How older Caribbean people cope with a sense of belonging in the UK

We all belong somewhere. And wherever we are, people either think we belong or they don’t. In the UK, this has become abundantly clear over the past decade with the government’s anti-immigration policy, known as hostile environmentEstablished when Theresa May was Home Secretary from 2010 to 2016.

This Controversial position of the government is fuelled by overt racism and hostility. It has sparked the Windrush scandal which, since 2017, has seen people of pensionable age – many of whom have lived as Britons in the UK since early childhood – stripped of their citizenship and residence rights, as well as the healthcare, housing and wider social support that go with them.

The scandal is emblematic of what many older Caribbean people have had to face in the UK throughout their lives – the discrimination and impoverished outcomes they have experienced in employment, criminal justice, housing, education, health and social care. The question “Where are you from?”, an all too familiar and enduring slogan, epitomises the narrative of not belonging.

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This article is part of our Windrush 75 series, which commemorates the 75th anniversary of HMT Empire Windrush’s arrival in the UK. The stories in this series explore the history and impact of the hundreds of passengers who disembarked to assist rebuild after World War II.

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Spending time together

We derive our sense of belonging from being recognized and accepted as related to something specific – properly placed in something specific environmentRegardless of dominant narratives, people and communities in the UK have always found ways to nurture connection and belonging.

For the past decade I have been exploring ideas of place-making and community-based knowledge through research with older people of Caribbean descent in the UK. I have captured the ways in which they have found that they belong to the place where many of them have lived for decades and where they will die. I have found that in migrant and diaspora communities in particular, belonging is cultivated in what sociologists call “microsocial“: everyday practices and rituals, as well as spaces that people claim as their own.

For older churchgoing women who came to Britain during the Windrush period, Lunch clubs often played an crucial role in their lives. As Mrs. Faith, a woman in her seventies, told me during an interview in 2011:

We met regularly and it was nice…we would have lunch, usually we would have a guest speaker, and then we would just hang out. That’s how we take care of each other – and where we come from, taking care of each other is what we had to do.

For her, the club not only created bonds between members, but was also a caring, diasporic space. Participants came to find a sense of kinship and connection in shared values ​​and “ways of knowing” drawn from their countries of birth.

Domino Clubs evoked similar feelings. One I visited was founded more than 30 years ago. Members meet twice a week to play dominoes. They also take part in an annual tournament with five or six other diminutive clubs from around the country. One 71-year-old member said:

It’s our turn… we’re taking over… some come to play dominoes and take it seriously; others come for a laugh and a chat… to make sure we’re okay. That’s what it’s all about. We can relax, talk about antique times and how we’re doing… and check in on us.

Creating your own space

Being together is not the only way to feel a sense of belonging. In another studyI looked at the leisure activities of Caribbean people over the age of 85. One of the men I spoke to, Mr Bridgeman, was born 90 years ago on a smallholding in Barbados. He still has a connection to the land – although it is land allocated by his local council in the UK – through a plot of land that he has tended daily for almost half a century.

When I checked in on Mr Bridgeman during the pandemic, he continued his daily routine, drawing on antique habits. His allotment remained his sanctuary, a place where he could grow vegetables as he did as a boy – and, importantly, simply “be”.

I found that these elders very rarely got incensed at injustice. For the most part, there was a peaceful resistance to generational hostility and being made to feel like they didn’t belong.

The most telling response I received came from Ms. Jeffers, who, in response to a question about the importance of conducting research based on the lives of her generation, said:

We need to ask older people from the Caribbean. We have played a valuable role in the development of British society and our views and experiences should be sought out; we need to be acknowledged, respected and accepted.

The pandemic has has reaped its harvestOf the many haunts frequented by the older Caribbean people I have spent the last decade with, the lunch club has gone, the dominoes club has lost a significant number of members, and Mr. Bridgeman is no longer able to visit his allotment as often as he once did.

Sociologists, including an American writer bell hooks called for the necessity of “epistemic equalization”. The point is that for social policy and service delivery to be effective, they must be based not on theory but on the particular – on knowledge that emerges from people’s everyday lives. This is especially true for racialized communities whose own knowledge production is so often ignored.

Many of the elders I have worked with are approaching the final chapters of their lives in the UK. Understanding both the strategies they have deployed to carve out their own space and sense of connection, and the very real concerns they also have, remains urgent. We need to amplify their voices and pay attention to what they have to say.

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You can download e-book hereThank you for your interest.

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