The message is clear: non-white people will always be seen as interchangeable, no matter how accomplished or prominent we become

The former CEO of Nissan, Carlos Ghosn, was once one of Japan’s most respected business people. Now, as the Guardian’s Justin McCurry reports, he’s on the run in Lebanon after fleeing the country to escape financial misconduct charges. Also today: Gary Younge looks back on the opportunities he had as he bows out after 26 years at the Guardian.

As a child my mother used to put on the song Young, Gifted and Black, by Bob and Marcia, put my feet on hers and then dance us both around the living room. “They’re playing our song,” she’d say. It was the early 1970s, she was barely 30 and I was the youngest of three children she was raising alone. Struggling to believe there was a viable future for her children in a country where racism was on the rise and the economy was in the tank, she had seriously considered returning to Barbados. But after a six-week family trip back she decided we’d struggle to keep up academically: at school in England I played; in Barbados we sat in rows and recited times tables. I think this was partly cover for the fact that, after more than a decade of self-reliance and relative anonymity, fitting back into island life would have been difficult. So we danced around the living room, singing ourselves up: imagining a world in which we would thrive, for which we had no evidence, but great expectations.

Last summer Stormzy bounded out before a huge crowd at Glastonbury in a union jack stab-proof vest designed by the British artist Banksy. During his headline set he showcased British ballet dancers, gospel singers and other grime artists and opened with a quote from a British MP. None of that was an accident. Stormzy is fiercely proud of his black British identity and the culture that made it possible. It is in every affect, from his diction to his dress.