Hi Irv - thank you for your kind words and don’t worry about being late - you got here! I think the line that resonated with me was this “……….a grim testament to the persistently meagre fruits of American progress.” Well, I’m not able to judge that but let me tell you that the other day I had to go to London and spent some time with a dear friend of mine who was looking for a cafe / restaurant where she and three old school friends could meet up and spend a pleasurable while between a couple of sightseeing opportunities in a few of weeks time. These are four ladies in their 70s, none of whom live in London. Knowing that I had worked in the capital - mostly in Covent Garden and Soho, albeit some 25 years ago now - my advice was sought. We started in the City where, unfortunately, the majority of locations were full of braying, expensively-dressed ‘city-types’ of both genders who all felt encouraged by each other’s company to speak at the top of their voices. We moved across London Bridge and along the South Bank to what still is called ‘The Wobbly Bridge’, despite it having been constructed for the Millennium and not wobbled since. The tourist pubs and bars were doing a roaring trade, even at this time of the year, but were similarly raucous to those on the north bank. It was not boding well. From opposite St Paul’s we caught a bus and, alighting at Charing Cross, made our way up St Martin’s Lane towards Covent Garden and then we had a revelation.
All morning, and for the early part of the afternoon, we had enjoyed glorious sunshine. Mid-afternoon and the skies clouded over and the rain that issued was torrential. Up to this point we had encountered, in the main, loud individuals who had evidently flourished in the various businesses and enterprises where they were employed and, although the standard of their behaviour left a lot to be desired, they were well dressed and seemingly affluent. Suddenly we were in another place where shops were shut and deserted and the only signs of life were the thick ‘mattresses’ of heavy-duty cardboard in the doorways and these were, inevitably, soaked through. The denizens of these doorways were, we could see, huddled in other, deeper doorways in a fairly futile attempt to stay as dry as possible. They were too demoralised even to beg from the passers-by who were, themselves, scurrying along to get out of the heavy rain………a grim testament to the persistently meagre fruits indeed.
In my years working in London, and for what it’s worth I am now 75, I have never seen such frequent and numerous rough-sleeping in the centre of the capital. It would have done justice to Mayhew. The disparity, so publicly visible, within a few streets was shaming - the casual institutional violence of leaving people in such straights and the brazen acceptance and endorsement of the situation by both central and local government left us both speechless. As Lenin asked, “What is to be done?”……..and indeed, for the country as a whole, this question resonates…….and the answer is not simply a change of government. Maybe here is not the place to question the institutions, the role of the monarchy, the ‘democratic structure, the corruption and the decline to being a small, poor and unimportant island off the coast of Europe. Maybe all we can do, those of us who are past the age of direct action, is bear witness to the inequalities, to stand up as either ‘us’ or ‘them’ and, as photographers, record peoples lives and struggles with respect. It cannot go on like this.
