London in Black and White

I am apparently to leave London. It is imperative that I get out, turn my back on the city’s iconic bridges, cathedrals and historic river, and – with head hung in shame – seek a place where I can lay my conscience to rest. A place where guilt will not follow me.

I’m not going, I can tell you now. I will continue to traipse the backstreets of Stockwell to shop at Lidl, Sainsbury’s and Costcutters, but I have clearly been told that I have no right to enjoy living here; the implication is that I should feel guilty.

This has all come about thanks to the all-seeing all-trolling social media platform called Facebook. I recently changed my profile image to one of Tower Bridge, a nice pic that I took on a sunny day a couple of weeks back and which, in Photoshop, I turned into a ‘watercolour’. It is in fact the same image sitting behind what you’re reading right now. Good isn’t it?

It drew a nice comment from one of my FB friends, saying how much she loved London, to which I responded in agreement. Then I got this from a Kiwi who, until then, I thought was a friend:

‘But Mike what role has this "city" had over time across the planet? I'm not sure it is noteworthy enough for the World to respect it, even in this modern context. Africa, Middle East, Indian subcontinent, East Asia, Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific - where hasn't it taken for its own benefit and left a mess behind for others to clean up. Look carefully at its history and evaluate it against quality principles and values.’

This, unfortunately, is where political correctness and common sense part company. It’s also where he and I part company – I’ve temporarily blocked him. This comment comes from someone who has enjoyed holidaying in France, a country which boasted a colonial empire including – but not limited to – Canada, North Africa, Polynesia, India and Indochina. A country also responsible for a direct terrorist attack on a Greenpeace ship moored in Auckland harbour in 1985, something my erstwhile Kiwi friend seems to have forgotten. Or has chosen to ignore.

If I am to analyse my own genealogy, I find that – oops  – I was born in Liverpool, which played a pivotal role in the slave trade. I should presumably rip up my birth certificate, and get the Liver Bird tattoo removed from my arm. My mother and family were from Ireland, so I perhaps should loathe the British (which would mean hating myself). And as for planning a holiday in Germany, well, didn’t they bomb us in World War II?

This finger-pointing based on an assemblage of historical guilt is counter-productive if we are to move forward as a viable society, in fact as the human race. In New Zealand there is a strong undercurrent of culpability based on European settlement of the country from the early 19^th century onwards, a process that started with a fragile land deal called the Treaty of Waitangi. Put simply, the argument is that Māori were hoodwinked into handing over precious land to the British in return for not very much and some broken promises. (Trolls please note that I prefaced this with ‘put simply’.)

Subsequently, Māori have quite rightly aired grievances over the process, and the New Zealand government has been working to atone, with reparation payments, formal apologies, and the return of some disputed land. Many would say it hasn’t done enough, or that it ever can, and that Māori have a right to be aggrieved until the last European (‘Pakeha’ in Māori) leaves the country.

But that’s not going to happen. I doubt even my Kiwi critic has any intention of atoning for his forebears’ wrongs by uprooting himself and his family and emigrating elsewhere. No, he will stay there and continue to cycle through Aotearoa’s lovely countryside, enjoying the sweet life around him. However, I am not supposed to enjoy London without adopting a  cloak of guilt that supposedly goes with its history.

Bollocks. The past is past, what’s done is done. Yes, if mistakes were made they can be acknowledged and, where practical, compensated for. They can, however, never be erased, but I don’t believe that means we should carry the burden forever. We can acknowledge without beating ourselves up, we can atone without wearing metaphorical hair shirts, and we should make every effort to move on, move forward and do better next time.

A direct lineage to ancestors who were brutal, overpowering, devious or complicit 150, 250 or 500 years ago does not mean we personally should feel guilt today. We can feel contrite maybe, but if we are to personify the crimes and misdemeanours of our forebears by never living in or setting foot on places that carry a legacy of wrongdoings, where on earth would we go?

Not all Facebook stuff is bad. I was dared to participate in a project that has seen some traction on the social media platform in recent months, namely a ‘Seven-Day Black and White Photography Challenge’. In this you are nominated (by someone who has already done it) to post one black and white photo of ‘your life’ every day for seven days, with no explanations and no people in the images.

It’s a good and harmless thing to take part in. It has forced me to take my camera out onto the streets, or wherever I am going, and to look for photographic opportunities, ones that speak for themselves (since I am not allowed to add any captions). It makes me look closely at my environment, to analyse what I am seeing for a story opportunity.

Not all the stories I see are pleasant, not all are easily captured either. So I have to see beyond the obvious, and actually a black and white image is in fact shades of grey.

Which is poignant. We may live in places with spurious histories, places with blood running in their historical gutters, but history is very rarely black and white. Nor should our reactions be.