the responsibility of the photographer

I could go into great detail about what I think believe the responsibilities of a good photographer are - to their family, to their clients, to the world at large and, then, more organically, to the earth that we tread upon to capture time. There are many ideas to expound upon here, and many that I have opinions on, but there is one in particular that strikes me again and again. As a photographer I believe it is my responsibility to tell the story with pictures, whether or not it's a difficult-controversial-ugly-unsanitary story to tell. But when does that responsibility to the truth turn into exploitation?

I am a photojournalist - though not in the sense of communicating breaking news with my camera. I am usually recording a more joyful moment - of a high school student's senior year, of pregnant mother's seventh month, of an adoptive parent's first look at their baby. And, when traveling, I try very hard to communicate a real life look at the places I go, so that others can benefit from the beauty that I see. To give others the chance to live the story through me.

But not every story is one with a happy ending. And sometimes, well, more and more often given today's media presence, photographers are tasked with the responsibility to translate tragedy in ways only words once did. And as anyone who has seen photos from 9-11, Katrina, Haiti, Chili, pick your devastation knows, it's a lot more challenging for viewers to banish gruesome images than perhaps it would be to banish mental pictures that would only be the result of imagination. But then again, could we really fully appreciate what's going on if we were not able to see it with our own eyes? Perhaps not.

The issue of "over-information" is one that media photojournalists have to deal with daily, even hourly, as they are deployed to disaster or war-time locations. They are charged with the responsibility to record the death toll. To record the gravity of the situation. To record the truth. And the response from the public is not always one of gratitude. I read statements from people who, rather impolitely, argue that "enough is enough" when it comes to pictures. They believe there's no need to see certain images - to see the blood, the death, the destruction  - so closely. Perhaps it makes them uncomfortable to see something so terrible, to break into their reality with the unpleasant and the unhappy?

Please don't misunderstand me - I know there are those who use their cameras to take advantage of a situation like a natural disaster, selling the graphic details to the highest bidder and glorifying themselves with their images. In so doing, they are disrespectful to the people involved and they ruin it for those who really are there to communicate the tragedies in a respectful and honest way. There is a way to do it right. And our responsibility as photographers is not just to tell the story, but to know about that fine line, where it is and how to carefully walk it. Personally, I am not sure where I stand even now.

I don't have any disaster experience, but I struggle, as I know other photographers do, with what is OK to photograph versus what is crossing that line. For me, this mainly applies to photographing random people - and, in truth, to photographing homeless people in locations I travel to. In this, I definitely wobble a bit. Yes, I am telling the story. Yes, I am being respectful by keeping my distance, not harassing the person, and knowing when to walk away. But there is this moment, empty of thought, empty of anything but what I see through the viewfinder. In this moment I am not debating, I am not waffling, I am deciding. I am taking the photograph. And I think about it later. I suspect that really is how any photographer with passion does it. For me, it's about the moment - everything else disappears. But again, don't misunderstand me, I am not condoning bad behavior behind the camera, and I am not saying that I do not think about privacy and respect both before and after the photo - but I am saying that when the moment appears, I take the photo first and have the internal conversation later. I don't think this makes me heartless. I think it makes me a photographer. And a photographer with the responsibility to ask myself later "was that OK?". Because sometimes it isn't.

Maybe the fact that I struggle with what is right means I am on the correct side of the line. Because there isn't really a good answer. There are those who would say that I, even with my concerns, my mental battle between what is right and what is truth, am still crossing the line. No, there isn't a good answer, but there is a right answer for me. I suppose, in the end, what matters is what I can live with, given my moral, social, behavioral parameters. If I feel that I am doing it for the right reasons, then I feel it is my responsibility to do it. And right now, the right reason is that I believe stories need to be told. With truth. But also with dignity and respect. And I believe that telling the story creates conversation, creates necessary dissension that leads to internal dialogue, creates a chance for people to see something and then decide for themselves if it's right or wrong, rather than being ignorant of the situation altogether. Whoever said "ignorance is bliss" was, perhaps, correct, but he or she was not a photographer.


And that's the true story.

 

This photo of a homeless man in Florida was taken with my i-phone from my car window. I was in the passenger seat and we were stopped at a red light when I looked out my window and saw him. It was one of those moments where I pulled out the phone, took the photo, and then later wondered if this was truth or exploitation. In the end, I believe it's truth. Though I am using it here to make a point. And some might argue that, in itself, is exploitation. What do you think? Comment!