Collage created by Eshe Powell. 

There’s a moment, a hesitation. You want to speak, but the air between your thoughts and your voice thickens with doubt. You hold back. It’s a familiar weight — a quiet decision to stay silent for the sake of others. We’ve all been there.

It’s the careful navigation of Britishness, where politeness is often prized over honesty, where the unwritten rules of etiquette guide our every interaction. We learn to say “sorry” when we’re barely at fault, to brush off slight discomforts, and to tread lightly on the feelings of others, even when it means stifling our own voice. It’s a journey we all embark on — the discovery of what is appropriate, what is acceptable, and what is expected.

As children, we speak freely, only to learn that there are invisible boundaries around what we can and cannot say. As adults, we master the art of discretion, becoming fluent in the language of social conventions, the delicate balancing act of expressing ourselves within the confines of what is deemed “right.”

But what happens when the things we want to say don’t fit into those confines? What happens when the weight of unspoken thoughts becomes too much to bear?

For many, these moments of restraint pass quickly — a fleeting silence in the flow of conversation. But for others — for Black Brits like myself — these moments can linger, collecting into something heavier. The feeling of wanting to speak, of wanting to assert our presence, but knowing that the environment around us isn’t always welcoming of that voice. The careful balance becomes not just about politeness, but survival — social, professional, and emotional.

It’s the odd paradox of being Black British. You learn the rules of British decorum, the subtleties of etiquette, and the quiet nuances of communication. But you also live with the complexities of a different reality — one where you’re often “wanted” for your culture, your creativity, but not always for your voice. The same environment where it’s appropriate to apologise for scraping a chair too loudly is the one where you’re expected to remain silent when someone makes an offhand remark about your hair, your skin, or your “unusual” name. An insurmountable quantity of microaggressions where you’re expected to assimilate into the quiet formality of British culture, but your identity is always just loud enough to be noticed. Where your voice is wanted when it fits a mold but questioned when it strays outside of that.

There’s a deep complexity to this experience. To be wanted for your contributions, but not always for your truth. To be invited into spaces, but not always fully welcomed. It’s a strange kind of censorship — not always overt, but ever-present. It’s the moments when you’re told “you’re overreacting” after calling out a microaggression, the raised eyebrows when you dare to speak up in spaces not built for you.

This silence is not just about politeness — it’s about navigating a world where your identity feels both celebrated and scrutinised. Where your culture is wanted, but your experiences are often sidelined. The same country that “wants” the richness of African and Caribbean heritage is the one that often resists fully hearing the voices of those who carry that heritage.

And yet, in this complexity, there is resilience. Black Brits continue to create, to speak, to express ourselves in ways that transcend these boundaries. Creativity becomes a form of resistance, a way to assert our identities and our voices even in spaces that might not be “made for us”.

This tension between being wanted for our culture and being ignored for our realities is deeply rooted in history. It’s the legacy of the British empire. That legacy continues today, in how Black Brits are often reduced to what they can offer, rather than being valued for their full authentic selves.

The music, the art, the fashion — they are celebrated, but the experiences, struggles, and history of the people creating them are often left in the shadows.

But out of this complexity comes something powerful: resilience and creativity. Black Brits have found ways to express themselves in a society that wants pieces of their culture but not the whole story. Creativity becomes both a form of survival and a way of pushing back.

Creating spaces that weren’t built for them, telling stories that challenge the shallow ways they are “wanted” by society. Whether through the hard-hitting lyrics of musicians like Stormzy or the bold visual storytelling of filmmakers like Steve McQueen, true creativity refuses to be confined to what is easy or palatable. It insists on being heard and seen in full.

And so, we arrive at a celebration — not just of the culture that Black Brits have created, but of the complexity, the resilience, and the stories behind that culture. Actresses like Michaela Coel and visual artists like Lubaina Himid use their work to challenge the narratives that have long silenced Black British experiences. Their art speaks to the fullness of who we are, beyond the narrow ways society has wanted us.

Musicians like Little Simz and poets like Warsan Shire speak truths that go deeper than catchy rhythms and beautiful verses — they offer stories that force us to confront the realities of being Black in Britain. Photographers like Campbell Addy and artists like Damzz capture the nuances of Black British identity in ways that break through stereotypes and offer a new vision of what it means to be seen.

Damzz’s work, particularly in his bold use of digital imagery and cultural references, speaks to the tension between being celebrated for Black culture and the marginalization of Black voices. His art challenges the viewer to confront not just the beauty of Black identity, but the complexities and struggles behind it — making it impossible to separate the culture from the stories that shape it. He reflects on the experience of being both wanted and misunderstood, creating pieces that force a reckoning with the realities of Black British life.

These artists, and so many others, remind us that to be wanted for our culture is not enough. We are not just our contributions, and we refuse to be reduced to what the world wants from us. We are our stories, our struggles, and our resilience. In celebrating Black British creatives, we reclaim the narrative — on our terms, in our voices, with the full weight of our humanity.