Last night I was privy to a few examples of friendship, where several people declared their friendship for the subject of my photography. At the time, I was out covering Operation Unite - a police driven initiative where they clamp down on anti-social behaviour, which seems to congregate around the party venue known as Kings Cross. Funnily enough. The police haul back their already low tolerance to people being, well, dicks, in the interest of allowing the other 99.999999% of society to attempt to have a fun, safe night out. Not much to ask, is it?
The journalist and I had seen drug sweeps at the train station, arrests for carrying illegal substances, people staggering through the surging crowds, blurry eyed and with a centre of balance that was decidedly off kilter. At the other end of the spectrum from those with a fuzzy perception of reality, there were groups of males, shirts half unbuttoned, with wild eyed stares and determined strides, pushing through pedestrians, daring anyone to challenge their obvious powerful masculinity and superiority. *cough*
And this was only about 9.30pm.
As the night progressed, the mood intensified as whatever imbibed, ingested, drunk or consumed chemicals kicked in. And like lions pick off the weak, slow and unfit in the wild, this jungle was having similar effects on those that were enjoying its fruits.
I had just taken the above image when my arm was grabbed, I was spun around and I came face to face with a 5'2" blonde female, who demanded that I not take photos of the occupant of the ambulance. Why? Because the female, drifting in and out of consciousness, thrashing around on the gurney, was her friend.
Not long after, we received a message from the Police Media Communications unit that there was a male with head lacerations at a nearby intersection. We were in the area, so traipsed around the corner just before another ambulance arrived to tend to the injured male. Not wounded in a fight, instead he'd decided that swinging by his knees from the framework of a restaurant's awning after a few (or more) beverages was a good idea. A failed contender for Cirque du Soleil, he'd tried for an Olympic quality dismount - with rather unsurprising results. He'd landed on his head - and anyone that's suffered a head wound (yours truly included) knows that there's a substantial arrival of claret. He was lying there, in a large pool of his own blood, swearing at the cops who had attended the call and had alerted the ambulance.
When I started capturing the scene, I had three guys suddenly appear from around the corner, and demand, once again, I stop taking photos. Why? Apparently I wasn't allowed to. And, once again, the victim was their friend.
I'll reiterate. I appreciated the power and value of friendship. For the record, I'm no wowser - I appreciate a beer (sometimes several), a decent red wine, and am partial to aged Scotch. I have, on several occasions, under the fog of 'social excitement', came up with several plans that in the cold hard light of day would have had me scoffing at the idiot who suggested it. At those times, I am exceptionally grateful for those friends around me who have gently discouraged (sometimes with a redirectional slap around the head) and convinced me that (insert bl**dy stupid idea here) wasn't a good idea, and I should try something else. Or that I might benefit from a water, instead of another beer. Making decisions to knock the night on the head instead of pushing through in an attempt to find a second wind. Looking after each others drinks when one of the group needed to go to the toilet.
And while I'm on my soap box, here's another wee thought. Don't tell me I'm not allowed to take photos.
I am.
In the same vein that I don't storm into your office, warehouse, or fast food joint where you're flipping burgers and tell you what to do - don't try and tell me it's illegal for me to take photos. In a public space.
Because it's not. You might be uncomfortable with it, but if you're not doing anything wrong, what have you got to be concerned about?
You don't want me taking photos of your friend as they're getting carted away in ambulance, or escorted to the cells by the police because they're your friends? Here's a solution. Be a friend - a better one. And next time you're out on the town and see a press photographer with a camera? Smile! Gimme your best side. Get sultry, laugh, hug your friends. And keep that going every time you pass a CCTV, an ATM or someone holding their smart phone up. It might not be a big SLR, but they are cameras too.
Say cheese.
