The Ely Riots: a year on

Two young boys lie lifeless underneath a white tent. A couple of miles away, their mothers cry.

The century-long battle of the pigs and the people and uncertainty of who to blame.

Kyrees and Harvey belonged to Ely, an area renowned for its deprived and broken image. If Council House and Violence had a picture, Ely would be it.

Still unrecovered from the Bread Riots in September of 1991, the behaviours but also passion from the community, three decades later still lives on.

Jane (not her real name) was riding the number 13, on her way home after work. She stepped off at Snowden Road and was met with a scene of bystanders wailing, frantically running along the street, making phone calls. It looked as if a massacre had taken place.

 “A bloody and frantic mess”.

Jane remembers the immediate metallic stench; she never knew blood to smell so poignant. Through the crowd of unfortunate spectators, she caught a glimpse of the two boys. Jane had never seen a dead body before, yet on a random Monday she was met with two. The boys lay still on the road, covered in gashes and covered in a copious amount of blood. One was laid face down in the road, the other on his back. Horrified, any colour from his face was drained, it stood out against the stained concrete beneath them. His eyes were wide as if he could still see the bus heading towards them. He was stuck in a state of fear. Then it hit her how young they looked and whether their parents knew. Jane recalls being met with numbness; “I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing or feeling at this moment”, she was in a state of dissociation when the faint sirens grew louder.

I was sat at my home, revising for my final exam. I received numerous messages, “Have you seen what’s happened in Ely”, “Are you okay”, and “Watch this!”. A link to a Facebook live stream. Luke, is an Ely charmer. Live streaming police in riot gear charging at what I assume to be teenagers. Hurling bottles and curse words. The same road Jane had just witnessed a mother's worst nightmare.

As the sweltering summer night turned dark, the stream continued. I believe over 10,000 people were watching the stream from across the nation. It was now apparent that this was another form of the ACAB movement. Yet this was not a peaceful or silent protest, this was a savage riot.

Other creators on Instagram and YouTube saw this as an opportunity. There was a man on YouTube venturing around Ely with a dog in his backpack, a face-value comedian.

Meanwhile, the original stream continued to thrive. Luke and his commentary from his bedroom window entertained the curious minds of the nation, banter filled the comments section whilst the riots grew more violent and dangerous. Cars were ablaze lighting up the road and making all the debris visible. Bed frames, doors, fences, shattered glass bottles, and the white tent the two boys remain to lay under.

Although the rioters were allegedly on a rampage for these young boys, their mothers, and families were pleading for the white flag. Kyrees’ mother sent a message out on Facebook

“I’m sat at home heartbroken… Please I beg you all to stop and let my son be moved to hospital so I can see him’…’ We need to see our sons.”

Complete Ignorance. Desperate broken families wanting to see their children faced with jokes on the internet.

“Yo guys have you got a portable charger for my phone. I got told to ask you lot”,

“I did ask, they f**king blanked me the c*nts”.

Comments scour the stream about battery packs for Luke's smartphone so viewers can continue watching. Comments made about the kids involved and the damage they’re causing to surrounding property with only a minuscule amount of those showing remorse for the boys and those that live on the streets.

“About time they took a stand police think they can do what they like”.

“All the people saying it’s wrong give your heads a wobble”.

“Can I get in from other end got my hard hat on”.

“Luke’s gassed his live never been this popping”.

“Helicopter Is looking for Carl and his charger”.

“Absolutely disgusting, kids in the surrounding houses must be so scared hearing the shouts from outside, my thoughts are with the 2 boys and their families tonight.”

“Saw the poor boy’s body on the floor earlier, it’s so sad that they haven’t even covered the body up properly or taken the bodies in”.

“R.I.P boys fly high”.

Imagining myself in the middle of this road, amid a war zone, I can picture the DIY flame throwers being launched above my head, chunks of rock being thrown that have been torn from walls around the houses, the deafening sound of helicopters circling the area and the Ely accent hurling curse words to officers and each other.

During the early hours of Tuesday morning, the riot had begun to disperse, remnants of the previous night remain along the road where it all began. The sunrise Illuminated the damage that had taken place the night before. The air was still filled with the smoke of fires that covered each square metre. Silence.

The silence that scattered down Snowden Road the following morning spoke volumes. Whether it represented respect for the boys or regret and embarrassment from the violence that took place the night before Is open to Interpretation.

The calm after the storm never lasts long, reporters from all of the biggest news outlets flooded the street. Reports showcased people who were lucky enough to not have their vehicles wrecked leaving for their 9 to 5’s, doing the school run, trying to get back to a sense of normality, council workers dressed in bright orange attempting to clean up the mess.

 There was no comparison between those in the comment section of the streams the night before making mockery of the situation, and those who have been left to live in the rubble that remained of their street.

“My car Is nothing when two people have sadly passed away”.

A pillar of the community, a local vicar spoke out about the epidemic of youngsters carelessly riding motorbikes and scooters at full speed whilst wearing balaclavas and having no lights on it’s an

“accident waiting to happen, and then they wonder why two young people get

killed.”

“The Estate of Despair” is a description of Ely following the 1991 riots. The reputation of Ely, for as long as many can remember, has been deprived, impoverished, and deviant. Allegedly, a slice of bread kicked off this riot. The riot was described as “something of nothing”.

The scene is set amid open-fire petrol bombs and rocks. Cars were heading straight for the front line of officers in riot gear. It is believed the original cause of the riot was due to the treatment of a shoplifter on Wilson Road, who was allegedly locked inside the shop where the riots were originally targeted. This was just another boozy bank holiday to the outsiders.

If you were to speak to an ‘Ely-ite’ you would understand their perception. A community where people take pride in their home. A community that cares for its neighbours. A charitable community. A community more similar to a tribe.

 “You can take the girl out of Ely, but you can’t take Ely out of the girl.”

 A motto I have had engraved into my brain growing up, like all who are Ely born and bred.

Jason Mohammed, is a famous Welsh sports presenter, a role model, and the voice of Ely. Jason grew up in Ely, on a street just a stone's throw away from me. Jason beams with pride and joy when he talks about his home. He is a true Ely lad. He utilises his position to shine a light on the community he grew up with, through podcasts and documentaries.

“I was aware from a young age the stigma the area had; I remember the reactions I’d get when I told people where I was from”.

Since the 1991 riots, Ely has formed a front, and developed youth centres, sports clubs, and food banks. Since the 2023 riots, Ely has held a tribute balloon release, a ‘ride-out’, and Ely’s ‘big splash’; an event where South Wales Fire and Rescue donated their services to help aid this event. Each of these gatherings saw hundreds of vibrant, eccentric, and cultured people, coming together to show Cardiff that they’re not the lowlife delinquents they are perceived as. When people think of Ely, they think of things nobody should have to associate with their home.

For the purpose of this Article, almost a year later I returned to Snowden Road. I pictured what Jane had seen that day in the exact place she saw it. Now there were scraps of blue ribbons people had tied to lampposts out of respect for the boys and a supermarket bouquet leant against the sidewalk withering away. I look at the road where hell broke loose and picture what I saw through my mobile screen. A few walls remain crumbled from the violence and chaos that occurred that night, yet no other remanences. The Road looked as any other council estate would, like any other road in Ely.