I sometimes wish I could make the kids at Amasango believe in the quote above.
A reporter from Grocott's Mail, the local Grahamstown paper, came to interview the kids about the photo project yesterday.
She and I sat down with the kids and they spoke about what the project meant to them, what it taught them and why they took the photographs they did.
One boy, a 17-year-old in grade 7 was asked why he took a photograph of himself. He looked at the reporter and said "It's for my father."
We both smiled. It was a nice response from a guy who's taken some really nice photos. Of course, the next question was "why do you want this photograph for your father?"
Without much hesitation, the boy replied, "Because when I go to jail, I want him to be able to remember me. He has no pictures of me." There was a pause for a couple seconds; the reporter and I both a little stunned about what we should say or ask next. He put his head down for a moment before looking up again and saying "I need this photo for my father so when I go to jail he doesn't forget me."
He's talked to me a bit about his life in the past. His father is an alcoholic. His brother is in jail. His mother was murdered. He believes his future will be a one way ticket to prison. After all, that's just how life operates for kids like him, isn't it? You're born, you struggle, you steal, you go to prison, you die.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
"The truth is rarely pure and never simple." - Oscar Wilde
I picked up the contact sheets yesterday from Kodak Grahamstown.
32 children returned their cameras and many of the photos are remarkable. Through this exhibit, and through the photographs, the children will have given anyone who looks at this exhibit an uncensored look at their lives. There are images from school, images from Eluxolweni Shelter, images of family and friends, from around town, and images in the township.
There are also 5 or 6 images of kids doing drugs. Crystal clear images of faces, pipes and what is believed to be Mandrax. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me. I asked the children to take pictures of anything in their lives that tells a story of who they are. The student photographers who took these photos of their drug use--and abuse--were perhaps the most honest and most faithful to the task at hand: of taking photos of their day to day lives.
While I appreciate the honesty conveyed in these photos, should they be shown? I don't have any qualms with showing the images when I return home to New York as the abusers are half a world away. In Grahamstown though, they're right down the street. I am going to talk to Kodak about seeing if faces can be blurred. The exhibit promised to be an enterprising, gritty look at the lives of children from Amasango. Without these photographs, the exhibit won't be entirely truthful. Drugs, and issues surrounding drug usage, are a part of these students' lives. It shouldn't dominate the exhibit, but in my opinion, it shouldn't be excluded.
I asked them to tell a truthful story about their lives through the lens of a camera. I suppose I got exactly what I asked for.
32 children returned their cameras and many of the photos are remarkable. Through this exhibit, and through the photographs, the children will have given anyone who looks at this exhibit an uncensored look at their lives. There are images from school, images from Eluxolweni Shelter, images of family and friends, from around town, and images in the township.
There are also 5 or 6 images of kids doing drugs. Crystal clear images of faces, pipes and what is believed to be Mandrax. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me. I asked the children to take pictures of anything in their lives that tells a story of who they are. The student photographers who took these photos of their drug use--and abuse--were perhaps the most honest and most faithful to the task at hand: of taking photos of their day to day lives.
While I appreciate the honesty conveyed in these photos, should they be shown? I don't have any qualms with showing the images when I return home to New York as the abusers are half a world away. In Grahamstown though, they're right down the street. I am going to talk to Kodak about seeing if faces can be blurred. The exhibit promised to be an enterprising, gritty look at the lives of children from Amasango. Without these photographs, the exhibit won't be entirely truthful. Drugs, and issues surrounding drug usage, are a part of these students' lives. It shouldn't dominate the exhibit, but in my opinion, it shouldn't be excluded.
I asked them to tell a truthful story about their lives through the lens of a camera. I suppose I got exactly what I asked for.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Not black and white
I was walking through Rhodes yesterday with a friend of mine from Zimbabwe and she and I ran into a mutual South African friend of ours, Atha (and fellow Rhodes student). I hadn't seen Atha in a while so we took a couple minutes to catch up.
I am still quite angry about the racial-profiling and socio-economic profiling (as in poor looking people are immediately suspects) at Rhodes, so I was telling her about that. I also told Atha I felt odd being a white, foreign guy standing up to black security guards about the rights of black children.
She shook her head in disgust about what had happened to the kids and said "Jason, you want to see some of the most prejudiced people? Look no further than blacks on other blacks. It's not just white on black, no no no. It's a class thing. It's really not just white against black."
Her words really struck a chord with me. She's a black South African. Apartheid fell only 13 years ago. Her parents would not have been able to eat in the same place as whites, or live in the same place as whites, or really exist, except as domestic workers (butler or maid or gardener) in the same place as whites, and there seems to be no hard feelings. She doesn't see the South African fight against inequality in black and white terms.
For her, and for countless other whites and blacks I've met during my time in this country, it's never been a fight where it's white versus black. It's a fight with the ignorant versus the informed ; where fair and unfair square off; a battle with just versus unjust, it's a fight where millions of South Africans, regardless of skin color, have often found themselves on common ground.
There are nice white people and nice black people. There are terrible white people and terrible black people. Skin pigmentation has no affect on how informed or misinformed you are.
Atha says so. I believe her.
I am still quite angry about the racial-profiling and socio-economic profiling (as in poor looking people are immediately suspects) at Rhodes, so I was telling her about that. I also told Atha I felt odd being a white, foreign guy standing up to black security guards about the rights of black children.
She shook her head in disgust about what had happened to the kids and said "Jason, you want to see some of the most prejudiced people? Look no further than blacks on other blacks. It's not just white on black, no no no. It's a class thing. It's really not just white against black."
Her words really struck a chord with me. She's a black South African. Apartheid fell only 13 years ago. Her parents would not have been able to eat in the same place as whites, or live in the same place as whites, or really exist, except as domestic workers (butler or maid or gardener) in the same place as whites, and there seems to be no hard feelings. She doesn't see the South African fight against inequality in black and white terms.
For her, and for countless other whites and blacks I've met during my time in this country, it's never been a fight where it's white versus black. It's a fight with the ignorant versus the informed ; where fair and unfair square off; a battle with just versus unjust, it's a fight where millions of South Africans, regardless of skin color, have often found themselves on common ground.
There are nice white people and nice black people. There are terrible white people and terrible black people. Skin pigmentation has no affect on how informed or misinformed you are.
Atha says so. I believe her.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Rhodes response
Dear Jason:
Thank you for your email dated 21 May. I regret these incidents and
have asked the Vice-Principal, Dr Colin Johnson to deal with the
matter.
Yours sincerely,
Saleem Badat
Dear Jason:
Thank you for you email to Dr Badat which was brought to my attention. The issue of the RU culture and what we project is of great concern to us. The equity committee is in the process of addressing the matter, the challenge is to change practices and how to communicate at the coal face.
Regards,
Dr. Colin Johnson
Thank you for your email dated 21 May. I regret these incidents and
have asked the Vice-Principal, Dr Colin Johnson to deal with the
matter.
Yours sincerely,
Saleem Badat
Dear Jason:
Thank you for you email to Dr Badat which was brought to my attention. The issue of the RU culture and what we project is of great concern to us. The equity committee is in the process of addressing the matter, the challenge is to change practices and how to communicate at the coal face.
Regards,
Dr. Colin Johnson
Monday, May 21, 2007
Racial-profiling and fighting back
I brought a couple more students from Amasango to Rhodes with me last week. No, wait a minute; I tried to bring a couple students from Amasango to Rhodes with me last week and was stopped by the security guards. I was allowed to come onto campus, but they were not. I argued and argued and argued. It didn't work. Shortly after this latest incident, I spoke with my former professors and they advised me to write a letter. The letter will be sent to the Vice-Chancellor, the Dean of International Students, and the Dean of Students. I found it a total reversal of roles to be a white, foreign guy arguing with black men about the rights of black children. Here's the letter, and here's hoping.
Dean Marius Vermaak:
My name is Jason Torreano. I was an international exchange student at Rhodes University from February 2006 – June 2006. During my time at Rhodes, I volunteered several times per week with Amasango Career School and Eluxolweni Shelter.
I returned to Grahamstown this past April to volunteer full time with the school and shelter. I’m also a visiting researcher in the History Department under the guidance of Ms. Carla Tsampiras.
As part of a project I’m pursuing with Amasango, I’ve given out dozens of 27-shot disposable cameras to children in grades 5, 6 and 7. The children were asked to take pictures of anything that sums up their lives. I’m printing the photos and they will be on display in Rochester, New York sometime after I return home in July. They’re also going to be on display at this university in early June. I’m writing to express some concerns I have with Rhodes.
During the week of May 14, 2007, I brought a couple of the students I’m working with on this photo project at Amasango and Eluxolweni to Rhodes. I have been taking a couple students on campus with me each time I come so they can see Rhodes, experience just a small slice of life at a university even if it’s just walking around the grounds for 10 minutes, and perhaps plant a seed in their head that if they work hard, they too, might one day be able to attend a university of this calibre.
As we were walking onto campus, we were stopped by a Hi-Tech guard and questioned. I explained to the guard I was a former student and was currently doing research under the History Department and that these students were with me. He refused to allow us to enter and called over an officer from the Campus Protection Unit. I explained to this second officer that these students were with me and that we were going to walk around Rhodes. This second officer informed me that no visitors are allowed on campus and said I may come, but that the students with me would not be able to walk any further. I was not willing to comply with this ludicrous arrangement nor was I in a state of mind to speak with this officer regarding his assertion that no visitors are allowed on campus, or how these guards determine who is a visitor and who’s not. Therefore, we all left.
I understand that Rhodes University must protect its students, staff and faculty. I understand that there are incidents with theft and violence within the boundaries of the Rhodes campus. I understand these guards have a difficult job to do. I do not, and will never, feel it is fair to suspect every young, black, male who so much as places a foot on this campus of being a liability.
I did go speak later in the day to people at CPU about this incident and they said as long as the children check in with me at CPU headquarters, they will be permitted on campus. I have since brought a couple students back on campus with me and did follow CPU’s wishes. The first day I went to check in, the officer at the counter seemed to be baffled as to why I was bringing these students to show him. It was obvious the officers I had spoken with the day before never communicated to their co-workers what they had told me. I decided at that point to not bring the students to CPU any longer. It is a degrading practice that I regret going along with at all.
I feel as though if these students were dressed in St. Andrew’s uniforms, they would not have been stopped. I feel as though they were singled out, again, because they were young, black, male and not dressed like typical Rhodes students. Rhodes is always stressing that it is a part of the Grahamstown community, but events like the ones from the week of May 14 make me seriously question the validity of that statement.
I do hope that you take the time to consider all the ramifications for Rhodes, and for these Amasango students—fellow Grahamstown residents—of kicking them off campus.
Sincerely,
Jason Torreano
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Window on High Street provides window on the world
Judy and I are taking the kids of Eluxolweni Shelter to "Nando's," a chicken place in central Grahamstown tonight. It's meant to be a treat for the people who came to our video workshop and behaved themselves over these past two weeks. They voted for Nando's. We're taking them to Nando's. 16 kids in all will be coming.
It's odd how quickly your thinking changes when you find yourself in different situations. Nando's has big windows that face the street--and that face a very busy street in Grahamstown. In most areas of the world and in most situations, these windows would be a selling point: eat your meal, watch people passing outside, talk a bit, then leave.
However, here, these windows translate to a security concern for the kids. With the stabbing still fresh in our minds, and with the stabber out of jail wandering the streets, we weren't entirely prepared to eat in a restaurant where he might see us, get jealous and come in. The boy he stabbed is healing nicely and will be in attendance tonight.
For everyones peace of mind, we've hired a security guard from "Hi Tech Armed Response," a security firm in South Africa, to accompany us. The kids we're with are fantastic kids. The hours we spend with them will likely never be forgotten. We just can't have anyone crashing the party and stabbing the kids.
So, tonight, it will be Judy, myself, and 16 really great, hopefully well-behaved children from Eluxolweni Shelter eating, laughing, loving life in glass walled Nando's. Just a couple feet away will be one security guard ready to take out anyone who tries to hurt the kids.
I suppose there's some truth to the saying that desperate times call for desperate measures.
It's odd how quickly your thinking changes when you find yourself in different situations. Nando's has big windows that face the street--and that face a very busy street in Grahamstown. In most areas of the world and in most situations, these windows would be a selling point: eat your meal, watch people passing outside, talk a bit, then leave.
However, here, these windows translate to a security concern for the kids. With the stabbing still fresh in our minds, and with the stabber out of jail wandering the streets, we weren't entirely prepared to eat in a restaurant where he might see us, get jealous and come in. The boy he stabbed is healing nicely and will be in attendance tonight.
For everyones peace of mind, we've hired a security guard from "Hi Tech Armed Response," a security firm in South Africa, to accompany us. The kids we're with are fantastic kids. The hours we spend with them will likely never be forgotten. We just can't have anyone crashing the party and stabbing the kids.
So, tonight, it will be Judy, myself, and 16 really great, hopefully well-behaved children from Eluxolweni Shelter eating, laughing, loving life in glass walled Nando's. Just a couple feet away will be one security guard ready to take out anyone who tries to hurt the kids.
I suppose there's some truth to the saying that desperate times call for desperate measures.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
"Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape."
Mr. Knife came to school today. He was released last night from jail. He's a minor, so they don't keep him locked up for more than two days.
I really didn't want to see him. I didn't want to be near him. I didn't want to talk to him. But he wanted to talk to me.
He came to the 7th grade classroom I was in and asked me to come outside. A bit angry and a bit sad, he told me he wanted to run away. "Jay-Sen, my name, it's dirty now," he said. "Everyone knows my name and it's dirty."
I'm still pretty angry about Saturday and I wasn't willing to give him a free pass, so I looked at him and said "And who did that? Who made your name dirty? You did that."
He started again with "but he said I don't have a father and.."
I had it at that point and cut him off. "You can't go around stabbing
everyone who says something you don't like," I replied hastily. "I stood up for you at Rhodes. I put my reputation on the line when I told the guard you wouldn't do anything and you came back and stabbed him. You lied to me. You are the reason you have a bad name."
He looked at me and started crying. The boy who whipped out a knife and stabbed a kid in the back three times was in front of me with tears welling up in his eyes. "It's best for me to run away. My name, it's not good here anymore," he said again. "And they want to send me to Queenstown."
Queenstown is a facility that helps students like this boy overcome tremendous obstacles and hopefully rehabilitates them in a way that keeps them out of prison.
I looked at him again and said "I have fought very hard for you (and I have). I think it is the best thing for you to go. I'm not happy that you have to go. It will be sad to see you leave, but you must go. You need help. You're smart, but you have issues with anger."
He said, "I can work on that (his anger). I would like to stay till July then I'll go because you'll be gone then maybe I will go."
"No," I replied. "You could do something that will put you in jail again by then. You really have got to go now." He started crying again. I want him to go. I think somewhere in himself he realizes he's got to go. The principal wants him to go.
It's odd how quickly my anger wears away. On Saturday, I really didn't want to see him ever again. Even this morning, I wasn't fully prepared to see him. When he came to school, I was prepared to just ignore him. When you sit down and talk to him and realize how lost he is, you can't help but let that anger fall away. He just doesn't know what to do and you can't help but feel sorry for him. You can't help but see the humanity right under that tough outer shell. You can't help but see the vulnerable little guy that's caught up in drug addiction, and yes, unspeakable violence. You can't help but want to give them a second chance.
"But you say you want to see me," he said. "Right? You say you want to see me. You won't see me again if I go to Queenstown."
He's right. I won't.
But maybe, just maybe, he'll be given one last chance and he'll take it.
I really didn't want to see him. I didn't want to be near him. I didn't want to talk to him. But he wanted to talk to me.
He came to the 7th grade classroom I was in and asked me to come outside. A bit angry and a bit sad, he told me he wanted to run away. "Jay-Sen, my name, it's dirty now," he said. "Everyone knows my name and it's dirty."
I'm still pretty angry about Saturday and I wasn't willing to give him a free pass, so I looked at him and said "And who did that? Who made your name dirty? You did that."
He started again with "but he said I don't have a father and.."
I had it at that point and cut him off. "You can't go around stabbing
everyone who says something you don't like," I replied hastily. "I stood up for you at Rhodes. I put my reputation on the line when I told the guard you wouldn't do anything and you came back and stabbed him. You lied to me. You are the reason you have a bad name."
He looked at me and started crying. The boy who whipped out a knife and stabbed a kid in the back three times was in front of me with tears welling up in his eyes. "It's best for me to run away. My name, it's not good here anymore," he said again. "And they want to send me to Queenstown."
Queenstown is a facility that helps students like this boy overcome tremendous obstacles and hopefully rehabilitates them in a way that keeps them out of prison.
I looked at him again and said "I have fought very hard for you (and I have). I think it is the best thing for you to go. I'm not happy that you have to go. It will be sad to see you leave, but you must go. You need help. You're smart, but you have issues with anger."
He said, "I can work on that (his anger). I would like to stay till July then I'll go because you'll be gone then maybe I will go."
"No," I replied. "You could do something that will put you in jail again by then. You really have got to go now." He started crying again. I want him to go. I think somewhere in himself he realizes he's got to go. The principal wants him to go.
It's odd how quickly my anger wears away. On Saturday, I really didn't want to see him ever again. Even this morning, I wasn't fully prepared to see him. When he came to school, I was prepared to just ignore him. When you sit down and talk to him and realize how lost he is, you can't help but let that anger fall away. He just doesn't know what to do and you can't help but feel sorry for him. You can't help but see the humanity right under that tough outer shell. You can't help but see the vulnerable little guy that's caught up in drug addiction, and yes, unspeakable violence. You can't help but want to give them a second chance.
"But you say you want to see me," he said. "Right? You say you want to see me. You won't see me again if I go to Queenstown."
He's right. I won't.
But maybe, just maybe, he'll be given one last chance and he'll take it.
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