‘The pulling down of Colston’s statue was a collective city catharsis’

As we left our house in Eastville we were already aware of the other small groups making their way to the Black Lives Matter protest in town. Many held signs but those who didn’t could be identified by their single-minded purpose, impossible to mistake after 11 weeks where these streets have been defined by aimless meandering.

As we entered the town centre, mannequins eyed us through the windows of closed shops and digital advertising boards warned us of spreading the virus. The numbers swelled but there was an unusual stillness and silence. Many had their heads bowed and were not talking to their friends as they walked. Most wore masks.

At College Green, despite a huge crowd the sense of hushed reflection remained in the air. We arrived just before the call to take the knee and joined the crowd beside the statue of Queen Victoria. I used my daughter’s scooter to avoid kneeling on the uneven cobbles. Others used their shoes as cushions for their knees.

Despite the protection, it was hard not to be acutely aware of the growing discomfort as the seconds ticked by for eight and a half minutes, distilling the significance of the moment. Only the screaming seagulls and the occasional distant roar of an engine broke the silence of 10,000.

If people had questioned their decisions to attend the protest, there was now a sense of quiet pride and resolve. People, robbed of social interactions for months looked around, trying to assess the size of the crowd, smiling wide-eyed at friends and strangers.

The march began. Down the hill towards the fountains to the sound of drums that couldn’t be seen inside the bristling crowd. The atmosphere of solemnity was spiked now by coiled anticipation.

Cheers went up ahead of us in waves. It was not at first possible to see what was exciting the crowd. Then the statue of Colston came into view. A black cloth shrouded the whole statue, bound with rope around the feet.
A masked protester was unwrapping his shackles. Several more climbed up the plinth to remove the covering. Once off, the crowd cheered again to see that Colston had been blindfolded. Among shouts of ‘Colston must fall!’ a noose was slung over his head and the protesters climbed down to the floor.

The atmosphere had changed again but the emotions were overwhelmingly jubilant rather than violent. With faces covered by masks wide eyes became articulate. Was this really happening? After the months and years and decades and centuries of division could the shadow of this looming figure in the heart of the city finally be lifted in a moment? After standing there for 125 years it seemed impossible that it could move with the tug of a rope. And yet… It was happening.

Mouths behind masks were open wide or spread in grins. There was a palpable sense that those of us present were part of a collective city catharsis. As tons of bronze crashed headlong into the ground the crowd exploded and then were sucked in, leaping onto the prostrate figure.

Protesters climbed onto the vacated plinth, holding placards, kneeling in defiance and then dancing with joy. One protester after another took to the stage and spoke of their anger but also of their pride, their joy and of solidarity, emotions carved deeply into their faces. The crowd chanted back the slogans of ‘Black Lives Matter’ an ‘No Justice, No Peace’.

My friend turned to a policeman to ask him how it made him feel. ‘I hate that statue. It should’ve come down years ago’ he was told.

It felt like shocking act but certainly not one of mindless vandalism. Those bemoaning the erasure of Bristol history weren’t there to witness a new chapter of it being written.

It is sad perhaps that it needed such an explosive act to remove this provocative symbol but sometimes action is clearly needed when words have failed for so long. I have also found it sad that while these events have resonated around the world, much of the rhetoric that has followed has been about the act of toppling the statue and whether it can be justified, rather than trying to understand the motivation of those actions.

Beyond the removal of the statue another huge positive for me is the sensitive response from the police throughout the day. Their understanding of the validity of protester’s emotions and the way those were expressed on Sunday towards this divisive Bristol emblem was vital, given the actions that sparked these global protests.

The man memorialised in that emblem is woven into the city. As we watched it fall, Colston Tower, its name writ large at its pinnacle, looked down as the city’s multicultural citizens climbed, danced, knelt or stared open mouthed at its fallen namesake. Then, along with the rest of the world, it watched them roll him into the harbour.

As this effigy of one of the country’s foremost slave traders sank into the water beside a bridge named after a slave it was hard not to feel we were witnessing a moment in history. And perhaps one more worthy of a memorial.

Ben Wright is the Managing Director of Bristol24/7

Main photo by Martin Booth

Read more: ‘What should be the legacy of Sunday’s protests?’