By Val Waldron
The gang were there, cheering on the big screen appearances of themselves and their pals. At the end a massive chant of Refugees are welcome here. I always thought applause in cinemas was a bit unnecessary, but it wasn’t, I did it, for them, the community activists.
I played a bit-part that day. I’d arrived relatively early, from a social media tip-off. A bit of chanting and a clear run at eyeballing the empty carcasses of the Home Office polis standing guard around the van, occupied by two unsuspecting local men. At Eid. Underneath, the largely unsung hero of the day, a neighbour who refused to loosen his grip on the axel until the release of the men was guaranteed. This van, this situation was going nowhere. That seemed clear from the outset.
The gradual acceleration of tensions and organic build up of the crowd belied the dynamic bloom of action and activism that director Felipe Bustos Sierra brilliantly portrayed in his docu-drama Everybody to Kenmure Street. From the accuracy of the title – it really was a peace battalion on the move, (thanks to the better personna of social media), to the introductory and intermittent political backdrop footage, it was a fully interactive experience. Whether you’d been there or not. Whether the gang were there or not.
There is a particular beauty in the progression, much of it in black and white, of Glasgow’s history of essentially white, working-class resistance, to the evolved diversity of the communities that stood shoulder to shoulder that day. They were trying to deport two of our own and it wasn’t going to happen.
Nevertheless, the Govanhill baths occupation, Red Clydeside and Jimmy Reid, Govanhill suffragists, Mandela’s welcome to the city – synched well to track the forging of Glasgow’s Southside multiculturalism and activism.
It wasn’t socialism and sentimentality. The darker side of Glasgow was introduced via the tobacco trade borne from slavery. This wealth underpins the conflicting grandeur and divisions of Glasgow. To this day, in the shadow of the conflagration that took out the stunning heritage b listed building on Union Corner, we literally see behind the facade. The lurking rot of wealth and capitalism that feeds like a mould on ordinary people.
As a bit of a Yes march veteran, I was conscious that day of the unfolding but not overtly pro-indy message and conclusion; we need our own immigration policies. The power of this stand-off illustrating why we need to stand apart from Westminster and its rancid policies that are not in any way applicable to Scotland.
Documented is the full extent of police brutality in reserve, in impulsive actions, in confusion about their powers. And in subservience: This was a Home Office jolly, but they were here for it, thwarted by the need for clearer orders and a less savvy prey. I’d witnessed some of that back in 2021, but was more aware of a sense of the ridiculous, as they lined up around corners, stood down then rearranged themselves in some other formation, in readiness for something that never fully developed.
I’d seen the weird and pointless choreography of a multitude of police vans, acting out some slow dance at the entrance to Kenmure street. Here, thanks to close-up documentation and participation, we see more of the crass amorality and badness. That there was the Glasgow Polis that day. How many of them, I wondered, would happen along to see if they would make a cameo appearance on the screen, only to see themselves as others see them.
Aamer Anwar undoubtedly served as a solid bridge between the police authorities and the final release of the pair. The scenes of the men stepping down from the van after eight hours of detention as moving and epic. ‘Van Man’ left his own excruciatingly uncomfortable prison after the guarantee, relayed by Anwar, that the men would be released. He, and other key activists of the day, who chose not to appear as themselves, were sensitively represented by actors, who addressed the camera, stating ‘This is not my face but these are my words’. This added a simple and honest fragility to those scenes. I have never been a fan of Emma Thompson but she took on her role as a man squashed under a van with humility.
The final take-away, no pun intended, from my real life and screen was the temporary ‘fuel station’ a generous spread of food and drink supplied by individuals and businesses for anyone who needed or wanted it. Very final memory of the day; it could have served as a food bank after the crowd dispersed, but the police moved it all away.
Photos by Val Waldron
