Cut Short by Ciaran Thapar review – at the sharp end of austerity

I n September 2015, Ciaran Thapar, a recent graduate of the London School of Economics (where he did a master’s in political theory), and his flatmate, Rory Bradshaw, turned up at a community centre in Brixton. The area’s gentrification was well under way by then and the two of them had moved into a flat across the park from the club, where they wished to volunteer as youth workers. In Cut Short: Youth Violence, Loss and Hope in the City, Thapar describes how the centre’s managing director, Tony, took one look at them both in the foyer and said: “The boys here are gonna think you’re feds.”

Tony, writes Thapar, was doubtful about letting these fresh-faced new arrivals work in his centre. “The young people who spent time at [the club] were used to a certain type of adult male working there. [They were usually] black, older, more experienced. Maybe they had several decades under their belt as a youth worker. Maybe they’d grown up nearby.”

But Tony also believed that young people needed “exposing to other horizons too”, and that Thapar and his friend “needed to gain a connection to people who already lived there”. He decided to take a punt on them, kickstarting what for Thapar – the mixed-race son of a Punjabi father and an English mother – would become a transformative experience of life among working-class black British boys in south London. It also served as a gateway to his own career as a journalist (writing on issues such as youth violence, austerity, multiculturalism and drill music for the Guardian, GQ and Vice), an advocate for young people (in parliament, on TV, radio and in court) and, now, an author.

Cut Short is an assured debut that leaves you in no doubt of Thapar’s talents as a writer. His depictions of the characters he gets to know during his years as a youth worker are full of respect, even love. Tony comes across as a “wise uncle”, while the portraits of the mentees Thapar works with, including Jhemar, whose life is turned upside down by the murder of his brother, and Demetri, who ends up studying sociology at Goldsmiths, are full of resilience and positivity. These character studies are complemented by an analytical rigour that means Thapar’s powerful narrative kicks against the state – against the austerity and demonisation that keep so many young black men trapped in cycles of poverty and marginalisation while a discourse of knife crime draws attention away from its root causes.

For all its success as a work of political nonfiction, Cut Short also reveals Thapar’s anxiety about the contradiction inherent in his overlapping roles. “I didn’t want to be the type of journalist,” he writes, “who parachutes in and out of people’s lives. In fact, believing myself to be a youth worker first and a social activist second, I have been reluctant to regard myself as a journalist per se at all.”

When, following the murder of a young man in his early 20s at the centre in February 2019, Thapar agrees to an interview with ITV News in the hope of “steering the media narrative in a constructive way”, he finds himself, momentarily, on the wrong side of the divide. Tony, his mentor, lets him know how his behaviour appeared to the community: “like you were using what happened to get your face out there”. It’s a difficult line to tread but, for the most part, Thapar carries himself with integrity – owning his failures while pointing us towards the greater goals “of collective action and a compassionate welfare state”.

Cut Short: Youth Violence, Loss and Hope in the City by Ciaran Thapar is published by Viking (£16.99). To support the Guardian order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply