There's a black and white photo my father took in the midst of the UK miners' strike (1984–1985) of a toddler, clearly scared and unable to process the chaos around him. There's tears welling up in his innocent eyes and running down his dirt smudged face. His knitted woolen jumper is torn and his mop of blonde hair is filthy. He's stood in the middle of the street, in front of a pile of smoking rubble - completely alone.
This image, due to the age of its subject was unable to be published in the media. Had it been, it would have been more poignant, and said ten times more than any of the arguments of that day.
I have only seen that image once, but whenever anyone talks about the Miners' strikes I can't help but think of that nameless toddler and feel the anguish and desperation in his eyes.
I've tried to write this piece from an unbiased perspective, stating only facts relevant to the message I want to convey. I have my opinions on the UK miners' strikes as I'm sure you, the reader do too.
The message I wanted to get across is how one single image, of an unknown innocent child from one part of society, taken at a time of huge divide can have such massive impact on me still, over 28 years later.
No comments:
Post a Comment