Written by Jamilah Bruce
What Rekindling Nello James Taught Me About Legacy and Responsibility.
There’s something about becoming a parent that shifts the way you look at community. The spaces you once passed through quietly become places you hope your child will one day belong to. You start to see the future through their eyes, and feel the weight of what might not be there when they’re ready to find it.
That’s how I felt after attending the various Rekindling Nello James events this year. I came away proud. Angry. Grateful. Grieving. Inspired. And completely certain that we – this generation, my generation – have work to do.
Remembering The Glory Days
In September 2025, I sat in a room full of elders, community organisers, and local residents at the Rekindling Nello James launch event, which was held at the Kath Locke Centre. We watched a documentary with newly restored footage of the Nello James Centre in its heyday. Many of the people in the footage, had never seen it themselves. Some had passed away. Their families sat next to us, seeing their loved ones so full of life and purpose again – working in a space that had once been ours.
I was there with my great-uncle, who instantly recognised faces in the documentary. He told me how many of my cousins had been cared for at the nursery in the centre. So many people had such wonderful memories of the Nello James Centre.
But under all that nostalgia was a sharp, collective grief. Because the Nello James Centre wasn’t just any building. It had been gifted to Manchester’s Caribbean community, during a time of deep discrimination as a place of permanence and power. And we lost it. Quietly. Without warning. With no access to the proceeds and no accountability for what had happened. That pain ran deep. And it stayed with me for days.
Like A Ton of Bricks
When we gathered again for the Stories of Nello James event in November at Rekindle, the tone was different. It wasn’t lighter because the grief had passed, it was lighter because the energy had shifted.
It felt like a community starting to reckon with itself.
People had come together to share memories of Saturday school and the practical, accessible support for everyday people through acts of volunteering and self-determination. There were stories of weddings, christenings, and family gatherings that had shaped who they were. My daughter floating about the room, full of toddler energy, interrupting conversations with her joyful shouts – and was embraced with warmth by all around her. It really was a beautiful day that reminded me of how blessed she is to be a part of our community.
But, watching her, it hit me all over again. She won’t remember this day. But I will. And I can’t accept a future where there’s nowhere like this for her to grow up in.
We Can Do Better
The loss of the Nello James Centre isn’t just about money or mismanagement. It’s a painful lesson about what happens when robust governance, impenetrable structure, and proactive succession planning are missing. When elders age out, and no one’s ready (or trusted) to take over. When passion alone isn’t enough to protect what matters.
We need new ways of stewarding our spaces.
That means people who are professional, collaborative, accountable and committed to community – not ego, profit, or control. It means designing systems that outlive us. It means listening across generations, not working in silos.
This work is possible. I know, because I do it. In my own professional world, I see how structure protects vision. How systems hold people through change. And as Operations Lead at Rekindle, I believe we can and we should bring that same thinking into our community spaces; not to sterilise them, but to sustain them.
Not for us. For our children.
Losing Nello James can’t just be a sad story we tell. It needs to be a turning point.
If we really care about our children, we must do better for them. We must put aside the self-interest, the politics, the fear of being challenged – and come together with honesty and unshakeable purpose.
Our children deserve more than memories and sad stories, tinged with bitter indifference. We owe them a future with spaces to gather, to learn, to belong.
Whilst the story of the Nello James Centre will never not be a painful one, we now know better. So, we should do better. Let’s protect what’s left. Let’s build what’s missing. Let’s not let any more of our precious community spaces slip through the cracks because we were too distracted, too divided, or too just late.
Not for us. For our children.
