Ariyon Bakare

Monologue: Ariyon Bakare

Actor, Writer and Director • His Dark Materials • Carnival Row • Good Omens • Life • Founder • iCARE@ariyonb

Photography: Misan Harriman

Monologue: Ariyon Bakare

Actor, Writer and Director • His Dark Materials • Carnival Row • Good Omens • Life • Founder • iCARE@ariyonb

Photography: Misan Harriman

Monologue: Ariyon Bakare

Actor, Writer and Director • His Dark Materials • Carnival Row • Good Omens • Life • Founder • iCARE@ariyonb

Photography: Misan Harriman
Ariyon Bakare
Ariyon Bakare

Monologue: Ariyon Bakare

Actor, Writer and Director • His Dark Materials • Carnival Row • Good Omens • Life • Founder • iCARE@ariyonb

Photography: Misan Harriman

Monologue: Ariyon Bakare

Actor, Writer and Director • His Dark Materials • Carnival Row • Good Omens • Life • Founder • iCARE@ariyonb

Photography: Misan Harriman
I watched the footage of the brutal strangulation of a black man under a knee of white cops over and over again until the collar of my shirt began to feel tight.

I loosened it only to still experience the same tightness, but the pain had now moved from my neck to the back of my throat.

I tried to drink a bottle of water in the hope that it would disappear, but nothing would ease the obstruction that seem to squeezing my airway.

I was suffocating.

I rubbed my neck.

I gargled with salt.

I sucked on a Vocal Zone but the pain was still there.

I was even considering doing the Heinrich manoeuvre on myself but I realise my yoga card had expired quite some time ago.

I breathed in, held my breath and spluttered out and still the invisible hand around my neck was choking me from inside. 

Was this the symptoms of Covid?

I called NHS 111.  I was having a panic attack, sympathy pains for the horror of George Floyd demise.  

With that realisation came sudden visions, of my past, my invisibility as a black man living in a white world.

So , I called all my white friends.

"Hi!"

"Hi ya Ariyon you good?" They'd ask.

"Yeah, I'm good. Are you a racist?" I'd reply, "Because I'm struggling right now."

The question hung in the air for a minute or two followed by stuttering and then defending.

Long conversations became short conversation.

I retold stories.

I called them out and in doing so called myself out.  

I marched 79,500 steps, from Hyde park to parliament hill in three days.  Chanting out for change.
79500 steps. It seems a lot but imagine how many steps black people have taken up to now to evoke change.  
I know from past experiences the bell has to keep ringing loudly for it to be heard right at the back.
That's why I started  @Ic4re_, an online safe space for Conversations About Race Equality, to keep the conversation alive to remind us that we are responsible for change.
First in ourselves with the hope others will follow.
I watched the footage of the brutal strangulation of a black man under a knee of white cops over and over again until the collar of my shirt began to feel tight.

I loosened it only to still experience the same tightness, but the pain had now moved from my neck to the back of my throat.

I tried to drink a bottle of water in the hope that it would disappear, but nothing would ease the obstruction that seem to squeezing my airway.

I was suffocating.

I rubbed my neck.

I gargled with salt.

I sucked on a Vocal Zone but the pain was still there.

I was even considering doing the Heinrich manoeuvre on myself but I realise my yoga card had expired quite some time ago.

I breathed in, held my breath and spluttered out and still the invisible hand around my neck was choking me from inside. 

Was this the symptoms of Covid?

I called NHS 111.  I was having a panic attack, sympathy pains for the horror of George Floyd demise.  

With that realisation came sudden visions, of my past, my invisibility as a black man living in a white world.

So , I called all my white friends.

"Hi!"

"Hi ya Ariyon you good?" They'd ask.

"Yeah, I'm good. Are you a racist?" I'd reply, "Because I'm struggling right now."

The question hung in the air for a minute or two followed by stuttering and then defending.

Long conversations became short conversation.

I retold stories.

I called them out and in doing so called myself out.  

I marched 79,500 steps, from Hyde park to parliament hill in three days.  Chanting out for change.
79500 steps. It seems a lot but imagine how many steps black people have taken up to now to evoke change.  
I know from past experiences the bell has to keep ringing loudly for it to be heard right at the back.
That's why I started  @Ic4re_, an online safe space for Conversations About Race Equality, to keep the conversation alive to remind us that we are responsible for change.
First in ourselves with the hope others will follow.
I watched the footage of the brutal strangulation of a black man under a knee of white cops over and over again until the collar of my shirt began to feel tight.

I loosened it only to still experience the same tightness, but the pain had now moved from my neck to the back of my throat.

I tried to drink a bottle of water in the hope that it would disappear, but nothing would ease the obstruction that seem to squeezing my airway.

I was suffocating.

I rubbed my neck.

I gargled with salt.

I sucked on a Vocal Zone but the pain was still there.

I was even considering doing the Heinrich manoeuvre on myself but I realise my yoga card had expired quite some time ago.

I breathed in, held my breath and spluttered out and still the invisible hand around my neck was choking me from inside. 

Was this the symptoms of Covid?

I called NHS 111.  I was having a panic attack, sympathy pains for the horror of George Floyd demise.  

With that realisation came sudden visions, of my past, my invisibility as a black man living in a white world.

So , I called all my white friends.

"Hi!"

"Hi ya Ariyon you good?" They'd ask.

"Yeah, I'm good. Are you a racist?" I'd reply, "Because I'm struggling right now."

The question hung in the air for a minute or two followed by stuttering and then defending.

Long conversations became short conversation.

I retold stories.

I called them out and in doing so called myself out.  

I marched 79,500 steps, from Hyde park to parliament hill in three days.  Chanting out for change.
79500 steps. It seems a lot but imagine how many steps black people have taken up to now to evoke change.  
I know from past experiences the bell has to keep ringing loudly for it to be heard right at the back.
That's why I started  @Ic4re_, an online safe space for Conversations About Race Equality, to keep the conversation alive to remind us that we are responsible for change.
First in ourselves with the hope others will follow.

Monologue: Ariyon Bakare

Actor, Writer and Director • His Dark Materials • Carnival Row • Good Omens • Life • Founder • iCARE@ariyonb

Photography: Misan Harriman
I watched the footage of the brutal strangulation of a black man under a knee of white cops over and over again until the collar of my shirt began to feel tight.

I loosened it only to still experience the same tightness, but the pain had now moved from my neck to the back of my throat.

I tried to drink a bottle of water in the hope that it would disappear, but nothing would ease the obstruction that seem to squeezing my airway.

I was suffocating.

I rubbed my neck.

I gargled with salt.

I sucked on a Vocal Zone but the pain was still there.

I was even considering doing the Heinrich manoeuvre on myself but I realise my yoga card had expired quite some time ago.

I breathed in, held my breath and spluttered out and still the invisible hand around my neck was choking me from inside. 

Was this the symptoms of Covid?

I called NHS 111.  I was having a panic attack, sympathy pains for the horror of George Floyd demise.  

With that realisation came sudden visions, of my past, my invisibility as a black man living in a white world.

So , I called all my white friends.

"Hi!"

"Hi ya Ariyon you good?" They'd ask.

"Yeah, I'm good. Are you a racist?" I'd reply, "Because I'm struggling right now."

The question hung in the air for a minute or two followed by stuttering and then defending.

Long conversations became short conversation.

I retold stories.

I called them out and in doing so called myself out.  

I marched 79,500 steps, from Hyde park to parliament hill in three days.  Chanting out for change.
79500 steps. It seems a lot but imagine how many steps black people have taken up to now to evoke change.  
I know from past experiences the bell has to keep ringing loudly for it to be heard right at the back.
That's why I started  @Ic4re_, an online safe space for Conversations About Race Equality, to keep the conversation alive to remind us that we are responsible for change.
First in ourselves with the hope others will follow.
Ariyon Bakare
Ariyon BakareAriyon Bakare
Ariyon Bakare
Ariyon BakareAriyon Bakare
Ariyon Bakare
No items found.

Monologue/dialogue

Sebastian Zurita


prev
next