This article is from the source 'nytimes' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/03/opinion/sunday/the-photographs-we-never-see.html
The article has changed 4 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
| Version 0 | Version 1 |
|---|---|
| The Photographs We Never See | The Photographs We Never See |
| (about 11 hours later) | |
| By Damon Winter | By Damon Winter |
| Mr. Winter is a staff photographer currently on assignment for Opinion. | Mr. Winter is a staff photographer currently on assignment for Opinion. |
| Over the past few years I have wondered on many occasions whether our work matters. When I traveled to Pittsburgh to cover the aftermath of the horrific mass shooting at the Tree of Life synagogue, I spent time with a friend and fellow photojournalist, a Pittsburgh native who recalled covering nearly 20 mass shootings, some not far from home. Although shocked, he seemed to accept that it was only a matter of time before it happened in his own back yard. | Over the past few years I have wondered on many occasions whether our work matters. When I traveled to Pittsburgh to cover the aftermath of the horrific mass shooting at the Tree of Life synagogue, I spent time with a friend and fellow photojournalist, a Pittsburgh native who recalled covering nearly 20 mass shootings, some not far from home. Although shocked, he seemed to accept that it was only a matter of time before it happened in his own back yard. |
| In the days to come, we would see and make images that have become all too familiar, scenes that could as easily be from Parkland, Orlando, Las Vegas, Newtown, Aurora, Columbine, places whose names have become shorthand for the tragedies that have befallen them. | In the days to come, we would see and make images that have become all too familiar, scenes that could as easily be from Parkland, Orlando, Las Vegas, Newtown, Aurora, Columbine, places whose names have become shorthand for the tragedies that have befallen them. |
| What does it feel like to be touched by such brutality? Every life lost, every loved one taken away is an ocean of pain on a scale that can never truly be conveyed. But time after time, we go through the motions. As a nation, we experience these tragedies largely from a distance, through imagery several degrees removed from the ugly truth. The horror is unimaginable, but the images that follow are often achingly beautiful. They depict intense suffering and genuine grief, but they also make it easier for us to swallow and over time we become numb. They give cover to politicians who offer thoughts and prayers and then do nothing. | What does it feel like to be touched by such brutality? Every life lost, every loved one taken away is an ocean of pain on a scale that can never truly be conveyed. But time after time, we go through the motions. As a nation, we experience these tragedies largely from a distance, through imagery several degrees removed from the ugly truth. The horror is unimaginable, but the images that follow are often achingly beautiful. They depict intense suffering and genuine grief, but they also make it easier for us to swallow and over time we become numb. They give cover to politicians who offer thoughts and prayers and then do nothing. |
| In 1955, Mamie Till-Bradley demanded that we look evil squarely in the face by insisting that the swollen, battered body of her 14-year-old son, Emmett Till, be photographed. “Let the people see what I’ve seen,” she told the funeral director, insisting on an open-coffin funeral. Her extraordinary courage ensured that her son’s death would stand as a defiant rebuke to hatred. | In 1955, Mamie Till-Bradley demanded that we look evil squarely in the face by insisting that the swollen, battered body of her 14-year-old son, Emmett Till, be photographed. “Let the people see what I’ve seen,” she told the funeral director, insisting on an open-coffin funeral. Her extraordinary courage ensured that her son’s death would stand as a defiant rebuke to hatred. |
| Rabbi Daniel Wasserman, one of the first people allowed inside the Tree of Life synagogue after the shooting, was tasked with coordinating the cleanup in accordance with Jewish tradition. In an interview with my colleague Bari Weiss he described what he had seen: “First, rivers of blood. Pools of blood. Being able to see a piece of a skull with hair and knowing whose it was because you know how that person always kept their hair.” | Rabbi Daniel Wasserman, one of the first people allowed inside the Tree of Life synagogue after the shooting, was tasked with coordinating the cleanup in accordance with Jewish tradition. In an interview with my colleague Bari Weiss he described what he had seen: “First, rivers of blood. Pools of blood. Being able to see a piece of a skull with hair and knowing whose it was because you know how that person always kept their hair.” |
| For now, words will have to stand for images we’ll probably never see, and to be clear, I don’t want to see those images. I don’t want to take those images. But even more, I never want this to happen again. | |
| All photographs were taken around the Tree of Life synagogue, and at the funerals for Joyce Fienberg and for Cecil and David Rosenthal, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. | All photographs were taken around the Tree of Life synagogue, and at the funerals for Joyce Fienberg and for Cecil and David Rosenthal, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. |
| Damon Winter is a staff photographer currently on assignment for the Opinion section. He received the 2009 Pulitzer Prize for feature photography. | Damon Winter is a staff photographer currently on assignment for the Opinion section. He received the 2009 Pulitzer Prize for feature photography. |
| Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram. | Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram. |