mastodon.scot/@thisismyglasgow… thisismyglasgow@mastodon.scot - Nightfall at Luma Tower on the southside of Glasgow. Designed by Cornelius Armour in a Steamline Moderne style and built in 1938, it's one of the best preserved Art Deco buildings in the city.

#glasgow #architecture #artdeco #glasgowatnight #nightphotography #architecturephotography

mastodon.social/@vicgrinberg/1… vicgrinberg@mastodon.social - Mr Robot.

#photography

Dr. Victoria Grinberg (@vicgrinberg@mastodon.social)

Attached: 1 image Mr Robot. #photography

^Mastodon

oslo.town/@matt/11519845316720… matt@oslo.town - 🇬🇧, u ok hun?

#UnitedKingdom #UK #FarRight #TommyRobinson #UKNews

Matt ⁂ 🇳🇴 🇺🇦 (@matt@oslo.town)

Attached: 1 video 🇬🇧, u ok hun? #UnitedKingdom #UK #FarRight #TommyRobinson #UKNews

^{oslo.town - Mastodon}

I thought I was growing up in a racially tolerant Britain. I now realise I was wrong

When my dad went to school in the 1970s, the kids used to pretend he was invisible. Every day he would try to make conversation and play with the other children, and every day he would be ignored. One night it got so bad that my grandma found him crying himself to sleep, unable to process, as an eight-year-old, why no one would want to talk to “the brown kid”. This kind of social exclusion was sadly all too familiar in postwar Britain – my white grandma had endured her own share of abuse ever since she fell in love with my Sri Lankan grandad in 1966, committing the family’s original sin of interracial marriage.

When I heard these stories as a child, they felt like terrible tales from a different time – one of National Front marches and street battles, shot with big bulky cameras on black-and-white film. Growing up at a multicultural school in south-west London in the 2010s, I certainly had a different childhood to my father’s – the notion of being an outcast because of the colour of your skin was nothing short of laughable. Now, though, it doesn’t seem quite so funny.

Just a year ago, in the aftermath of the Southport killings, towns and cities up and down the country were hit with what can only be described as attempted pogroms. Hordes of men in Middlesbrough stood at intersections checking the skin colour of drivers; family homes were vandalised with racist graffiti; rioters in Rotherham tried to set fire to asylum seeker accommodation. As I turned 19 in the midst of the chaos, I was being taught an important lesson, one that much of my generation has had the luxury of forgetting. For the first time I learned what it really means to live in fear because of the colour of your skin, and it has never left me since.

This is all a far cry from my own laissez-faire childhood, which reflects many of the experiences of young people of colour who grew up at a time when racist attitudes were in decline. In 1993 almost half of Britons said they’d be uncomfortable if their child married someone of a different ethnicity; by 2020 that number had fallen to just 4%, a stunning drop. Likewise, the percentage of people saying that you have to be white to be truly British has fallen from 10% in 2006 to 3%. While British society has always been far from perfect (many have rightly taken aim at the continued prevalence of institutional racism and unconscious bias) a consensus seemed to have evolved that racism was itself a fundamentally bad thing that was on the way out.

I thought I was growing up in a racially tolerant Britain. I now realise I was wrong

I’ve experienced more racism in the past year than the rest of my life put together – the only answer is for young people to stand up to the far right, says writer Rohan Sathyamoorthy

^{Rohan Sathyamoorthy (The Guardian)}