With warmth, kindness and boundless energy, Kanya King revolutionized black British culture | music

I I first met Kanya King in the mid-1990s, when I was still reeling from the failure of my attempt to target a black audience with my newspaper, Black Britton. Kania came two years later and showed how it should be done. By framing its awards as “music of black origin,” it not only reached out to the relatively small black British population, but also brought in an entirely new audience, who recognized its significant influence.

At that time, the word diversity was not known. We were in the era of ‘level playing field’, which was only taken seriously by Labour-run local councils, and was described by most of the media as ‘moronic left’. Britain has been dominated by more than 15 years of Thatcher-inspired government. Stephen Lawrence has been murdered, but an investigation that identifies “institutional racism” is still years away.

So there was little corporate interest in the mid-1990s in any action to address racial inequality. This was the world into which Kanya entered, empowered by her vision, her mission, and her boundless energy. How she convinced executives at London’s Carlton TV to show her first awards show, I’ll never know. There was no precedent. At the time, I had covered many black award ceremonies as a journalist for the black press, but most of them tended to take place at local community centers or town halls. The idea of ​​throwing a colorful party, shown by a major broadcast station, was completely unthinkable. But not for Kanya.

When I saw this first trailer, I thought the woman behind it had to be some kind of big-shouldered driving force straight from the central cast of Dynasty. There’s nothing wrong with that, but meeting her meant seeing the exact opposite: attractive, down-to-earth, funny, down to earth. Someone who had a lot to brag about but was so humble. It turns out her superpower was kindness and warmth.

Its mission has always been to raise the profile of black British music and culture and to promote the careers of its artists. It was never about herself. When she achieved success, she set about trying to make a further difference: setting up the Mobo Trust, a charitable arm, to support future recording artists.

It has taken the Mobo family beyond London. I remember arguing with her in the late 2000s, about why the awards should stay in cities with large black populations, and why moving them to Glasgow would be a mistake. She went ahead anyway, and proved me completely wrong. The Awards, and black British music more broadly, gained a whole new audience, and over the following years they traveled to several other cities.

But Kania’s biggest challenge came two years ago. She was diagnosed with cancer and told she had only months to live. It was devastating news. However, somehow, she defied the odds and kept moving forward. She was even able to see Mobus’ 30th anniversary concert in March of this year. I had seen her two days earlier, giving a speech in the House of Representatives about the enormous influence black music has had on Britain’s cultural identity, and why this must be recognized at a national level. It was so powerful that I was able to persuade her to write an article for the opinion section of The Guardian. She still had all her strength, passion and energy. Despite everything she had been through, the only outward sign of weakness she noticed was when she asked to sit down for an interview she was conducting.

She seemed to be defying the odds once again – an unstoppable force of nature. It allowed many of us to dare to believe that it might be with us for a long time, until today’s devastating news arrived that its light had finally dimmed. However, her legacy lives on: the change she brought about, by bringing black British culture into the mainstream, makes her a true revolutionary. A revolution without blood or suffering: just pure joy and celebration.