Follow Us on Socials: Facebook and Instagram The reggae world is shaken by the passing of Stephen “Cat” Coore , the legendary guitarist, cellist, and co‑founder of the iconic Third World band . His death marks the end of a monumental chapter in Caribbean music history. For over five decades, Cat shaped the global soundscape with his unmatched fusion of reggae, soul, funk, and classical influences. His artistry wasn’t just heard — it was felt, deeply, across generations and across borders. Among the many places touched by his brilliance, Anguilla holds a special place. Cat visited the island multiple times, forging a meaningful musical bond with Omari Banks and his father, the legendary Bankie Banks. Omari Banks shared his heartfelt condolences on Facebook. Referring to Cat as Uncle Roy. Their collaborations were more than performances; they were cultural bridges, moments where Jamaican and Anguillian artistry intertwined. Those who witnessed Cat on Angui...
Britain Branded Black Children as Defective — Then Called It Education
Britain did not merely misjudge Black children—it engineered their removal from the future with bureaucratic calm. “Educationally Subnormal.” A label that sounds technical, tidy, almost humane—until you see what it did. ESN wasn’t an error in the system; it was the system. A machine designed to turn white, middle-class norms into science and Black difference into deficiency. Clipboards replaced chains. Reports replaced slurs. The outcome was the same: exclusion with a smile.
This was racism refined—white supremacy translated into IQ tests, teacher reports, and institutional consensus. Black children weren’t “failed”; they were processed. Warehoused. Told, early and often, that aspiration was not for them. And white Britain didn’t just permit this—it relied on it.
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ESN protected a fantasy of national normality by pushing Black children out of sight and out of schools that promised mobility. When the lie was challenged, it wasn’t dismantled; it was quietly renamed, refiled, and rolled forward. Progress, we’re told. Accountability, deferred.
The Windrush scandal followed the same script. Invite, exploit, discard. Promise belonging, then criminalise survival. Set people up to fail and call the fallout an accident. Britain has perfected this move: create the harm, deny intent, wait for silence to do the rest.
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There has been no reckoning for ESN—no apology commensurate with the damage, no institutional shame, no reparative action that matches the scale of the theft: stolen education, stolen confidence, stolen futures. Silence is not neutrality here; it’s an active defence of a country that still cannot tell the truth about itself.
Black people who helped to rebuild Britain is still fighting to prove their British: Watch Below.
So will Britain ever apologise—or make it right? History suggests apologies come only when denial becomes too expensive. Until then, the outrage must remain gravitational—pulling memory back into public life, refusing the comfort of forgetfulness. Because ESN was not a footnote. It was a policy choice. And choices, especially cruel ones, demand answers.
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