Uganda’s expulsion legacy and London’s green shift: culture’s quiet revolutions

The ghosts of Uganda’s expulsion return to British screens

Ninety days. That was the ultimatum Idi Amin gave to Uganda’s 80,000-strong Asian community in August 1972: leave or face the consequences. The BBC’s two-part documentary, airing this week on BBC Two, pieces together the fragments of that forced exodus through the testimonies of those who lived it as children. Their accounts—of midnight curfews, public countdowns broadcast on state radio, and the violence that erupted on the streets—paint a portrait of a community uprooted not just from a country, but from its own childhood. The film arrives at a moment when Britain is still grappling with the legacies of its colonial past, and the stories of those who arrived as refugees only to build new lives in cities like Leicester and London.

What makes the documentary particularly resonant is its refusal to flatten the complexity of the experience. Some interviewees describe the fear and dislocation of those months; others recall the solidarity of Ugandan Africans who risked their own safety to help. The film doesn’t shy away from the economic vacuum left by the expulsion—Uganda’s economy collapsed in its wake—or the ways in which Amin’s decree was both a nationalist power play and a calculated act of ethnic cleansing. For British viewers, the documentary serves as a reminder of how migration policies, then and now, are rarely just about borders. They are about who belongs, who is expendable, and what a nation chooses to remember.

Oxford Street’s pedestrianisation: a test case for London’s future

On Monday, London’s Oxford Street—long synonymous with gridlock, diesel fumes, and the kind of foot traffic that feels more like a rugby scrum than a shopping trip—will finally close to private vehicles. The move, first proposed by Mayor Sadiq Khan in 2016, has been delayed by legal challenges, logistical hurdles, and the kind of inertia that often greets attempts to reshape urban spaces. But with nearly a quarter of the street’s shops now vacant, the stakes are higher than ever. The pedestrianisation is less about nostalgia for a golden age of retail and more about reimagining what a city centre can be when it’s not designed around cars.

The scheme is modest in scope—only a stretch of the street will be car-free at first—but its symbolic weight is considerable. London has lagged behind European cities like Barcelona and Paris in creating pedestrian-friendly zones, and Oxford Street’s transformation could set a precedent for other congested thoroughfares. Critics argue that the plan doesn’t go far enough: there are no new cycle lanes, and the street’s famous red buses will still rumble through. Others point to the risk of displacing traffic to neighbouring areas, a concern that has already sparked tensions in Marylebone. Yet the shift reflects a broader reckoning with how cities function in an era of climate crisis. If Oxford Street can become a place where people linger rather than hurry through, it might just prove that urban regeneration doesn’t require grand gestures—just the political will to prioritise people over petrol.

The voices we lose: Eric Bauza and the art of animation

The death of Eric Bauza at 46 has left a silence where once there was the familiar cadence of Bugs Bunny’s wisecracks or Daffy Duck’s manic energy. Bauza, who took over the iconic Looney Tunes roles in recent years, was part of a generation of voice actors whose work bridged the gap between classic animation and the streaming era. His death from hypertensive cardiovascular disease has prompted an outpouring of tributes from fans and colleagues, many of whom have highlighted the physical toll of the profession—long hours in recording booths, the strain of performing multiple characters in a single session, and the pressure to maintain the legacy of voices that have defined childhoods for decades.

Bauza’s career was a testament to the unsung craft of voice acting. He didn’t just mimic the characters he inherited; he reimagined them for new audiences, lending his voice to everything from Coyote vs. Acme to Space Jam: A New Legacy. His work raises questions about how animation preserves its past while evolving. The Looney Tunes franchise, now owned by Warner Bros., has faced criticism for its handling of legacy characters, with some purists arguing that the original voices—like Mel Blanc’s—should remain untouched. Yet Bauza’s performances proved that these characters could adapt without losing their essence. His death is a reminder that behind every cartoon rabbit or duck is a human voice, and that the art of animation is as much about the actors as it is about the animators.

Milton Keynes and the search for cultural identity

When Milton Keynes made the shortlist for the UK’s City of Culture 2025, the reaction was predictable: a mix of pride from locals and bemusement from those who still associate the town with roundabouts and concrete cows. The bid, led by a coalition of artists, historians, and community groups, is an attempt to reframe Milton Keynes not as a post-war planning experiment gone wrong, but as a canvas for cultural reinvention. The town’s detractors often overlook its green spaces—nearly 20% of its area is parkland—or its role as a hub for digital and creative industries. The City of Culture bid is less about proving Milton Keynes has a past than about asserting it has a future.

The irony is that Milton Keynes was designed to be a city without a centre, a place where culture would emerge organically rather than being imposed from above. That ambition has left it without the kind of historic landmarks that draw tourists to cities like Liverpool or Hull. Yet it’s precisely this blank slate that makes the bid intriguing. Milton Keynes could become a test case for how culture is built in the 21st century—not through grand monuments, but through community-driven projects like the annual IF Festival of Ideas or the MK Gallery’s contemporary art exhibitions. If it wins, the challenge will be to avoid the pitfalls of other cultural regeneration schemes, where investment often leads to gentrification and displacement. For now, the bid is a reminder that cultural identity isn’t just inherited; it’s made, one roundabout at a time.

What to watch (and why it matters)

This week’s cultural offerings are a study in contrasts: the weight of history in Uganda’s expulsion, the quiet revolution of Oxford Street’s pedestrianisation, and the fleeting nature of artistic legacy in Eric Bauza’s passing. What unites them is a sense of reckoning—with the past, with urban space, with the voices we take for granted. The Uganda documentary forces Britain to confront the human cost of its colonial entanglements; Oxford Street’s transformation asks whether cities can adapt to a world where cars are no longer king; and Bauza’s death is a reminder that the characters we grew up with are shaped by real people, with real lives.

The question for audiences is what to do with these stories. Do we treat them as fleeting distractions, or as prompts to engage with the world beyond the screen? The best documentaries, like the best urban policies, don’t just inform—they challenge. And in a moment when British identity is being reshaped by migration, climate change, and economic upheaval, these stories feel less like entertainment and more like a call to attention.