Forty years ago, a 13-year-old boy was killed in a Manchester school playground in a racist attack that shocked the country. Now, the people who remember Ahmed Iqbal Ullah are calling for a new generation to pick up where they left off.
Ahmed was a British Bengali schoolboy at Burnage High School in south Manchester when he was murdered in 1986. He had stepped in to defend younger pupils from bullying when he was attacked and killed. He was just 13 years old.
His sister Selina Ullah has spent decades keeping his memory alive, and she is clear about what her brother stood for. ‘For my brother Ahmed, British values meant standing up for others,’ she says. ‘It was doing right. It was supporting and looking after the underdog, whoever that may be, regardless of their colour or background.’
The killing was a landmark moment in the history of race relations in England. It forced schools, local councils and communities to confront the reality of racist violence in a way that many had been avoiding. The inquiry that followed the murder produced a landmark report on racism in education that is still referenced today.
But as the 40th anniversary approaches, activists and campaigners who have gathered around Ahmed’s legacy say the lessons of 1986 are more relevant than ever. The rise of far-right groups across England, the disorder seen on the streets in the summer of 2024, and a growing sense that minority communities are once again under threat have given the anniversary a sharp political edge.
Campaigners are now pushing for a broad, multiracial alliance to take on the challenges of the current moment. The argument being made is that the fight against racism cannot be left to one community or one generation. It has to be built across backgrounds, across ages, and across political lines.
For those who knew Ahmed, or who have grown up hearing his story, the anniversary is a chance to remind people that progress is never guaranteed. The gains made after his death, in terms of anti-racism policies in schools and greater awareness of racially motivated violence, did not happen automatically. They were fought for.
Burnage High School and the wider Manchester community have long tried to honour Ahmed’s memory. A resource centre was named after him, and his story has been taught in schools as an example of both the cost of racism and the courage it takes to stand up against it.
But campaigners say remembrance alone is not enough. The far right has regrouped and found new audiences online and on the streets. Misinformation spreads faster than ever. Young people from minority backgrounds are reporting higher levels of fear and harassment. The climate, activists argue, has a real similarity to the atmosphere that existed in parts of England in the mid-1980s.
Selina Ullah has been vocal about the need to turn grief into action. Her brother did not stay silent when he saw bullying and intimidation. The people marking his anniversary are asking others to follow that example, to get involved in their communities, to challenge racism when they see it, and to build the kind of cross-community solidarity that the far right finds hardest to deal with.
The call is not just for marches or protests, though those have their place. It is for sustained, grassroots organising that connects people across different communities and keeps the pressure on institutions to take racism seriously.
Ahmed Iqbal Ullah has been gone for 40 years. He never got to grow up, finish school, or see the country change around him. But the people who carry his story forward are determined that his death should continue to mean something, not just as a moment of tragedy, but as a reason to keep fighting.