When I first moved to London in autumn 2011, the Occupy movement was in full swing across the world. Starting in Wall Street, it soon spread globally, aiming to condemn the greed of the 1% when so many had lost so much in the recession. In London, there was huge uproar when the protestors decided to set up camp outside St Paul’s Cathedral. In some ways it was a sign of a confused agenda as many started to accuse the church of neglecting the 99% by asking the campers to leave. This was slightly ridiculous as ‘occupying’ the city had instead become ‘occupy wherever there’s space enough to camp nearby’, even if the church wasn’t the focus of the movement’s attack. In fact, and I’m sure this can be found with similar movements, I feel there was a lot of confusion over the specific agenda held by the many protestors; from the truly passionate to those instead thinking this was the height of cool.

Many came to belong to the idea of a movement. There was certainly a strong sense of community in the camp: people were divided into work forces (publicity, organisation, cooking etc); times were set for camp-wide meetings so that anyone who wished could voice their opinion; and perhaps best of all many homeless people found a home and a sense of purpose for those short months, coming together to attack the system by which they suffered.

When you stood amongst the crowds of this camp, one particular face stood out, watching you everywhere you turned. I am of course talking about the infamous Guy Fawkes mask – the historical anti-establishment hero who once tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament all those centuries ago. His face had become a mask by which all the occupiers could be both hidden and recognised, a symbol that united the many under the same banner. This was an old movement, one defined by century-old struggles between the establishment and the common man. There has always been division between the powerful and the masses, thrown into sharp relief by the recession, and no doubt we will see yet more of these protests in the years, decades and centuries to come. But political agenda aside, what fascinated me about this movement was the sense of community formed in a city where the multitudes don’t ordinarily mix when they pass by on the street. There was something old-fashioned in this and something that hinted at what we’ve lost as a big-city, cyber-communicating society.

But first and foremost, the scenes of Occupy London were part of my welcome to the city. In my first few weeks here I would wander the streets and take photos – the  very act of walking, stopping and snapping became a way for me to come to know the city and observe the tiny details of everyday life. I know many people who talk of their surprise on moving to London when they realise they don’t need to rely on the tube for every journey. These are the streets where so many have famously walked, immortalised by Dickens and Eliot and a thousand more. There was no better way to make this Unreal City real than by forging my own path through it. With Occupy London, I could witness first-hand a story reported on so extensively by the media, see and hear the people who lived there, not as an idea or even as a photograph, but by watching it all up close myself. That’s one of the great wonders of living in London – history is made on your doorstep, and what a waste not to see it for yourself.

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