In the world of coconuts, there’s more than just the fruit itself to ponder. Take Marieha Hussain’s sign, for example. During a protest in London, she held up an image of Suella Braverman and Rishi Sunak perched on coconuts. What could be more innocent than a tropical fruit juxtaposed with politicians, right? Well, it sparked a legal showdown when the police charged her with a racially aggravated public order offence. The term "coconut", often used in Black and Asian communities, was interpreted as a racial slur by the prosecution, suggesting that it meant someone was "brown on the outside, but white on the inside." Marieha, however, defended her sign as political satire. She wasn’t hurling racial slurs—she was taking a stand against perceived political hypocrisy. In a twist worthy of a courtroom drama, the judge agreed with her, ruling that her protest was indeed political satire, not abuse. In the end, she was acquitted.
Speaking of coconuts and the legal world, I have my own coconut-themed story to tell. My father, the one and only K.P. George, once declared in no uncertain terms that I was only fit to climb coconut trees. Now, for those of you unfamiliar with the deep, philosophical meaning of this particular family aphorism, let me translate: in his eyes, my destiny involved meandering about the fringes of life, perhaps swinging from trees but certainly not taking centrestage in any grand narrative.
I remember standing there, looking up at the towering coconut trees, hearing this declaration of my future and thinking, "Well, this is it, mate. Better get good at climbing." And yet, as anyone who knows the stubbornness of both coconuts and young lawyers can attest, I wasn’t about to let that be the end of the story.
Like the song by The Eagles—Take It to the Limit—sometimes life demands that we push past what seems like our breaking point. There’s that one line in the song that resonates: “You can spend all your time making money; you can spend all your love making time.” And for me, practising law for over 40 years felt a bit like both. There were certainly moments when letting go would have seemed more than attractive, but I hung on, clinging to the belief that I could break through, much like a coconut hanging on in a storm.
Imagine K.P. George, watching from the pearly gates now, shaking his head, muttering under his breath as he witnesses the consequences of his words. "Only fit to climb coconut trees," eh? Well, here I am, four decades later, still hanging on to that legal branch. You see, tenacity is the ability to hold on when letting go appears the most attractive. And like those coconuts I once eyed nervously from the ground, sometimes the very thing that seems to limit you becomes the source of your strength.
Take Jamaica’s famed bobsled team, immortalised in Cool Runnings. They came from a land of sun and sand, yet they defied every expectation by competing in the Winter Olympics. Much like the coconut trees that sway and withstand the tropical storms, they refused to bow to the impossibility of the situation. If they could barrel down an icy track, I thought, surely I could roll with the punches that life as a lawyer threw my way. The tenacity of the Jamaicans, coupled with their unshakeable belief in themselves, felt eerily familiar. For every time I felt cornered by a tough case or felt K.P. George's prophecy might be right, I remembered that underdogs, whether on the track or in the courtroom, often surprise the world.
Even if my journey through the legal world wasn’t always as glamorous as Hollywood might script it, I’ve got stories to tell that would make any bobsledder proud. There was that one time I had to argue a case so dense and labyrinthine that even the opposing counsel started to nod off. Yet, I persisted. Coconuts, after all, don’t crack on the first hit. It takes persistence, sometimes even multiple attempts, to break through to the sweet stuff. And that’s what life has been for me in law—grinding away, taking it to the limit, and hoping that eventually, something worthwhile would emerge.
It was this same perseverance that fuelled my rise from the coconut tree to the courtroom. There’s a certain kind of satisfaction in proving people wrong, especially when the odds are stacked against you. Just like the Jamaican bobsledders, I barrelled down that track, defying expectations, sometimes even my own.
Now, when I look back at my father’s words, I no longer see them as limiting. Instead, I see them as the ultimate test of resilience. The coconut trees I was “destined” to climb became a symbol not of constraint, but of the potential to soar above what anyone could predict. And let’s be honest: coconuts are survivors. They grow in some of the harshest environments, thrive in storms, and provide nourishment in ways you wouldn’t expect. The humble coconut, much like the underdog, isn’t something to be underestimated.
Marieha Hussain, the Jamaican bobsledders, and even I—whether in protest, sport, or law—have all taken it to the limit, driven by that indefinable quality of tenacity. Like the coconut, they remind us that even when it seems the world has pegged you into a corner, there’s always a way to break through.
So, here’s a reminder from a 40-year legal veteran still swinging from metaphorical coconut trees: never belittle the coconut. It just might surprise you with how far it can take you.