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Grenfell one year on: the reverend who opened his church to survivors Grenfell one year on: the reverend who opened his church to survivors
(7 months later)
“What’s hard is the contrast,” says the Rev Mike Long. We are sitting in his office at the Notting Hill Methodist Church, just around the corner from Grenfell Tower, and Long is trying – it’s not an easy task – to describe the intense, chaotic days that followed the fire.“What’s hard is the contrast,” says the Rev Mike Long. We are sitting in his office at the Notting Hill Methodist Church, just around the corner from Grenfell Tower, and Long is trying – it’s not an easy task – to describe the intense, chaotic days that followed the fire.
“It was like a war zone here,” he says. “Dust everywhere. It was a surreal world of emergency vehicles and cameras and not having 60 seconds’ space to think. But then you walk home” – Long lives 10 minutes from the church – “and there’s people sitting at pubs having a drink and a meal. Well of course they are. Life goes on, as it should. But it’s the contrast that jars. I thought, maybe this is what soldiers feel when they come off duty and people say: ‘What you been up to then in Afghanistan?’ And you understand why you cannot begin to answer the question. I can’t describe what it was like – and I’m not even from Grenfell Tower. I’ve not been affected like thousands of people in the community who’ve lost their homes and loved ones.”“It was like a war zone here,” he says. “Dust everywhere. It was a surreal world of emergency vehicles and cameras and not having 60 seconds’ space to think. But then you walk home” – Long lives 10 minutes from the church – “and there’s people sitting at pubs having a drink and a meal. Well of course they are. Life goes on, as it should. But it’s the contrast that jars. I thought, maybe this is what soldiers feel when they come off duty and people say: ‘What you been up to then in Afghanistan?’ And you understand why you cannot begin to answer the question. I can’t describe what it was like – and I’m not even from Grenfell Tower. I’ve not been affected like thousands of people in the community who’ve lost their homes and loved ones.”
Long was new to the area. A Methodist minister for 28 years, he had been redeployed from his previous posting in Haringey, north London, in January 2017 and moved to Notting Hill with his family in April. By mid-June, he was still getting to know the neighbourhood and the people in it.Long was new to the area. A Methodist minister for 28 years, he had been redeployed from his previous posting in Haringey, north London, in January 2017 and moved to Notting Hill with his family in April. By mid-June, he was still getting to know the neighbourhood and the people in it.
The call came shortly after 4.30am. “A church member phoned to say the tower’s on fire,” he says. “I checked the BBC website and it was already on the front page, so I threw on my clothes” – including a clerical collar, which Long rarely sported before that night, but has worn to work ever since so that he’s easily identifiable – “and dashed out of the house on my bike.”The call came shortly after 4.30am. “A church member phoned to say the tower’s on fire,” he says. “I checked the BBC website and it was already on the front page, so I threw on my clothes” – including a clerical collar, which Long rarely sported before that night, but has worn to work ever since so that he’s easily identifiable – “and dashed out of the house on my bike.”
At first, because of the police cordon, he couldn’t access his church, so he wandered the streets for a couple of hours, comforting a church member whose friend was missing in the tower (the friend and her daughter were carried out unconscious but both survived) and then stopping by the Rugby Portobello Trust, where he sat with people in distress and “just listened”. On a second try, a policeman let him through the cordon. As soon as Long opened the doors to the church, people began to stream in.At first, because of the police cordon, he couldn’t access his church, so he wandered the streets for a couple of hours, comforting a church member whose friend was missing in the tower (the friend and her daughter were carried out unconscious but both survived) and then stopping by the Rugby Portobello Trust, where he sat with people in distress and “just listened”. On a second try, a policeman let him through the cordon. As soon as Long opened the doors to the church, people began to stream in.
Some were seeking refuge from the disaster area, others came with supplies and offers of assistance. “That began a whole impromptu community response, mostly led by people I’d never met before, a very significant portion of them Muslim,” says Long. “So when people say, ‘Oh, the church did tons of stuff in the first few days’ – well, the church enabled things to be done. It wasn’t all church members, far from it.”Some were seeking refuge from the disaster area, others came with supplies and offers of assistance. “That began a whole impromptu community response, mostly led by people I’d never met before, a very significant portion of them Muslim,” says Long. “So when people say, ‘Oh, the church did tons of stuff in the first few days’ – well, the church enabled things to be done. It wasn’t all church members, far from it.”
Their immediate priorities were helping people affected by the fire and making facilities available to the emergency services, but within hours the stream of assistance became a flood. “We were bombarded with stuff, much of which we didn’t want and never asked for,” says Long. “By 3pm that day, I had signs on the door saying, ‘No donations please.’” Some of the offerings were useful. “Blankets, water, bedding, nappies, toiletries, phones, food, yeah absolutely,” he says, “but I don’t want high-heeled shoes, I don’t want Banksy posters. Someone even gave us a drum machine.”Their immediate priorities were helping people affected by the fire and making facilities available to the emergency services, but within hours the stream of assistance became a flood. “We were bombarded with stuff, much of which we didn’t want and never asked for,” says Long. “By 3pm that day, I had signs on the door saying, ‘No donations please.’” Some of the offerings were useful. “Blankets, water, bedding, nappies, toiletries, phones, food, yeah absolutely,” he says, “but I don’t want high-heeled shoes, I don’t want Banksy posters. Someone even gave us a drum machine.”
Over the next few days, his impromptu team battled to keep on top of the situation, developing disaster-response systems on the fly and working punishing hours amid the dust, heat and confusion – Long was getting two hours’ sleep a night.Over the next few days, his impromptu team battled to keep on top of the situation, developing disaster-response systems on the fly and working punishing hours amid the dust, heat and confusion – Long was getting two hours’ sleep a night.
It didn’t help that very little information or visible support was coming from the local authorities. “I understand that they had other more pressing priorities,” says Long. “They were trying to put the fire out, to rescue and accommodate people.But after a week, what we needed was some visible sign of coordination, which at least would have reassured the public. It might have actually calmed down a lot of the aggro on the street. Because it looked like the council didn’t care.”It didn’t help that very little information or visible support was coming from the local authorities. “I understand that they had other more pressing priorities,” says Long. “They were trying to put the fire out, to rescue and accommodate people.But after a week, what we needed was some visible sign of coordination, which at least would have reassured the public. It might have actually calmed down a lot of the aggro on the street. Because it looked like the council didn’t care.”
Nearly a year on, Long is still angry about organisational failures in the wake of the fire. “You accept there’s going to be a certain amount of chaos. It’s inevitable. But to me there were some easy wins for the local authority.” It would have helped, he says, if an official had appealed to the public to stay away from the area in the immediate aftermath, which might have reduced some of the chaos, and to send cash instead of vanloads of donations. More could have been done to safeguard the survivors and to coordinate offers of assistance from the public. (“I haven’t a blinking clue,” is how Long characterises his response to the many mental health experts who contacted the church asking how they could help.)Nearly a year on, Long is still angry about organisational failures in the wake of the fire. “You accept there’s going to be a certain amount of chaos. It’s inevitable. But to me there were some easy wins for the local authority.” It would have helped, he says, if an official had appealed to the public to stay away from the area in the immediate aftermath, which might have reduced some of the chaos, and to send cash instead of vanloads of donations. More could have been done to safeguard the survivors and to coordinate offers of assistance from the public. (“I haven’t a blinking clue,” is how Long characterises his response to the many mental health experts who contacted the church asking how they could help.)
But Long goes only so far with his criticisms. “I think the people I meet, local authority people, they’re busting a gut,” he says, “and often if that’s acknowledged, it looks like they’re showboating, or trying to claim credit for a discredited local authority, so they can’t say those things, they can’t blow their own trumpet. Some of their work has been very good in very difficult circumstances.”But Long goes only so far with his criticisms. “I think the people I meet, local authority people, they’re busting a gut,” he says, “and often if that’s acknowledged, it looks like they’re showboating, or trying to claim credit for a discredited local authority, so they can’t say those things, they can’t blow their own trumpet. Some of their work has been very good in very difficult circumstances.”
By late August – despite the harrowing public meetings that were being held at the church, which he described as “hugely depressing and hard to control” – Long felt like he had a handle on the situation. But how was he coping on a personal level? Has the fire changed him in any significant way?By late August – despite the harrowing public meetings that were being held at the church, which he described as “hugely depressing and hard to control” – Long felt like he had a handle on the situation. But how was he coping on a personal level? Has the fire changed him in any significant way?
“I’m not really sure,” he replies. “For the first six months, it was in my thoughts every waking hour. But in terms of processing it, it hasn’t changed my views in one sense, at all, but it has changed me.” This change, I gather, has nothing to do with his faith in God and everything to do with his faith in the people around him. “Just being here under this brutally intense spotlight for days and weeks gives you a very intense sense of being bound to your local community,” he says. “I still feel profoundly indebted to the people who helped out – they were brilliant.”“I’m not really sure,” he replies. “For the first six months, it was in my thoughts every waking hour. But in terms of processing it, it hasn’t changed my views in one sense, at all, but it has changed me.” This change, I gather, has nothing to do with his faith in God and everything to do with his faith in the people around him. “Just being here under this brutally intense spotlight for days and weeks gives you a very intense sense of being bound to your local community,” he says. “I still feel profoundly indebted to the people who helped out – they were brilliant.”
Nearly 12 months on, Long has other issues to occupy him besides Grenfell. Last autumn, cracks in the church walls widened overnight and part of the steeple fell off. Now expensive restoration works are underway – our conversation is underscored by the sound of drilling. The needs of the wider community consume most of Long’s working hours, although there are still a few Grenfell-related matters to address, with the inquiry under way – it’s being screened at the church – and the anniversary around the corner.Nearly 12 months on, Long has other issues to occupy him besides Grenfell. Last autumn, cracks in the church walls widened overnight and part of the steeple fell off. Now expensive restoration works are underway – our conversation is underscored by the sound of drilling. The needs of the wider community consume most of Long’s working hours, although there are still a few Grenfell-related matters to address, with the inquiry under way – it’s being screened at the church – and the anniversary around the corner.
“It’s not just about what’s being done but what’s seen as being done and how the community feels,” says Long when I ask about his hopes for the inquiry. “It’s about a process that shows a human face, and so the testimonies have actually been really useful. I do think that if the report is objective and fair and brilliant, but the local community does not regard it as such, rightly or wrongly, that will be really difficult for years and years to come. The process is important as well as the outcome.“It’s not just about what’s being done but what’s seen as being done and how the community feels,” says Long when I ask about his hopes for the inquiry. “It’s about a process that shows a human face, and so the testimonies have actually been really useful. I do think that if the report is objective and fair and brilliant, but the local community does not regard it as such, rightly or wrongly, that will be really difficult for years and years to come. The process is important as well as the outcome.
“In terms of community mood,” he goes on, “it’s very difficult while the tower is still there, and while lots of people are still in hotels. Once people are housed, once the tower is down, then it’ll start to feel like the beginning of a new chapter. Obviously the psychological issues and grief will remain, but as a community I think they’ll feel that a corner has been turned.”“In terms of community mood,” he goes on, “it’s very difficult while the tower is still there, and while lots of people are still in hotels. Once people are housed, once the tower is down, then it’ll start to feel like the beginning of a new chapter. Obviously the psychological issues and grief will remain, but as a community I think they’ll feel that a corner has been turned.”
• The mosque manager who took in Grenfell survivors: ‘I said, we must open our door’• The mosque manager who took in Grenfell survivors: ‘I said, we must open our door’
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