Police everywhere. People everywhere. Bradford City centre’,
a white sky of supremacy hung like death
a ghost sky
of internalised alienation.
I asked a motionless white police officer at the Interchange:
“What type of dogs you got in the van?”, I asked as innocent as a shy eighteen year old girl can.
“German Shepherds” he replied with a fierce look in his eyes.
The beat of Bradford; Rain fall can rise!
it was a damp protest, Saturday 14th November, Spitting rain, Bradford air, and sea breeze from the tears of unrepresented people and tears that weren’t so clear. The beat of Bradford- the bass of protests, at lunchtime, no music at all, you could hear.
Suspense. Silence. Sadness.
Real people walked through puddles and puddles
of fresh resistance,
with the anti-fascist counter-protest fully alive, full of life, conversation flow — the beat of Bradford. Raindrops Can Rise!
“EDL Go Home!”
“Whose streets? Our streets” so many young people would chant together — The beat of Bradford. Raindrops eventually Rise!
Kettled in. Only five minutes. This eighteen year old Raindrop has so little experience of getting tied down with real fear. EDL Go Home, you are beyond every use of every swear word!
