Through the looking glass
Many years ago, when I was young and full of ideals, I wanted to be a photojournalist. I wanted to travel, see, and tell stories about people all over the world. I wanted to capture moments in time which would become history; a single second which otherwise would have simply passed, would become immortalised.
But some time into my pursuit of the craft, I had a horrifying realisation of the kinds of photos that made the canon. What did those photographs that won a Pulitzer Prize; the ones that made photograph of the year - have in common? While they were powerful images, they also left this lump in my stomach - a mixture of guilt and sadness. The photos that told stories of our world described a sad one.
I will never forget the day I had my own encounter with that reality. I was walking with my father along a rural coast road in southern Taiwan. The sky was a bright, blinding blue, and it was a scorching 42 degrees. As we trudged along the path, we passed a homeless man.
He sat naked on the dirt road, missing one leg and both arms. A bright red plastic bucket was next to him, and a single blue slipper thrown a few feet away. He gazed straight ahead without making any attempt to acknowledge our presence. His forehead was beaded with sweat and two streams of tears ran silently down his face.
I could’ve taken the photo and potentially have won some prize, but what difference would it have made? It wouldn’t have helped the man; it wouldn’t have told the truth of his story. All I would’ve done is contribute to was more sadness. That day, I didn’t take the photo, but neither did I do anything else. I simply decided on inaction. That day, I walked away from both responsibility and photojournalism.
In retrospect, maybe there was nothing I could have really done. But I’ll never forget the feeling of guilt in my throat and stomach as we walked away. The mere memory of it makes me feel like I need a hug.
More than a decade later, I am thinking about picking up my camera again. But this time, maybe what I want to capture is happiness. Perhaps it won’t change the world, and it won’t tell stories worthy of a Pulitzer, but I think the thing I want to become part of history, or at least my version of history, is that our world is a beautiful one.
