Comment

My godfather was instrumental in the UK civil rights movement – but you’ve likely never heard of him

Paul Stephenson led the seismic Bristol bus boycott of 1963 and changed the course of UK race relations, writes Gillian Joseph. He left an indelible mark on all who knew him

Monday 09 December 2024 16:34 GMT

In 1963, Paul Stephenson and the Black community challenged the Bristol Omnibus Company’s colour bar (ITV)

On Friday, I said goodbye to my godfather – civil rights activist and black Englishman, Dr Paul Stephenson OBE. A small private family funeral was held in Bristol’s Lord Mayor’s chapel for this very public figure who changed the course of UK race relations. But you may not even know his name.

The reason many might not have heard of him is because it seems to be a forgotten bit of history. Yet the Bristol Bus Boycott and its organisers are a part of our shared legacy and mark a significant turning point in race relations in the UK. Knowing and understanding that past helps inform the present.

The late Tony Benn described “Uncle Paul” (as I knew him) as moving from being seen as a “troublemaker, to something of a local treasure – his life offering proof that history is made by the people who make the effort”. The prime minister, Sir Keir Starmer, paid tribute to an “inspiring” civil rights campaigner who paved the way for the first Race Relations Act.

Even if you don’t remember his name, you might remember what he did: in 1963, Uncle Paul and the black community challenged the Bristol Omnibus Company over its racist “colour bar”, which banned black and Asian people from driving buses. Along with Owen Henry and Roy Hackett – and inspired by the example set by Rosa Parks in Montgomery, Alabama – he led the Bristol Bus Boycott.

After 60 days, on 28 August 1963 – the same day that Martin Luther King Jr delivered his historic “I have a Dream” speech in Washington DC – the bus company was eventually forced to abandon its policy. It was a pivotal moment in the UK civil rights movement.

A year later, Uncle Paul was “making trouble” again. In 1964, it was legal for black and brown people to be refused entry to pubs and clubs on the basis of their skin colour. He visited the Bay Horse Pub in Bristol and ordered a half pint. He was served by a member of staff but when the publican realised, he was told to leave. Paul refused and insisted that he finish his drink. The police were called and he spent the night in jail.

The case was taken to court and his trial became national news, but it was thrown out and he was compensated £25 on the evidence of a customer in the pub who corroborated his version of events – which didn’t describe a violent encounter with police, as had been alleged.

Subsequent to his victory, prime minister Harold Wilson sent him a personal telegram to say he would change the law. And in 1965, the first Race Relations Act was brought in, outlawing discrimination in public places. The 1968 Race Relations Act extended this to housing and employment.

He even once got Muhammad Ali to visit Tulse Hill school in southeast London. On his way back to Chicago from Zaire, after his “Rumble in the Jungle” fight with George Foreman in 1974, Ali was staying at the Hilton hotel in London. Uncle Paul approached him in the foyer and asked him to come to the school in Lambeth where he was the vice chair of the board of governors.

After Ali enquired how much he would be paid, Uncle Paul replied: “Muhammad, I haven’t got a dollar.”

He responded “Not even a dime?” And then he said: “You have more nerve than Frazier” – but he did visit the school and it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship and professional collaboration.

Two years later, they set up the Muhammad Ali Sports Development Association; its aim was to use sports development as a means to encourage self-confidence and social interaction between disadvantaged young people of different racial groups.

Paul went on to work for the Race Relations board and was a senior officer of the Commission for Racial Equality, a member of the Sports Council and the Press Council. He was the first Black person to be given the Freedom of the City of Bristol; he received a United Nations award, a Pride of Britain lifetime achievement award, two honorary master’s degrees – and the Great Western Railway named intercity express train 800036 after him in 2020, to honour his civil rights work.

But before all of the accolades, it was his personal experiences that ignited a fire within him that would fuel a lifelong commitment to combating injustice and advocating for the voiceless. He wasn’t just a race relations activist; he was an architect of change in communities often marred by division, ignorance, and prejudice.

In the tapestry of our society, Paul wove threads of understanding, compassion and partnership. His work brought people together; fostering dialogues that were not just necessary but transformative. He saw the beauty in diversity and the power of unity, tirelessly advocating for inclusive policies that honoured the richness of every culture and identity.

More than five decades ago, Uncle Paul and his wife Auntie Joyce became family friends. He encouraged my mother Victoria to join him in his work as a community relations council executive officer in Coventry, where they both served, helping to affect the life chances of Black and brown people in the Midlands.

Friendship, both professional and personal, blossomed, and they eventually became family – so much so that we lived with them at one point. The kindness they showed my family will never be forgotten and by way of gratitude, love and respect, Uncle Paul was asked to be my godfather. What an honour it was for me that he accepted.

Away from the public race relations campaigner, Uncle Paul and Auntie Joyce were also a lot of fun. I’m told (I was too young to realise) that they loved parties and dancing and my eldest sister Sandra tells me of meeting the Jamaican singer Millie Small at one of their parties (Millie Small of course, famous for the international Ska music hit single “My Boy Lollipop”). They were definitely an “it” couple.

There was one hiccup though, backstage at a Motown concert in Bristol. Uncle Paul asked a young woman back stage if she was Martha from the Vandellas. She curtly replied informing him that her name was Diana Ross! But his encounter with the Diva didn’t deter him from seeking out prominent names that could help in his fight for equality.

Uncle Paul emerged from humble beginnings, carrying with him the resolve and resilience necessary to forge a path for others to follow. He was born in 1937 in Rochford, Essex, to a black West African father studying medicine in the UK and a mixed heritage English mother.

His maternal grandmother, Edie Johnson, was a well-known actress in the 1920s. In 1940, because of the war, he became an evacuee and was sent to the rural market town of Dunmow, where he was the only Black child. He was brought up by white middle class families while his mother served as a member of the Women’s Royal Army Corps.

Paul described his childhood as a happy one overall, but he was always aware that he wasn’t the same as everyone else. Teachers at infant school were affectionate but treated him differently – one teacher saw him as a curiosity and cut off pieces of his hair to keep as a good luck charm. Children enquired as to whether he was black all over and requested visual proof.

He attended secondary school in London, where he was the only black pupil. He then served in the Royal Air Force and eventually moved into youth work, finally becoming Bristol’s first Black social worker.

Uncle Paul’s spirit was unyielding. He fought tirelessly not only for what was just, but for what was right. He taught us that justice does not come without struggle and that each of us possesses the power to effect change. In his own words: “Change is a powerful thing, but it requires the collective will of compassionate hearts.”

He created opportunities for many who had previously been marginalised. He showed us that true activism is not a solitary endeavour, but a collective journey, one that requires lifting others as we rise. His unwavering belief in community was not only a philosophy, but his true calling.

Although he has left this earthly plane, his legacy endures. Each of us who had the privilege to know him carries a piece of his spirit within us. As we honour his life, let us not focus merely on our grief but instead celebrate the profound impact he made during his time here – and continue the work that he passionately devoted himself to.