Tag Archives: 1980s

Britain and social change thirty to forty years ago in photographs

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THE FIRST ROOOM of the Tate’s exhibition of photographic images of Britain in the 1980s, “The 80s Photographing Britain”, was disappointing. There were too many small photographs, which would have been far easier to appreciate by seeing them in a catalogue or book. However, the other rooms of this show, which is on until 5 May 2025, contain many photographs that are often interesting as well as artistic. As the Tate’s website explained, during the ‘80s:

“… photography was used as a tool for social change, political activism, and artistic and photographic experiments.”

It continued to say that the visitor to the exhibition will:

“See powerful images that gave voice and visibility to underrepresented groups in society. This includes work depicting the Black arts movement, queer experience, South Asian diaspora and the representation of women in photography.”

After my initial disappointment in the first room of the exhibition, I soon began enjoying the exciting range of pictures on display in the rest of the show. During most of the 1980s, I was working as a dentist in a small, rather conservative provincial district in Kent, and was largely unaware of the social changes that were going on around me. So, now, many years later after having seen the exhibition at the Tate Britain, it has only dawned on me what had passed me by while I was concentrating on looking after the dental health of some of the inhabitants of the Medway Towns.

Would I recommend seeing this show? My answer is ‘yes’, but hurry because it is ending soon.

Stay away from the windows

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HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Many years ago sometime during the 1980s, I spent New Year’s Eve in Belgrade, which was then the capital of a country that no longer exists: Yugoslavia.

I was staying with my good friend Raša. He enjoyed a good party. We set out to attend one in New Belgrade, which was built after WW2 on the left bank of the River Sava, a tributary of the Danube.

The air was chilled when we left Dorčol, the old part of the city where Raša lived. There was an odour in the wintry air that I always remember: the smell of the smoke from the lignite that was burned in central heating units in the city.

As we travelled in the tram towards New Belgrade, my friend explained that many retired military personnel lived in New Belgrade. Many of these people kept guns and rifles in their flats.

Raša advised me to keep off the balcony and well away from windows as the last midnight of the year approached. The reason for this was that as the new year began, drunken people would begin firing their weapons to celebrate. There was a good chance both of being struck by poorly aimed bullets and by others that ricocheted when they struck walls and so on.

Midnight came and went, but I cannot remember hearing any gunshots. Maybe I had imbibed too much vodka and other highly alcoholic drinks such as sljivovitz and loza!

Now, Yugoslavia is only a fond memory as is my friend Raša. I last saw him in May 1990. He passed away several years later after having done much work to help refugees caught up in the civil wars that tore Yugoslavia apart.