Middle East Meets East End

Whenever I write an article about one of my photography projects, whether it be something that occurred over one day or many months, it means closure for me, in one way or another. And so it was with a recent article published elsewhere on Progressive Street documenting the ongoing anti-war demonstrations that had been taking place in Glasgow city centre. Those events had still been taking place every weekend, but I had no longer been covering them for various reasons. However, a protest march publicised on social media to take place on Saturday past caught my eye. The Gaza Genocide Emergency Committee planned to protest against Israel’s inclusion in the World Indoor Athletics Championship, although by all accounts no actual athletes would be in attendance anyway. These championships were taking place in the Emirates Arena, an indoor stadium built in the East End of Glasgow for the 2014 Commonwealth Games, just one of many initiatives that were hoped to bring regeneration to one of the most deprived and underprivileged areas of the city, and indeed Scotland.

The march started in Barrowlands Park, a small area of greenery where the city centre meets the East End. There was initially some confusion as to the route being taken, with the Police eventually leading the way along Gallowgate rather than taking the more direct route along London Road. As the protesters set off, at a snail’s pace for some reason, most of them found themselves in unfamiliar territory. This was a million miles away from the consumer-oriented city centre that was the usual location for these demonstrations. As we passed the famous Barrowland Ballroom, locals looked on with variations of bemusement and indifference. One man shielded his cans of lager by hiding them under a glittering cowboy hat, I’m not sure whether the police or the weak Spring sun posed the greater threat to his enjoyment of an outdoor lunchtime beverage. We passed numerous bargain shops, nail salons, a few rough bars and a combination of dereliction and someone’s idea of improved housing conditions, all while bystanders continued to look on with the same degree of indifference, their daily routine interrupted, and bus journey delayed by an event that usually happens somewhere else. The situation seemed almost wrong, definitely odd. The banners and chants made references to a war elsewhere in the world, whilst the immediate locality looked like a war zone from a bygone era that has never really recovered.

As the protest reached its destination and the rain clouds gathered it was time to head to the bus stop for the long journey home. ‘What’s that all about Son?’ I was asked. My response faltered, I lost the thread of what I was saying, it suddenly felt awkward, and dare I say it insignificant. I realised that people here have been fighting their own survival battles for a very long time, and most likely will continue to do so long after the current protests and those that the future holds in store have faded to memory.