I'll show you fear in a handful of dust

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This is a post of fragmented ideas because this week, I don’t have anything approaching a fully formed thought to explore. February is often a month of overwhelm for me and I never seem to learn from previous years that I need to pace myself. Now I’m on the precipice of a hectic few weeks of travel and deadlines that must be met or the next six months will be a gruelling game of catch up. It’s 6am starts for the foreseeable; I think operate best in the early morning, before most of my industry wakes up and starts sending me emails that I can all too easily be distracted by.

In snatched moments I’ve had to do some thinking, I find myself worrying at the concept of fear. A specific type of fear too: animal gut instinct. A physiological reaction so swift it’s hard to break down why the warning signals went off. What was it about that car? Or the way the person spoke? How did you know?

It’s patently obvious why this has been on my mind. This past Saturday, local newspaper, The Liverpool Post published an investigation into extensive allegations of sexual and domestic violence, levelled against historian Laurence Westgaph. Westgaph is a prominent name in the city, and within certain wider cultural and academic circles. He’s a BBC darling, a go-to spokesman on Black British history and, until recently, historian in residence at National Museums Liverpool.

The feature unpacking the charges surrounding Westgaph is a careful, astonishingly diligent piece of reporting by Abi Whistance (who is, for my money, one of the best young journalists working today). It uncovers a familiar story: an institution willing to ignore ‘open secrets’ about a figure they have anointed, to the degree others are likely placed at risk of harm (Westgaph categorically denies the new accusations, although his convictions for statutory rape and violent assault are a matter of public record).

When I met Laurence Westgaph, in early August 2024, I knew none of the dark rumour that dogged him.