Hand Me Down

Words are too big or too small. We outgrow them. Or fall straight through them. We’re Empire, and tea, and statues of historical men. We’re East Asia, Africa, Australia. We’re steamed rice, cahupa, sambal sauce. We’re children of tiger mothers, fathers across the water. We’re part coloniser, and part colonised bodies. We inherited the empire that was built on our backs. In a story of dance and spoken word, 3 friends see their reflection in family who exist on opposite sides of British identity, being pulled apart in an increasingly aggressive debate about race.