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Me I first met Kanya King in the mid-1990s, when I was reeling from my failure to target black people through my newspaper, Black Briton. Kanya came a few years later and showed how it should be done. By creating his awards as “black music”, he not only connected with a minority of black people in Britain, but also brought new audiences, who accepted his appeal.
Back then, the word diversity was not very popular. We were in an era of “equal opportunity”, which was only taken seriously by local councils run by Labour, and called “loony left” by many in the media. Britain was ruled by more than 15 years of Thatcher-inspired government. Stephen Lawrence was killed, but an investigation that was known as “racism” was still many years away.
So there was little interest in the mid-1990s in doing anything about racial inequality. This was the world Kanya entered, aided by nothing but her vision, purpose and boundless energy. How he persuaded the bosses of London radio station Carlton TV to host his first awards show, I will never know. There was no precedent. Back then, I used to be involved in a lot of black events as a reporter for the Black press, but most of them were held in community centers or town halls. The idea of a glittering ceremony, presented by a traditional broadcaster, was impossible. But not for Kanya.
When I saw that first scene, I thought that the woman in the background must have the power and broad shoulders straight out of Dynasty central casting. There is nothing wrong with that, but to meet him though was to see different things: action, restraint, humor, humility. Someone who is proud but very humble. His greatest strength was compassion and love.
His aim has always been to raise the profile of Black Britain’s music and culture, and to promote the careers of its artists. It wasn’t about himself. And when he succeeded, he began to try to make another change: implementation Mobo Trusta benevolent arm, helping future artists.
He took it Mobos outside of London. I remember arguing with him in the late 2000s, why the awards should stay in cities with large black populations, and why going to Glasgow would be a mistake. He continued, and proved me wrong. The awards, and Black British music more broadly, found a new audience, and in the following years they traveled to several other cities.
However, Kanya’s biggest challenge came two years ago. He was diagnosed with cancer and told that he only had a few months to live. It was sad news. However, somehow, he ignored the obstacles and continued. He was also able to witness the 30th anniversary of Mobos in March this year. I saw him a few days before this, speaking at the Speaker’s House about the impact of Black music on British culture, and why this should be recognized nationally. It was so strong that I was able to seduce him write a story for the Guardian’s opinion section. He still had all his strength, passion and energy. Despite all his experiences, the only sign of weakness I saw was when he asked to sit down to ask the questions he was giving.
He seemed to be defying the odds again – a force of nature that could not be stopped. It allowed many of us to believe that he could be with us for a long time, until today’s devastating news that his light has faded. His legacy lives on: the change he brought, by bringing Black British culture in public, it makes him a true reformer. Bloodless change, or suffering: true joy and celebration.
