Meet the only black member of Edward Colston’s club

By Tom Rowley

In the end Marti Burgess was surprised how easily he fell. For all of her 50 years – and for 75 more before that – the bronze statue of Edward Colston had stood tall on its plinth at the heart of Bristol, a plaque underneath describing him as a “virtuous and wise” philanthropist. His name had been committed to memory by generations of schoolchildren and, lest they forget, inscribed on Colston Tower, Colston Hall and Colston Avenue. Yet with only a few tugs on the ropes protesters had fixed around his neck, he toppled to the ground, bowing to the inevitable like a condemned man. Burgess, who had been visiting friends, watched the moment on Twitter. She shared the news with her family via WhatsApp. “Forty years of chatting,” her mum replied. “Five minutes of action.”

That was when she wept. On her way to work every day she’d had to walk past the likeness of the 17th-century slave-trader. On some days she would ignore it; on others the mild-mannered corporate lawyer would swear or even spit at it. “You’re constantly being told you’re British,” she says. “But actually, are you British if that’s what you have to confront?”