During my visit to New York in November, 2011, I thought it foolhardy not to go to Zuccotti Park and just witness what was going on there. I knew it would be a piece of history, something incredibly sobering I’d never been a witness to before.
I went on my last day there and had a wander around the entire facility, dragging my cursed luggage behind me and feeling like the utmost tourist, pointing his camera everywhere and getting his fancy bag with wheels in everybody’s way. It was even more so in the way when I decided to venture into the campsite itself.
The community there was lovely and I was disappointed that I hadn’t had chance to visit there sooner or for longer. I had the privilege of talking with a few people and hearing a few testimonies as to why they were there. I felt obliged to donate my sleeping bag (that was kindly donated by my elder sister to me for the trip. Sorry Rhian. I’ve still not told her. But she still hasn’t asked about it either, so it’s staying an unturned stone until then). I felt that they’d need it more than I did.
The photos I took represented what I saw on the day. It was my first time visiting New York and I felt that if I left without seeing something so monumental as this (especially now since their eviction from the park) I would be doing myself and it a diservice.
- Eliot H.