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Good morning, Becoming a member of the National Trust a few years ago felt like a rite of passage – an official entry into adulthood. I was enticed by its quintessential Englishness. It seemed to point to a simpler and more pleasant time. A time of scones and Victoria sponge and bunting. Visiting these seemingly peaceful historic properties often feels to me like an escape from a present that feels complicated and loud and chaotic. Over the weekend, some National Trust members, however, threatened to cancel their memberships after the trust highlighted objects in some of its sites that had links to slavery and colonialism. Some had been obtained through violence and forced labour. For me, there are two ways of dealing with the past – you can either hide it away or acknowledge it and make it visible to everyone. These objects included an 18th century chocolate pot; which the Trust described as a reminder of the raw cocoa beans and sugar cane grown by enslaved Africans; and the beautifully ornate mahogany desk carved from wood felled by men and women whose freedom had been taken away from them. Those who objected felt they were being lectured by the National Trust’s decision to share the tainted origins of its artefacts. Critics disliked the erosion of a history that they were proud of. There’s an Old Testament tradition that speaks of the importance of looking back and looking forward. “Remember the days of old; consider the years of many generations,” it says in Deuteronomy. In oral traditions such as my own in the south-east of Nigeria, we tell stories about the past, those that have come before. We tell these stories to our children and our children's children. Confronting the past, however, can be painful and disorientating. Especially when it involves telling new stories about ourselves and our identity. Who do we become in light of the truths we uncover about what’s come before? The story of white Britishness has long been one of victory and conquest. As a black Brit, the story of black people I had grown used to was one of oppression, subjugation and colonisation. It's only recently that I've uncovered stories about ancient African warrior queens who refused to bow the knee to Caesar, or African philosophers teaching at Western universities in the 19th century, or slave rebellions aboard ships. These new stories help me to think differently about myself. By confronting history - warts and all – I think we can help shape a more hopeful future. Although we can’t change the past, in light of history – as Ezekiel says, - how then shall we live?