I’ve been called a monster. Not for what I look like, or who I am, but what I choose to do. I am a photojournalist.
I am not one of the paparazzi, fighting tooth and nail for a photo of Lindsay Lohan coming out of rehab, or Michael Jackson leaving the courtroom, but I am someone more, someone more respectable, and someone more intrusive.
A public figure needs to expect to be followed by the media and the paparazzi, but when it comes to the ordinary family, being followed by the media is not something everyone is ready for, so in a way, what I do might be perceived as heartless.
But I promise I am not heartless. Two weeks ago, I photographed a funeral for the first time. A student from the University of Colorado was murdered while on vacation in Mexico for spring break. He was shot in front of his mother while trying to protect her. The killer escaped from jail.
There were five photojournalists there. The five of us know who we are and what we were sent there for; we wanted to inform the public about the story of the young man, David Parrish. We were not there to hurt his family and friends and get in the way.
But we did.
One woman asked us why we had to do it.
“Jane asked to be left alone. Why can you not leave the family alone? They don’t want you here.”
This funeral was the first time I came across a situation I wasn’t wanted. That might sound strange, but people love having a photographer tell their story.
Usually, when I am photographing someone, they open up and let me into their lives. Most people have a story to tell, and they want someone to listen, or show it to others. When you are a journalist, people you have never met welcome you into their homes.
I know I am not a paparazzo, but at that funeral, for the first time in my life I felt like I was. Waiting outside the church in a suit and heels, I waited, just as the paparazzi do when they hear Angelina Jolie just went grocery shopping with her new son.
As a response, I separated myself from the situation, a skill that you develop after practicing journalism long enough. I was no longer Stephanie Davis; I was a photojournalist.
At that moment, I went from being a photographer to a photojournalist. I learned something from that funeral and from the woman that chided me from being there. I learned why I really wanted to do what I have been trained for.
Yes, I am a monster, but I have a heart.
I am a monster because I can go where others would never go. I can go into the private lives of people. I can show others those images, and make them uncomfortable. I can show them women that sell their bodies, and people that abuse drugs, and hurt their families.
But I do this for a reason.
If the woman at the funeral had not turned around, I would have told her what I will tell anybody else who ever questions who I am and what I do.
I am a photojournalist, and my medium is an image. That image shows a piece of life, and that image is more powerful than words can ever be. People need to see what I see. People need to know.
