William McKiever

Edie writes , , ,

I’m in the library at Duke, viewing a photography show of homeless people. The photos are huge! Stunning! Bright whites and the blackest of blacks: wrinkles, gray hair, textures of clothing . . . .

People with stories in their eyes, vulnerable, but willing to pose. People who are not asking for answers. People who are allowing the photographer to violate their privacy for this one moment.

I read the photographer’s commentary and am moved. I feel guilty and stupid for my inability to have the pity he has for homeless people and for my inability to describe their circumstances as he does.

But wait! I have worked with a number of homeless people over the past years, and here I am, feeling ashamed because I don’t pity them! What is going on here? Why do I assume the photographer is right and I am wrong? Is it because his photos are more impressive than my drawings and thus he must know more? Or is it because he is restating what everyone else has said all along: homelessness is pitiful.

This is not the first time I have encountered the pity issue, nor will it be the last. But why is it so annoying? I think it’s because I know the people I interviewed never wanted me to pity them!

I think pity is a predator of pride and dignity: it feeds on those fragile qualities of which homeless people have so little. The photographer had invaded their privacy because he used their images to pity them. Maybe all people who try to elicit pity for their cause have their heart in the right spot, but I wonder, do they understand what they are doing to the people they are trying to help? Do they understand how terribly fragile pride and dignity are?

I’d like to leave “pity” out of this project. Empathy, yes. But pity—no.

1 comment | Post comment

	There is a cost to life. But life is, forever. Every death, brings life. Every moment shared is meant to be. Never stop sharing. Never stop caring about your life.
	-- Carol Poole, 7/12/23