I’m a Scouse socialist and my constituency’s first Black MP, this is how I'll hold the government to account

• Kim Johnson became the first Black MP to be elected to Liverpool Riverside in 2019.

• Her community organising and union work led to parliament, where she champions reform to joint enterprise laws that disproportionately affect marginalised communities.

I was 10 when I learned the world wasn’t made for girls like me. I’d taken the entrance exam for the local girls’ grammar school full of hope, but when the results came, I was accused of cheating. It wasn’t me; the white girl beside me had copied my answers. Yet I bore the accusation, left to reckon with the hard truth: as a young Black girl, I would often be unseen, disbelieved, dismissed.

That accusation stayed with me. Injustice, I realised, would be woven through the fabric of my life. But it didn’t break me; it fuelled me. Resilience became my answer to every slight, every closed door. I was the eldest of five, born into a working-class family of African and Irish heritage in Liverpool, the granddaughter of immigrants.

My father worked in construction, my mother in factories and later as a cleaner. Our house was small, with an outdoor toilet, but both my parents worked hard to give us a good life, including school holidays and trips. My father, Joseph Johnson, died suddenly when I was still a teenager, leaving my mother, Kathy, widowed at 41 with five children to support alone.

Growing up Black in Liverpool in the ’70s and ’80s wasn’t easy. In history classes, discussions of slavery and the transatlantic slave trade were often fraught, as though my heritage made me both the subject and object of the lesson. Liverpool’s history with race and inequality was complex, painful. I saw it everywhere – in attitudes, in experiences.

I saw it clearly during the Toxteth uprisings of 1981. Termed “race riots” by the press, to us they were a stand against systemic injustices: unequal housing, poor schooling, police brutality. They were part of a history that ran through our streets, our families, our lives.

We didn’t have a car, didn’t go on family holidays, but there was joy. From an early age, I loved learning, and I loved the world around me. I took tap and ballet classes, and with neighbourhood friends, we put on small shows for anyone who would come.

We’d dress up in our dance costumes, charged a few pennies for orange juice, and put on shows in our backyards. We spent long days on coach trips to Blackpool, gathered for bonfire parties in the street. Those days rooted me in my community, instilling a love for the people and places that shaped me.

As a single mother of twins, I juggled work and study, often bringing my children to meetings with me. It was challenging, but I believed in showing them the importance of community and resilience. I pursued education and training, driven by a commitment to give back and improve conditions for families in my community.

My activism deepened in the years that followed. I organised rallies, supported local movements – anything to strengthen Liverpool’s legacy of resistance. Community work became my calling, leading to a career in community development and adult social care in Liverpool’s hardest-hit neighbourhoods.

A lifelong trade unionist, I served as a shop steward in Unison, advocating for those whose voices were often ignored. I served on both the Black members’ regional and national committees, pushing to bring change where it was most needed.

In 2014, my fight grew further. I watched Common, Jimmy McGovern’s BBC drama, and it struck a nerve that hasn’t stopped aching. The story follows Johnjo, a young man who gives his cousin a lift and finds himself implicated in a stabbing – a brutal display of how joint enterprise law convicts people without direct involvement or intent, sometimes even without knowledge of the crime. The law’s ruthless indifference horrified me.

After becoming an MP in 2019, I met JENGbA (Joint Enterprise Not Guilty by Association), a grassroots group representing more than 1,000 families affected by joint enterprise. I’ve spoken with mothers and fathers of young people – mostly young Black men – given devastating sentences not for committing a crime, but for being near one. Lives wrecked for association, for “foreseeing” a crime they had no part in. Outrage grew, and I knew I had to act.

I introduced the Joint Enterprise (Significant Contribution) Bill, insisting that only those who play a real role in a crime can be convicted. The law, as it stands, traps young people based on flimsy connections and proximity; my bill calls for a fairer standard. But the struggle has been uphill; the Conservative government refused to engage, unwilling to confront this clear injustice.

I am a proud Scouser and a socialist, committed to using my time in this House to hold the government to account. I intend to be the voice of my constituency, challenging social injustice and inequality at every turn. While the most vulnerable have been penalised by welfare cuts, the wealthy continue to receive tax breaks. The people of Liverpool Riverside, especially our young people, need hope, the possibility of a future with dignity. But we are a resilient city, and we will always fight back.

In 2019, I stood for parliament and was elected as Liverpool Riverside’s first Black MP. Politics had never been my goal, yet here I was, in a place never meant for people like me. Imposter syndrome lingered, but I knew I was there because my community needed me. I was ready to be a thorn in the side of anyone who thought we could be overlooked.

Liverpool is a unique city with a unique history, a city of many firsts, and I’m proud to represent it. We built the first council housing in Europe in 1869, home to the first subscription library in England, founded the world’s first public baths and wash houses thanks to Kitty Wilkinson in 1842, and in 1890, football nets were used for the first time, invented by Liverpool city engineer John Brodie. Liverpool’s School of Tropical Medicine, the first in Britain, opened in 1899.

Representing my community in this House is more than a job; it’s a commitment to those silenced, ignored, undervalued. I didn’t arrive here easily, but I arrived with purpose. I carry with me the memory of that young girl, unfairly accused yet determined to be heard."

*As told to Rabina Khan

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