The Last Vote

My Dad used to tell me that he fought a bloody war so that we could vote. He was in the Territorial Army and was called up two months before the Second World War started in July 1939. He was 17 and had just migrated to Leicester from The Felling. He voted for the first time, still in uniform, six years later in 1945. Labour won an overwhelming majority on that day and began a social revolution that created The Welfare State. We never discussed it but I have no doubt that he voted for the Labour Party. I am also convinced that he voted Labour in every subsequent election until his last vote on May 1st 1997. He had been ill for some time and I was not surprised when my Mam rang the night before the election to say that my Dad wanted to vote. I knew that he was not able to walk far and I agreed to drive to Leicester from my home in Merseyside to take them to the polling station. It was a beautiful May morning as I parked my car outside of their council bungalow. I looked up and there was my Mam waiting for me on the doorstep as she always did. She was smiling as I lowered my head to kiss her. Every time we met she seemed to have shrunk a little further. Her spine curving with the scoliosis. We went into the small living room. My Dad was sitting on his usual chair. He nodded his head to acknowledge me. I nodded back and said hello. We all knew that he had not recovered from the coma and his long stay in hospital. He looked a shadow of the man who had once dominated our lives. He was dressed in his good clothes which hung off him. He was always smartly dressed for such occasions. Voting was a duty like going to church and he dressed up for both. He asked why I was there. I explained that I had come to take them to vote. He said that there was no need as he was still capable of walking. I knew that there was no point in arguing and I said I would walk with them anyway. He became agitated and said that he was not yet an invalid. I remained silent. Deep down I knew that he was pleased to see me and to have my support. No more was said. My Mam went next door to fetch their neighbour, Flo. When they returned we set off almost immediately. Once my Dad was ready to leave there was never any waiting. It had been that way all of my life. Some people saw it as rude and abrupt. I now believe it was more to do with a deep restlessness and reluctance to show any feelings. We crossed the green in front of their bungalow and turned onto the pavement. I walked in front with my Dad. My Mam and Flo followed on behind. Our progress was painfully slow. He had lost none of his military bearing and he swung his cane like a swagger stick. His back was ramrod straight but his legs were failing him. I thought for one moment to offer my arm in support but I didn’t. I knew he would not take it. He had said that he was going to walk to vote and that is what he was determined to do, no matter how long it took. The polling station was at the end of the street in the junior school which my brother had attended. It was only 400 yards from their bungalow. To reach the school we had to pass the house we had moved into after we were homeless in 1965. These were the streets of my youth. I had played football and cricket here. I had loved, argued and cried here. I had grown up here, leaving school at 16 to walk down the road to catch a bus to start my first job in a factory. Now 30 years later I was walking the same road again. Where once he had led me I was now leading him. Behind us my Mam and Flo were talking. We did not talk. Finally we reached the gates of the school and crossed the field to the main entrance. I did not go in as I had planned to vote that evening with my wife at home. I waited outside for them. The sun was shining. There were few voters about as it was early. The only other people waiting were the party supporters. They reminded me of a story that we shared. It was 1976. I was Secretary to the Leicester Inter Racial Solidarity Campaign. We were campaigning against the National Front who had a strong following in Leicester at the time. The local elections were taking place and my Dad was in charge of a polling station. All through the day the National Front were gathered noisily outside. When the station closed in the evening my Dad walked up to the leader and asked why they had chosen that station to picket. The leader said that they had heard that the station was being managed by Tom Murtha the secretary of the group they hated. My Dad confirmed that he was Tom Murtha but not the one they wanted. That was his son Tommy who was leading the campaign against the National Front at another station across the City. The National Front leader shook his head in anger. My Dad looked him in the eye, smiled and walked away. I was smiling at this image as he walked out of the school. He asked me why. I told him that I had been thinking about the time he had faced down the National Front for me. He eyes flashed and he said that sadly he no longer had the strength to do that but at the time he had enjoyed it and that they were all bloody cowards anyway.  My Mam and Flo came out and asked what was wrong. I said that it was nothing just a proud memory of the past. The walk back seemed easier. The memory had quickened his step. I did not ask him who he had voted for. He would not have told me. That was part of the ritual. Not only had he and many others fought for the right to vote they had fought for it to be done in secret. That night Labour won a massive victory and many of us celebrated long and hard in the hope of a new beginning. I remember thinking if he had the same hopes on hearing about the Labour victory in 1945? He rang the next morning. All he said was that he was pleased that my mates had won. He told me not to be disappointed if they failed to deliver. He died the next month. Only six weeks after that final walk. I will never knew how he voted on that day. I like to think that even in his old age the fire that had given those that survived the war so much hope and optimism was still with him. He was correct. We were disappointed. We always are. However, that should not stop us from continuing to vote for our dreams of a better tomorrow. My Dad’s generation did and they fought a war to give us the chance.

On Cooking.

I wrote a post recently called, Reflections on retirement. In response, a number of people pointed out that I had not mentioned the pastime I appear to enjoy the most in retirement, cooking. I thought about why I had done this. Partly it was because I was concentrating more on my work related activities since leaving full time employment. Partly it was because cooking is now so much a part of my life that I took it for granted.

It wasn’t always so. I come from a family where the only people who cooked were Mam and my sisters. It was a very special occasion indeed when Dad got out the frying pan and cooked breakfast. I went to a school where boys were not allowed to take what was then called home economics. We had metalwork lessons instead to prepare for a life in a factory. I am ashamed to say that like most men of the time I was conditioned into thinking that cooking was not for me.

When Vishva and I were married in 1973, I quickly discovered that she was an excellent cook. Almost by default I was happy to leave most of the cooking to her. Even though she was working full time as teacher or lecture. As I look back I cannot believe that I allowed this to continue for so many years. I thought I was a ‘new man’. But this was only in my mind, not in my deeds or actions.

I realise now that not only did my conditioning influence me, so did my fear. I had never cooked. I didn’t know how to cook. I was afraid to cook. But that is no excuse. It was not until later in life that I discovered how wrong I was in so many ways.

One of my retirement presents was a gift token for a cookery course. Another was to learn metalwork but that’s a different story. I booked on a course within a few weeks and discovered a world I could never have imagined. Since then I have continued to cook daily.

For a time I even had my own hashtag on Twitter called #murthasmenu. This began as a bit of a joke but it continued for some years with quite a following, including Nigella Lawson. I also began to bake bread regularly and post the results.

It was during the pandemic that cooking came into its own. In those long months when we could not go out or see anyone I cooked to fill the time. As eating out was banned I decided to bring our regular visits to restaurants into our home. Every weekend I would prepare a three course menu and lay the table as at a restaurant. Wine would be served. I spent days looking at recipes to ensure I never repeated a menu and posted the results on Twitter. I am sure that this helped us to survive those dark days as it broke up the tedium of lockdown.

Thankfully the pandemic is now over and we have returned to a more normal life. But I still try and cook a special meal at the weekend. It is our date night. Even though we are both in our 70s. It helps renew the spark in our relationship that has now lasted over 51 years.

I am now much more confident and experimental in my cooking. I still follow recipes but I vary them and substitute ingredients. We are vegetarian which makes it more interesting. I try to cook in accordance with the seasons and even do a bit of foraging. At the moment two of my favourite ingredients are wild garlic and early English asparagus.

Apart from baking bread I now also make pastries cakes and pies though I’m still leaning and often make mistakes. There are things I rarely cook. Indian food for example. I learned long ago that this is Vishva’s realm. I could never compete with a lifetime of learning.

Over the years I have become reasonably competent as a cook. I now know that most things are possible. My advice to anyone out there is don’t be afraid. If you can follow a recipe you can cook. Like everything in life practice helps you improve. But no matter how much I practice I will always be the second best cook in our house. The Crown belongs to Vishva and always will. Though I’m glad to say we now share its glory.

Reflections on retirement.

 

 

In 2012 I retired from my full time post as Chief Executive of Midland Heart. I was just about to turn 60. Many asked why I left such a high profile role at a relatively early age? The is no simple answer. 

 

I had been a chief executive for nearly 20 years. I was no longer excited by the challenge. I was doing some things I no longer believed in. I was worried about the way social housing was changing. I was also tired and not in the best of health. I wanted the freedom to challenge government policy and the changing nature of the sector. I wanted to make way for the next generation. Hopefully to open the door to more diversity at the top of social housing. As I said there is no simple answer.

 

Have I ever regretted my decision? This answer is simple. Never. I decided to move on as I drove home from yet another board away day in the previous year. Once I had decided I never looked back. For the first 10 years of my retirement I kept myself busy doing the things I enjoyed the most. Chairing a number of organisations including HACT. Providing support as a board member to three associations which were encountering regulatory problems. Acting as a trustee to two charities working with homeless people. Mentoring some of the talented and diverse next generation of leaders. Campaigning for investment in real social housing. Becoming a founder member of SHOUT. Challenging the social housing sector on its drift away from its original values and social purpose. Continuing the struggle against racism and inequality in housing and in society. 

 

I found all these roles extremely rewarding. But often in my challenge and criticism of the sector I was a lone voice. Many old colleagues criticised my views and I was ostracized by some. In recent years there has been a growing awareness and acceptance of the things I said that the sector had failed in some areas and needed to change. Many of my comments and challenges, although they originally fell upon deaf ears, have now been vindicated. The recent changes to the regulatory process are evidence of this. Although it took the added voices of people from without the sector and a number of tragedies to finally make housing leaders and politicians realise that change was required. 

 

The most important question to ask is, have I been happy during this time? The answer is, extremely. The last 12 years have been some of the happiest in my life. I have spent more quality time with my wife, Vishva. We have grown even more close in our twilight years. She was my rock during the pandemic. We spend too long at work and often ignore, at a cost, that which is most important to us. Our family and friends.  A lesson I learned late in life. 

 

I have also spent time doing what I enjoy most. Campaigning and fighting for a more equal and just society. I started my career as a campaigner I almost fell into being a leader. I enjoyed much of what I did and I hope I was reasonable good at it, but it was never my natural role. During the last 12 years, I feel I have spent doing what I was born to do. I have been very lucky to be able to do that. 

 

Would I recommend retirement? Without a doubt. I fear that some people hang on until it is too late. Harming themselves and often the organisations they work for. I know it is not always possible for everyone and it is becoming more difficult. But I would advise to try and leave when people still ask, why you are going, not, when? 

 

What will the next 10 years bring? We can never tell. I hope to spend more time with Vishva, my family and my friends. I’ve decided not to take on any new roles, even though I am still often asked to do so. My health is not great and I want to make the most of what time I have left. But I will still continue to challenge when I think it is right to do so. To be a social conscience to a sector that, for all its faults, I still love. Despite my retirement, I never left social housing. It is in my bones. Though I sometimes think that social housing, as I knew it, has left me. 

 

 

 

The final vigil.

My Mam.

She was there at my first breath. I was there at her last.

My brother and I had been keeping a vigil for some days. He was coming off the night shift as we passed in the hospital corridor. ‘I don’t think Mam will last much longer,’ he said. ‘She is struggling to breathe.’ I feared the worst. My brother had a feeling for such things.

I watched him walk away. His tired tread a testimony to the hours he had spent at her bedside. I entered the side room where she lay on the bed as if asleep. Only it wasn’t sleep. She was in a coma, from which she would never wake.

She had entered the hospital a few weeks earlier. Her health had deteriorated swiftly in the months following the deaths of my two sisters. We didn’t know how ill she was. At first she seemed to improve and then she got worse. Her consultant told her she was dying of liver failure when none of us were present. When she told us this, we were angry. She wasn’t. She was resigned to her fate. She almost welcomed it. She believed that she would be reunited with Dad and her daughters and the rest of our family.

The stages of her deterioration were marked by a series of beds on different wards. She almost ceased to be a person in their eyes. Just another body on a conveyor belt to an inevitable end. I complained in one ward that they had spelt her name incorrectly on the sign above her bed. I rubbed it out and changed it. Edith Murtha. Once a Poulton. Edie to her family and friends. It was all that she had left. Her name.

Now she was in a room on her own with just me for company. Keeping watch over her as she had always kept watch over us. I wanted to do more. I felt helpless. There was only one task left for me to do. To be with her in her final moments. There were no words. We had not spoken for several days. Only thoughts.

Thoughts of how much she had done for me. How much she had done for us all. How much she had sacrificed. How much she had suffered. How much she had loved Dad. How much she had loved us all. How much she had smiled. And how much she had cried. Especially in those final years when Dad died. Then her sister. Then her two daughters. So much to bear for one so small. The light that had shone brightly in her eyes throughout my life was extinguished by those years and tears.

Some say that she gave up. Maybe she did. But I think in her final months she made a positive decision to die. To be with them again. It was not an act of surrender or defeat but of victory. She had lived her life. We who were left were settled. She could now join those who had gone. It was what she wanted.

I took her hand. Her breathing was laboured. Coming in short gasps. Each one taking longer to draw. Each one becoming shallower. Each one becoming softer. Counting down her final moments. Then there were none. Only silence. There was no pain. Only peace. She was gone.

For a moment I felt all alone in the world. A voice whispered ‘I love you,’ for the final time. Then the tears began to fall and fall and fall. They are falling still.

My letter to the Editor of Inside Housing.

Dear Martin,
I’ve just read you editorial on Build Social. It echoes many of the things I have been saying for years. Often in the pages of your magazine. Thank you for being a champion of social housing. You have always been there when many housing leaders were silent. I hope the campaign has some success but I’m not holding my breath. As always you have my support.

There is still a bigger debate to be had about how we deliver social rent homes and who manages them. I’m not convinced that some of the current housing associations are totally committed to the tenure and as recent tragedies have shown many are failing to provide the level of management and investment that existing tenants deserve and pay for.

Many of the things I’ve said about the loss of social purpose and values over the last 15 years are now clear for all to see. I have written elsewhere about what I now call the gentrification of social housing. Do those organisations who have prioritised this process still want to build and manage genuine social housing?

I will never waver in my support for social housing, those who live its homes and those who desperately seek a safe and secure place to live at a price they can genuinely afford. I have not lost my core belief in what we do. Social housing is in my blood from my beginning to my end.

If I have challenged those who fail to deliver this, it is on behalf of those we are here to serve. I have never left the sector but I feel a number of organisations already have.

Perhaps I’m just getting old and out of touch. Yet tenants and many working in the sector still reach out to seek my advice and support. They describe the reality of living in a home managed by a monolith they have no contact with. They talk about the problems of working in such organisations that have lost their way. And yes, they still talk about the lack of progress on race and diversity and cultures that perpetuate racism and discrimination in the workplace and in services to tenants.

All of these issues I’ve written about in Inside Housing and elsewhere. I thank you for giving me a platform for doing so. I wish you well as you enter a new chapter in the history of the magazine. I hope you will still be there for those who challenge the sector in the future. Such challenge is necessary if we are to retain a genuine belief in providing decent homes for those in the greatest need. After all it is why we are here.
Take care,
Best wishes,
Tom.



Sent from my iPhone

The dark one who brought light.

For Kieran on his 40th Birthday.

We awoke early on 9th June 1983. Vishva was experiencing labour pains. We had been here before. Our baby was late and there had already been false alarms. This time Vishva was convinced they were real.

The morning sun shone brightly as we climbed into the car. It was the day of the general election. We decided to cast our vote on the way to the the hospital. We were two of the first to do so. Afterwards we drove on to Walsgrave. We were signed in at the maternity delivery suit.

The wait began. It was a slow process. I held Vishva’s hand and tried to stay calm. Our baby was big and Vishva was small. The delivery was slow and difficult. The baby was stressed and its heartbeat became erratic. The doctor was called and decided to perform an emergency C section. Almost immediately the delivery suit was transformed into an operating theatre. I was ushered out to another room.

I waited not knowing what was happening. It seemed like hours but it was only a few minutes. A few minutes in which our baby boy was born at 1 15pm.

My first sight of him was in an incubator being wheeled to the Special Baby Unit. Though I didn’t realise it at the time as I was concerned about Vishva. I was finally allowed back into a room where Vishva was just coming round from the anaesthetic.

We were told our baby was well but would need a little extra care overnight. I was allowed to go to the unit to see him. He lay in an incubator, a big and healthy bouncing boy. Almost out of place among the others who were tiny with tubes everywhere. I was thankful as tears came into my eyes. Our son was safe. Now that was all that mattered. For every day since that has been all that mattered for both of us.

No matter how big and old he grows, he will always be our little one. The miracle who came into our life 40 years ago today. We are so proud of the man he has become. We chose his name carefully to reflect his mixed heritage. In Gaelic it means dark one and in Sanskrit it means ray of light. He will always be both to us. Our life together summed up in one word. Kieran.

Response to Latest Inside Housing research on recent Chief Executive appointments

I presume you’ve done another review of CE appointments. You did one a couple of years ago which showed similar results. I said then if the sector failed to address the real issues nothing would change. It sounds as if I was correct. I’ve been saying this for so long which is why my main response is one of despair. I feel disillusioned, disappointed and above all angry. Angry that we are still failing so many talented people. Angry that despite all the warm words little changes. Angry that a sector that claims to be motivated by social values, which works in some of the most diverse areas in the country fails to reflect this in its most senior appointments at executive and non executive level. As James Baldwin said, how long do we have to wait?
When I began working on race and diversity in 1981 it was said that the main reason for lack of diversity was the lack of suitably qualified candidates. This is longer true. There is a wealth of diverse talent out there ready and able to take on these roles. I know there are still some leadership development programmes like 2025 but to be honest I no longer believe they are necessary. White candidates rarely receive such training. The wealth of diverse talent is ignored and not appointed for other reasons. The fault lies with those making appointments not those applying. At its heart the sector fails to recognise that it is racism that is the main cause. When you have eradicated all of the others that is what is left. There are great example which prove if you are genuinely committed to diverse appointments at senior level you will make them. I know I should not make personal comments but as a leader I appointed excellent black chief executives and chairs. Despite its warm words the sector is unwilling to recognise this racism and genuinely change despite the work of some great people. I once believed it would happen in my lifetime. Sadly I no longer do.
Tom

Working in the Ghost Towm

Story telling is part of my heritage. I’ve always enjoyed speaking in public and this is how I got my second job in housing. I was speaking about my role as a housing liaison officer at a conference in Loughborough. I met Bill Martin who was the Director of Coventry Churches Housing Association (CCHA). The next day I received a call from Bill offering me a job. 

CCHA had just established a Tenant Support Team. Bill offered me the role of Team Leader. I was intrigued by the title. Genuinely making tenants a priority made much more sense to me than housing management. CCHA was a small but rapidly growing housing association providing homes for those in the greatest need. I said yes and within a few weeks I started a new job working for them in Coventry.

It was 1978. The beginning of what became known as “the winter of discontent” during which there were widespread strikes. Coventry was not quite the “Ghost Town” that The Specials would sing about two years later but it was heading that way. The song defined the era. Unemployment was high especially among young people and there was a feeling of despair in the air. Racism had reached a political peak and the National Front were strong in many areas. By 1981 major urban unrest had broken out. This was reflected in the 2 Tone music of the time, played by two Coventry bands The Specials and Selecter

Many of the newly formed housing associations were working on the front line in the late 1970s. CCHA was one of them. I joined a young team dedicated to their work. There were few systems in place. Within weeks I was writing our first allocations and lettings policy. It almost guaranteed that we would only provide a home for those who had no alternatives in the public or private sector. I still believe that this should be the focus of our work today. 

I had no experience of leading a team and it showed. Luckily my team mates were understanding and forgiving. We formed a strong bond based upon working hard and playing hard. This helped us overcome many issues. Our Tenants were at the heart of our work. Our job was to provide support to them as the title suggested. We were more than housing managers but we were what many housing managers in housing associations would become. I have always seen support as an important part of the role. I hope that it is still the case. 

Everything was new to me. Especially making my first appointment. Recruiting new staff is one of the most important parts of any leader’s role. I had never done it before. I’m sure that I was more nervous than any of the candidates. After careful assessment I chose who I felt to be the best candidate. Backing my feelings as well as my head has always been part of my leadership style. Sometimes it works sometimes it doesn’t. I am pleased to say on this occasion the woman I appointed went on to be a top housing director. She was one of the first people I worked with who was qualified in housing and it showed in the professionalism she brought to the Team. Sadly she died of cancer a few years ago.

CCHA was known for its innovative approach to development and rehabilitation. Bill Martin had worked for a major engineering company and he bought a production line approach to the rehabilitation process. Whole streets were modernised at a time. Each trade carrying out its work and moving on. This made the process more effective and efficient and at its peak CCHA were carrying out 100 of rehabilitations a year. 

The nature of the work meant that tenants were required to move out and if they requested move back. This was known as decanting. A phrase I have always hated. Throughout a highly mechanised process our job was to ensure that the tenants were treated as people and supported as such. We became highly skilled at this helped by the fact that most of the people we worked with were delighted to be moving back into a fully modernised home at a similar rent. 

I learned many of the basic management and development skills during my two years at CCHA. Many are still relevant to this day. The most important is that the tenant should be at the heart of everything that we do. Our job is to provide a home which is the foundation of hope and opportunity. When I left I didn’t realise that the next time I would be working for CCHA would be as its chief executive some years later. I don’t think any of my colleagues would have predicted it either.

The Handshake.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I left school when I was 16 to work in a factory as a trainee accountant. After 2 years I decided that I wanted to go to college to train as a PE teacher. I spent the next 2 years studying for A levels at a college of further education and I began my degree course in history at Goldsmiths College in 1972. I left in 1976 with a degree in history, a post graduate teaching certificate and a wife.

I was unemployed living in London with no idea what I wanted to do next. Despite my excellent academic and sporting qualifications I was unable to find a job in teaching. I was told later that I was deemed to be too “political” for a teaching career. I spent the long hot summer of 1976 waiting for the call that never came.

Until I received a call from my Dad. He told me that there was a job going at Leicester City Council in The Renewal Strategy Team, working with a man called John Perry. I told him that I knew nothing about urban renewal or housing. He said that it would not be a problem as most of them didn’t either! My Dad always had a low opinion of the Team who had joined his section in the housing department some months earlier.

I applied and much to my surprise I was appointed as Leicester’s first housing liaison officer. Apparently it surprised other people as well as I was not the first choice. The preferred candidate was a retired police officer who had given John Perry a masonic handshake at the end of his interview. Anyone who knows John would know that this would not impress him. I got the job. 

So when I am asked how I became involved in housing? I could answer that it was because I spent my early life in social housing, and I owe my life to it. I could answer that I had been inspired by Cathy Come Home in 1966, which echoed my own experience of being homeless. I could say that it enabled me to experience the most rewarding career that I could imagine. All of these things are true.  But the real reason is because of a masonic handshake given to a man who inspired my early career and who still inspires me to this day.

This year I celebrate 40 wonderful years working in social housing. I intend to mark the event by reflecting on my career in a series of blogs. In them I hope to consider how social housing has changed and how it is needed as much now as it was all those years ago when a misguided handshake sealed my fate.

Uprising

 

A constant theme in my early career was the tension in the inner cities where I worked. This was caused by poverty, unemployment, poor housing conditions, inequality, racism and discrimination. In 1981 it exploded in what many still call the Riots. I prefer not to use that term as it implies so many negatives. I prefer the term social or urban unrest or, as those who were involved call it, the Rising or Uprising.

 

For several nights during that year many inner cities were in flames as people took to the streets to protest. Streets in Bristol, London, Birmingham, Liverpool, Leicester and more were the scene of violent clashes between protesters and the police. Many enquiries since have sought to explain the cause. I will always believe that racism and discrimination were the catalyst for the conflagration.

 

The unrest was the talk of the NHF Conference in 1981 as many housing associations worked in these areas on the “Front Line” as it was called by those living there. They felt they were in a war zone. On the Sunday morning of the Conference Gurbux Singh, the CRE housing advisor, challenged those present to do something in response to the unrest. He said that housing associations were partly to blame as their housing and employment policies and practices were racist and discriminatory. Many found this difficult to accept but the NHF rose to the challenge.

 

Immediately after the speech Richard Best, the NHF Director, agreed to establish the first Race and Housing Working Party. He was aware of my work in anti-racism and diversity and he asked me to be secretary to the group. One of the most exciting parts of my career had begun. The membership of the working party came from all levels in the sector and beyond. David Bebb was the Chair and he gathered together a group that was diverse in gender, race and age. It included people working and living on the Front Line.

 

The group took evidence from across the country supported by the NHF’s policy chief David Page. The first report was published within 6 months. It was called Race and Housing a guide for housing associations. It showed that knowingly or unknowingly many of the employment and housing policies of housing associations and local authorities were racist and discriminatory. At all levels people from BME communities were not getting a fair deal and were often receiving a poorer service. The finding shocked the sector which had claimed not be to racist and to be colour blind in its work. There was much debate and as secretary I was involved in leading many of the discussions often in heated circumstances.

 

The Guide as it became known made a number of recommendations to improve services. Many of which are as relevant today as they were then. A recent guide from the CIH repeated many of the recommendations 40 years on. At the heart of the Guide was a recommendation to keep ethnic records. Many resisted this and it was some years before they became commonplace. In some cases only after The Housing Corporation and legislation had made it a regulatory requirement. I am convinced that this was crucial to the improvements that followed. 

 

Some housing associations became exemplars of best practice on diversity issues but others were slow to implement them. A further guide highlighted this complacency and subsequent changes led to more people from BME communities being housed and employed by housing associations. The proposals included procurement practices and positive action programmes which eventually created the first BME led housing associations in the mid-1980s. I helped to create and fund these in the Midlands and the North West. As I look back at this period I realise that this is the work that I am most proud of in my career.

 

The working party raised the issue of race and diversity for the first time in housing. It helped many housing associations improve their services. It enabled people from BME communities to expect and receive better treatment. It led to the growth of BME led associations where black and Asian people took control. For a short time it began to change the profile of senior people in the sector. No longer were conferences male, pale and sometimes frail. 

 

Sadly in some areas of diversity we have gone backwards in recent years especially in relation to BME leadership in the sector. Some would say we have become complacent. Others that the government is introducing policies that were once seen as discriminatory. Whatever the reason I am disappointed to see that despite the good work of some we still fail people from BME communities. The fact that that we have not resolved these issue after 40 years is a testament to that failure and one that haunts me to this day