Harriman’s monochrome images demand our attention, whether it be through the passion of an activist, captured as they rally a crowd, or through the meaningful gaze of a protester, their fist and placard punched proudly into the air. “I look for hope and empathy more than anything else. I think that’s why people respond to my images, because they see solidarity,” says Harriman, who believes that being a Black photographer also makes a huge difference. “There’s a trust,” he says. “If I’m shooting a Black person, I think there’s a shared experience when they see me.”
The current BLM movement — which is taking place as much online as on the streets — has been described as a tipping point not only in the US, but globally. In the UK, according to one of the organisers, well over 20,000 people attended the protests in the first week of June. Last summer, Harriman documented every single Extinction Rebellion, climate strike and anti-Trump protest, but “this was a different kettle of fish,” he says. “There were 10-times more people than any other march I’ve ever seen in London.”
“The health of our planet is the biggest threat to all of our futures, but it’s not something that people can have a deeply personal connection to,” Harriman continues. “If you’ve had a grandfather or a grandmother who endured violence, it becomes something far more personal… You’re talking about hundreds of years of pain and memories that people have been holding on to and passing on through generations. I call them ‘the walking wounded’.”
The UK’s BLM movement has brought issues of institutional racism into mainstream discussions, and protests have taken place all across the country, calling for police accountability, education reform and equal opportunities. “If you release all of that pressure of injustice, it’s bound to be a bigger movement than anything we’ve ever seen,” says Harriman.
One of the photographer’s favourite shots [below] was captured on Saturday 06 June in Parliament Square — one of the busiest protests he has photographed. He made his way through the crowd, and at some point, between steel bands, speeches, and chanting, he arrived at a moment of silence. “Everyone took a knee, and I was right in the middle of it. As I looked up, I saw a mother, her son, and a sea of fists behind them.” In the image, the boy, who is disabled, listens with anguish to the speeches off-shot, while his mother’s eyes pierce the lens. “I was crying while taking this image,” Harriman recounts. “That moment was absolutely electric.”