In the wake of controversy at the British Academy of Film and Television Arts, writer Tabby Kibugi reflects on what it means to stand at the intersection of racial justice and disability as a Black Christian living with mild Tourette’s Syndrome. Drawing on her own experience, she challenges believers to resist ranking suffering and instead embody a Christ-centred compassion big enough to hold both justice and mercy at once.

BAFTA

Source: Delroy Lindo and Michael B. Jordan win for ‘Outstanding Performance by a Cast in a Motion Picture’ for ‘Sinners’ at the 32nd Annual Actor Awards at the Shrine Auditorium on March 1, 2026 in Los Angeles, California. Photo: CraSH/imageSPACE Credit: Imagespace/Alamy Live News

Many of you will have watched or heard about the controversy at the 2026 BAFTAs, held on the 22nd February. During the event, John Davidson had an involuntary tic involving a racial slur directed towards two Black actors, Michael B. Jordan and Delroy Lindo. The event sparked intense debate and the response has been majorly divided into two opposing sides, those defending racial justice and those defending disability and calling out ableism.

I’m a Black Christian woman, and I have been living with mild Tourette’s Syndrome for nearly four years now. When the BAFTAS clip randomly popped up on my TikTok feed a couple of days ago, I experienced the moment in two ways, first as a Black viewer hearing a slur with a violent history, and second as someone who knows the fear and humiliation that can come with having an involuntary tic, especially in a public setting.

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Watching the incident unfold brought a sense of horrible déjà vu. It took me back to a moment in church several years ago. During a crowded service, I had an involuntary vocal tic that involved an offensive word that I would never blurt out in public. I remember the heat of shame that consumed me, as my brother tried to explain to the perplexed and visibly horrified congregants that I had Tourette’s. Of course, not everyone was understanding about it. While people were kind, others were clearly uncomfortable. At that moment, I remember wishing for a little more compassion from the judgemental congregants.

In the days that have followed the BAFTA incident, some of my friends, including those from my church, have messaged me about the incident to subtly gauge which side I was taking.

In the days that have followed the BAFTA incident, some of my friends, including those from my church, have messaged me about the incident to subtly gauge which side I was taking. It’s almost as if I have to choose between acknowledging the pain Black people felt hearing that word and defending a neurological condition that couldn’t be controlled. The incident got me thinking, as Christians, should we really be ranking suffering and whose pain is more legitimate and deserving of compassion than the other?

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When we frame such an incident as racism versus ableism and choose to take sides, not only do we fail those who live at the intersection of both sides, we also miss an opportunity to model the kind of nuanced, Christ-centred compassion the world currently desperately needs. I’ve seen public discussions from able-bodied people claiming that if they had Tourette’s, they would never be out in public spaces. Simultaneously, I’ve seen others overtly dismiss the hurt experienced by the Black community just because the slur was involuntary and perhaps had no bad intention. Two things can be true at the same time, a neurological tic may be uncontrollable but the emotional impact of a racial slur is still very much real and deserving of an apology (BBC, the station that aired the unfolding, has formally issued an apology, although I’m not sure how much that counts at this point.)

When engaging in this debate, we have to remember that Christianity has never been about ranking suffering or deciding which pain deserves more compassion or acknowledgement first.

When engaging in this debate, we have to remember that Christianity has never been about ranking suffering or deciding which pain deserves more compassion or acknowledgement first. The Bible has told us to resist this sort of binary thinking. In Micah 6:8, we are told that the Lord requires us to “act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”

Jesus never pitted one form of suffering against another. Throughout the Gospels, He consistently met people experiencing various kinds of suffering, including those wounded by injustices and those living with illnesses and disabilities. We should strive to embody that and also remember that the body of Christ, as Paul reminds us, is made up of many parts, and if one part suffers, every part suffers with it. Compassion towards either side should not be a limited resource. What this moment has taught me is that I can acknowledge racial harm and not be ableist at the same time, especially living at the intersection of both. And if our Christianity cannot make room for both justice and compassion, then it is worth re-evaluating what our values are rooted in.