Homeless and the Truth

Today I went out with some homeless shelter volunteers to do the annual “count”, of homeless people.

It was, more or less, enlightening. Luckily for us, there was a homeless man, entirely willing to talk to us and allow pictures.

There, stashed away among the forests of Eastern Prince William County, was a sophisticated campsite. Several tents, a hammock, frozen pots and pans hanging from a line. Tables. Generally, a far more pleasing environment to live than I thought the homeless were accustomed. Don’t get me wrong. I’d never be interested in spending more than a day in that environment. But I suppose having grown up around DC, I always thought the people I saw sleeping on the grates was the reality. But it’s only a portion.

2 years ago, I participated in a more formal documentary mission of counting the homeless, in York, PA. And what we stumbled upon in that frigid night were people who didn’t want to be found. Surely there must have been those that wanted help. Perhaps they were already being helped. But the people we found on that night were perfectly satisfied with sleeping in the woods. They told us so, and refused any assistance toward a shelter.

The difference today was that I found these people to be more receptive to help. The one person most receptive to pictures, George, seen here, had actually been living in a shelter now for a few weeks, and his visit back to the campsite was to make sure his belongings were in order.


And they were, along with the paperwork he sought so that he may apply for government assistance for some medical procedures. He recently had his left big toe amputated, and there were more ailments to be treated. 10 years without a home must do that to you.

I’m glad I have the pictures, but it almost didn’t come to that.

As media, I feel a core responsibility is to tell the truth. “Truth needs no ally”, as has been said many a time. So upon learning of this assignment, I tried to brace myself for the reality. Not only that, but I knew I needed to come away with compelling, informative images, with the least amount of intrusion and “paparazziness”. I wanted to do it with out having the finger on the shutter button, shooting off 200 frames. To have a homeless man bring us to his camp and allow photos meant something special to me. I also happen to consider myself a professional, and as such, I’d like to think others do as well. But it doesn’t always happen as such.

As we sat in the truck learning from one of the volunteers, the reporter and I were briefed on who was interested in an interview and who was not. George would not be the only one at the camp.

I was not allowed to take pictures if the site was destroyed or anything happened to George’s dog. Nothing with George’s face in it, if that were to be the case.The individual then proceeded to tell me about how it wasn’t news and it wasn’t relevant. We needed to show some sensitivity…etc. But wait, I asked. What are we covering? If the campsite is trashed, is it not news? No, was the response, I’m not allowed to take pictures. Not allowed? Interesting. I actually thought it would be my job to take pictures if that were the case.

I had to inhale deeply, and calm myself. Because as you know, everyone loves to hear how to do their job by someone who doesn’t do your job.

I calmly listened, and tried to intimate that if the site were trashed, than it might better illustrate what homelessness is, and that’s newsworthy. At least with respect to the story we were putting together. But this person refused to listen, and I just let them rattle on. If such a circumstance came up, I would take pictures; I would do so tastefully, and it would be between the people in the pictures and myself. I’m not taking pictures to suit your need. And jeez , I do this for a living, give me some credit. If something traumatic happened to the camp, I'm not going to run over to the guy like an idiot and start snapping pictures in his face.

It was much ado about nothing. The camp was fine, everyone was in good spirits and the assignment went off without a hitch. But it reminded me of a lesson I learned about covering sensitive issues as a photojournalist.

Let the people who aren’t in charge, and who don’t know how to do your job, prattle on. And then do what you came to do anyway. Let them think they are informing you. Nod politely, and then coherently proceed by being a professional. When I first started to do this, I was too intimidated by people who told me what I could and couldn’t do. I assumed everyone was more informed than I was. Then, I acquired a little more confidence and over-corrected by becoming hyper-sensitive, and combative. Now I’ve learned to let them speak and be heard, and then be a photojournalist. Within the bounds of law, of course. Truth doesn’t need an ally.

But what I need to learn most of all is to drop it. I get too wound up by these things. I’m blogging about it. How ridiculous. This post should be about seeing people live in desperate conditions and making the best of it. How the homeless that I met, were not sleeping on grates under batches of newspaper, but had become fairly self-sufficient, and were “never losing hope” as one put it.
Somewhere along the road, their lives veered off the path, and led them to an existence that passed moment by moment, leaving them dependent almost entirely upon the generosity of others.

In the economic climate we’re now in, it made me think of those most generous in my life who would never let me fall to such a level, and how lucky I was to have them.