Being Romani in Modern Britain

Samie Loveridge writes from lived experience as a Romani Traveller and a mother. She asks what it means for the children growing up in a society where prejudice against Gypsies and Travellers is accepted, and why pride in a heritage should ever come with a price.

I am proud to be a Romani Traveller. My son doesn’t want anyone to know that he is one.

There is something deeply unsettling about the distance between those two statements.

To me, being Romani is a source of pride. It connects me to generations of people, to traditions, language, family and a history that has survived centuries of persecution. It is something I want to preserve, celebrate and pass down.

Yet my son would rather keep that part of himself private.

I respect his choice. He has every right to decide what he shares about his identity. But as his mother, I cannot help wondering what kind of society we live in when a child feels more comfortable keeping his heritage to himself than speaking about it openly.

We are told that Britain is a tolerant, multicultural society. We teach children to celebrate diversity, challenge stereotypes and recognise racism wherever they encounter it.

Except, it seems, when the subject is Gypsies and Travellers.

There is a particular kind of prejudice in this country that people barely attempt to disguise. It appears in newspaper comment sections, everyday conversations and national television debates. It comes from people who would be horrified to be described as racist, yet think nothing of making sweeping generalisations about an entire ethnic community.

And perhaps that is what troubles me most. Not simply the racism itself, but how acceptable it has become.

Consider the way Travellers are discussed in the media. Entire communities can be presented as a problem, their traditions questioned and their presence treated as something the settled population must tolerate.

Now imagine those same questions being asked about any other marginalised community.

Imagine a television debate in which panellists asked whether that community was inherently dishonest, or whether it should be welcomed into a neighbourhood. We would recognise the prejudice at once. Yet when the conversation concerns Gypsies and Travellers, comparable generalisations can pass as legitimate debate. 

Of course, individual behaviour should be questioned. Crime, unauthorised encampments and disputes between communities are legitimate subjects for discussion. Nobody should be exempt from criticism or the law.

But when did the actions of individuals become justification for condemning an ethnicity?

Too often, when a Traveller commits an offence, their heritage becomes part of the story. Their actions risk being treated as evidence of something supposedly wrong with an entire community.

We are expected to answer for people we have never met, simply because we share an identity.

And then there is the prejudice disguised as a compliment.

“You’re not like the others.”

“I don’t mean your family.”

“You’re one of the good ones.”

These remarks are sometimes offered as reassurance, as though I should feel grateful to have been granted an exception.

But I do not want acceptance that depends upon distancing myself from my own people.

I should not have to prove that I am respectable enough, educated enough or settled enough to deserve dignity.

Living in a house does not make me less Romani. Nor does living in a caravan make somebody else less deserving of respect.

Our heritage is not defined by where we live, but by who we are and the generations who came before us.

For generations, Romani families have faced pressure to assimilate. Language has been lost, traditions have faded and ancestry has sometimes been concealed because being recognised as Gypsy carried consequences.

That loss is not merely historical. It reaches into the present, into families like mine.

I want my children to know where they come from. I want them to understand that their ancestors were more than the stereotypes repeated about them. I want them to know our stories, our language and resilience.

But I cannot pass down pride without acknowledging the world in which they must carry it.

My son’s wish for privacy reminds me that celebrating our heritage at home and feeling comfortable sharing it with the wider world are not necessarily the same thing.

We cannot claim to celebrate diversity while treating one community’s identity as an acceptable target for ridicule. Nor can we condemn racism in principle while excusing it whenever the subject is Travellers.

How can we expect young people to feel confident in their heritage if the society around them repeatedly presents that heritage as something undesirable?

I am not asking for special treatment. I am asking for consistency.

For too long, the conversation has centred on what Britain should do about Gypsies and Travellers.

Perhaps it is time to consider what generations of prejudice have done to us.

I will continue to celebrate my Romani heritage. I hope my son will always know that he can do the same, openly or privately, on his own terms.

But I want him to have a genuine choice, free from the weight of other people’s assumptions.

No child should have to weigh their pride in who they are against the possibility of how others might treat them.

We are Romani. We are Travellers. We are part of Britain. And our dignity should never have been up for debate.

Samie Loveridge for Travellers Times

(Main image C: chris robert via Unsplash)

This is an opinion piece. The views expressed are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of Travellers Times. We welcome submissions from Gypsy, Roma, and Traveller writers. If you’d like to contribute, get in touch at editorial@travellerstimes.org.uk