8 The Linguist Vol/64 No/4
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"'Killed'. I want them to hear me. They killed
my mother and my aunt." Mohammed
Samimi was visibly agitated. His mother
Fatemeh and her sister Sakineh were two of
the 72 people who lost their lives in the
Grenfell Tower fire, the subject of a public
inquiry and ongoing criminal investigation.
More than six years later, in January 2024, I
was standing with the Samimis in a grand
room in Westminster to support them during
Testimony Week. This £3 million event was
meant to bring together victims of the fire
and those considered responsible for it under
the banner of restorative justice, but it felt
more like a theatre of grief.
The public inquiry had identified state and
corporate bodies whose decisions had led to
the tragedy. While addressing those
organisations in Farsi, Samimi feared the
interpreter would soften the word 'killed', and
this really mattered to him. He turned to me
to doublecheck the translation.
The fire has had far-reaching ramifications
both nationally and internationally. Of those
killed, 85% were from diverse ethnic
backgrounds, many representing diasporas of
people forced to flee Afghanistan, Iran, Sudan,
Eritrea, Sierra Leone and beyond. In most
cases, the victims relied on loose networks of
friends who had become a makeshift family –
'sister', 'brother', 'auntie', as is customary in
many of our communities. The actual next of
kin were often abroad and spoke no English.
This was the first disaster of its kind for the
UK. Unlike the Hillsborough, Aberfan or Piper
Alpha disasters, which impacted fairly
homogeneous groups of English-speaking
British people, this was a complicated tapestry
reflecting the multicultural and multilingual
reality of a modern Western metropolis.
For the first 18 months, only patchy
interpreting and translation were provided.
Like many who had lost loved ones, Samimi
and his sisters faced a significant language
barrier when trying to navigate the complex
aftermath of the tragedy. From the outset,
they had insisted that the next of kin of the
deceased should be distinguished from
survivors and the broader community. Their
profound loss – especially in the context of the
subsequent homicide investigation – required
recognition and tailored support. But they,
and others like them, struggled to be heard
amid the noise and confusion. They were,
paradoxically, at the centre of the disaster,
yet simultaneously rendered inconsequential,
largely due to the lack of language support.
How I got involved
In June 2017, I watched the fire on the news,
and like countless people from across London,
I was moved to volunteer my services. I had
grown up in the Royal Borough of Kensington
and Chelsea (RBKC), where the tower was
situated, moving there from Iran as a child in
1974. At that time it was largely monocultural.
Kimia Zabihyan explains how poor language services
hampered the response for survivors of the fatal fire
Lessons from Grenfell
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