The Last Supper and Arrests of Sudanese Refugees (1)

Milan

Each day Milan offers unexpected and disconcerting experiences. This morning I sampled the great Leonardo Da Vinci Mural of the "Last Supper," in a high security air conditioned reconstructed hall followed by a large purchase of chocolates. I went to sit in the Duomo to write in my diary. I had half an hour of my own time just to chill before G came off work.

I decided to see which new big star was at up at the mall as there seemed to be people holding placards. Yesterday is was some singer whose name started with P and I no longer remember, but some young girls talked excitedly of his possible appearence. I had thought MTV does a show once a week up in that place but obviously it was more often. Except those holding placards were black men and police in their somewhat humourous uniforms surrounded them. A quick glance told me that it had something to do with Sudan, something to do with political asylum, and that within the next hour some people were to be arrested.

I knew from the faces of the police, I knew from the faces of the protesters, the silence that had decended and the tension that filled the three meters between them. There is a certain relaxed way police hold themselves when they are simply there to keep the peace. They talk, they joke, they stand in a huddle together near their police car or maybe in the corner. There is a way they hold themselves when orders have been sent that they may need to use force. They don’t smile, they stare at the crowd nervously, they stand in line. They do not talk amoung themselves, and always always grimace when  a camera is pointed at them because no one ever wants to be photographed using force splattered on the pages of the newspaper.

I had a camera.

I waited with the rest of the crowd.

The police started moving the crowd further and further way from the protesters.

Two men and a woman in Tweed Suits arrived to negotiate.

Two boys with dreadlocks acted as go betweens and translators.

The Sudanese men sat in silence.

The crowd watched, and I stood on a podium on the side of the protestors and turned my camera off.

After so many years of photographing protests I learnt to conserve batteries.