October 19, 2014
I have taken pride over my 40-plus years as a photojournalist in offering dignity to subjects I photograph, especially those who are sick or in distress while in front of my camera. My recent photographic assignment to cover the Ebola outbreak in Liberia has proved exceedingly challenging for me. Respect is often the last and only thing that the world can offer a deceased or dying person. Yet the camera itself seems to be a betrayal of the dignity I so hope to offer. Sometimes, the harshness of a gruesome scene simply cannot be sanitized. How does one give dignity to the image of a woman who has died and is lying on the ground, unattended, uncovered and alone as people walk by or gaze from a distance? But I believe that the world must see the horrible and dehumanizing effects of Ebola. The story must be told; so one moves around with tender care, gingerly, without extreme intrusion.
Telling the Ebola story in Liberia means being near, within shooting range, the ravages of the virus. That work brought me face to face with another dehumanizing element of this virus: fear. Since a silent danger hides inside the Ebola-infected person, a simple touch could prove harmful. Extreme caution is required.
In Monrovia, where I spent two weeks last month, fear is always present: among the people, and among photojournalists in the act of capturing scenes of desperately ill Ebola-infected persons. Fear produces an internal struggle: How close to the subject do I get to make a compelling photograph? If I get too close, is the risk of infection too great? Fear drives the process of capturing images. It becomes a tool that guides and reminds one to be excessively careful not to become infected. The rules are simple: Touch no one, and let no one touch you. Spray the bottom of your shoes with chlorine solution. Wash your hands frequently with that chlorine solution, even if you haven’t touched anything. The act becomes habitual. 1957. Simeon Booker, of Jet, was among the first wave after Castro took over on Jan. 1, 1959, reporting on everything from protests by black Cubans in a province considered the most prejudiced in Cuba to the status of Orestes (“Minnie”) Minoso, the popular Cuban-born baseball player then playing for the Cleveland Indians and who had been a big Batista supporter.
As the U. S. tightened the screws, Moore said in a telephone interview from his home in Brazil, “Castro did everything possible to woo the black American population.” And he succeeded for the most part as “they came back with glowing reports that were published in newspapers and magazines.”
For sure some journalists raised questions early on. Alice Dunnigan, in her May 9, 1959, column in the Pittsburgh Courier wrote: “Is there a color question in Cuba? Negro newsmen who visited the country during the recent ‘big trial’ say, ‘Yes! Definitely!’ White reporters say, ‘No!’”
Back in the United States, fear took on a different significance — hysteria. Syracuse University rescinded an invitation to me to be a mentor and coach to photojournalism students there this past weekend. A student learned that I had recently been in Liberia and expressed concerns. On the day of the scheduled workshop, I received a phone call asking me to stay away.
When I returned from Liberia, I followed all the guidelines for people returning from the Ebola zones. I followed recommendations from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and Doctors Without Borders (Médecins Sans Frontières, or MSF) on how to watch for signs of symptoms. I took my temperature twice daily; in my case, out of anxiety,
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Women who were among 15 Liberian patients who recovered from Ebola and were released from the ELWA2 Ebola treatment unit cry as they greet family members on Sept. 24 in Monrovia.