When to put the camera down

As a freshman in high school, I was given a Canon 40D camera and asked to figure out how to work it. I loved taking sports photos. There was so much action, and once in a while, you would capture that moment that told a story without a caption.

I decided to pursue a degree in photojournalism at the University of Montana.

Last summer I interned at the Great Falls Tribune, where I shot rodeos almost every weekend. I very quickly fell in love with it — the faces cowboys made as they struggled to stay on an angry horse or bull, the concentration of a barrel racer as her hair flew behind her, and the little kids sporting their best country attire. Everyone was usually in a great mood, cheering each other on and making lifelong friends.

During the Mission Mountain rodeo this past weekend, I experienced a different kind of emotion. 

In college, we had an entire class on the ethics of journalism. If there is a fire or an accident and you are one of the first ones there on assignment, at what point are you a person, and at what point are you a journalist doing your job? When do you set down the camera and help out? 

It might seem easy to decide as a person not in the journalism field. But for those in our profession, it is our job to report the news. Here’s an example. In 1993, Kevin Carter took a photo of a young child in Africa, starving, trying to reach a feeding center while a vulture looked on. The photo won him a Pulitzer Prize, the highest honor in journalism. But people were mad at him. Why hadn’t he helped the child instead of just taking a picture? 

Three months after he won the Pulitzer, Carter committed suicide at the age of 33. His suicide note said images from his time in Africa haunted him.

The point is, Carter was doing his job. As it turned out, he was told not to touch the child because of fear of spreading diseases. His photo told the story of the famine perfectly, and spread awareness. But what about the child? A story that important needed an ending. People didn’t get the ending they wanted. Carter left, without helping the girl. Nobody knows what happened to her.

Back in a more present time, I attended the rodeo last Saturday evening. Now my ethical dilemma wasn’t near as crazy as Carter’s, but it still had an important effect on me. 

Toward the end of the rodeo, there was a memorial for Aunika Corrigan, the girl who passed away a few weeks ago. Her family gathered on the field, and her friend led a horse around the arena. The crowd stood at attention, nobody saying a word. As Callie Otoupalik came toward me, head down, tears falling, leading a riderless horse, I felt the guilt build as I took pictures. Shouldn’t I have stood quietly and showed my respect for this young life that was lost? 

On the other hand, it would make a very beautiful picture, showing the emotion of the moment.

I did eventually put my camera down, not sure if I got anything worth keeping or not. I cried for the girl I had never met and stood silent while Otoupalik made another loop around.

I think I did my job in a respectful way, but I still feel a little guilty. With over 50,000 views online, the photo itself doesn’t even need a caption. It was one of those times when a picture told a thousand words. People needed to see this photo, to be reminded that life is fragile. My goal as a photographer has never been to show the bad side of life, only to take sweet sports photos, and to make people feel something without words. 

I hope that photo can be treasured by some, and that if you saw it, you took a moment to feel for the girl, her family, and her friend.