One Saturday afternoon in 1972, Linton Kwesi Johnson was walking through Brixton market when he noticed three plainclothes police officers arresting a young man. Seeing their excessive use of force, his training kicked in. He had been in the youth section of the British Black Panthers and knew to write down the name and address of someone in a situation like this, because “the police would often arrest black youths and lock them up in remand centres without informing their next of kin”. But in retaliation the officers arrested Johnson too, throwing him into the back of a police van where they beat him up and racially abused him. It would take more than six months before he was acquitted of the charges of assault levelled against him.
This anecdote, buried in this new collection of Johnson’s prose, braids together the themes of the book and even his life: a practised solidarity with his fellow man, the workings of a racist state, and the vitality of the black radical tradition. It also reminds us of the brutal contingencies of a life like his. LKJ, as he is known, is now recognised as one of the great living poets of the counterculture. Penguin has anthologised his verse. He has honorary degrees and awards to his name. But he was once a young militant trying to survive a hostile environment.
