It is now 31 years since the death of my son Stephen. Thirty-one years during which I have witnessed countless young people being knifed and shot on Britain’s streets, and seen the devastation that has been wrought on the families of those sons and daughters murdered in their youth.
While my story will resonate with others whose lives have been changed irrevocably, and whose grief has no ending, each story is unique. Mine has been shaped not only by Stephen’s brutal and untimely death, but by the long fight for justice and to expose the failings of the Metropolitan police. It has also been shaped by the institutional racism identified in the Macpherson report (1999) – and by the enduring disbelief that complete strangers could attack and kill my son for no reason other than their hatred of black people.
