In the Mirror of Time: A Quest for My Reflection in Eighties Snapshots

The sign just within the entrance is quite straightforward – it indicates left and states: “The 80s”. It feels as if I’m about to step into a time-travel device and revisit a decade that, for me, seems like it was just yesterday yet also a lifetime ago. I’m at Tate Britain to view an exhibition titled “The 80s: Photographing Britain” which aims to examine “the creations of a varied group of photographers, collectives, and publications – delivering radical interpretations of the tumultuous Thatcher era”.

I belong to the suitable age group to be captivated by this exhibition: I experienced these years and observed these significant occurrences first-hand. I always sense that I am a product of the Seventies – the era in which I spent my teenage years. My musical and film preferences, alongside my social and political affiliations, were established during that time, and I carried them forward into the Eighties. Like many from my generation, it often meant feeling misaligned with that decade, challenging its norms, politics, and values.

It feels appropriate that this exhibit commences in the late Seventies. The very initial room is exclusively in black and white – both in appearance and ideology. We encounter visuals of the Grunwick conflict, anti-racism demonstrations, and riots in Handsworth. We then proceed through the miners’ strike, Greenham Common, and the Aids crisis. It’s a significant emotional impact all at once, leading me to feel a sense of relief as I enter the subsequent room, discovering a world that has transformed into color, akin to The Wizard of Oz.

A notable shift in atmosphere emerges – illustrated in pieces by Martin Parr and Tom Wood – as we see an abundance of images depicting people reveling. I begin to contemplate how the black and white visuals seemed more explicitly “political”, yet they also occasionally romanticized and glorified the individuals they portrayed – the endlessly suffering marginalized, gathering coal from a beach, shivering by a gas fire, and hiding from an officer.

In contrast, the color photographs illustrate individuals who may not be less economically disadvantaged, but who are nonetheless enjoying themselves – kissing on the dance floor, sunbathing on a pier, or purchasing an ice cream while smoking a cigarette and donning white stilettos. These images bring a smile to my face, as I appreciate their spirit and humor. I find the people depicted endearing and vibrant.

The exhibition doesn’t serve as a documentation of the significant and influential, or the famous personalities of the time, and as such, there’s very little representation of bands, performances, or the cultural figures that come to mind when we envision the Eighties. However, I found joy in the evolving fashions captured in the attire worn by everyday people.

In the early segments, there are photos of skinheads. I lean in closer to notice that one is adorned with a Rock Against Racism badge. I recall we used to look for those sorts of details to determine whether they were “good” skinheads or “bad” skinheads. I would designate this one as a “nice” skinhead. He’s strikingly handsome. Ben notices me staring at the photograph.

“You would have found him attractive back then, right?”

“Oh God, absolutely,” I reply nostalgically, glancing at Ben, who is dressed in an olive green MA-1 bomber jacket, rolled-up jeans, and sturdy black boots. I note my own predictability and move on to the following image.

It’s one I have encountered previously, and as I peer at it, I think, “Wait, I’m IN this photograph!” Captured in 1978 at Victoria Park in London, it features Paul Simonon from the Clash on stage confronting a massive crowd, marking the climax of an Anti-Nazi League demonstration. I was present at the march and was part of that crowd, although too far from the stage to be identifiable in this picture. Nevertheless, Ben and I pause for a while, scanning the tiny faces as if we are searching through a Where’s Wally? collage.

“Where ARE you?” I ponder, searching for my youthful 16-year-old visage, my 16-year-old persona. “Where on Earth ARE you?”

[See also: Rewriting the story of Gisèle Pelicot]