Lella’s story
Born in Swansea to a Welsh mother and an Iraqi father, Lella has always lived between worlds, between accents, ethnicities, and expectations. A professor of criminology at Swansea University, her story is one of navigating complex identities in a place she loves, while continually striving to make that place better for others. “I was born in Wales, but we moved to Reading when I was two, for my dad’s work.” Her father came to the UK from Iraq in the 1970s to train as an aircraft engineer. Her mother, a lifelong Welshwoman, met him at Gower College in Swansea. “Everything started from there.”
Returning to Wales at ten, she faced an education system, and a social world, that made her difference clear. Her mother, wanting the best for her daughter, sent her to what she believed was the top school in Swansea that was outside their local catchment. “I was the only non-white person in the school, and I came from a very different area, with less wealth than most of the students. It was tricky.”
Her English accent set her apart, as did her lack of familiarity with local slang and colloquialisms. More profoundly, her ethnic identity became a constant, often unwelcome, point of focus. “People made assumptions. Because I was brown, because of my name, because my dad was from Iraq, they thought they knew something about me.”
The turning point came during her teenage years, in the aftermath of 9/11. “I remember being in school, and the teachers rolled in TVs so we could watch the news. Everything shifted that day. One boy turned to me and said, ‘It’s World War III and you’re not on our side.’” Although Iraq wasn’t involved in the attacks, she became a target of suspicion and alienation.
“The way people started to interact just changed. Nobody wanted to integrate anymore. Difference, which might once have been tolerated, became something people didn’t want around them. This even came from some teachers who would single me out on many occasions”
Though she never stopped feeling Welsh, her mother’s accent, her own birthplace, her love of the landscape, her sense of belonging was fractured. “That’s when I realised, I was different. Despite being born here, I didn’t belong in the same way my white peers did.”
Today she recognises the challenges facing Wales. “The majority of people in Wales aren’t racist. But they also don’t practice anti-racism. That’s the problem. Saying ‘I’m not racist’ is no longer enough. We live in systems where not everyone has the same opportunity. If you’re not actively dismantling those systems, you are part of the problem.”
To combat this, she advocates passionately for what she calls “deep integration” across Welsh society, not just passive tolerance, but active inclusion. “It’s not enough to know your neighbour exists. You need to invite them in. Share food. Have a coffee. Learn something new.”
This principle of shared space and voice is not just theoretical; it’s something she enacts in her work. Her current projects, ‘Flip the Streets’ and ‘Street Snap’, are rooted in the idea that communities must take ownership of their public spaces.
‘Flip the Streets’ works with young people and intergenerational groups to remove hateful graffiti and replace it with murals that reflect their values and identities. “We got asked to attend a youth centre covered in swastikas. So, we sat with the kids, aged nine to fourteen, and had open conversations. What does racism mean to them? What does belonging look like?”
The result was a vibrant mural designed by the young people themselves. “It had peace signs, a popcorn character, it was theirs. In making it, they took ownership of their space and sent a message about what kind of community they wanted.”
Her second project, ‘Street Snap’, is a digital tool designed to help frontline workers such as PCSOs, council officers, and others, identify and remove hate symbols from public areas. “Most councils have a 48-hour mandate to remove hateful graffiti. But they didn’t have a system to do it.” With Street Snap, workers can take a geo-tagged photo and instantly report it to the appropriate teams. “It’s simple, but it makes a huge difference.”
The presence of hate symbols in public spaces isn’t just ugly it’s damaging. “If someone from an ethnic minority sees that graffiti day after day, they internalise the message. They feel less welcome. If the rest of us ignore it, we become complicit.”
These projects aren’t just about cleanup, they’re about reclaiming space, identity, and voice. And that brings us to the heart of Lella’s message: the need for a seat at the table.
Her research background is in counter-terrorism and hate crime, areas historically dominated by white, middle-class men. “How can you solve a problem that often affects people of colour, if nobody from those communities is in the room? Lived experience matters. It shapes how we understand and solve problems.”
When it comes to policy, representation isn’t enough. “I’ve been in meetings where I’m invited but not heard. My presence is used as a box-tick. That’s not inclusion.”
A seat at the table must mean voice, agency, and credit. “Wales doesn’t just belong to one group anymore. It’s not enough to let people in the room, they need to be able to speak, shape decisions, and be part of the future.”
Despite the challenges, Lella remains deeply connected to Wales. “I always said I’d never move back here, but I did. It’s the sea, the landscape, the feeling of home.” And despite experiencing racism, she still calls Wales the most welcoming place she’s lived. “It’s not perfect, but people here are open. There’s a willingness to change.”
“I’m inspired by those who build belonging, not just for themselves, but for others. People who make their communities feel safe and happy.”
Ultimately, her message is simple: “Everyone wants the same things. Safety. Joy. Connection. We all belong here and we all deserve a seat at the table.”
Stori Lella
Born in Swansea to a Welsh mother and Iraqi father, Lella has always straddled different identities. Though Welsh by birth, she often felt like an outsider. “Because I was brown, because of my name… they thought they knew something about me.”
After 9/11, that sense of otherness deepened. “One boy said, ‘It’s World War III and you’re not on our side.’ Despite being born here, I didn’t belong in the same way my white peers did.”
Now an Associate Professor of Criminology, Lella fights back through research and grassroots action.
Initiatives like Flip the Streets and Street Snap help communities reclaim public space from hate. “If someone from an ethnic minority sees hate graffiti every day, they internalise the message… and if we ignore it, we’re complicit.”
Lella advocates passionately for what she calls “deep integration” across Welsh society, not just passive tolerance, but active inclusion. “It’s not enough to know your neighbour exists. You need to invite them in. Share food. Have a coffee. Learn something new.” Her message is simple but urgent: “We all belong here, and we all deserve a seat at the table.”
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