"Tracing Empire in My Blood"
I’ve always felt a kind of confusion when it comes to colonialism.
On one hand, I know it was violent—exploitative, destructive, a system built on taking. But on the other hand... I’m here. In London. Because of it. My grandparents came to this country through paths opened—directly or indirectly—by the British Empire. So how do I hold both truths at once?
That question sits at the heart of my family history.
My Grandparents Were the Children of Empire
On my dad’s side, my grandparents came from Cyprus. My grandfather worked with the British Army during the final years of colonial rule. That service gave him a route into Britain—a reward, in a way, for loyalty to an empire that was pulling out of his homeland. My grandmother joined him a few years later. They weren’t just moving to a new country. They were stepping into the very centre of the empire that had shaped their lives from afar.
On my mum’s side, my grandfather came from Sri Lanka. He was Sinhalese, and he was a singer—drawn to England not for political reasons, but for creative ones. For him, Britain symbolised opportunity, expression, a kind of artistic freedom he couldn’t find at home. Colonialism had spread the English language, British schooling, British culture—and he used it all to pursue something personal.
Then there’s my nan, my mum’s mum. She came from rural Ireland—not because of empire, but because she didn’t want to marry a farmer. She left the traditional life that was expected of her and came to London in search of independence. Even though the Republic of Ireland had already gained independence from Britain, the long shadow of empire—and the economic ties to England—still shaped people’s choices.
A Shared Thread: Empire and Escape
Each of them had different reasons for migrating—service, creativity, rebellion—but the roads they took were all built, in some way, by empire. British rule may have been ending in their home countries, but its influence lingered in the opportunities (and sometimes the lack of them) that pushed or pulled them toward London.
And now here I am. Born in the UK. Raised in its language. Living in the multicultural legacy of a system that no longer exists—at least not officially—but still defines so much of how the world works.
So… How Should I Feel About Colonialism?
This is where the confusion hits. My existence was made possible by something I’m also supposed to reject. How can I condemn colonialism completely when it’s the reason my family found new lives—and when I get to live a life they couldn’t have imagined?
But I’ve come to realise that I don’t need to pick a side.
I can oppose colonialism—for its exploitation, its violence, its erasure of cultures.
And I can acknowledge that out of those broken systems, people like my grandparents made bold, human choices. They used the tools they were handed—however unfairly—and carved out futures in the cracks of empire.
It’s not about justifying the system. It’s about honouring the people who survived it.
Watching Lawrence of Arabia Made It Click
It all really hit me after watching Lawrence of Arabia. Here’s this British officer, fighting in the Middle East, trying to both serve the empire and side with the people it dominates. His identity is torn—admired by some, mistrusted by others, and never quite at home in either world.
That tension—between belonging and betrayal—felt strangely familiar. Like Lawrence, I’m living in the aftershocks of empire, caught between pride in my family's resilience and discomfort with the system that brought them here.
That’s why I’ve started exploring these stories in my work—through street interviews, documentaries, and this blog. Not to find clear answers, but to create space for the grey areas. The contradictions. The real human stories that get buried under big political labels.
What I’ve Learned
If you’re like me—if your heritage is tangled up with migration and empire—maybe you feel the same unease. Maybe you’ve inherited stories you don’t fully understand.
Here’s what I’m learning:
You don’t need to romanticise empire to appreciate the lives your family built in its aftermath.
You don’t need to erase your past to make sense of your present.
And you definitely don’t need to have all the answers.
Sometimes, just asking the questions—out loud, honestly—is the most powerful thing you can do.
🧭 Personal Choices Within Empire
As I’ve looked deeper into my family’s past, I’ve had to face an uncomfortable truth: some of the choices they made—the very ones that brought them here—may have been tied to the same structures we now criticise.
My Cypriot grandfather worked with the British Army. That’s how he got a path to citizenship. But what does that mean, ethically? Was it survival? Opportunism? Collaboration? My Irish grandmother left behind a traditional life, yes—but by coming to England, was she also benefiting from a country whose wealth came, at least in part, from the suffering of others?
Even my Sri Lankan grandfather’s love for English music and culture—was that personal taste, or a result of the colonial education system shaping his ideas of success?
It makes me ask: How much of what we call "empire" is about systems—and how much is about individual choices made inside them?
Because people did make choices. Sometimes difficult ones. Sometimes compromised. Sometimes, yes, even morally grey.
But does that make them part of the problem? Or simply people trying to live, to dream, to get free in whatever way they could?
I don't have a clean answer. But I do know this: it’s easy to talk about empire like a faceless force. It’s harder—but more important—to look at how real people navigated it. My grandparents weren't villains or heroes. They were human. They made choices in a world shaped by history, just like I do.
And maybe that’s the most honest way to talk about empire—not as a single story of good or evil, but as a complicated stage where people tried to survive, escape, belong, and build.
