(Los Angeles) When you are in the center of Los Angeles, California, all you have to do is walk down 7th Street to land in Skid Row, this disreputable neighborhood in the city of angels. Here, you might think a party has gone wrong. It’s as if the record had skipped and the needle had stuck in a groove never to come out. One turn at a time, she digs a crevice between the real world and disorder, in a setting of paradise lost.
Drugs are sold here in broad daylight. And the inhabitants of the makeshift camps set up all along the street, dazed, stagger through the endless days which all look the same, like the needle attached to the vinyl, which gets scratched more and more.
With my colleague Isabelle Ducas, who is writing a series of reports on homelessness in California these days, we tried to penetrate this fragmented world to get in touch with the actors of this sad reality. And take a photo of them.
They are in such bad shape, having fallen for too long between the loose meshes of a social net full of holes.
The challenge is big. Some people speak of jungle to describe the surroundings. But these vulnerable souls are men and women who have the right to dignity. Their neighborhood is in the heart of a city where many dreams are shattered. And no one chose to live on the streets.
How do we go about talking to these lost beings and obtaining, despite their distress, consent for a photo? Can we just steal an image and say to ourselves that all those who smile strangely here, their eyes absent, will never read La Presse? Or should we take our courage in both hands and approach them head-on to explain the reasons for our presence, at the risk of receiving several refusals?
Of course, we are in a public space. Nothing could be easier than moving around while pressing the camera shutter to capture a moment of truth, unvarnished.
Furthermore, even when reporting abroad, we are required to respect the decisions of our courts, in particular the judgment of the Supreme Court in the Aubry case against Les Éditions Vice-Versa which concerns respect for the right to the image. Consent is not optional when you can recognize a person in a photo, unless, depending on the particular circumstances, the public interest in disseminating the photo justifies prioritizing the public’s right to information, despite the violation of the right to privacy of the person photographed.
So we walked through the hashish fumes to approach the smokers on the sidewalks. And ask them for permission to take photos. But given their state, you have to know how to hold back and assess in a few seconds whether the scene violates their privacy. If so, it’s best to move on. But we must nevertheless dare to show this reality, because it exists. With all its pain. It’s not just a glass pipe that America is cracking.
