12 December 1999
Silcott: After 14 years
I still can't get justice
He's been acquitted and paid damages
by the Met, but Winston Silcott will never be free of the murder of Keith
Blakelock. Now he breaks five years of silence to tell Jay Rayner that
politics has kept him in jail for two crimes he didn't commit
He is thinner and leaner than he looked in the brooding
photographs originally issued by the police. He is in sportswear much of
the time, a testament to his obsession with fitness - football, mostly,
and running - and his hair is tied back under a black bandanna. But it
is his beard which first catches the eye: beneath his chin is a thick,
compact curl of twisted hair. Winston Silcott has vowed not to shave until
his conviction for the murder of Anthony Smith - the killing that keeps
him in jail, the killing that he claims was committed in self-defence -
is overturned.
After 14 years inside it is now a full 3ft-long if
unfurled. But for now he keeps it tied up. He knows there are those who
hope he never has cause to shave, but he doesn't let that distract him.
He just wants to put his case. Friends and supporters had warned that,
at first, he can be distant with people he does not know. In fact, he was
eager to talk during our hour together last week within the thick Napoleonic
walls of Maidstone's jail, in what was his first interview for five years.
He may be a demon in the eyes of some of the public,
but the prison officers have nothing but good words to say about him. Silcott
has been described as a 'model prisoner' by his probation officer. 'I'm
just someone who gets on with it,' he said. In any case he doesn't think
the assessment, delivered as part of the latest parole board review of
his case in October, will have any impact on his situation. In the summer
he completed the 14-year 'tariff' imposed on him as part of the life sentence
he received for killing Smith, a boxer, in 1984. In theory he should now
be heading towards release. But requests by his lawyers for him to be given
Category D status and moved to open conditions - a precursor to that release
- have been refused. He remains a Category B inmate.
He has no doubts as to why: the murder of PC Keith
Blakelock during the Broadwater Farm riot of 1985. 'It's political,' he
says simply. The system, he says, is trying to make him pay again for the
death of Blakelock even though his conviction for the killing was overturned
in 1991. According to Silcott, the Smith killing - which he has always
claimed was self-defence - and the now quashed Blakelock conviction have
become inexorably entwined, the former being used to keep him in prison
for the latter.
'The police make out that they've done their job,
that they got their man [for Blakelock], that my conviction was overturned
on a technicality. But it's not a technicality. There was a lot of forensic
evidence.' The police, he says, refuse to let it go. To them he has become
a symbol of the evil they face out on the streets; they need him to stay
locked away.
Last month, when he was awarded £50,000 compensation
in an out-of-court settlement by the Metropolitan Police as damages for
wrongful arrest and imprisonment in the Blakelock murder, the Metropolitan
Police Federation, the police union, issued statements burning with outrage.
It was clear what they thought of him.
'Keith's widow and his two sons will feel this is
a kick in the teeth for them and it opens old wounds,' said Glen Smyth
of the federation. 'It will be mentally distressing for them and all police
officers.' Ann Widdecombe, the Tory Shadow Home Secretary, joined in. 'Someone
serving a life sentence for murder should not benefit from the taxpayer
like this,' she said.
Blakelock's widow, Elizabeth Johnson (now remarried),
described the payment as 'obscene'. There were mutterings - from the Police
Federation - that the Blakelock family might try to bring a civil case
against Silcott, because the burden of proof would be far less than in
a criminal trial.
It was in response to that reaction to the payout
that Silcott agreed to be interviewed. He knows full well how complex and
muddy his story has become, rooted as it is in the wretched race relations,
poverty and petty crime of Eighties inner-city London. Silcott grew up
on the Broadwater Farm Estate in Tottenham, the son of Bill and Mary, Seventh
Day Adventists who came to Britain from the Caribbean island of Montserrat
in 1957. Silcott traces his troubled relationship with the authorities
back to a confrontation with the police aged 15, when he was stopped and
searched.
What made him stick out, his friends and family have
said, was his willingness to answer back. After that first encounter he
was regularly picked up by the police and not always without cause. By
1984, when he was arrested for the Smith killing, he had form both for
burglary and malicious wounding. But he had also been tried and acquitted
on a murder charge. Now, as far as the police were concerned, he was a
crook who had got away with murder.
By that point he had a greengrocers shop on the estate
and was running a mobile sound system for illegal 'Blues' drinking parties.
One night Silcott broke up a fight outside his shop among local youths.
One of them was Smith, an amateur boxer and a leading figure in a local
gang, the Yankee Posse. A little later Smith threatened Silcott at a party.
What happened next is disputed. Silcott claims he
took a knife from a friend and stabbed Smith in self-defence when he was
attacked; he also says there are witnesses to this who were never brought
to court to testify. At his trial the prosecution argued that he struck
first. Either way the judge at the first remand hearing decided the evidence
was hazy enough to allow him his freedom on bail prior to his trial.
As a result he was not in custody on the October
night in 1985 when Broadwater Farm erupted in protest at the death of Cynthia
Jarrett, a black woman who died of a heart attack as a result of an ill-executed
police raid on her home. During the riot Keith Blakelock was killed in
an orgy of violence. He sustained 42 stab wounds.
Silcott was arrested within days and charged as a
ringleader. 'They only put me in the Blakelock case so it would tarnish
my image in the Smith case,' Silcott says now. 'In the Smith case the jury
was under protection. There were police snipers on the rooftops of the
court. The jury saw this black man in the dock who came from Broadwater
Farm.' And by then they all knew about Broadwater Farm. They all knew about
PC Blakelock.
His conviction, he says, was guaranteed. The guilty
verdict and life sentence (with a direction that he serve no less than
14 years) was made all the more likely when his defence lawyers advised
him to deny having a knife on the night in question. There were endless
witnesses who could - and did - testify to the contrary.
A little more than a year later Silcott was convicted
of killing Blakelock on the evidence of his own confession and sentenced
to a second term of life imprisonment. This time the tariff was 30 years.
There was no forensic evidence linking him with the crime and he did not
appear in any of 1,000 photographs taken on the night. He was immediately
upgraded from category B prisoner to category A, a status which changed
in 1991 when forensic tests proved that the only incriminating part of
his testimony in the Blakelock case had been falsified. His conviction
was deemed unsafe and he was immediately reclassified as category B.
To be eligible for parole a prisoner must be willing
to face up to their crime and take courses dealing with what the parole
board consider are the risk factors associated with it, among them - where
murder is concerned - anger management. Until three years ago Silcott refused
to have anything to do with these programmes. 'My understanding at the
time was that if you go to the parole board and say you're innocent of
the crime, they hold it against you,' he says. 'It's hard to do courses
where you say one thing but are secretly thinking another.' He believes
this refusal to work with the system, indeed at times to be completely
withdrawn from it, damaged his prospects with the parole board.
He also complains that the Blakelock conviction remains
on his parole board file even though it has been quashed. 'I don't see
why it should be on the file,' he says. 'It makes it look like they still
think I might have been involved. There must still be suspicion. It depends
on who reads the file. It could hold me back.'
Certainly he hasn't been able to shake whispers about
the Blakelock case. In 1994 two officers were tried for attempting to pervert
the course of justice by fabricating evidence at Silcott's trial. Barristers
for Detective Chief Superintendent Graham Melvin and Detective Inspector
Maxwell Dingle, the officers involved, defended their clients by retrying
Silcott in his absence for the Blakelock murder.
Fourteen statements by witnesses who were said to
have implicated Silcott were read to the jury, a number by people who -
the barristers said - were too scared to come to court and testify in person.
Some of these statements had been dismissed as 'pure fantasy' by the original
trial judge or to have been extracted under improper conditions. Others
did not implicate Silcott but merely accused him of 'hating the police'
or 'being the governor of Broadwater Farm'. As to the scared witnesses,
one who was approached by this newspaper shortly after the trial said he
had never even been asked to appear.
Dingle and Melvin were cleared, to a great whoop
of glee from sections of the press. Dingle promptly gave an interview to
the News of the World in which he described Silcott as 'the most evil man
I've ever met'. A decision by the Home Office shortly afterwards to pay
Silcott £17,000 in damages for wrongful conviction was met with an
equal howl of pain from the same newspapers. 'Outrage upon outrage. Shame
upon shame,' ran a Daily Mail leader. 'The Silcott scandal grows worse
by the day.'
The clamour from the right-wing press has always
been buttressed by virulently racist hate mail which Silcott receives whenever
the case resurfaces in the media. He picks up a brown envelope stuffed
full of new examples which the assistant governor of the prison, sitting
in on the interview, asks to see. 'I don't let it get in my head,' he says
dismissively, passing them over. 'I just let it wash over me. I get much
more mail from supporters.' Later, before I leave, the assistant governor
apologises to Silcott for his having received the racist letters. The passage
of such material through the post is illegal. Silcott accepts the apology
with a simple nod of the head.
Today Silcott insists that he went after the police
for further damages because he wanted to put an end to the suggestions,
raised by the acquittal of two police officers, that he was in any way
guilty. 'It wasn't a need for a cash settlement,' he says. 'I wanted the
police to admit they were wrong. I wanted them to apologise.' In the end
the police both denied liability for wrongful arrest and apologised for
nothing. But, Silcott points out, lawyers for the police admitted in open
court during a pre-trial hearing on the damages claim that they now accept
Silcott was innocent of the Blakelock killing.
He also bats away claims by the police that they
settled the case merely because of costs. 'That's a lame excuse. Afterwards
it came out how much they had already spent [£250,000] and it wasn't
much cheaper than going to court.' The size of Silcott's damages bolsters
his argument. In a ruling two years ago the Court of Appeal set down guidelines
for damages in cases such as this. The maximum 'exemplary' damages solely
to compensate victims for 'oppressive, arbitrary or unconstitutional behaviour'
by senior police officers was set at £50,000, exactly the amount
he was awarded.
The police also offered to pay the costs of pre-trial
hearings in the case for which they were not liable. It seemed the Met
was desperate to make sure Silcott would accept the money rather than go
to court. In a pre-trial hearing it had been ruled that, because of the
complexity of the forensic evidence, the case would be heard by a judge
sitting alone rather than by a jury. In those circumstances the prospect
of victory by the police legal team disappeared.
According to Tony Murphy, Silcott's solicitor, the
police had no choice but to settle. 'The reality is that the Commissioner
did not have a scrap of credible evidence to defend Winston's claim and
was clearly desperate to settle the case in order to avoid a public defeat
at trial,' he said. 'The terms of the settlement are such that the Commissioner
may now have to pay more costs than if he had lost at trial. There was
no financial incentive in not fighting the case.'
As to the cash payout, Silcott dismisses arguments
that he shouldn't have received any money because he is a convicted murderer.
'To me that's a police line,' he says. 'When the police come up with the
stories about the cash it stops people looking at the real evidence. The
police have got something to hide. This saga is never going to end unless
they admit they've done something wrong. But it's hard for them to admit
they've made mistakes.' Nevertheless he understands the position of the
Police Federation. 'One of their officers was killed. Other officers say
"that could have been me" and they need the Federation to back them to
the hilt.'
He will not discuss what happened on the night of
the Broadwater Farm riot. He was not involved in the killing, he says.
He was not there so he does not need to answer questions. Now his attention
is on the Smith conviction. Recently the Criminal Cases Review Commission
refused to send the case back to the Court of Appeal. That too, he says,
is 'political pressure from the police. If the Blakelock case hadn't been
involved and the Smith case was by itself the CCRC would have sent it back
by now.'
He rejects suggestions that he should just get on
with his life and work towards parole. 'When I'm released and I put my
arguments across, what will come back is that I'm a convicted murderer
and that you can't believe him. If I came out now without the [Smith] conviction
being overturned they could fabricate evidence against me again and I'd
deserve it because I'd have shown no fight.'
There is no doubt he sees himself as a special case,
someone excluded from any debate on the need for racial awareness in society.
He says he followed the progress of the Stephen Lawrence inquiry and the
publication of the Macpherson report with interest. 'Just to get an inquiry
going was an achievement,' he says. 'Not a lot of good is going to come
out of it, though. Maybe a few things have changed out there, but when
it comes to my case nothing has changed. You've got some of the old heads
on the Tottenham force who have been harassing me since I was a youngster.
They whisper in the ears of the young ones.
'And in the press when they mention my name you always
see the subtle racism, the hint of my guilt. They don't call me a monkey
sitting in the zoo any more. They're just more subtle.'
Three years ago Silcott read in a law report that
parole boards could no longer hold declarations of innocence against inmates.
Finally he began to engage with the prison system. He completed a course
on strategic thinking. 'It was good,' he says. 'It taught me to slow down
and listen more before reacting.' Last week he finished the anger management
course. He had been on the waiting list for it for three years. 'But every
time my name was on the list to do it, the course was cancelled. They always
said it was cutbacks.' Still, that too was 'okay'. He even took part in
a youth project, talking to kids about life in prison to dissuade them
from going off the rails. 'The feedback was that it was successful. Certain
kids stopped getting into trouble.' All of this fed into the glowing parole
board reports he has recently received.
For Silcott, however, this work and effort is a sideshow.
It is something his solicitors have told him he has to do to have any chance
of ever being released from prison and he is eager to oblige. But for him
the main issue is the outstanding conviction for the killing of Smith.
He says he is determined to get it overturned. He believes it is possible.
He knows such a fight will make him unpopular with a lot of people. Then
again, Winston Silcott, the model prisoner from Broadwater Farm, gave up
on being popular a very long time ago. |