Spartan Daily - Serving San Jose State University since 1934

Issue date: 4/26/04 Section: Opinion>>Columnists

JASHONG KING [Click to enlarge]

"We have a report of a 34-S on the 2800 block of Broad, cross street of St. Bernard," the police scanner said as it crackled to life.

Veteran spot news photographer Alex Brandon leapt out of his seat and waved for me to follow.

"That's it, that's a shooting. Grab your gear. Let's go," he said.

In 30 seconds, Brandon and I were out of the office of the local New Orleans newspaper and barreling down the potholed streets of the city.

New Orleans had been ranked the seventh most-dangerous city in America. There were three shootings a day. Ever third shooting was usually fatal.

When we arrived, a curious crowd had already gathered.

Brandon talked to the police officer on scene.

I observed the crowd, as we waited for the paramedics to roll out the victim. Some people were laughing; some had emotionless expressions.

Behind me, I heard a whimper. I turned my head to see a girl, probably 10 or 11 years old, sobbing softly, tears covering her face.

Let me break out of this scene for a moment and explain my line of work.

I'm a photojournalist. A lot can be said about what I do, but the easiest explanation is that I document history as it happens. The big events, the small events and everything in between.

The big question of our job comes when we have to decide what to record. Some things may be too distasteful, others irrelevant.

Would I want a picture taken of me while something tragic was happening to my family? Definitely not.

But ...

If I was crying outside of my house while it was burning down, I can't deny that I was crying. Perhaps a photograph of me could go on to warn others of the danger of fires. Maybe the lives and property of others could be saved.

However, this belief in a utilitarian purpose can, and sometimes does, go too far.

The worst part about my job is that tragedy makes for good photographs. Sure photos can educate, but they can also advance a photographer's career.

So at that moment, the question came into my mind. Do I take a photograph of this crying girl?

Visual journalism is very different from written journalism in one dramatic way: the visual requires you to be there to capture the moment. If I was writing about the event, I might be able to call later, when it's calmer. As a photographer, I'm only getting that cry shot while it's happening.

I'll admit it. I'm scared of shooting tragedy. The emotion, the drama, the feeling of being a voyeur who capitalizes on other people's pain.

My heart pounds, my knees go weak, my whole body shakes in a strange fear every time I get the call to photograph a shooting or a car crash.

It's like a book on war photography I read. Whenever battles broke out, the correspondents rushed to the scene with fear in their hearts. Scared to be late, scared to be on time.

Like them, I was scared, too - scared most of all to once again have to make the decision whether to photograph.

Back to the crying girl.

I stood there, camera in my hand, frozen in indecision.

All of a sudden, Brandon walked to the little girl and knelt at her side.

"Hey, are you OK?" he asked sweetly. "What's your name?"

"Sheila."

"My name's Alex. Is there anything I can do for you?"

She told Brandon her mom was in the house where the shooting occurred, and she didn't know if she was OK.

"Let me go see if I can help you out. I'm sure everything's OK. Hang on for a second," Brandon said. He walked over to the police officer in charge and talked with him. After a few moments, he came back.

"Hey, Sheila? Just go over to that officer over there, and he'll let you behind the police tape. I talked to some people, and your mom's fine."

The girl thanked Brandon and walked toward the officer.

Back at the office, we worked to edit the photos we had taken. Brandon wheeled around to pose an ethical question.

"So, if I were in a war zone, and I got shot right in front of you, what would you do? Would you help or take the picture?"

I was unsure.

"Take the picture?" I answered.

"No, you help first," he said. "You can shoot the photo if you want, but you're going to have to be able to live with yourself later."

He described a scene in Latin America, where a mudslide had trapped a girl underneath piles of debris.

"There were photographers there who shot photos of the trapped girl, and there were photographers who put down their cameras to help. I had a friend who put down his camera and helped pull the rope. Another photographer shot the picture and won the Pulitzer," Brandon said. The girl under the debris did not survive.

He went back to the recent shooting.

"I'm not going to let that little girl cry her eyes out. Not anymore."

This coming from a man who has spent half of his life photographing the horrors and injustices right in our own backyards. From somebody who had to make that decision to take or not take countless times.

He talked about the Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer who had chosen to photograph - not help - the trapped girl.

"Amazing photographer," Brandon said, but according to the photographer's ex-fiance, "seriously messed up in the head after all the things she's seen."

The world does need people to document tragedy. Not every person can be helped. These photographs can at times serve much more good than an individual act of kindness.

But I'm not sure I'd be willing to pay the price with my conscience.

JaShong King is the Spartan Daily picture editor.

"Full Frame" appears every Monday.

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