20 years after the murder of Stephen Lawrence, prominent black figures from across the UK discuss the impact of the case guardian.co.uk

'Middle-class hostility has been let off the hook'

Robert Beckford Theologian

I was accustomed to racialised attacks on individuals from the black community, so when I first heard about the murder of Stephen Lawrence, it was just one among the many. In Birmingham we had our own catalogue of attacks and a long history of people dying in custody.

The image of Doreen and Neville Lawrence was profoundly important for black people in Britain. In mainstream public life we tend to see images of black people only when it is to do with sports or entertainment, and images of black families only when it is around questions of immigration. This was a rare moment when black people were represented in a redemptive, even salvific, way. Here were a black man and woman who were trying to deal with their own personal tragedy, but also trying to redeem the nation; a dignified, hard-working couple whose son had aspirations to become an architect and was as close as you can get to the British dream. It pricked the moral conscience.

But I only really registered the case as being very important when Nelson Mandela came to Britain two weeks later. That was the moment most people became conscious of its connection with police corruption and racist discourse in the criminal justice system. The case provided us with a moment for reflection – we could have developed very aggressive policies to deal with racism in the workplace and institutional forms of racism, but we didn't. Instead we focused on the racist attack – because we can then blame poorly educated, working-class white men for racism. When the reality is that for most black people everyday forms of racism are not about people trying to attack you in the street, but instead are in the workplace, in the criminal justice system, in housing and in the micro forms of aggression you can experience when you go shopping. We have allowed the genteel middle-class hostility that most black people experience off the hook. And so it has been possible to maintain disadvantage in the workplace, schooling and public policy.

Robert Beckford. Photograph: Sarah Lee for the Guardian

Meanwhile, the idea of "institutional racism" provided a language for critics of the state, but conversely meant public bodies could adopt the mantle of institional racism, publish the figures – and then do nothing about it, because the legislation didn't provide a sanction.

In higher education, some made an effort to recruit more black students and think about how to retain black staff. But in general it was really piecemeal and lukewarm. It wasn't the revision that North America went through in response to the civil rights movement, where black studies courses were introduced and they went out of their way to recruit black academics. Consequently, there hasn't been any major development post-Macpherson – we are in the same position as in the 1990s. And you could quite easily say we have gone backwards since the 1970s in creating a black intellectual class.

The black church tradition has changed, however. There was always a tension between the people on the streets and the people in the pews about the way forward for black Britons. The people on the streets would argue that society is racist and there are very limited opportunities for black people to progress, while the church argued that with hard work and discipline you could thrive in Britain's so-called meritocracy. After the murder it became easier for people on the streets to talk about racial disadvantage, racial attacks, corrupt policing and a faulty criminal justice system and get a hearing inside the church, which is the only nationwide institution within the black community.

Today, I think my students [at Canterbury Christ Church University] are more concerned with whether they can afford their education and get a decent job. And the reality for many black and Asian students is navigating an employment regime that is weighted against them. They have names and ethnicities that are always the last to be hired and first to be fired in Britain. There is a great deal of underemployment among black and Asian graduates compared with their counterparts.

The myth about Stephen Lawrence is that he would have got a place on an architectural course, got the training and got a job. But the chances are that in contemporary Britain he would have been struggling – and might instead have had to join the hordes of black people going overseas in order to get traditional middle-class jobs.

'I don't think institutions have changed enough'

Helen Oyeyemi Novelist

Helen Oyeyemi. Photograph: Linda Nylind for the Guardian

Stephen Lawrence was 18 years old when he was murdered and I was nine. I remember seeing his picture on the news all the time and hearing my mum talk about what his mother would be going through. He went to a local school where kids from my primary school went, so it was very immediate.

Because the case went on for so long, awareness of it grew and grew. It worked its way into the nation's consciousness and he became a bigger figure for me too. I remember in my teens in secondary school that we were taken to a play that dramatised the inquiry.

I also remember being on the bus from Deptford to Elephant and Castle, where the inquiry was being held, and having my first glimpse of the Nation of Islam. There were all these men in black suits looking very grave and dignified, waiting in a line outside – as if they were guarding, or protecting, the memory of him. My mum said they were Americans but no one really knew who they were – so there was a mystique, and also the idea that people outside of England cared and that the world was grieving over this loss. Stephen wanted to be an architect and had so much potential, and that was subtracted from England when he was suddenly murdered.

I think the murder made us confront inequalities in the criminal justice system and forced everyone to claim this black boy from south London as one of our own – a British boy. When, 18 or 19 years later, two men were finally convicted, the awareness of the case and people's feelings about it had grown to such a pitch that it felt almost like a celebration when people could say "at last".

At the beginning [of the case] there was that crushing sense that if something happened to you, the police would pursue different courses of action depneding on whether you were black or white. But now there is a sense that people are all equal in the eyes of the law, which is how it should be.

I think in literature it probably inspired more minority writers to tell stories of what it's like to be undervalued, or from an outsider perspective, but it's hard to tell. To me, increasingly, the case comes back at the strangest time – I have been writing about people who "pass" as white, and I came across the murder of Emett Till [a 14-year-old black boy murdered in 1940s Mississippi]. His killers openly said they had murdered him but they weren't charged. It brought echoes of Stephen Lawrence back but I also felt proud that in Britain, finally, someone was convicted.

I don't think institutions have changed enough. It feels as if there is progress but still unease. At least the unease is out in the open but I do worry about when young black teenagers will be able to trust the police.

I grew up on a council estate in Lewisham and it wasn't just black people who were downtrodden – it was more a class situation. The London riots seemed to be about this. There was the reaction to the death of Mark Duggan and not wanting to stand the loss of another local man. But what it spiralled into made it feel like class war had come to the streets of London. The reaction to the convictions [of Gary Dobson and David Norris] do show how far we have come in terms of racism.

'I think racism has reared its ugly head again'

Diane Abbott MP

Diane Abbott. Photograph: Sarah Lee for the Guardian

I found out about the murder from a friend, Ros Howells [now a Labour peer], who was very active in race relations in the Lewisham area and told me about it within days. It was one of a series of deaths of black men – deaths in custody, deaths where no one ever got to the bottom of what had happened.

I got to know Stephen Lawrence's father, Neville, quite well and in many ways they were symbolic of an ordinary black family who got caught up in the random cruelties of institutional racism. I made a speech about [the case] in the House of Commons in 1993 and it has been amazing to me how it has become such a mainstream cause. Because when Stephen died, initially, no one was interested. The family went to court and lost, and they asked the government for an inquiry and didn't get one. But you had a couple of things coming together. First of all there was Doreen Lawrence, who was incredibly persistent in asking for justice. Then, before the 1997 election, we took Doreen to see [then home secretary] Jack Straw. He started out being sceptical – the police had told him there was no case for an inquiry – but he was really impressed and he did deliver.

That's what made the case special – the inquiry that revealed what we all knew, that there was systemic institutional racism in the police force. Britain's black community had always known this, but it was often dismissed, or it was said that we were exaggerating.

But this inquiry caught the Met in the glare of the headlines. The Stephen Lawrence case was like a freeze frame, showing something a lot of people knew about, but which had not been taken seriously before.

I don't think it necessarily changed British society and I wouldn't say the Stephen Lawrence case made people go into politics. People had been campaigning for years on these issues, including racism in the police. The society we live in today is a result of at least three generations of campaigners. Nor did it make it easier to campaign against racism partly because there was an immediate backlash from the police, who complained, and continue to complain, that their hands are tied in dealing with black criminals. But it was a brief moment when the mainstream said: "Yes, we understand what you are talking about."

What's disturbing to me is how quickly people have slipped back into old ways. I went around Hackney in the days after the riots and people said it was about the way they were treated by the police. Sadly, in a recession, and with cutbacks and austerity, people look for a scapegoat and I think racism and anti-immigrant feeling has reared its ugly head again. Some of the narrative about immigration is very unnerving. Also the [reaction to the case] in some ways has reinforced a post-racist narrative, but that's not my experience or the experience of my friends and their children.

'I'm not willing to accept things that are racist now'

Ashley Walters, actor

Ashley Walters. Photograph: Sarah Lee for the Guardian

It was a huge shock for me when I heard about Stephen Lawrence's murder. I was very young and had never heard of someone being murdered for the colour of their skin. Later, when I was still quite young, I was in a film about Stephen Lawrence, directed by Paul Greengrass. Doreen Lawrence was on set a lot and it was not that long after the murder. It made me feel that I must make something of myself because your life can be taken away so easily.

I do think society has changed since the murder. People understand that there are those who feel so bad about other races that they are willing to kill. This has helped in dealing with racism in all areas – football, the workplace and the media. It was a tragic event but it has pushed society to challenge itself.

Personally, in my work, I am now not as willing as I was before to accept things that I know are racist. It's quite easy in the workplace to brush it off because you just want to get on, and you don't want to be a problem. But something like this makes you realise you have to stand up for your rights, because it is not just about you but the people who come after you.

I was pleased when the Macpherson report came out because I had experienced racism by the police over and over again. I was stopped and searched regularly – two or three times a week from the time I was 14 onwards – and it became a real issue. Especially for my mum because she spent a lot of time having to pick me up from a police station when I had done nothing wrong. Before the report, young black boys like me felt as if we didn't have a voice. I think it happens less now. Stephen's death wasn't in vain because it meant people had to change.

But I am still stopped and searched – it happened the other day. I was swarmed by six police who were searching me and holding me. I understand they have a job to do, but it makes me feel really angry – and I get it a lot less than most young black men on the street. I have met a lot of police officers who are trying to make a difference but I think a huge part of the police force holds views that are not right. And I doubt the trust in the police has improved within the black community. I was disgusted by a lot of the behaviour in the riots but I can understand a lot of the anger that was bubbling up.

In terms of the music industry today there are a lot more black actors and black musicians. And I think the Stephen Lawrence case opened doors to things that might have been frowned upon in the past. One example is So Solid: we had a huge impact and I think people didn't understand us but now you have more artists who lead same way of life that we did.

In terms of film and TV black actors still don't get the range of parts they should do. Lots of black actors refuse to play gangsters or criminals but then they don't work. I think it's up to black actors and writers to create new parts that are not always set in "the ends".

With my children I am not naive. I know I still have to tell them that they have to be doing better than the best in their class. It's a shame to say it but as a black child the minute you become a problem no one is there for you any more. I don't think you should have to say to your child "make sure you do more than your white friend", but in the world we live in racism is still there at every level.

'I don't think as a society we are less racist'

Kele Okereke Musician

Kele Okereke. Photograph: Tibor Bozi

I felt a biting sadness when I heard Stephen Lawrence had been murdered. I was 12 and it's a wound that hasn't really healed. It was about being made aware that in this land, which is your home, you are still seen as different.

Then there was the fact that the murder was covered up – and the forces that were there to protect us colluded and conspired to prevent justice happening.

Growing up not white in Britain, you experience some kind of racism everyday. There are two paths you can take – you can let it enrage you or you can try to ignore it. The Stephen Lawrence murder was something that it was impossible to not feel moved by, but in the years that followed, seeing his mother's reluctance to accept this injustice was something I found incredibly inspiring.

As a black man growing up in the 90s the findings of the Macpherson report weren't a shock to me. It confirmed what my parents said and my own experiences. I have a friend who worked in the police force in the 70s, and he told me that they had a rhyme which reminded them that if you saw two black youths you would always stop them. This wasn't written down – it was an attitude.

I don't think as a society we are less racist than 20 years ago, although we may be more careful about putting it on display. At the moment it feels as if political correctness and multiculturalism have become dirty words, and it is a cruel victory of the right that we are not allowed to fight the status quo without being criticised.

My cousin Christopher Alaneme was killed in 2006 in a racist attack in Kent. He was 18 and at the start of his life but it was taken away by hateful people. This is the reality of life in multicultural Britain and it makes me sad.

Just recently we had the John Terry case, where a high-profile public figure was ostensibly using racist language, and it didn't feel as if in his industry that there was any kind of backlash from people who support football. It's sad because it suggests to me those kind of ideas aren't a problem in his field.

Being a person of colour in the music industry isn't easy, nor is it easy being a person of colour in the public eye. In today's media there is a continued portrayal of the black person as being bullish, troublesome and with a chip on their shoulder. But I ask: how are we supposed to feel when violence, discrimination and a relentless negative public image is what we are faced with daily?

Because of this, now in my 30s, I am starting to notice that there is a growing suspicion in me of the police, of the government, of the media, of all these white-owned and regulated power structures. This is partly fostered by my parents, partly fostered by the experiences of being a young black man in the UK. Although I cannot give way to it, I must recognise it for what it is, because this is how things are in the Britain and will continue to be probably for most of my lifetime.

'It changed Britain – it cut across race lines'

Estelle Musician

Estelle. Photograph: Everett Collection/Rex Feature

I heard about the murder on the day it happened. I was young and I just remember being, like, what? Just the fact that people would hurt someone like that was a huge shock to my system. What resonated with me was that he was so young and walking home from a bus stop and these lads just stabbed the hell out of him. I was nervous for my brothers.

You would hear about police racism but when the Macpherson report came out, it was shown to be real. I think it's more about society and the way people are raised. My mum raised us to think as individuals and not to judge people but after the report it became more difficult to disagree when my friends said the police were racist.

I think the case definitely changed Britain – it cut across race lines. It didn't matter if you were black, white or grey, you had to see that it was unfair that this man had been killed. I don't think it made Britain less racist but it stayed on people's minds – especially with the way Mrs Lawrence behaved after the attacks.

For the past 10 years, what I have taken from it is watching Mrs Lawrence's example. Watching how she has become a symbol for peace rather than being filled with the anger and grief you would expect – that leads me to think about having a higher purpose.

There are so many questions you could ask about black people on the streets and the police. I have been a victim of it a couple of times, seeing my friends experience stop and search, so for me it is an ongoing issue. It can be someone just doing their job. But it can also, on the other side, be someone trying to carry on with their day that has to deal with it.

Across the board and across the world, there are problems with racism. I can't redesign the world and say it isn't there. But I don't know what you can do about it apart from taking personal responsibility.