Learning Lessons: Unrepresented

When I saw the news that Miatta Fahnbulleh MP had resigned as minister for devolution, faith and communities, I wasn’t shocked. Her departure spoke to a wider mood many of us have felt for some time. She represents one of the most diverse constituencies in the country, and her exit landed in a political moment where Black and minority ethnic voters are already signalling their disillusionment. It was a reminder that something deeper is shifting – particularly among Black working-class women who feel that the political relationship we once trusted has become transactional, distant and uncertain. 

I say this as a Black woman in her mid-fifties who was born and brought up in Lambeth, in a Britain where my parents faced open racism and where Labour was the party that stood with us. That belief shaped my childhood and my politics. But today, Labour’s lack of clarity, and its reluctance to stand firmly against the hostile climate we are living through, is testing that faith in ways I never expected. 

Fourteen years of Tory austerity hollowed out the services our communities rely on. Covid exposed the inequalities even more starkly, with Black communities facing higher infection rates, higher mortality and deeper loss. And now, at a moment when people need hope and direction, the political atmosphere feels increasingly hostile, fragmented and uncertain. 

A few weeks ago, I canvassed in Makerfield. It was sobering. Streets with Reform flags. Polite but disaffected voters who had shifted to Restore or Reform. Conversations filled with frustration, fear and resignation. It felt like a glimpse into the country’s soul at a time when global populism is rising, fuelled by billionaire influence and amplified by figures like Elon Musk who shape public discourse with extraordinary reach and little accountability. 

In that context, Black voters are asking a simple question: what does Labour stand for now. And too often, I struggle to give a clear, positive answer. 

Operation Black Vote, a national civic participation organisation that works to increase Black and minority ethnic involvement in UK democracy, warned that communities are increasingly prepared to move politically when they feel unheard or taken for granted. The Voice, Britain’s leading Black newspaper, founded in 1982, put it plainly: Black Britain is tired of being spoken about rather than spoken to. These are not signs of apathy. They are signs of people who still believe in collective progress but no longer assume Labour will deliver it. 

Earlier this year, I attended the Brixton Black People’s Assembly, a community-led democratic gathering convened to hear directly from Black residents about the pressures shaping their lives. The message was unmistakable. People spoke about work that doesn’t pay enough, housing that isn’t secure, health that is worse than it should be, and years of feeling overlooked. When community spaces become the places where people feel most heard, it tells us something about where trust is flowing and where it is fading. 

Representation matters, but representation without influence is not enough. A friend put it simply: “It’s not enough to have Black faces in the room if the outcomes for Black communities aren’t shifting.” Representation cannot be merely symbolic. 

Some Black women are now looking to other parties. Not because those parties have solved the question of diversity – many are clear they have not – but because they feel heard in a way they haven’t felt for some time. When people feel unseen, unheard or taken for granted, they look for political homes that reflect their lived experience. 

Across the country, Black voters are expressing similar concerns with growing urgency. People do not want to wait another decade for change they can feel. They want movement now, in their pay, in their housing, in their health, in the way politics shows up in their lives. Without hope and a clear, communicable vision, populism fills the void. 

And underneath all of this sits something more personal. What I hear again and again is the sentiment that the only value Black communities hold for the party is their vote. People say: “We’ve given you our vote again and again, and nothing changes.” It isn’t shouted, but spoken with weary clarity. Many of us who have lived in Lambeth all our lives can feel racism rising in ways that are subtle but unmistakable. Yet it rarely feels like anyone in national politics is willing to name it. This feeds the sense that our loyalty has been assumed, not earned. 

I was not re-elected in May after having served as a Lambeth councillor for two terms, so I know how quickly trust can move when people feel unheard. 

So where do we go from here? Labour has an opportunity, and a responsibility, to rebuild trust with the women who have carried so much for so long. That means listening with humility, not defensiveness, and showing up in community spaces consistently, not just when policy is being consulted on. It means ensuring that representation leads to real influence, not just visibility. And it means offering a clear, hopeful vision that speaks to the realities of people’s lives. 

Black working-class women are not asking for perfection. We are asking to be seen, heard and taken seriously. If Labour wants to build a politics capable of resisting populism and renewing democracy, it needs to start with us. Loyalty is no longer automatic. Yet it can be rebuilt through genuine engagement, shared purpose and visible progress. 

Going forward, the task is practical. Labour must rediscover its core purpose and its ability to inspire hope. If the changes happening in Westminster translate into changes people can actually feel, the relationship can strengthen again, through steady, visible progress. If not, more Black voters will leave for other parties – not out of disloyalty, but out of necessity.