“… Marx
asserted, ‘They cannot represent themselves; they must be represented.’ His
doubled sense of representation is a political practice; someone must speak
for, stand in for, perform as, the inchoate and unformed group—not yet a class
because it cannot represent itself, yet surely a class because it can be
represented—to and for itself and others. If representation is crucial to class
formation and expression, then class, like gender, is performative …”
In preparation for an exhibition on homelessness currently in the planning stages at the Museum of Social Justice in Los Angeles, I was asked three very simple and direct questions, which challenged me to define the motivations and expectations of the One of Us project:
1.
Is there one thing, or one experience that
tangibly crystalized the dedication that drives you to pursue this project with
such ferocity? Or is there a significant experience you can point to that
initiated your motivation to provoke change in how homelessness is treated in
Los Angeles?
Homelessness in Los Angeles is a humanitarian crisis that
can’t be ignored. Supervisor Mark Ridley-Thomas recently characterized it as
the defining issue of the time, and better late than never, it is good to find so
much activity and mobilization going on now. I’m personally motivated by a
sense of outrage over the passive-aggressive way much of society deals with the
homeless population, and alarm at the way the problem has been allowed to
fester and grow. The relationships, trust and even friendships I’ve established
with an odd fraternity of homeless individuals (and activists) in my own community has only
reinforced and illuminated these beliefs.
Photographs and words can only interpret and represent, and
in actuality there are already more than enough dramatic photographs of
deprivation and suffering, and enough anecdotal information and demographics to
convince the powers-that-be to do the needful. The media, myself included, have
been complicit in this. With the notable exception of the few instances where
photographs, reportage and even Art have had a direct, measurable effect on its
subjects, the ubiquity of coverage has only added to an overwhelming sense of
intractability and despair, perpetrating harmful stereotypes and further
serving to objectify the homeless as some homogeneous societal woe.
What harm can there be in listening to and learning from
those who are actually living this nightmare on a daily basis? The concept of
soliciting the personal stories and portraits that became One of Us arose out
of a longstanding collaboration with Wade Trimmer, director of the San Fernando
Valley Rescue Mission. Wade encouraged me to pursue our common interest in
“humanizing” the homeless, a phrase that on its face seems redundant and
offensive because it infers that each person encountered in this work is not unquestionably
and obviously quite human already. So we want to remind the public of this simple
fact of humanity; the motivation for this approach lies in the desire to change
the conversation surrounding homelessness, to bring it back to a human level,
to perhaps nudge anyone who encounters the material to feel more inclined to
enact real, sustainable solutions.
2.
If you were to ask the participants of “One of
Us” what the most important message we need to convey would be, what do you
think they would say?
The conversations we recorded with more than 40 individuals
provide a wide variety of answers to that question. Taken collectively, they
present a pretty comprehensive catalog of the causes of homelessness and the
many obstacles that make it such a difficult situation to rise above. At the
risk of overusing another cliché, in the context of “giving voice to the
voiceless” as a path toward human autonomy and dignity, the most important
messages I heard were connected with the longing for understanding and empathy
from the general public and law enforcement.
Each person’s story touches on
this in some way, whether it is boyish, twenty-something Jesse who dreams of
becoming a doctor or nurse while currently living in his car in the parking lot
of the Walmart store he works in, or
Nancy, an elderly Southern debutante whose safe world was turned upside down
after being victimized by real estate fraud. Ultimately it
doesn’t matter how many stories are told, how many “likes” their images collect
on social media, or any of that. They just need affordable housing.
3.
What is your favorite image and why?
There’s a big distinction between the studio-lit
portraits made in locations where the people were for the most part comfortable
and knew they were in a safe place among friends and allies (possibly having just
eaten a warm breakfast and used the portable shower unit), and those taken out
in the streets and encampments. While I’m gratified that so many of the
close-up portraits reveal a sense of common humanity that transcends their
economic or living conditions, my favorite picture is often one I have just
recently taken, portraying both personal and symbolic meanings.
Right now an
image I feel conveys some measure of universal hope, if not redemption, is that
of Gracie holding up the tiny portrait of a baby girl recently born to her
street-mate Emmy. The baby was the only survivor of twins, and Gracie was
noticeably proud to have been anointed her “honorary grandmother.” As tragic as
the circumstances surrounding the child’s birth may be, and as uncertain as the future is now for Gracie, Emmy and the rest of the people in this one
camp—a microcosm of homelessness in Los Angeles—there is still the desire to
sustain a sense of familial belonging.