alongside the populist rhetoric of politicians across the globe. All fuelled by self-regulated 24/7 social media and its wild west algorithms pushing divisive, polarising ideas. We were split more so than ever when we were closer to integration than ever. But this is not the long-term trajectory for equality. Leadership is about optimism and hope. I’m an optimist on this subject and I must believe we are better than this and it will change.

When Obama left the White House he said if you wanted to be born at any time in human history, as a Black man or woman, that time would be now. I told you my stories, but my parents’ stories were worse – once stoned in the streets for holding hands – and my children's stories are better than mine.

I also loved my mission. My parents were public service heroes, turning the other cheek to abuse and serving 90 years between them to help build our National Health Service. They cared for people who often didn't much care for them. Like Ghandi said, ‘there is no higher calling than to lose yourself in the service of others’. It's the essence of public service and the heart of servant leadership. It's why I joined and stayed – my foundation stone as a police officer and a human being.

But it's service to everyone that counts – not just the ones you like.

If policing believes Black lives matter and institutional racism is still a problem, it should recognise that one of the requirements to stay legitimate and maintain policing by consent, is inclusive leadership – towards its own staff and the whole public it serves.

It can't give ground to extremists, left or right, who are the real minority. No one who supports violence, or who thinks censorship, de-platforming or defunding police, or wants to deny help to the most vulnerable or repatriate people who look like me, should be allowed to speak unchallenged. To lead, chief officers who set the tone for order in their organisations and communities must speak out. The majority want to do the right thing. It was a lesson of COVID and we must encourage that basic human instinct.

Post Macpherson, UK policing was better at Diversity, Equality and Inclusion; it changed some officers hearts and minds and their behaviour. But those successes were a long time ago. Chiefs must stop saying we did what we were asked to do. It started well because it was the epicentre of the criticism due to its own behaviour, but it's fallen behind. Terrorism and austerity distracted policing and that was diversity leadership failure. Policing is now the third least diverse UK public sector service.

In 1999 we didn't recruit, retain or promote enough people of colour and when we did, we disproportionately disadvantaged them when they complained or made a mistake. We overused stop and search on people of colour and disproportionately used force against them without any explanation of why. In 2024 policing does the same.

Chiefs argue every policy and procedure has been reviewed and is anti-racist and non-discriminatory, but the outcomes are the same – why? Look at the profile of the people in power implementing the policies.

This adds up to low confidence from people of colour – especially the Afro-Caribbean Black community. Police can't explain disproportionality in tactics and lack the legitimacy to do their job without that community's consent. This must change, and 25 years of post-Macpherson tactics, inconsistently applied, have failed. In 2023, Baroness Casey proved the Met had lost the confidence of all other protected characteristics too. It is not just institutionally racist; it is institutionally prejudiced.

What can it do about this cultural problem?

First let people talk about it in psychological safety, especially the young, junior or inexperienced.

Second, accept that racism exists and self-educate as to why – we are tired of trying to prove it to you.

Third, tell us from the top you want to be anti-racist, anti-prejudiced and institutionally inclusive as a profession, and mean it. Admit the past, acknowledge the present and apologise. Say you will change and mean it.

Fourth, collect, analyse and publish diversity data. Explain the disproportionality. If you think it's fair, say why. There is a case that stopping young Black men killing each other is one of the most anti-racist things you do, but without that community's consent, your tactics look racist.

Fifth, use a funded, evidence-based, positive action plan to provide equality of opportunity. Challenge the inevitable backlash.

Sixth, keep the money there through austerity and disaster – because the solution is a generation in the making, not a four-year political cycle or until your next promotion. Then you just might start a cultural revolution towards an anti-racist profession.

How did I make it? I was born a man, into a middle-class family with loving, successful parents, siblings and friends; I believed in education and was well-educated at state expense; I believed in teamwork because I played team sport well; I learned if I worked hard I could not be intimidated, physically or intellectually, but lastly I was culturally raised to play the white man in a white man's world. I learned to play the F.I.F.O. game – to fit in, to avoid being told to, f**k off.

That last sentence was hard to write. I am ashamed by it. I was not always awake to these problems and when I was I was scared. I had so many privileges that I am a poor advert for diversity in some respects, but the only one I never had was the most important – white privilege.

This phrase causes anxiety. The poor, white, working-class boys I grew up with would not describe themselves as privileged. In the UK, class and poverty often reveal as much about police and society prejudice as race. Race often compounds the problem of poverty and class. All three can be over-policed, under-protected and distrustful.

Not having white privilege meant I had to overcome the fact that for almost every authority figure I have ever known, I did not look like them. I grew up with few icons who looked like me. My father was my icon, but he had to be careful about where he chose to live and work, who he married and where he went out with his wife. I learned to be careful too.

The sight of the Union Jack should fill me with pride, but like the flag of St George it makes me anxious. If England aren't playing and there's no royal event, I will avoid pubs and houses flying the flag to this day – and I am both a very proud Englishman and royalist.

I am the only chief constable of the past ten years to have been regularly stopped and searched as both a kid, teenager and adult including at every airport I’ve been through since 9/11. This is just one of many examples of what being well-off, middle-class, intelligent, well-educated and physically intimidating did not provide this Brown man.

If you understand how these experiences made me feel, you will begin to empathise with what it feels like to be different in a majority state. You might see people like me differently. I played my full part. I am no longer falsely modest, self-deprecating or shy. These qualities didn't command respect when it counted. And I worked hard – like a dog – all the time.

More importantly were 28 special people: 22 men and just 6 women, who had three things in common. They are white, they had power over me and they helped me when I needed it most. Without their leadership, mentorship and coaching I would be nothing.

Not all people of colour want white people's help. But they need it. Black people didn't abolish slavery, white people with the power did. Perhaps more accurately, Black, and white people working together brought it to an end. If you want to know how to make society more equal, recognising the advantage of being white – especially white, male and straight, is important. And recognising that nothing changes here until white people want to help people who don't look, sound or feel like them. Their friendship, mentorship and support are free and the most valuable things they can give.

Fine words are not enough. It takes bravery and leadership to write an action plan because you can then be held to account for delivering it. But what if you believe me, but you lack the courage to speak out? Remember this quote from Martin Luther King,

In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.

And we do remember. So speak up, and if you have a high platform speak louder.

If I can't convince policing of the moral case for Diversity, Equality and Inclusion, they should think about this. We live in a volatile, uncertain, complex and ambiguous world, and policing deals with its most wicked problems. What makes them think they can solve them, sitting around a table with people who look like them, were taught like them, had the same experiences as them and think like them? Or could they find solutions through a more diverse team, one that doesn't fear them but respects them and feels psychologically safe telling truth to the power – and the power is the police?

If policing wants the consent of all, it needs all their help. If it has their trust and confidence, they will obey the law; give intelligence; be willing victims or cooperative witnesses. They may even step in and help the front line when they are getting their heads kicked in, instead of filming and posting it.

In his brilliant book Rebel Ideas, (Matthew Syed 2010) delivers a brilliant quote and as a counter terrorism professional to my core, I share it with you.

We simply must do more to develop the diverse and inclusive leadership that our values require and that our mission demands.

John Brennan, a former director of the CIA said it, and was talking about a very bright but utterly white and homogeneous US intelligence community, and their collective failure to spot the emerging threat of a man called Osama Bin Laden. UK Policing is not the Central Intelligence Agency but can only exist with the public consent that relies on the trust and confidence of all the people it serves. Not just the one's it likes.

Policing's continued legitimacy rests on understanding that diversity and inclusion is not just a moral or ethical responsibility – it may be the only way to keep society safe – and isn't that the mission?