Nobody knew black Britain – its history, its fears, its hopes – better than Darcus Howe, who has died aged 74. As a New Statesman columnist throughout my editorship, he contributed a voice that was unique in the mainstream press.
Angrily, but with humour and without self-pity, he told us what it felt like to belong to an ethnic minority in Britain. Having no personal political ambitions, he could write without fear or favour. He always called me “Comrade Wilby” – he was brought up the old-fashioned way, he said, and couldn’t address an editor by his forename – and, when I berated him for filing late (as was necessary all too frequently) or for straying too close to the libel laws, he accepted my chiding without protest.
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