Just over 11 years ago, in March 2007, I stood quietly on Hammersmith Grove in West London. I was dressed in full police uniform.
It was a beautiful spring morning and we had just closed the local roads to allow the friends and family of an innocent young boy to come and pay their respects at the scene of his killing. His name was Kodjo Yenga and, though I had never had the privilege of meeting him, I will never forget him.
I stood at a respectful distance and watched, as crowds began to gather at the place where the flowers were laid and the grief graffiti covered the walls and pavement. And I listened as the wailing and the hymn-singing began, cries of deepest despair and defiant hope filling the air.
There are places and moments that you never forget.
In the years that followed, I found myself standing in far too many of the haunted places, where young men had lost their lives to unfathomable violence.
And still it goes on.
And I find that I cannot sit silently as the madness of history continues to repeat itself.
If we want anything to...
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