From the Inside Out
Being There
I’m holding a camera while holding a sign and I’m photographing people who are standing next to me, chanting the same words I’m chanting. I’m not across the street. I’m not on the sidelines. I’m in it.
I’ve tried impartial recording before, just after I finished college, and I realized it was not for me. I couldn’t be impartial or removed, and so I never pursued that path because I didn’t like that aspect of it.
I see the benefit of it. One can record what they see without getting personally involved. And yet there are so many photographers you hear about who do get involved. Who do take a stand. Who are part of whatever it is they’re photographing at the time. But at a certain point, one’s humanity and conscience have to kick in and say, I can’t just stay back and not do anything. What I was doing felt like I was part of this. I had to record it from the inside out, rather than from the outside in. I think people can feel that difference.
It also doesn’t feel like a coincidence that this is happening now, after I moved to Nebraska. I’m not entirely sure why that is. Maybe it’s being in a smaller city, where it feels possible to make a difference, or at least to be seen trying. Maybe I feel more a part of the community here than I did back east. Or maybe it’s stored energy—something that’s been sitting with me for a long time—finally finding a direction that feels honest.
I decided to go to the protest against I.C.E. this past weekend as a participant first. Bringing my cameras came after that. Once there, I became aware of how I looked walking around—no sign at first, no press badge, just me and my cameras—and I remember thinking that I might look suspicious.
Before going, I made a conscious decision that surprised me. I brought with me two cameras instead of just one because I wanted to look the part of a photographer. Not to show off. Not for attention. There was something about wanting people to look at me and understand that I was there to document.
Having two cameras around my neck sent a signal, outward and inward. Outward, it said I was there to record. Inward, it put me into a different mindset. It made me feel like a documentarian again, something I haven’t really done in a long time.
As I started to walk around and take photos, I did get one question. Someone asked who I was working for. I said I work for me. That answer opened things up. It led to conversations about why we were there, what was happening, and how people felt about it.
I wasn’t impartial. I was part of the protest. I don’t like what’s going on in this country. And I wasn’t pretending otherwise.
I wouldn’t say I was doing this in some grand or heroic way. I was mostly photographing people holding signs. That might not be visually dramatic. But it felt important. It felt like something worth recording.
I’ve heard photojournalists talk about how hard it is to document something and not be affected by it. I understand that now in a different way. This is my experience of life where I live, and I’m part of it, not outside of it. Photographing this felt like recording the times, which for me means being present, being honest about where I stand, and letting the photographs come from that place. I don’t believe these photographs suffer because of that. I think they gain something. They carry the weight of being made by someone who was there, who cared, and who didn’t pretend otherwise.
Glad to see you made your way there, and home again safe to tell us about it!