
As I drove home from a basketball game tonight, I stopped on the side of the road to take a break from the thoughts that were in my head and the inevitable comments of discontent that would await me back at the newspaper. This is something quick I wrote up just to get some thoughts out there, but I am tired, sick and have a splitting headache, so it could be a lot better.
I'm sitting in the photo department at the newspaper alone and distraught as I read over the comments from today's events. Against the smart advice of my girlfriend, I sit and refresh the page and read the latest comment. As I began to read, I began to generalize and fall into the same mindset that is making me so upset and frustrated. I blame the community for being so ignorant. I blame the community for wanting photographs of only cute puppies and rainbows and smiles. But that is a generalization as more and more comments come in. Some support the photograph and some hate it. All express concern for the family, the most important thing, and some express more discontent with the photograph than support for the family.
When I received the call this morning from my boss and editor, Ryan Wood, I rolled out of bed and headed out in the rain towards the scene. He called me several minutes later to notify me that it was heard that two children were possibly trapped inside. My heart sank and I forced myself to push my car's accelerator. To keep driving. Upon my arrival, I noticed a large amount of people standing watching as firefighters worked the scene amidst the light rain. I approached the house and saw the front lawn littered with toys, bikes, and a stroller. I try to add context to the frame as I compose the burning house in the background with the stroller in the foreground. I keep thinking about my home, if I turned off all the lights, if the stove was off from making grilled cheese last night. What if this were my home?
Having shot many frames of the home, I took a step back and noticed some people huddled together and approached thinking they might know something. One of our reporters was there standing in the muddy ditch in front of a neighboring home. A woman was smoking, a woman was crying, and a man had a blank stare on his face. Their expressions separated them from the rest of the onlookers. I asked a tearful woman if she knew those involved. It was the aunt of one of the children. Her husband was standing close by and the mother was right next to them.
I am a shy person and it takes me a long time to raise my camera in situations like this. I asked if they were ok being photographed and they nodded and agreed it would be fine. I made a few frames. They began talking about the children and the home and the mother broke down in the arms of a friend just to my right. That's when I made the photograph. I took just a few frames making sure I wasn't obtrusive, loud or coming off as offensive as I scanned people's faces looking for any form of discontent. Any face or glare to tell me to stop photographing. Nothing. A few times the faces I did catch, I looked at hoping for someone to tell me to stop photographing. "Please," I thought.
I don't wake up and choose to go to these events but my job as a newspaper photographer working in a country with freedom of the press is to photograph the truth and I wouldn't have it any other way. To photograph any and every situation as unbiased and objective as possible and to inform readers visually. As I read the comments, a frustration grew as people who may not have been there and who may not know the family seemed to be speaking for them and about the situation. Not knowing that I asked permission, even though legally I didn't have to because it was public property. Not knowing that I spoke with the mother and made sure to get her phone number because she mentioned setting up a fund to pay for her daughter's funeral. People were criticizing not only the newspaper I and those who work here work extremely hard to produce day in and day out, but generalizing and stereotyping the media as being one large exploitative form of communication. What's more frustrating is the notion that some people would rather see puppies and rainbows over real life, factual information and events. Newspaper's do not have to appeal to anyone. Cancelled subscriptions and senseless jargon will not stop journalists from writing what needs to be written and photographers from photographing what needs to be seen.
Knowing what I know now and given the same situation, I would take that photograph without a doubt, knowing that it needs to be seen. If maybe it makes you think twice about leaving a light on when you leave your home, double checking the batteries in a smoke detector, explaining fire safety to your children. But all I can do is hope that a photograph, no matter how happy or how somber, can make some sort of difference in someone's life. Struggling to push the gas pedal, struggling to lift the camera next to a tearful mother; my inner struggle is worth every thought and every bit of energy.