In a development that has sent shockwaves through the corridors of power and the bottom of my gin glass, African and Caribbean nations have formally requested a proper apology for the transatlantic slave trade. The UK, in a masterstroke of diplomatic fudge, has graciously offered to 'support dialogue.' Because nothing says 'we're truly sorry' like a consultation process that will outlast the wait for a new passport.
Let us pause here. The call comes from nations whose ancestors were shackled, shipped, and sold like lumber. They want a few words of regret. Not reparations. Not land. Just an 'oops' from the Crown. And what do they get? A committee. A talking shop. A roundtable with biscuits and mineral water while the ghosts of history rattle their chains in the airless rooms of Whitehall.
I imagine the scene: a polished mahogany table, a civil servant adjusting his tie, saying 'We hear your concerns. Let us form a working group to examine the feasibility of an utterance of remorse.' Meanwhile, the Caribbean delegates stare at the portrait of a slave trader on the wall, wondering if the gin in the decanter is any good. It never is.
The British Elite, ever the champions of emotional austerity, have perfected the art of non-apology. They apologise for the 'hurt' but not the 'harming.' They express 'regret' but not 'responsibility.' It is the linguistic equivalent of a shrug set to violins. And let us not forget the Queen's visit to Ghana in 2018 when she danced. She danced! A shuffling, regal boogie while the ghost of empire whispered in her ear: 'You owe them nothing, Lizzie.'
But the audacity! The sheer, breathtaking audacity to suggest that a dialogue will suffice. This is not a dialogue. This is a monologue with applause breaks. The UK knows full well that if they say sorry, they open the floodgates. Next, they'll have to apologise for the potato famine. For the Opium Wars. For the time they ruined tea by putting milk in first.
And yet, here we are. The descendants of the enslaved are still waiting. They have waited for centuries. They have waited through abolition, through independence, through the Cool Runnings movie. And now they wait for a committee to decide if they're allowed to feel aggrieved.
I say this: if you cannot apologise for something, you have no business pretending to govern. The UK is like a man who has crashed the car, killed the neighbour's dog, and then offers to have a 'constructive conversation' about the accident. The dog is still dead. The car is still wrecked. And the neighbour is still holding a shovel.
The truth is simple: the transatlantic slave trade was an atrocity. It was a crime against humanity. And the UK was the captain of that ghastly vessel. To say sorry is not weakness; it is the minimum. To refuse is to say that the lives of millions were not worth a syllable.
But the UK will not apologise. Not sincerely. Because sincerity requires vulnerability, and vulnerability is for people who don't have nuclear weapons. So instead, we get dialogue. We get a process. We get the warm, milky embrace of British bureaucracy.
To the leaders of the African and Caribbean nations: Keep demanding. Keep pushing. Do not settle for a handshake and a photo op. Do not be fobbed off by a man in a pinstripe suit who says 'we are listening.' Because history shows that when Britain says 'dialogue,' they mean 'delay.' And when they say 'sorry,' they mean 'let's talk about something else.'
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to refill my glass. The ghosts are getting restless, and the gin is the only thing that makes their whispers sound like jazz.
