Follow Follow Meltdown over King Billy statue as Kulture Klub loses the plot

kelly

Well-known member
facebook post from a photographer at george sq protest


I have never felt less safe anywhere in the world as I did yesterday, in the very centre of the city that I love and that I call home. And then I was attacked.

I went to George Square, where several hundred men had gathered to defend statues. Had there been anyone there who was affiliated with the BLM or Antifa movements I would have gladly stood alongside them, but there wasn't. Other than those men (and a very few women), there were the police, and there were photographers. Given the situation, I was among the latter group. I generally congregated with the press photographers, most of whom were threatened at one time or another: "You'll get that camera up yer fuckin' arse pal!"; "Fuck off wi yer cameras!" ;"Smash it! Get it!"

Despite the safety that might come from being in the press gang, my vest, cycling cap, and colourful trainers probably marked me out in their perception as not only separate from the other press photographers, but as a man who doesn't put his hand over his heart upon hearing God Save The Queen: this was enough to make me a target for violence.

Had they been chanting messages such as "History!" or "Empire!" I might have been able to muster some respect for them, as they would at least have been taking a stance which could be argued. As it was, the only thing I could hear chanted was "WANKERS! WANKERS!"

For the first time in my life, I heard the N-word said with feeling.

There was a menace in the air that I've never, ever felt before. These men were itching for a fight, and when one of them thought they saw a representative of Antifa across the square - whether they imagined they saw a symbol on a Tshirt, or whether it was because the boy had blue hair - he shouted "OVER THERE!!" and they ran, hundreds of men running towards a single target. The police were swift in cutting them off - officers running, the screech of vans, the clop of horses - but the glee in those faces as they rushed towards another human being with the intent to hurt them was truly chilling.

Eventually something did kick off. I made my way to that side of the square to see a man being set upon. I did what I know how to do: I took photographs. Just as the police managed to impose some order, several men and boys turned their attention to me. The reason might have been because I was taking photographs, but these were not the same insults or threats I'd heard as part of the press gang; this time it was personal. "Fuckin speccy chink!" "Chinky wi the cameras! Get him!" "Aye you ya fuckin poof!" I was able to keep myself away from them until the police intervened. An officer told me to move over to the other side of the road.

I did as I was told, glad of the chance to get my breath back and try to ride out the adrenaline rush in peace. I had thought that after the Hong Kong protests, during which police threw me to the ground for no reason other than for standing near them, that I could handle this with ease, but I was wrong. In Hong Kong, even though the police were the antagonists - those to whom you are supposed to turn for protection - I felt safer then, knowing that a thousand other people had my back, there and then in that moment. In this case, I did trust that the police would protect me, but they were few. As I stood at the corner gathering my breath, three boys surrounded me, two in front and one behind, so close that we were almost touching. Out of concern for my cameras, I did nothing.

"Just let me know when he lifts his camera," said one of the boys in front "and I'll get ma arse oot!"

I was so scared that this didn't even titillate me.

"Don't you fuckin worry mate" replied the boy behind "If he lifts that camera it'll be gettin takn clean aff im."

I looked for a police officer; those nearby were dealing with another fracas; in any case, I calculated that any help was several seconds' run away, so I continued to keep still and to do nothing. Then a man rushed from the side, between the boys surrounding me: he grabbed the lens of my camera. The only way I could protect it was to bring my cameras into my core and curl up around them, which I did. I felt punches to the skull - presumably an effort to get to me to protect my head and thereby stop protecting my cameras - before I was aware of the police having separated us. I shall recount the words of the conversation I had with the police officer as best I can remember, without describing the thoughts and feelings of the moment.

"Get out of here. Leave!"
"I've done nothing wrong."
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm taking photographs."
"Who do you work for?"
"I have no affiliation."
"Well listen, they've taken offense to you for some reason."
"Some reason? I'll tell you the reason; I've heard the word chinky more times in the past 10 minutes than in the 10 years before that."
"You're making this worse. I don't want to take action against you."
"Take action against ME?! For what?!"
"You're an adult. Be wise. Leave."
"Keep me safe while I pack my things, and then I'll go."
"Right."
"My bike's on the other side of the square. Can I go get it?"
"Where is it?"
"Side of the Millennium Hotel."
"Go the long way round. We won't follow you."
"Believe it or not, it's not you I'm worried about."

So I left. It's as well my principal concern had been for the safety of my equipment, because I know that if not for that I'd have retaliated at the men and boys who struck me. I know that would have been stupid, but I know it because it's a test of will I failed minutes later, after my cameras were packed away and as I walked towards my bike on North Frederick St: three men - old, haggard, rough men - walked past me and one said "Rule Britannia, Chinky."

I stop and turn; they're looking back at me.

"Whit's yer fuckin problem?"
"What did you just say to me?"
"Rule Britannia, ya fuckin mongo."
"That wasn't it."
"Ah'll split yer fuckin head open, that's whit it wis."
"Do it. Come on over here and do it now."
"You c'mere."

So I do. I'm so pumped with adrenaline that I don't care that there's three of them. I'm not joking, it's not a threat. I move quickly and with purpose; I know which combo of punches I'm going to throw to start, and I'm excited. As for what happens after, I don't care.

"Ho!" a voice from behind. "What's gon on?!"
"Oh nothin officer!" says one of the men, hands raised.
"Nothin is it?" says I, "Racist abuse is nothin?"
"Racist?! How can it be racist?! You're white!"

"Right!" says the officer "You three, fuck off. Now! You, what are you doing here?"
"That's my bike. I'm going to unlock it."
"And then where are you going?"
"Away from this shit. What do you think is the safest way?"
"Not up there. Down and round."

I look behind me and the three men are progressing slowly up the hill. Backwards.

I cycled to meet my sister, and she bought me a beer.

It might be argued that the police treated me with respect, and I actually came away from the interaction feeling like that. I left because the officer was right to say that I was making things worse, and I can't imagine what good it would have done anyone for me to stay there. But as I recovered from the shock - when my hands stopped shaking - I replayed the events in my head, I see it like this:

A large group of men called me a chinky, tried to take my cameras from me, and punched me in the head; the sole response of police officers who witnessed this was to ask me to leave the area.
 

Shadow2

Well-known member
Thats everytime they have went on counter protests or attacking peaceful protests no cnt gets lifted from them only folk they are attacking
And the reason for that inaction is that the same political/ideological thread runs seamlessly through the upper echelons of the Scottish Police, Scottish Judiciary and the Scottish Media, these cretins are their peepul, their 'boots on the ground'! So they will never be held to account for any of their wrongdoing.

The law ignores it while the press make excuses for it!
 
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DILLIGAF

Well-known member
If Tommy G, had swung a punch, he'd still be in the cells, no doubt covered in bruises from the authorities
No wonder people outside of the UK, shake their head, when they hear about the violence at football games, before and after
Friends of ours shake their head, and laugh as they can't get their head around, people being attacked, for wearing the 'wrong' colours
Did Greyfriars Bobby statue get 'protected ?

Check this out:
 

Commo Estas 64

Well-known member
still a cromwell road here, dig it up? hide history? guy was the crowley before boleskine was built. all lives matter, black racists as far as im concerned. rent a mob haters . sad thing is its set back equality years
 

kelly

Well-known member
facebook post from a photographer at george sq protest


I have never felt less safe anywhere in the world as I did yesterday, in the very centre of the city that I love and that I call home. And then I was attacked.

I went to George Square, where several hundred men had gathered to defend statues. Had there been anyone there who was affiliated with the BLM or Antifa movements I would have gladly stood alongside them, but there wasn't. Other than those men (and a very few women), there were the police, and there were photographers. Given the situation, I was among the latter group. I generally congregated with the press photographers, most of whom were threatened at one time or another: "You'll get that camera up yer fuckin' arse pal!"; "Fuck off wi yer cameras!" ;"Smash it! Get it!"

Despite the safety that might come from being in the press gang, my vest, cycling cap, and colourful trainers probably marked me out in their perception as not only separate from the other press photographers, but as a man who doesn't put his hand over his heart upon hearing God Save The Queen: this was enough to make me a target for violence.

Had they been chanting messages such as "History!" or "Empire!" I might have been able to muster some respect for them, as they would at least have been taking a stance which could be argued. As it was, the only thing I could hear chanted was "WANKERS! WANKERS!"

For the first time in my life, I heard the N-word said with feeling.

There was a menace in the air that I've never, ever felt before. These men were itching for a fight, and when one of them thought they saw a representative of Antifa across the square - whether they imagined they saw a symbol on a Tshirt, or whether it was because the boy had blue hair - he shouted "OVER THERE!!" and they ran, hundreds of men running towards a single target. The police were swift in cutting them off - officers running, the screech of vans, the clop of horses - but the glee in those faces as they rushed towards another human being with the intent to hurt them was truly chilling.

Eventually something did kick off. I made my way to that side of the square to see a man being set upon. I did what I know how to do: I took photographs. Just as the police managed to impose some order, several men and boys turned their attention to me. The reason might have been because I was taking photographs, but these were not the same insults or threats I'd heard as part of the press gang; this time it was personal. "Fuckin speccy chink!" "Chinky wi the cameras! Get him!" "Aye you ya fuckin poof!" I was able to keep myself away from them until the police intervened. An officer told me to move over to the other side of the road.

I did as I was told, glad of the chance to get my breath back and try to ride out the adrenaline rush in peace. I had thought that after the Hong Kong protests, during which police threw me to the ground for no reason other than for standing near them, that I could handle this with ease, but I was wrong. In Hong Kong, even though the police were the antagonists - those to whom you are supposed to turn for protection - I felt safer then, knowing that a thousand other people had my back, there and then in that moment. In this case, I did trust that the police would protect me, but they were few. As I stood at the corner gathering my breath, three boys surrounded me, two in front and one behind, so close that we were almost touching. Out of concern for my cameras, I did nothing.

"Just let me know when he lifts his camera," said one of the boys in front "and I'll get ma arse oot!"

I was so scared that this didn't even titillate me.

"Don't you fuckin worry mate" replied the boy behind "If he lifts that camera it'll be gettin takn clean aff im."

I looked for a police officer; those nearby were dealing with another fracas; in any case, I calculated that any help was several seconds' run away, so I continued to keep still and to do nothing. Then a man rushed from the side, between the boys surrounding me: he grabbed the lens of my camera. The only way I could protect it was to bring my cameras into my core and curl up around them, which I did. I felt punches to the skull - presumably an effort to get to me to protect my head and thereby stop protecting my cameras - before I was aware of the police having separated us. I shall recount the words of the conversation I had with the police officer as best I can remember, without describing the thoughts and feelings of the moment.

"Get out of here. Leave!"
"I've done nothing wrong."
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm taking photographs."
"Who do you work for?"
"I have no affiliation."
"Well listen, they've taken offense to you for some reason."
"Some reason? I'll tell you the reason; I've heard the word chinky more times in the past 10 minutes than in the 10 years before that."
"You're making this worse. I don't want to take action against you."
"Take action against ME?! For what?!"
"You're an adult. Be wise. Leave."
"Keep me safe while I pack my things, and then I'll go."
"Right."
"My bike's on the other side of the square. Can I go get it?"
"Where is it?"
"Side of the Millennium Hotel."
"Go the long way round. We won't follow you."
"Believe it or not, it's not you I'm worried about."

So I left. It's as well my principal concern had been for the safety of my equipment, because I know that if not for that I'd have retaliated at the men and boys who struck me. I know that would have been stupid, but I know it because it's a test of will I failed minutes later, after my cameras were packed away and as I walked towards my bike on North Frederick St: three men - old, haggard, rough men - walked past me and one said "Rule Britannia, Chinky."

I stop and turn; they're looking back at me.

"Whit's yer fuckin problem?"
"What did you just say to me?"
"Rule Britannia, ya fuckin mongo."
"That wasn't it."
"Ah'll split yer fuckin head open, that's whit it wis."
"Do it. Come on over here and do it now."
"You c'mere."

So I do. I'm so pumped with adrenaline that I don't care that there's three of them. I'm not joking, it's not a threat. I move quickly and with purpose; I know which combo of punches I'm going to throw to start, and I'm excited. As for what happens after, I don't care.

"Ho!" a voice from behind. "What's gon on?!"
"Oh nothin officer!" says one of the men, hands raised.
"Nothin is it?" says I, "Racist abuse is nothin?"
"Racist?! How can it be racist?! You're white!"

"Right!" says the officer "You three, fuck off. Now! You, what are you doing here?"
"That's my bike. I'm going to unlock it."
"And then where are you going?"
"Away from this shit. What do you think is the safest way?"
"Not up there. Down and round."

I look behind me and the three men are progressing slowly up the hill. Backwards.

I cycled to meet my sister, and she bought me a beer.

It might be argued that the police treated me with respect, and I actually came away from the interaction feeling like that. I left because the officer was right to say that I was making things worse, and I can't imagine what good it would have done anyone for me to stay there. But as I recovered from the shock - when my hands stopped shaking - I replayed the events in my head, I see it like this:

A large group of men called me a chinky, tried to take my cameras from me, and punched me in the head; the sole response of police officers who witnessed this was to ask me to leave the area.

So now 8 days after this event PS want to investigate but only after social media brought it to there attention and are trawling cctv but give out vague descriptions maybe the should ask the police who moved on the victim twice and saw the victim as the persan at fault
shower of bastards
 

Nick66

Well-known member
Peak delusion and rage, screenshots inside.

I'd be a bit more worried if FF were being sensible. Meltdown is the default, insanity the result.
 

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