Ras Judah: The Elder Who Stood So We Could Stand

When we speak of giants in Bristol, we must speak the name Judah Adunbi known to us, lovingly and reverently, as Ras Judah.

He was not simply an activist. He was not merely a campaigner. He was a conscience.

Born in 1953, Ras Judah belonged to a generation that carried the full weight of Britain’s unfinished conversations about race, belonging, and justice. In the streets of St Pauls and Easton, in community halls and council chambers, he walked with quiet authority — not because he sought power, but because he embodied integrity.

Bristol will forever remember the uprising of 1980 in St Pauls — a moment when anger met neglect, and the city could no longer ignore the lived reality of its Black citizens.

Ras Judah did not run from that fire. He stayed. He organised. He built. He understood that protest may light the match, but community must build the future.

For more than two decades he worked within local government, becoming one of the city’s first Black sports development officers. Through initiatives such as the St Pauls Sports Academy, he gave young people more than activity, he gave them vision. He saw potential where others saw risk. He saw leaders where others saw statistics.

And then there was 2017.

When he was wrongly tasered by police while walking his dog, the image travelled far beyond Bristol. It was painful, humiliating, and unjust. But Ras Judah refused to let that moment define him as a victim. Instead, he turned it into testimony. The documentary I Am Judah did more than tell his story — it exposed the fault lines of policing, accountability, and dignity in modern Britain.

Yet even in pain, he remained measured. He challenged institutions without dehumanising individuals. He spoke truth without surrendering compassion. That balance is rare. That balance is leadership.

Photo credit: Paul McKenzie
(Left to Right) Shaun Pascal, Gwentson Sloley, Ras Judah, Lawrence Hoo and Bashart Malik

Ras Judah understood something profound: that justice is not simply about winning arguments — it is about restoring humanity. He advised, he mentored, he challenged, he forgave. He carried the memory of struggle but never allowed bitterness to eclipse purpose.

For many in Bristol, he was an elder in the truest sense, not by age alone, but by spirit. A steady voice in moments of tension. A bridge between generations. A reminder that dignity is non-negotiable.

His passing leaves a space that cannot be filled. But his legacy leaves a foundation that cannot be shaken.

Ras Judah stood firm so others could stand taller.

Now it is our turn.

May we honour him not only in words, but in action. May we mentor as he mentored. May we challenge as he challenged. May we love our communities enough to hold them accountable and hold them together.

Rest in power, Ras Judah.

Bristol will not forget.

I am Judah – A Film That Demands Justice