Tamar's Riddim

Blog

  • Statement From Cllr Tamar Barrett

    I came into politics not through privilege, but through lived experience — overcoming personal challenges that deepened my commitment to service. Leaving behind a corporate career, I dedicated years to grassroots community work: standing with survivors of abuse, supporting families, and building local networks with care. In 2022, that journey led me to be elected as a Labour councillor for Thornton Heath Ward — a role I continue to hold with humility and pride.

    Last Tuesday 19th August, two notable things happened to me on the very same day: 

    1. A local article stated I had failed to correctly file and keep my Register of Interests up to date, and 
    2. I was not re-selected as the Labour candidate for Thornton Heath.

    Here are the facts. After consulting with the Council’s Monitoring Officer and Democratic Services, I can confirm my declaration was correctly filed in 2022 — and remains up to date. I will always meet my legal and ethical duties, because transparency and accountability matter.

    As for the selection result, politics is not always fair or easy. But I am still here. I remain proud to serve as a Labour councillor for Thornton Heath until the end of my term, and I will continue to work hard for the community, just as I always have. I also want to congratulate Jose Fernandes, Vicky Newton, and Ben Taylor on their selection as the next Labour candidates for Thornton Heath. I wish them well as they step forward to serve our community.

    Looking ahead, there are two things close to my heart that I’m particularly excited about:

    Roots and Rhythms

    On Thursday 25th September 2025, the new after-school programme called ‘Roots and Rhythms‘, which I’ve been working on alongside local charity Music Relief Foundation, will launch at Thornton Heath Leisure Centre: creating safe spaces, music and wellbeing opportunities for young people locally, free of charge.

    MVAWG MARCH

    On Saturday 22 November 2025, I will be standing in solidarity with the community to lead a major survivors-led march saying no to male violence against women and girls #MVAWG: walking from Thornton Heath to Croydon Town Hall — demanding justice, safety and sustainable change.

    These projects remind me that politics is only one channel through which I serve. My deeper commitment is to the community: to young people finding their voice, to the Lioness Circle, to the fight against male violence and racial injustices.

    Though I’ve not been re-selected in Thornton Heath – the movement continues. Whether inside the chambers or outside, I still believe in service. I still believe in justice and equality. I still believe in the power of our community. And I will continue turning pain into power, in whatever space I stand. 

    To everyone who has supported me on this journey — thank you. Your encouragement, honesty, and solidarity mean more than words can say. I remain committed to walking this path alongside you, because real change happens when we stand together – refuse to be silent and refuse to give up.

  • When the World Moves On, and We Can’t.. (But our email Inbox Can)

    (Please continue with caution and note the trigger warning!)

    It’s been a couple of weeks.

    Starting with a gut-punch and ending with you wondering..

    “I’m I still processing — or just running on fumes, instant coffee and autopiloting.”

    Marjama Osman.

    The 26-years-old woman, killed in Croydon.

    Violently. Publicly. Left in the streets.

    Our hearts goes out to her mother and other loved ones.

    A man was finally charged.

    “Still innocent until proven guilty” – the echo haunts.

    But the air has resurfaced – giving just enough to breathe, again.

    You see, when the news hit, for a moment, it’s like the world stopped.

    Just long enough for the grief to crack the skin.

    Just long enough for the tears to find their way in — in between the spreadsheets, the WhatsApp threads, and the same bowl of cereal my son likes to eat.

    Was I the only one who felt it?

    The rage. The fear. The exhaustion.

    The “something has to change!”

    The “not another one!”

    The “how many more?”

    The messages. The phone calls. The holding spaces.

    The stairwell cries in between meetings.

    “No – of course not!” they said back.

    Some sat still in church halls, holding in the tears – silently praying “no more“.

    Some walked barefoot in the park, hugging trees to feel something rooted.

    Some planted seeds in her memory — because when another woman has lost her life, we plant it right back.

    But then…

    Everything moved on.

    The jolt. The ache.

    The sickening sense that something irreversible had happened — and yet the world kept spinning on.

    Bins still needed collecting.

    Emails still needed answering.

    Meetings went on — lucky if you got “a moment of silence” before someone says “Thanks everyone, now onto the next one.”

    But inside?

    Some of us were not okay.

    We were grieving.

    We were triggered.

    We were holding our own trauma while supporting others..

    No. This isn’t about the legal case but collective grief and pain in this space.

    And yes, there is the bigger picture..

    The one we’ve had to explain, that too often, it’s not that random.

    It’s a pattern. It’s male violence.

    Predictable. Preventable. Persistently ignored.

    These moments bring it all back.

    The grief. The rage. The memories.

    Every time you weren’t believed.

    Every time you felt the danger no one else could.. or would.

    Every time another man strikes again, and the room…

    Just. Moved. On.

    (Deep breath. Sigh.)

    The sharp, gut-deep reminder that he is still out there.

    Still moving freely, his mask intact, his violence unnamed.

    He can. He will. And he just might again — because we keep treating these deaths like isolated incidents.

    Instead of what they are:

    The outcome of a system built to excuse, enable and erase – male violence.

    No, not every man is like that, in fact, men can also be the victim.

    But the stats shows – men are majority the perpetrators and women – the victim.

    This isn’t just about “violence against women and girls (VAWG).”

    NO. Let’s call it what it is:

    Male violence against women and girls (MVAWG)

    And it keeps happening — despite the reports, the panels, the action plans, the “lessons learned.”

    Not enough for Marjama..

    Not fast enough to save the two women killed by men.

    In Croydon. In just the first half of 2025.

    That’s the brutal truth.

    And it sent shockwaves through and through.

    Somewhere in midst of all that blur, I found myself in meetings.

    Coordinating responses. Supporting survivors. Hold systems to account.

    And then this one meeting…

    Short notice.

    “Hopeful?”

    We showed up — because we always do.

    Because maybe, just maybe — this may be the one.

    The one where the real strategic conversations happen..

    About abusive men:

    About patriarchy.

    About power and control. 

    About intimate terrorists..

    Otherwise known as coercive control.

    Instead, was it just another talk show?

    With no real outcomes?

    Was it performative?

    Well-meaning but hollow?

    Or was I just too tired to tell the difference?

    Honestly? I don’t know.

    All I know is I left more drained, more disheartened, and more empty than before I came.

    And I know I wasn’t the only one.

    But this isn’t about one meeting.

    It’s about the wider system:

    • Of being invited to the table, not to co-create, but to co-sign.
    • Of being told to show up “strong,” even when you’re bruised.
    • Of being asked to speak the truth, then politely told to whisper..
    • Of watching survivor stories become PR liabilities the moment the real truth enters.

    It’s about the exhausting cycle of male violence — not just on our bodies or lives, but also on our time, space and reality.

    And how little room we’re given to pause before we’re called to re-engage, to fix and to champion the cause.

    So… what do we do with all of this?

    Some days, I. Don’t. know.

    But today, I choose to write.

    Not to wrap this in a neat ending or five-point plan.

    Just a collective sigh and a simple call to action.

    With maybe the comfort of knowing:

    You’re not the only one who feels like the world moved too quickly on.. 

    Here’s what I do know:

    • You’re not wrong for still carrying it.
    • You’re not broken. Or too emotional.

    You’re responding normally to a violent, abnormal reality.

    Maybe it’s you.

    Maybe it’s your mum, daughter, sister, auntie, or another loved-one.

    For me? It’s — my grandmother Nella.

    Gone but never forgotten.

    Stolen by male violence.

    Though her spirit always lives on.

    Protecting her daughters and grand-daughters from the same finale.. (Deep breath)

    So, if you’ve cried in a stairwell, locked yourself in a toilet, held a friend in silence, cancelled a meeting, or just needed to breathe —

    You are not alone.

    You are surviving.

    And we need the truth.

    We need accountability.

    We need safe spaces. Safety that isn’t performative. Change that isn’t conditional. 

    Approaches that are systematically joined-up, consistent and led by those who really knows.

    And most of all?

    We need to protect our hope.

    Not hand it out to every shiny “opportunity” that ends up being another cup of tea — politely distracting from the real work.

    But we move.

    Because “Who feels it knows.”

    And because we care.

    Because when our backs are against the wall..

    Giving up is not an option.

    Because if we don’t – who will?

    But this time, let it be different.

    Let it not cost us our entire peace and reality.

    No. Not anymore.

    ✨ A space to grieve. A space to breathe. A space for us.

    After the shock.

    After the silence.

    After being told, “it’s not that bad, carry on”  — it’s time we move together.

    And this year, we will march together.

    But first, we’re creating a women-only safe space for those still carrying the weight.

    A space to grieve. To be supported. To speak. To eat.

    To light a candle – to remember Marjama Osman.

    And our other loved ones.

    To be heal. To feel. To begin again — together.

    🗓 Saturday 5th July

    🕙 11am – 3pm

    📍 (Location shared upon booking)

    It’s FREE. But spaces are limited —

    So we can hold it with care..

    Please reserve your place here

    Come as you are.

    Bring your whole self – or whatever piece is left.

    We’ll hold each other together from here on.

    Unapologetically,

    Tamar

  • How Did I End Up Here?

    🎯 Mi deh yah

    Still standing. Still side-eyeing injustice. Still soft-launching my nervous breakdown one council meeting at a time.

    Because apparently… this is my life, now.

    And sometimes, just sometimes, I pause and wonder:

    Wait, how did I get here?

    How does a barefoot little girl from the hills of Jamaica — raised on mangoes and water on a farm – with no kitchen, no bathroom – climbing trees, chasing goats, carrying water on her head, and surviving the kind of hurt no child should ever even imagine — end up debating policies and strategies in Council Chambers?

    How does a quiet child, tangled in a severe speech impediment with zero likes for small talk or people, find herself speaking on national stages?

    How did an autistic, introverted, deeply spiritual woman become a local councillor in Croydon, walking into rooms never designed for her — and still holding her head high?

    The short answer?

    Purpose

    And maybe tenacity. Definitely prayer and gratitude too. Oh, and the munchies—don’t forget the munchies.

    The long answer?

    Well — that’s what this blog is for.

    🧩 Who I Am (and Who I Definitely Am Not)

    Well, you probably guessed it already – I’m not the usual polished, suit-wearing, media-trained politician.

    I’m a Black woman. Actually autistic.  A mum. A carer. A survivor turned domestic abuse advocate. A tired but hopeful soul navigating a world full of injustices – dominated by power and control – putting people like me in a boxes, way too small for the Spirit.

    I didn’t arrive here by ambition – but by necessity.

    I’ve sat in hospital waiting rooms, therapy circles, homelessness spaces, police stations, courtrooms, boardrooms, special Education Needs (SENs) meetings—and yes, even at the frozen aisle at Tesco, questioning my life choices.

    I’ve lived the issues I now speak about. Maybe you’ve been there too — sometimes holding space for others, sometimes the one needing a hand. Maybe you’ve survived what shouldn’t have been survivable. Maybe, like me, you’re still standing — and that alone is a victory!

    If you’ve ever felt invisible or out of place, this is your mirror. I see you. This is written with you in mind.

    🎤 Why I Got Into Politics (Even Though I’d Rather Hide)

    I didn’t exactly choose politics. It chose me.

    I was pushed by a purpose that felt bigger than me, powered by frustration that refused to let me be, and led by the Spirit that sent friends to walk with me.

    I ‘ve been tired:

    • Tired of decisions made about us but not with us.
    • Tired of systems that fail survivors, children, carers, global majority and other intersections too
    • Tired of being made invisible – when power doesn’t hide.

    So, I raised my hand — awkwardly, reluctantly, and maybe a bit terrified too — with my back against the wall, silence was no more.

    If you’ve ever had to push yourself out of your comfort zone and do something really scary because the world needed it—solidarity, my friend.

    Ps: I’m still not a big fan of suits, small talk, and bureaucracy. But here I am, smashing through the noise with all my messy, glorious self.

    ✨ What This Blog Is (and Absolutely Isn’t)

    This isn’t a political highlight reel or a press release.

    It’s a living, breathing space — messy, joyful, raw, and real.

    Where grief and giggles live on the same page.

    Where rage dances with resistance, and burnout shares tea with breakthroughs.

    Here, you can expect:

    • Truth bombs and bad jokes.
    • Survivor wisdom and women’s issues.
    • Nature, creative healing and expression.
    • Neurodivergence parenting (chaos and cuteness guaranteed).
    • Local grassroots organizing, because community is power.
    • Tiny wins, deep breaths, and the kind of joy that sneaks in between the cracks.

    If you’ve ever cried in a public toilet, laughed when you should’ve cried, smiled to cover the anxiety, forgotten your point mid-sentence (regular occurrence), or started a revolution from your living room — your tribe is here.

    🌈 Showing Up Fully (Even the Awkward, Weird, and Too-Much Bits)

    Public life? It’s a stage where everyone expects you to fit a script.

    “Be professional.” “Don’t be too emotional.” “Share, but only what’s ‘appropriate.’”

    But this life has taught me: if I leave parts of myself at the door — my loudness, my honesty, my history and lived experiences, my spirituality, my autism, my motherhood — then what’s left?

    I choose to be all of me.

    Full fat Tamar: unfiltered, beautifully messy, rooted in spirit, always honest and caring.

    If you’ve been hiding your magic to blend in, this blog is your permission slip.

    Show up fully. Be wildly, unapologetically you. Because the world and your purpose needs your whole self — not a diluted version.

    🔍 What I Hope You’ll Find Here

    If you’re reading this and thinking: “Yes. Finally.” — this is for you.

    For anyone doing the hard work of healing, justice, parenting, surviving — while carrying the full weight of your identity.

    Know this: you are wise, you are whole, and you are beautifully made.

    I hope this blog:

    • Reminds you you’re not alone.
    • Gives you space to breathe, be messy, and maybe laugh at the chaos.
    • Challenge what “normal” means and create room for stories that don’t fit the mould.
    • Encourages you to use your voice — even when it trembles or your bones shakes within.
    • Builds a community where healing, survival, and resistance walk hand in hand.

    Some weeks I’ll write often. Other weeks, I’ll pause and honor my limits — and I hope you do too.

    💬 Final Thoughts: So, How Did I End Up Here?

    Because someone like me had to.

    Because silence doesn’t protect.

    Because I believe we deserve systems that heal, not harm — and we have to build them together.

    Thanks for being here.

    Now, let’s make this ours: What do you want to see here?

    The gritty truths? The messy behind-the-scenes? The joy and the struggle? Or maybe just memes and survival hacks?

    Drop a comment or message (but please no waving at me awkwardly in the street).

    This is not just my story. It’s ours. Let’s build this together.

    With love, light, and a little beautiful mess.

    Tamar ✨