Pitch Black (6 page)

If they didn’t know they were role models, the black community in Handsworth soon showed them. They were
familiar visitors to the area and, indeed, were local celebrities. In fact, Regis had lived there briefly upon his arrival in the West Midlands. Albion’s Hawthorns ground borders Handsworth and, as a result, Albion began to attract a significant following of black supporters.

Empire Road
was a BBC soap opera that ran for two series in 1978 and 1979. It was notable for being the first British television series to be written, directed and acted predominantly by black artists. It depicted the life of black and Asian individuals and families in a racially diverse street, set in Handsworth. Cyrille Regis had appeared in an episode that featured two young black characters who were attempting to meet their hero and had unsuccessfully tried to get into a game at The Hawthorns. Regis’s acting wasn’t going to win him any awards, but the episode illustrated the esteem that he and the other two members of the trio were held in. The impact the trio had on the black community in Handsworth and on other black communities across the country cannot be underestimated. The discrimination and prejudice they suffered echoed the experiences of members of those communities. The fact that they faced horrendous abuse, suffered it with dignity and then performed brilliantly won them the admiration and respect of black people way beyond Handsworth and the West Midlands. They became role models, not just to young black men who had dreams of playing professional football, but to ordinary black people who were factory workers, health service workers, transport workers, school kids and the unemployed. They were admired because they were experiencing something that most people in the many beleaguered black communities would have struggled to survive with their dignity and sanity intact. They were respected because, at a time when the media and
popular culture portrayed black people in an almost exclusively negative light, here were black men playing the national sport and winning in the face of unimaginable and constant hostility. Although it wasn’t their intention, theirs was an act of defiance and therefore deeply political.

Together, the three wreaked revenge on the racists in the one area they could control: on the pitch. Cunningham had progressed to the England under-21 squad within a year of joining Albion in April 1977, and in so doing became the first black footballer to represent England at this level. His brilliant debut saw him terrorise the Scottish defence, pick up the Man of the Match award and bag the winning goal into the bargain. The press speculated as to how long it might be for him to win a full England cap and become the first black player to achieve this honour.

Their first full season together proved to be a stellar one for both Albion and the Three Degrees. Regis made his England under-21 debut in September 1978 and two months later appeared for the England B side in a 1–0 victory against Czechoslovakia, ending the season as PFA Young Player of the Year, the first black player to win this accolade. Cunningham ended the season by becoming only the second black player after Viv Anderson to win a full England cap, in a Home International fixture against Wales. As for Albion, they finished a successful season in third place in the league and got to the quarter-finals of the UEFA Cup.

Cunningham, now an England international, had attracted the attention of some rich suitors. His performances in Albion’s UEFA Cup campaign had given him a European-wide platform and the legendary Real Madrid signed him at the end of the 1978/79 season for a then massive fee of £950,000.

So ended one of the most important periods in the history of British football, and in the history of West Bromwich Albion. The Three Degrees had been in existence for only a season and a half, which constituted some eighteen months, but they had made an indelible impression in the West Midlands and beyond. They elevated themselves to hero status amongst black communities in all parts of the country and became role models for their response to racism. Their historic role as the first trio of black footballers to become regular members of a professional football team, let alone one in the top flight, paved the way for future generations of black athletes to earn a living by playing professional football. Their response to racism, both defiant and dignified, set the blueprint for how black players were required to deal with the issue for the next twenty years.

THEY HAD VISITED
the seething cauldron of hate that was Elland Road and had come away with the points. At the heart of the Wolves’ defence were Bob Hazell and George Berry. Getting a hostile reception at grounds was a normal occurrence for black footballers but Elland Road was of an altogether different magnitude. Even though they had been warned to expect hostility, black players were regularly taken aback on their first visit to the ground. As Berry himself says, ‘They were the most racist set of fans I’ve ever come across in my life. They had it to a fine art. The chanting and everything and the intimidation was like nothing you’ll ever hear anywhere on earth.’

This game had been no exception. ‘Fucking niggers, black bastards, fuck off back to Africa, you fucking ape’ had greeted them when their names were announced before kick-off. From the first minute to the last, there was no let-up. Every time they touched the ball, Berry and Hazell were greeted with boos and monkey noises from all parts of the ground. If the play took them over to the touchline, the noise levels
rose. Men, women and children, with their twisted, contorted, furious faces, spitting, gesturing, throwing bananas, threatening death, urging their own players to maim, hurt and kill.

But Berry and Hazell were ready and were right up for the game. The two had been immense throughout. They’d been tough, menacing and intimidating. Their philosophy that day was: ‘The ball can go past. The man can get past, but not both together, not today.’ They relished the poisonous atmosphere, even wallowed in it. If any of the opposition were going to indulge in racist abuse, that was great, because the two were going to give some back and they were going to give it back with interest. They were switched on to bad boy mode. Swaggering, shouting and cursing in the Jamaican patois of their parents, nobody could understand what they were saying. At one point, Clive Thomas, an arrogant, officious referee from south Wales, had spoken to the two of them, telling them that although he didn’t understand what they were saying, he knew it was bad, and if they continued, he would book them.

A tough victory had been earned that day and Berry and Hazell had been key in securing the win for their side. After the game, most of their teammates and coaching staff were already sitting on the coach and they were amongst the last to make their way from the dressing room to their waiting transport, only to be met by forty or fifty baying Leeds fans, the pride of West Yorkshire’s NF, who circled the two players and prevented them from getting to their coach.

They quickly weighed up the situation and located the person who appeared to be the ringleader. Next to him was his henchman and they decided that these were the two who needed to be taken on. Hazell agreed to take out the
ringleader; Berry was to deal with his henchman. Agreeing that under no circumstances could they initiate an attack, they waited for the Leeds fans to make the first move. From nowhere, Berry’s brother arrived on the scene and pushed his way ahead of his brother and Hazell. Berry’s brother, who, like their father, had served in the army, spoke directly to the ringleader, telling him that if the mob wanted to attack the two players, they were more than welcome, but they would have to go through him first. To describe the situation as tense was a gross understatement as the racists seemed to take an age to consider the odds. Reckoning that forty defenders of the master race against three young, fit, athletic black guys was too much of a gamble, they backed off and let them through. It had been a close call, but Berry and Hazell were able to escape to the comfort of the team bus and Berry’s brother was allowed to go about his business.

The experience of Berry and Hazell at Leeds was a marginally more extreme example of the kind of thing that happened to black footballers on a regular basis. At many grounds across the country, however, the number of black players was increasing as a new decade emerged from the embers of the 1970s, and the tide was slowly, but inexorably, beginning to turn in terms of how these players were viewed. The early pioneers had been largely looked upon as exotic embellishments to what had always been considered a white working-class game. Their novelty status was now starting to shift as a new generation began to add to the ranks of black footballing talent. They would be drawn from football’s traditional heartlands, the towns and inner cities, where black communities were overwhelmingly located. Making his debut in 1980, Bobby Barnes from east
London began to make his name at West Ham. In the same year, south London boy Paul Davis became the first black player to play for Arsenal since Brendon Batson. Making their respective debuts in the 1978/79 season, Dave Bennett and Roger Palmer from Manchester were breaking through into first-team football at Manchester City. Howard Gayle from Toxteth made his debut in October 1980 for European powerhouse Liverpool, and Chapeltown lad Terry Connor was making a massive impact at his local club, Leeds United, scoring the only goal on his debut against West Bromwich Albion, as a seventeen-year-old in November 1979. In addition to the young black players beginning to take their first steps in the professional game, more established stars were also making an impact. One of the most significant examples was that of Justin Fashanu, who in 1981 moved from his local club, Norwich City, to Nottingham Forest and in so doing became the first million-pound black footballer. In 1980, Garth Crooks made a big-money move to Spurs, from his home-town club of Stoke City.

As Cyrille Regis opined, as more clubs began to field black players, the racists had something of a dilemma. How could they hurl abuse at black players on the opposition team when they had black players within the ranks of their own side? Furthermore, if opposition fans abused black players playing for the side they supported, the tribal nature of football support dictated that they couldn’t side with the opposition’s fans. Therefore, as more and more black footballers became established within their sides, the level of terrace abuse subsided and eventually disappeared altogether at some grounds.

That was certainly the case at Arsenal. During the 1970s, the club had acquired a certain reputation for terrace
racism, a reputation that lasted until Paul Davis appeared in the side. The famous 5–3 victory for West Brom against Manchester United in December 1978 was significant for the brilliance of the Three Degrees and the sickening racism of the Old Trafford support that had forced commentator Gerald Sinstadt to condemn sections of the crowd. The arrival of Remi Moses, ironically from West Bromwich Albion, seemed to bring an end to the terrace racism that had been prevalent at the ground. However, this trend was general, rather than a cast-iron law. Some teams fielded black players yet large sections of their support still indulged in racist abuse; the irony of abusing the opposition’s black players while cheering black players on your own side had not been adequately grasped. Where the nature of racist abuse could be characterised as largely casual, it gradually fell away, but where racism was organised and where the far right were able to have an influence, it remained a pernicious feature at those clubs.

Away from football, the far right continued their attempt to intimidate black communities as campaigning for the 1979 general election took place. The NF, confident of making an electoral breakthrough, held their St George’s Day meeting in Southall Town Hall. Paul Canoville grew up in the area and reflected on what it was like around the time.

Canoville had every right to be apprehensive. There were many racist attacks in and around the area and in 1976, seventeen-year-old Sikh schoolboy Gurdip Singh Chaggar was brutally stabbed to death in a racist murder outside a Southall pub. The murder had galvanised the local community to resist the activities of the far right and as the NF gathered in Southall, they were opposed by demonstrating anti-fascists. Blair Peach, an anti-racist campaigner, died from head injuries sustained by a police truncheon.

The NF’s confidence that they could make a significant impact on the general election proved to be misplaced, as the Conservatives won with a landslide. Adopting elements of the far right’s rhetoric, the Tories had given racism an air of respectability. The commitment by the party to tackling immigration once in government, by introducing legislation to curb the movement of black and Asian people into the UK, had left the NF wrong-footed, given that the issue was more or less all they had. So, over the next few years, the NF and other far-right parties experienced splits and divisions within their ranks. However, as the decade began, they were far from finished and continued their strategy of harassment of black communities.

The activities of the far right and other racists who associated with or were inspired by them didn’t uniformly affect all black communities. While their presence in some communities was extensive, in others it was more of an irritation and in others still, virtually non-existent. Sus was the constant issue that impacted upon black communities and the
issue that characterised the relationship between them and the police. The use of the law continued to cause bitter resentment, and while harassment by the police was a regular occurrence, their response – or lack of response – to racist attacks, racist abuse and racial harassment constantly reinforced the message that the law, and in particular the way in which it was applied, was far from being even handed and without prejudice; in fact, it was deeply racist. For black footballers, the idea that they should report to police the racist abuse and harassment they received from crowds, and the taunts, spitting and gesturing from individuals, which was actually illegal under incitement to racial hatred legislation, would have been laughable. The racist behaviour occurred at grounds where there was almost always a sizeable police presence.

While the inner-city disturbances that occurred within many black communities had as their cause a complex set of interrelated factors, at their heart was the issue of police harassment. On 2 April 1980, a raid on a Bristol café, the Black and White, that was popular with local black youths, set off several hours of battles between local youths and the police. Ignoring any kind of context or the fact white youths had also been involved in the battles with police, the next day the
Daily Telegraph
’s crude headline read ‘19 Police Hurt in Black Riot’.

The combination of media and political indifference and downright hostility to black communities was best illustrated in events in New Cross in south London. The NF had been active in the area and there had been a large number of racist attacks. Paul Davis grew up in that part of London and remembers it as an area where, as a black kid, he had to be extremely careful where he travelled, especially at night, but
he also remembered that areas such as the Old Kent Road, amongst others, were no-go areas for blacks. On 18 January 1981, thirteen young people aged between fourteen and twenty-two died in a house fire in New Cross at the birthday party of one of the victims, sixteen-year-old Yvonne Ruddock. The cause of the fire has never been firmly established. There were some suggestions of a racist attack and some suggestions the fire was accidental. These lines of enquiry were never fully investigated: the police insisted in pursuing the sole line of investigation that the fire was started after an argument, forcing statements from people in order to support this notion and generally pursuing a lacklustre investigation. They caused additional resentment by interrogating partygoers as if they were criminals rather than victims. The media reaction was largely unsympathetic. Four weeks later, a fire in a Dublin disco killed forty-eight young people. The victims’ families received a letter of condolence from the Queen, something the New Cross fire victims’ families never received. One of the victims’ parents was sent an anonymous letter stating that ‘it was a great day when all the niggers went up in smoke’. At the Den, the home of nearby Millwall, in the wake of the fire, the chant from the terraces was, ‘We all agree, niggers burn better than petrol.’

Understandably, the anger from black communities in London and elsewhere was at an all-time high.

In response to the fire, on 2 March, 20,000 black people marched from New Cross to Hyde Park, with several in school uniform. As the march progressed along Fleet Street, the marchers’ ire was directed at newspapers, due to their lack of sympathy and their hostility to the victims’ families. The previous day, the
Daily Mail
had reported that several partygoers had been arrested and that charges would follow.
It was completely untrue. Journalists and staff from
The Sun
, amongst other titles, shouted racist abuse at the demonstrators and, in the following day’s reports, proceeded to completely misrepresent the march, suggesting there had been a riot.

As these incidents showed, the negative stereotypes ascribed to black people weren’t confined solely to football. The characterisation of black footballers as strong, brutish and aggressive extended to black communities and, in particular, their young males, although footballers occasionally assumed a kind of above-black status. Speaking of Cyrille Regis, Woolnough wrote, ‘He doesn’t go round in flash cars and white suits and has no ambition to force the black man’s claim on society.’

Policing of black communities and the use of Sus was largely viewed by mainstream media as necessary to keep black communities in check. Two weeks after the New Cross march, the Metropolitan Police launched Operation Swamp, in which almost 1,000 youths, overwhelmingly black, were stopped and searched in Brixton over a six-day period. This proved to be the spark that ignited a summer of disturbances, largely prompted by discriminatory policing methods. Unrest took place in Brixton on 9–13 April, Finsbury Park on 20 April, Southall on 3 July and Toxteth on 3–8 July. Over the weekend of 10–11 July, further disturbances took place in Moss Side, Handsworth, Chapeltown and over thirty other towns and cities across the country, many of which had very few black youths residing within their areas.