In my younger years,I vocally berated and hated my father's industry for a long time. There were a multitude of reasons. But the shallowness of the whole sorry affair was forefront. I couldn't imagine not "making a difference" in the world in the [noble] career path which I was going to choose. How naive I was.
One night, Dad came home from an assignment. I had no real concept of where he had been 0ther than that he's been away for a few weeks. He looked really tired, but he often was. He had been to somewhere called Romania, wherever the hell that was*. He'd filmed children in Orphanages. I'm not sure who the client was. I think maybe a charity? Anyway. He took scores of pictures. Obviously he shot lots on film too.
He tried to show me, but after a few minutes of feigning interest, I went to my room to deafen myself with The Sisters of Mercy or some such quality listening.
My Dad didn't talk much. Anyone who knows Daddy, would know that this is beyond weird.
I surmised that he was really ill and didn't know how to tell me/us. He would sit alone in the conservatory for ages. Shut off from the rest of us.
He looked at the photos a lot too. With affection as though they were pictures of Me and Babysis when we were kids or something, he was all "oh, look, this is [Alexandru] , he was so lovely, he kept wanting cuddles. He called me Mr Mick. He was so little, darling, so tiny."
Me: "Uh, huh? d'you wanna coffee, I 'm making one...no, OK. Oh, I need a lift into town later by the way, is that OK?".
I'm thinking "Dad's ill. He doesn't even want a coffee".
The children he visited and filmed had no-one. They lived in appalling conditions (the lucky ones who were in Orphanages and not the ones on the street, their lives were beyond appalling) and had no one that really loved them. They were riddled with disease and the majority had HIV and would be lucky to see their next birthday. Dad had shown them affection which gave them happiness for a very short time and then he had to leave. He couldn't pick their tiny little bodies up and carry them to a safe place (which is human instinct). He had to pack up his expensive Camera equipment and go home to England to a well fed family, a pedantic little shit of a daughter (that's me...my sister's always been quite pleasant), and a Country full of ignorant bastards who had no concept of what he had just seen and what he had just felt.
No wonder he sat in the Conservatory with his own thoughts for company. How could the rest of us have comprehended his thoughts, even if he could describe them to us? His own Daughter was disinterested because the story wasn't wrapped up in a Christmas Single and Red Noses.
It's not the first time for Dad. He's a season ticket holder for "Misery" Filming - he's done wars, Starving Children, Dying Children, Murders, Rape Victims - the whole nine yards. Over and Over. The emotional energy it takes me to talk about his experiences is only a fraction of that which it must take to live with the memories of what he had seen.
Men like Kevin Carter and My Father bring us images which shock us. They bring us perspective. They bring us drive to change the world. Without Men Like These, who suffer for their work, we would live in our cosy lives unaware of what else is happening out there. Without Men Like These change would not stand a chance.
My Father has not only shaped my life, but he has shown other people things in this life that aren't OK, they aren't acceptable and he has "made a difference" in his lifetime at great emotional cost.
The day that Kevin Carter felt that he couldn't go on, was the day the rest of us lost a man who also changed peoples lives and achieved greatness in holding his camera steady in situations in which the rest of us would lay down and cry.
The Picture by Kevin Carter that Won the Pulitzer prize 1994A Toddler is stalked by a Vulture who is waiting for her to die so that he may eat her remains.
* of course I know NOW where it is... at the time, I was a young teen who didn't give a bollock where it was.
2 comments:
Quite a remarkable photograph that changed the views of the world. How many other photos are there that delineate something so intensely.
Kevin was accused of fluking the photo. Maybe he did. I know as a cameraman, many a shot sometimes just lands in my frame. It’s what I do with it next that makes the difference. I wonder what your fathers take would be.
Kevin waited for the vulture to spread its wings but it never did. After he took the photo, he sent the vulture away, and the little girl resumed her trek to the feeding station, where upon Kevin sat under a nearby tree, smoked and cried.
Despite winning the Pulitzer Prize, he also was scorned by the public for not helping.
The Florida Times was quoted as saying…….
"The man adjusting his lens to take just the right frame of her suffering might just as well be a predator, another vulture on the scene."
In some ways the quote is a slur on our profession, and yet at the same time, quietly I know there to be an element of truth in it.
amazing post, thank you. i've been considering my own life and how little inpact i make on the world, more specifically on the parts of the world that need help. and the people that so desperatly need us. photos like this, and like ones i'm sure your father took, make people stand up and take notice. how, in a world so saturated with pain, can this be anything but a positive?
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