Anthony Walker RIP

I break from my revision to watch the news coverage of the funeral of Anthony Walker, the 18 year-old schoolboy murdered in a racist attack. His friends are asked to come in football or basketball shirts, as Anthony was always wearing his. The funeral is held in Liverpool Cathedral, thousands of people attend. Many who don't know Anthony or his family, but want to pay their respects. Footage of the murder scene show many young white men placing floral tributes for the teenager. I think a lot of white people in Liverpool are feeling shame about this crime, in a way that they have not felt shame about being white before. That shame at a crime committed by someone who shares your skin colour is something that most black people experience from an early age. When Anthony's mum speaks at a vigil about putting basketballs in his coffin, grown white men weep openly. Anthony's best friend is a young white man, who gives a very moving speech about how honoured he was to be his friend.
There are so many news stories which stick in your mind. Murders, shootings, rape and child abuse. And then there are the stories about Stephen, Holly & Jessica, and now Anthony. Just like at the time of the murder of Stephen Lawrence, as soon as I heard of the murder of Anthony Walker, and the manner in which he was killed I felt anger, and then fear. The anger is self-explanatory. But the fear comes from the fact that I too have an 18 year-old brother. Just a normal music, clothes loving kid training to be a performance car mechanic. We celebrated his birthday with a surprise party a few months back. His friends, a mixture of white, black, and mixed-race, all came together to welcome him to adulthood. When I saw the news report on Anthony, an aspiring lawyer, basketball loving teenager, I could only think of how I would feel if that were my brother, murdered simply for being black while walking.
It reminds me of a time when I found myself in Surbiton with my sister and friends. We had tried to go to Chessington Zoo, but it was packed so we were wandering around trying to find something else to do. Some white teenagers began to racially abuse us, and picked a fight with my sister's boyfriend. We had to get out real quick.
A while ago my brother's friend was in Bow, east London, and was hospitalised after being beaten up for being black and out of his manor. Yes, this shit is still happening even in London.
There are eighteen years between me and my brother Courtney, but we are tight. I was at his birth, and spent many a day looking after him, or taking him places (studio) when my mum was at work. I bought him his first pair of trainers from New York, clothes from Benetton, and original kiddie-sized Moon Boots when I went skiing in Austria. I showed him a Chucky film when he was about 5 (yes I was completely irresponsible), and took him cinema. Sometimes he felt like my kid. Now, he takes my daughter (his niece) out shopping down the West End, to the cinema, or to hang out with his friends. He is truly such a decent young man, much like it seems Anthony was.
In eighteen years we have amassed a mountain of memories together, with, god-willing many more to come. At his birthday party, I was speaking to one of his friends who was preparing to be a father at eighteen. He was facing up to his responsibilities, but had had to quit college to work full-time. Silently, I gave thanks that my brother wasn't the one having to face that test of character.
We know there are many traps which are all too easy to fall into for young black men. But like my brother, Anthony, with the guidance of a strong, supportive family seemed to have taken care to avoid them. Only to be murdered in such a random, violent manner by a hateful, cowardly racist. Gone but not forgotten Anthony Walker.