Connor Sparrowhawk, or Laughing Boy (LB) as he came to be known, was a young man who lived in Oxfordshire. LB loved his family, the family dog (Chunky Stan), the environment and buses. Connor laughed at cheesy jokes, The Inbetweeners and films like Napoleon Dynamite.
I never met Connor, nor have I met any of his family, but I know these things because of the painstaking and heart-breaking work his family put into making sure people know not only his story but the young man himself.
On the 19th March 2013 Connor was admitted to Slade House, an assessment and treatment unit for learning disabled people in Oxfordshire. LB’s parents made this decision after his behaviour became more challenging. A choice like this, to actively seek help with caring for your child, is never easy but they believed that this would be a temporary move and that, as per the name, assessments would be carried out and plans developed that would make life easier for Connor, his family and all those who knew and supported him.
107 days after he was admitted, Connor Sparrowhawk, a boy with known epilepsy, was allowed to bath unsupervised. Laughing Boy drowned on July 4th 2013 whilst those who were meant to be caring for him ordered an online shop in the next room.
In the aftermath that followed LB’s family was represented by, among other amazing individuals, Paul Bowen KC whom my parents had met on holiday maybe a decade before. My parents followed the fallout from LB’s death closely, because of Paul but also because Spencer had incredibly complex epilepsy.
The inquest into Connor’s death found it to be preventable, due to negligent care and that Southern Health NHS foundation trust breached Connor and his family’s human rights under Article 2 of the European Convention of Human rights (the right to life).
Connor’s family, and in particular his mum Sara Ryan, fought hard for an investigation (the Mazars report) into other deaths of people with mental ill health of learning disabilities under the care of Southern Health Trust between 2011 and 2015. They found that many of these unexpected deaths were not investigated appropriately. Despite the light that was shone on how negligently people with special needs are cared for (particularly when they turn 18), in the aftermath of Connor’s passing very little has changed.
Specters of LB’s death haunt Spencer’s passing. In both cases the service providers ignored the advice of the boys’ parents, both had recently become adults and both had recently entered new residential placements. Connor survived 107 days and Spencer only 35.
In time I will detail the investigations that have arisen out of Spencer’s death (we are currently waiting on the Police to decide whether they want to move forward with charges) but this post is about Connor, his amazing family and the community they created.
The #JusticeforLB hashtag and campaign was created and in the 107 days that lead up to the year anniversary of Connor’s passing various friends and colleagues took up the mantle each day to share reflections on LB’s life and all he had taught them. The campaign took on a life of its own with people all across the world from Vancouver to New Zealand making art and riding buses to celebrate Connor’s life. LB’s mum, amongst her amazing work as an academic and activist, found the time and strength of heart to author an amazing blog detailing various hilarious stories from their family’s life together (this is one of my personal favourites: https://mydaftlife.com/2011/12/09/lb-and-the-christmas-market/). The strength, love, joy and solidarity that they built in this community is beyond inspiring and continues to touch and give courage to many.
In the run up to the 10-year anniversary of LB’s death Sara has been reposting the 107 days and on day 107 they asked people to share their thoughts and reflections. 10 years on, I am sharing mine, because tragically, too little has changed.
“Heartbreak is the moment when we see our pain as only a moment in the battle between the will to live and love and the will to destroy
Heartbreak is when we commune with those who have been broke apart by state violence and we understand that this violence is also meant for us
Heartbreak is when we realise there is no remedy, no repair, no way back and nothing to fix this. That whatever comes next these histories and presents of violence cannot be put right. That the destiny of the heartbroken is to wish something better and completely knew for those who come next.
Because it is only we, the heartbroken who can truly battle and long for a world where no-one ever feels like this again.”
Gargi Bhattacharyya in ‘We, the heartbroken’
mountains of my life 