Summary

The poem "The Lions Of Notting Hill Carnival" reflects a personal negative experience at the event, highlighting the presence of individuals who engage in harmful behavior and detract from the carnival's cultural significance and intended spirit of unity and celebration.

Abstract

The author of the poem shares a deeply personal and disheartening account of the Notting Hill Carnival. Despite the event's purpose to celebrate Caribbean culture and foster community, the author feels overwhelmed by a sense of isolation and danger amidst the throngs of attendees. They describe an atmosphere where some individuals, metaphorically referred to as "lions in sheep's clothing," disrupt the festivities with predatory behavior, substance abuse, and violence. The poem paints a vivid picture of the stark contrast between the carnival's vibrant colors and the underlying threat posed by these disruptive elements. The author's experience is marred by instances of harassment, witnessing public intoxication, and observing aggressive acts, including an assault that leaves them feeling powerless and fearful. The presence of law enforcement and their visible struggle to maintain safety further underscores the tension and conflict that overshadow the event's positive aspects.

Opinions

The author does not believe that attendance at the carnival implies consent to personal violations such as unwanted physical contact.
There is a clear frustration with the lack of respect for the event's cultural significance and the absence of consent.
The author expresses a sense of dread and vulnerability, feeling unprotected in the midst of the crowd.
The poem conveys a critical view of those who exploit the festive atmosphere to engage in harmful activities, contrasting them with the true spirit of the carnival.
There is an underlying disappointment that the carnival's message of hope and unity is being undermined by the actions of a few.
The author is deeply troubled by the sight of residents fleeing their homes due to the carnival's negative impact on their neighborhood.
The poem suggests that the author feels a sense of responsibility to identify and speak out against the "lions" who threaten the safety and enjoyment of others.
There is a palpable concern for the victims of violence and a hope for their recovery, as well as a questioning of the effectiveness of the police presence.

The Lions Of Notting Hill Carnival

A Poem About Those Who Ruined My Experience of Notting Hill Carnival

This is a poem which reflects my personal experience of the carnival which was not positive. I do not speak for everyone who attended, many who loved the event so this is not a personal attack on the carnival. If any comments become racially motivated or abusive they will be removed and reported. I don’t think there will be, but you never know! I’ve seen worse and I want to make it clear, it’s not welcome here. Enjoy the poem!

Monday drawers in.

The crowd embodies a river.

A constant stream of people pushing past me, my skin brushing theirs.

Thousands of people, yet the eeriness of loneliness attacks me like a knife.

I stand still.

My eyes dart from side to side,

I search for the lions in sheep’s clothing.

I search for those who mean to harm me, those who mean to harm others.

I search for those who do not care about this event,

An event designed to fight against the violence of a marginalised culture,

To be a defiant light of hope and optimism to those who needed it.

I search for the ones who snuff out this light and bathe in the darkness

For in the darkness, they can cause destruction.

The alcohol is flowing along nicely,

We Brits like the excuse for a good drink after all.

There are those whose eyes dilate as the substances reach their blood,

They smile as it makes the colours brighter and the world seem more magical.

Blissfully unaware of the danger that surrounds them,

I wish I was unaware.

I wish the sensation of powerlessness would not cling to me like wet clothing,

Or the stabbing sense of forbode which attacks me would leave me,

But I am not so lucky.

So, I stare and I wait. What else can I do?

There is a change in the air and the flag of war is flown.

And so, it begins.

A man walks up to me,

He begins to grind against me,

No consent is needed by the stranger,

Obviously, attendance is consent enough for him.

The first lion in sheep’s clothing.

I ask him to stop and he ignores me,

My job in his eyes is to entertain him, something I have no desire to do.

I ask again, and nothing.

A third time and nothing.

Eventually, I take matters into my own hands and I wrangle free from my capture and escape,

The thousands of people now become my prison as I struggle to get through,

None bothering to help me.

I see houses abandoned,

Residents who felt they could only be safe by fleeing their homes.

And I cannot help but see a man decorating their front garden in his urine,

The lion relieves himself wherever he chooses.

Fleeing was clearly a wise choice.

I see women, too drunk to stand.

People ‘helping’ them and my stomach churns.

I hope they trying to help.

My brain jumps from lion to sheep, and I feel sick.

It doesn’t matter as they are absorbed into a wave of people and disappear from view.

Was it a sheep helping or a lion hunting for prey?

I’ll never know.

Later I see an officer wearing a high vis.

The yellow shines brightly in the sun happy and inviting,

Until they turn around.

The happiness of the yellow is shattered by the deep breath which bathes her back.

A painting created by the blood of a fallen sheep now graces it, defeated by a lion.

It reminds everyone, that they are not safe.

There is no safe.

I have no idea whose blood it is. I can only hope they are not too badly injured and will recover.

I cannot help them now.

Time ticks on.

Police push their way through the crowd, helping whomever they can.

A flying glass bottle hit the face of a bystander minding their own business.

Did they even care who they hit?

A lion is dominated by the sensation that any harm to a person is better than being left out of needless violence.

I spend the day watching as the lions disguised in sheep’s clothing continue to suck out the light of the event, one victim at a time.

As the sun bids its farewell and the moon takes its place,

The horses come out to play.

They stand tall, threatened.

They show no fear and I envy them for this. I have only felt fear today.

They push away the lone stragglers and as they disappear into the night, they are now someone else’s problems.

I take in the battlefield and sigh.

Too early to count the fallen, those whose lives will be ruined tonight.

Those Lions who won their mission for destruction,

Those sheep who will pay for it,

Those who brushed up against trauma,

But will never know how close they came to the worst day of their lives.