“Here to Stay, Here to Fight”: A Conversation with Tariq Mehmood
Tariq Mehmood, a founding member of the United Black Youth League and one of the Bradford 12, reflects on self-defence as an act of necessary revolutionary violence.
Illustration prepared using historic posters from the Free the Bradford 12 Campaign.
The trial of the Bradford 12 in 1981 set a precedent for the right of immigrant and oppressed communities to defend themselves in the United Kingdom. In the 1970s and 1980s, white supremacist, fascist gangs and political parties terrorised immigrant communities across Britain. Gangs were beating and stabbing people, petrol-bombing and vandalising homes, while simultaneously, political movements of the far right, such as the National Front, the British National Party, and extreme paramilitary organisations like Column 88, were mobilising swathes of the population. Racist gangs murdered Gurdip Singh Chaggar in Southall, West London, in 1976 and Altab Ali in Whitechapel, East London, in 1978. Such murders were the most violent of the systematic attacks on racialized people happening across Britain by racists on the streets, in the police, and within state institutions.
By 1981, there was an intensification of racist violence, but it was met with organised resistance and community self-defence. On January 13, 1981, young Black people in New Cross, London, were massacred when the home they were in was firebombed. Six months later, on July 2, 1981, a firebomb was thrown into a home in Walthamstow, killing Parveen Khan and her three children. These incidents of violence led to community-organised protests across the country against racist policing and state violence.At the same time, the National Front – a fascist, white supremacist British political party – threatened to march into Manningham, Bradford, home to a significant South Asian population working in the mills. The police confirmed the rumours but failed to take measures to stop them or protect the communities under attack. Instead, they told Asians to stay inside that day. Not content with allowing the National Front to freely terrorise Bradford, the United Black Youth League, a militant offshoot of the Asian Youth Movement, ramped up their community protection in the event of violent attacks. On July 11, 1981, twelve young South Asians were arrested and detained for preparing petrol bombs they never used.
The trial of the Bradford 12, as they came to be known, began the following year and encapsulated the political environment of Britain at the time. The defence emphasised the extent of racist violence faced by racialized communities across Britain, whereas the prosecution’s arguments revealed that the police were required to be discriminatory to perform their duties, exposing the structural racism within law enforcement. Hundreds rallied outside the court in support of the twelve. In a momentous judgment, the Bradford 12 were acquitted on the grounds that their actions constituted self-defence in the face of a violent threat. In the face of colonial brutality in the metropole, self-defence becomes a revolutionary act. The Bradford 12’s struggle was intrinsically connected with, and inspired by, national liberation movements resisting imperialism and colonialism. “Self-defence is no offence” became the slogan of the Bradford 12 campaign.
Forty-three years later, the slogan and principles outlined by the Bradford 12 case were taken up by groups defending their communities from the racist pogroms that took place earlier this year. Between July 30 and August 5, 2024, racist and fascist riots erupted across the United Kingdom. These were initially sparked by a stabbing in Southport, which the far right falsely claimed on social media had been committed by a Muslim asylum seeker and, in some cases, a Palestinian refugee. But the fire had been fueled by the general election only a few weeks earlier, where both major political parties campaigned on an anti-immigration platform of “stop the boats” and increasing aid and arms support to Israel. Much like in 1979, when Margaret Thatcher’s Conservative Party co-opted the politics and rhetoric of the National Front, anti-immigrant and Islamophobic rhetoric became the linchpin of the 2024 general election. In this context, it is unsurprising that people across Britain are turning to the lessons of the United Black Youth League, the Asian Youth Movement, and the Bradford 12 to confront the urgent need for community self-defence. This urgency is keenly felt in the face of fascist violence, attacks on movements in solidarity with Palestine, and the normalization of violent Islamophobia, all while the British government continues to fund genocide and imperialism.
In an interview with Tariq Mehmood—a founding member of the United Black Youth League and the Asian Youth Movement, and one of the Bradford 12—we discuss the forms of colonial violence he faced growing up in Britain, his connection to anti-colonial struggles as a young activist, and the current moment of anti-imperialist organizing.
Members of the Bradford 12 upon their victory in court where they won the right to self-defence. Image: Tandana Archive
Nuvpreet Kalra (NK): How did the Asian Youth Movement consciously connect anti-imperialist and anti-colonial struggles at the time?
Tariq Mehmood (TM): The struggle against racism acted as a key that unlocked our understanding of imperialism and colonialism. This started with the simple idea that you had to live. We faced everyday violence from an early age, in schools and playgrounds. In the 1970s, across the length and breadth of the country, people were being stabbed, and petrol bombs were being thrown into their houses. Simultaneously, there were political movements of the far right, like the National Front and the British National Party, as well as far more extreme paramilitary organisations like Column 88, alongside popular waves of “Paki-bashing” by particularly nasty brands of skinheads.
So, the Asian Youth Movement was formed out of an intense racist backlash, but it wasn't simply against street racism. Our whole experience sharply contradicted what we had been told about England as an amazing paradise where the streets would be paved with gold. My grandfather and uncles worked in mills. My grandfather developed health problems due to exposure to asbestos, and my uncles were overworked. Nobody told the mill workers about the health risks of working with asbestos. So, while some were overworked like machines, others were falling ill, and children were resisting violence in schools. This opened our eyes, very painfully, to the reality that something was fundamentally wrong.
“We came to the streets of Britain, where the streets are paved with gold, and we were not going to be satisfied with the crumbs. In fact, we didn’t even want the biscuits: we wanted the bakery.”
Secondary school was far more violent. I remember a child being thrown under a bus once. By then, we had begun to understand that our issues had something to do with history: it was because the British, as colonisers, had ruled us, and that's why we were here. But we also understood that there was no other option but to organise against the violence we faced. The school was so violent that we would leave half an hour before the white children. We even went to other schools to protect immigrant children, and this is how we began to form an embryonic organisational structure. We understood the power of being organised and started organising strikes and holding meetings as we grew older. Even in our youth, we no longer wanted the crumbs. We came to the streets of Britain, where the streets are paved with gold, and we were not going to be satisfied with the crumbs. In fact, we didn’t even want the biscuits; we wanted the bakery. We recognised that our poverty was born out of colonial plunder. Therefore, nobody was doing us a favour by allowing us into this country. Britain re-plundered us through migration. The struggle against racism, borne out of an anti-colonial understanding, acted as a key that unlocked the relationship to anti-imperialism.
A National Front march in Yorkshire, 1970s. Image: Tav Dulay/Creative Commons
We had two forms of problems: one was street racism, which was relatively easy to fight against once we were organised. The other was the institutional racism of the police, the education system, the immigration system, and so on. Our anti-racism could not simply be about the far right – it didn’t make sense. We had to confront the creator of the far right, and the creator of the far right is not the street but the state, along with the pro-imperial organisations and ideologies that propped this system up. We understood that we came here for a particular reason: to rebuild the industries. We came from places that had been plundered, yet we were then labelled as “Pakis” and “wogs.” In order to maintain even our cultural identity, we needed to understand historical connections. Organised anti-imperialism, for us, became an inseparable process from anti-racism because racism had unlocked the key – a key that explained to us many other contradictions.
We saw that the strands of the monster attacking us weren’t simply the little white boy who came out at night to do “paki-bashing.” Who put the poison in his head? Where did it come from? Why were they doing this? How do we resist them? We found the answers in the thousands of different threads behind the attacks by the white boy in our streets – the police brutality, the immigration services, and, of course, living in the ghettos where we lived, in the factories and mills where we worked. The resistance to racism could not be piecemeal; people had to understand the historical basis for the material conditions of our lives, which were so bad at that time.
We began our slogan, “self-defense is no offense,” which came from a Punjabi saying: “Police di na itebaar karo, apni rakhi aap karo” (Don’t rely on the police, defend yourselves). This was shouted at a demonstration in Punjab, and it has stayed with me through the decades. But the struggle for self-defense is also the defense of our human and natural resources. Colonialism wants to steal them – to defend them is also an act of rebellion. So the anti-colonial struggle and the self-defense struggle are actually one and the same, because self-defense is not simply the macho man standing up with big biceps. Self-defense is about social organization for youth, for the fundamental right to exist, firstly, and then for a life of dignity.
NK: What was the main reason why people were joining the movement? Was it purely in reaction to violence and wanting collective self-defense, or was it an understanding and recognition of wanting to tear down the institution that is committing violence against them?
TM: A lot of it had to do with the idea that you can actually avoid a fight simply by organizing. This was a pre-mobile phone era, so we had telephone trees, for example, in Bradford, where, if you were attacked, you would phone one person who would then immediately come to defend you. But before he or she did, they informed the next, who informed the next, and very quickly, we could mobilize 20-30 people. That was a way people got involved. When people were murdered, it provoked mass resistance in the streets, and this mass resistance called for organization. It really is the violence from the state that creates the conditions on which you react. We would receive political education from our elders about the struggles in India, Africa, and particularly Palestine. So people were very much aware of the horrors around the world, and our situation was just one of the horrors.
A leaflet from the 1978 campaign to release the Virk brothers who were convicted after they defended themselves from an attack by white youth. Source: Black History Collection, Institute of Race Relations
NK: In terms of armed self-defense in the Global North, the Black Panthers were in struggle at the same time as you. Then, you have the Soviet Union and massive national liberation movements, who are taking up armed struggle against colonialism and imperialism. Do you think without that global context, the United Black Youth League would have taken the militant approach that it did? Would you have had the same language to talk about things?
“The right to life is not negotiable. We will do whatever is necessary to live.”
TM: Without what was going on around the world, we wouldn't have been organizing the way we did. Especially the influence of the Panthers, specifically Malcolm X and his words “by any means necessary.” These were the posters on our wall. The other one was Leila Khaled’s poster. We were very, very supportive of the anti-colonial struggle in Ireland, so much so that Bobby Sands actually wrote a poem from prison to one of the campaigns that we did – in support of Anwar Ditta, a South Asian woman whose children the Home Office did not believe were hers and forbade them from coming to Britain until protests successfully overturned their decision. In a sense, we were adamant as well that we are people who have rights as human beings – they’re not negotiable.
You've got to understand that when you’re being stabbed, it's quite natural to say: I'm going to defend myself with a knife. We were also well aware of the burning of our houses – the New Cross Massacre of 1981 was very much a living memory for us. At the time, we understood that the burning down of pubs in Southall by fascists was not something isolated. Up and down the country, not only did people sometimes keep water behind the door in case fascists poured petrol in, but they also blocked up their letterboxes. So the question of arming was thought of as a natural right. The right to life is not negotiable – we will do whatever is necessary to live. And if the attacker is coming armed, then what other choice have we got but to defend ourselves in the manner required?
We weren't trying to be romantic revolutionaries. We were really only trying to live. It wasn’t just the influence of anti-racist, anti-imperial, and anti-colonial movements on us. We were there to support the rights of the people of Ireland, Palestine, South Africa, Namibia, and others against colonialism by whatever tools were at their disposal. It’s not that we were sitting in some isolated place. We would talk to the Palestinians, we would talk to the Irish. They came to our demonstrations, they came to our meetings. We would talk to the Namibians, the South Africans, and people from Latin America and the Iranian students campaigning against the Shah. We had solidarity with those engaged in armed struggle, and we didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. Those who are oppressed and colonized have the right to choose how they fight. If they want to fight without the use of political violence, that’s their internal position, not for us to judge while living in an imperialist country that is making the bombs being dropped on them. If they choose to fight the colonial and imperial powers through armed resistance, that is equally up to them.
Anwar Ditta with all her four children, marching with the United Black Youth League for Jaswinder Kaur, 1981. Image: tandana.org
NK: You said that when you came to England, you were racialized in a way you hadn’t been before. Since then, discourses of race have changed in many ways. For example, people no longer use political blackness. What do you make of how racism and people’s understanding of race have changed?
TM: To understand what political blackness is, you have to understand what produced it. The answer is white supremacy. The resistance to white supremacy is hundreds of years old. So, in one sense, what we understood as Black was also what we understood as white. Neither of them really exist. There is no biologically Black person, and there is no biologically white person. In one sense, they are different shades of pink, and we're a different shade of brown. But ours wasn't an issue of shades — ours was the issue that a lot of us had common problems. The commonality of resistance to white supremacy is what drew us together as Blacks.
Black unity worries the establishment more than the Muslim unity of today. Black unity worried them because when we marched together, we were an empire marching together. When we simply said “I'm Pakistani” / “I’m Muslim” / “I’m this,” we were nothing. So, the unity that was born was also because of the ideological lessons from Malcolm X. He would say that what's important is for us to unite on the commonality of oppression, not on its divisions. Now, the state wouldn't let that be. Our organization was called the United Black Youth League, but the founders were all Asians. We saw no contradiction because you don't have to have one identity. Here I am Kashmiri, but in my ancestry, I am Pakistani; according to where I was born, I am British. God help me if they want to make me English – that’s where I'll give up. Absolutely not – I'll never do that.
“Black Unity worried them because when we marched together, we were an empire marching together.”
So, the idea of Black unity for us was a necessity of the time. The idea of so-called brownness is a funding issue – it’s money, it’s an identity. Once you accept "brown," then what happens to white? The cause is still there; white supremacy doesn't say, "I am now a lesser shade of white, I’m more pink." Now, why doesn’t one do it and the other does? As long as white supremacy is there, it doesn't matter what you call the others.
Black unity was born out of the factories, the mills, the streets – not academic papers. Academic papers, if anything, would always end up dividing us because these are people who need to build their careers and come up with new angles. We weren’t like that. So, the factories taught us, the streets taught us, the international struggles taught us. But the monster hasn’t gone away; the white racism hasn’t gone away. It’s brought another, very virulent, nasty racism into the streets of Britain, which we see in the question of Palestine and Islamophobia. Like the Black resistance of earlier times, where everyone became Black, not just Africans, everyone is a Muslim today. We’re all in the same boat because the knife that comes for the Muslim will not be able to distinguish between the Sikh, the Hindu, the Christian, the Buddhist, or anyone else. It will strike us all. So, in a sense, on the one hand, we’re all Muslim. On the other hand, we’re not. That’s the contradiction. But the idea of "brown" ignores the history before it. Had we ignored it, we wouldn’t be united; we’d have possibly languished in jails. The issue today is far worse than in our time because the systemic violence is so deeply ingrained that you have people in the media and intellectuals going on about anti-Semitism, yet Islamophobia is raging. The levels of violence are absolutely beyond belief, especially for hijab-wearing women.
We have a new, nasty racism feeding into every aspect of life, but the old one hasn’t gone away. White racism now has a new peg: Islamophobia. Now they can go back to their crusades and give it a religious name if they want. They can do all these things, and it’s that which is slaughtering the Palestinians today. We can see very clearly that this racist West is not the same West that we came to, when it still had some degree of life left in it. This is now a dying West promoting a mass ideological weapon. And what can they unite against? They can unite against Russia, they can unite against China, but internally, what do they do? The fifth column they paint is us. So, the situation of race is difficult now, but it means that we have to see it outside the South Asian context. If you are attacked as a woman, you have a right to defend yourself as a woman and demand support from those who are against the attack. That applies if you’re attacked as a Black man or a Black woman – you have a right to organise as Black defence. When it comes to Muslims, do they have that right or not?
1975 Manchester Asian Youth Movement poster: Long live Palestine! Death to Zionism! [Palestine Poster Project
NK: Recently, the mainstream media has been interested in the Bradford 12 and Asian Youth Movements: Channel 4, the BBC, and others. Is this because it’s now acceptable to look at this as a historic movement since enough time has passed? How are they framing this history today?
TM: They're taking out our politics of anti-imperialism from media representation. You won’t find it in the BBC, and that’s why I very, very rarely give interviews to the BBC. They will not mention our Irish position or our Palestinian position. We did not create the Bradford 12—the moment created us, and the moment was anti-imperialist. Without that, we are nothing. It’s also my worry that they’ll depict us simply as angry young men. We were indeed angry, but the anger had a political and intellectual side to it. Of course, we were working-class people, so we didn’t write the books. I think I wrote my first one in prison. I’m working on a film about the Bradford 12 that will be out next year. It’ll be our version of our story, not the mainstream media versions of our story. The old problem is that if the lion doesn’t tell its story, it becomes the story of the hunter. This is not the story of the hunter.
Tariq Mehmood is an award-winning author, filmmaker, academic, and community organiser. His works include Hand on the Sun, You’re Not Proper, and You’re Not Here. His new release, The Second Coming, is a novel set in war-torn Britain where far-right militias rise to power. It is published by Daraja Press and available to purchase here. His forthcoming film on the Bradford 12 is out next year.