Rant Postponed

I decided to delete the rant I just wrote about all the stuff I have to get done before Monday and write about an experience I had this week instead. So, here goes. The library here in Columbia has a program called One Read. Hundreds of people in the community sign up to read a book that they voted for, then meet at intervals during the month of September to discuss it. This is their 10th year, and the book they chose was The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. The book is about a black woman in the 50s whose cancer cells were harvested without her consent or knowledge by doctors while she was a patient at Johns Hopkins Hospital. Those cells went on to become the foundation for some pretty big scientific breakthroughs, but the Lacks family was never told about it (or the millions of dollars that were made as a result of using her cells for research). Apparently, the book raises all kinds of questions - about medical ethics, the definition of a cell, racial taboos, repayment for injustice, and issues of race, class, and poverty during the time of segregation. And no one wants to go on the record to talk about it. I found myself wondering if, what was described to me as "the undercurrent of racism" in Columbia, has anything to do with why no one wants to talk with me on the record. To my ears, their comments about the book sound honest and deep. For someone with a set of filters that are colored by the history of discrimination against blacks in America, it could sound like something else. Since my skin is as brown as the next guy's, they can't know that I don't view the world through those filters because my family's history can't be traced through this land. So, I'm stuck. I have a story for deadline on Tuesday (my busiest day of the week) and only one voice willing to share with the city what her thoughts were. Amazingly enough, that one voice is a black woman who grew up in the time of Henrietta Lacks who felt like reading the book was a walk down memory lane. I guess I'll have to wait and see how God works this one out.

Paparazzi

I'm not sure that I've ever written here how much I hate the paparazzi. I hate the fact that I feel like I'm turning into one even more. This week I've been working on multiple photo assignments that have taken me into the community at large. The first one, which consisted of taking six portraits of people I'd never met and interviewing them wasn't so bad. The second one has got my stomach in knots. My assignment that's due tomorrow consists of capturing moments of life that the average person might miss. This is not an easy task anywhere, let alone in Columbia, Missouri. The first challenge is to find out where something interesting is already going on ... for free. The second is to invade someone's private space long enough to capture the image. The third is to take down their vital info so that it can be posted with accuracy. I was out at the park on Sunday, hoping to get an early start on Tuesday's assignment. While I was out there, I saw a little boy who was playing in the waterpark. I figured it was an action shot, it could work. So, I asked his mom if I could photograph him and she agreed. Then, he decided he didn't like this stranger taking his photo. I can't say I blame him. Then, I noticed two male police officers in uniform struggling to corral a 3 year old. Onlookers who'd been at the park said the kid wandered in unattended and jumped into the water. No one knew who or where his parents were, so they called the cops. I have to admit, the struggle to get the shirt on him would've made a great photo ... it looked like he was resisting arrest for a few minutes because he wanted to stay at the swimming hole. The photo of him walking out of the swimming area hand-in-hand with two male police officers would've been great as well. I didn't take either shot. You see, I still have this healthy fear of law enforcement that causes me to pause before making them angry. Plus, I couldn't help but feel ashamed for the parents of this kid who would soon be in the middle of some serious questioning and possibly a citation for negligence. On top of that, the three year old was a dark-skinned mixed kid who I didn't want the public to see as a future troublemaker being escorted around by cops. So, this is the internal struggle I'm sitting at my kitchen table, turning over in my head today. Part of me wished I'd taken the shots, because I wouldn't have to go back out today to look for moments to complete my assignment. I do have 40 pages to read and a reflective paper to write, after all. The other part of me wonders how to reconcile the fact that my newly chosen occupation means I'll have to insert myself into peoples' lives, sometimes when I'm not wanted there. And then there's the matter of upsetting local law enforcement. I'm not even sure how to tackle that one just yet.