A photojournalist reacts to an accident or a calamity much like an emergency worker. But since most of us have no training in saving lives, or rescuing people, what really drives us to reach these places like first responders? To see fellow human beings lying trapped under debris, waiting to be rescued or worse, needs a mental makeup of a different kind, especially since we really cannot do much apart from recording it on camera.
At the site of a disaster, a photojournalist is expected to truthfully and objectively convey reality. It is generally accepted that there is no moral responsibility to interfere with the events that are unfolding in front of the lens. While looking into the face of a tragedy, we are there to tell the story in a single frame. However, every photojournalist would agree that there have been instances where they have grappled with the dilemma of what is right and wrong.
For instance, not too long go, there was an accident in Kerala. Three migrant labourers, who were widening the gutter on the side of the road, were seriously injured when the concrete wall of the building nearby collapsed on them. One of them succumbed to injuries and the other two were extricated from the rubble after hours of hard work by rescue personnel.
A few days after the incident, a photojournalist said something to me with a hint of remorse. While news channels were showing visuals of the tragedy, he was still half an hour away from the accident site. He wanted to rush there to get the image of the workers caught under the debris. It was only after he clicked the photo that he saw the agony in the eyes of the injured. While he had rushed there to merely do his job, he regretted that his first thought was to get a “good” picture as soon as possible. He said he then prayed that the workers would be taken to safety as soon as possible.
Tragedies leave an impact on a photojournalist in different ways. In August, when landslides triggered by torrential rainfall occurred in Wayanad, wiping out two villages entirely, hundreds were trapped beneath the earth. The first thought that came to my mind captured the magnitude of the tragedy: maybe this is how civilisations ended. I covered the 2018 floods and landslides in Kerala and I have been asked several times whether such events leave me untouched. It is a fact that the tragedy is not mine and yet it is. It is difficult to say whether the sense of detachment that photojournalists acquire over the years is real or not.
One of the most difficult situations that I was forced to handle took place in June 2024. More than 40 Indians were killed in a fire that broke out in a building in Kuwait and the bodies were brought back home to Kerala. The homes of the victims were pictures of grief. I vividly remember the scent of the incense, the dirges that seemed to go on for hours, and the shock on the faces of the family members. One instance in particular left a lingering ache. A 27-year-old man’s body was placed in a freezer at the centre of the living room of his house. There was silence in the hall and the thought that I would be shattering it with the click of my camera was unbearable. The man’s mother, who was sitting close to the freezer, suddenly began talking to him. She begged him to wake up, and called out the names of those who had come to see the body. She was clearly in denial. In the midst of this, I hurriedly clicked two pictures. They always bring a lump to my throat.
Deepa Pradeep, mother of Kuwait fire victim P. Sreehari, mourns next to his body after it was brought to his home for the funeral on June 16, 2024.
| Photo Credit:
Thulasi Kakkat
Just as we can see the photographer in a photograph, we can equally see the effect that a tragedy has had on the photographer reflected in the frames. We photojournalists go back home every time after we cover a tragedy with the hope that the images will serve as an irrefutable truth of what happened. And what should not happen.
thulasidas.pv@thehindu.co.in
Published – December 13, 2024 12:51 am IST