Ok, I will start with my own story:
About ten minutes pass before a guard shows up and asks me to stop. No problem, I say, and put the camera away. I'm pretty sure the guard didn't show up on his own, more likely some audience member behind me was annoyed by the light from my swiveled viewing screen. so it goes.
The presentation ends, and I head toward the auditorium. a man in his mid-20s, who I suppose had been sitting behind me rushes out of the room and taps my shoulder.
You were taking pictures of me and my girlfriend, he says, I would like you to delete them.
Llisten, I say, I was mostly taking pictures of myself. if your girlfriend is in the background, she's taking up a very small part of the picture. Look, I'll show you.
So I turn the camera on and start scrolling through the pictures, which are for the most part misshapen, blurry sections of my face.
There she is!, he says, pointing to a small round face in the background of the screen.
Look, I say, there's nothing to worry about. I'm not a spy, I'm not a terrorist, I'm not a pedophile, I'm not a government agent. I was just playing with my camera.
He doesn't budge. I want you to delete the pictures, he says. Will you?
I reflect on this briefly. I can't count the number of times I've been admonished, screamed at, threatened and shoved for practicing the dark art of street photography, and for the most part I've learned to cope with it. But delete the pictures? I look at them again; none of them are very good. I'm pretty sure i can live without them. But they are my pictures, made, as always, with no ill intent whatsoever; solely a result of the curiosity, to paraphrase Garry Winogrand, "to see what the world looks like photographed".
No, I reply.
Ok, I'm going to file a police report.
As he storms off, I go into the auditorium and do what I need to do to make sure my pictures won't be deleted. There are lots of ways.
Walking out toward the exit, I see my young, tattooed friend waiting for me with a security guard.
Hi!, I wave, I'm the one you're looking for!
This is the guy... he began.
I cut him off: I deleted them, I say.
Oh yeah? Let me see.
Once again I scrolled through the images: See? No girlfriend! Now, out of curiosity, why did you want me to erase them? Are you afraid of what I might do with them? I tried to explain to you what i was doing. Is there something you don't want people to see?
No, he says, but you're not allowed to take pictures of people in here.
Ahh, I say, well thank you for making sure I play by the rules.
Thanks for erasing the pictures.
If I did erase them, I would say you're welcome.
He glares at me as I climb the stairs to the exit.
Is that a threat? He shouts.
Just call it part of a conversation.
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Throughout the course of the incident described above, all parties involved, as well as everyone else in the immediate area, were being continuously monitored by no fewer that five surveillance cameras. As I left the building and walked toward my car, I saw more cameras; on buildings, in the front doors of banks, drugstores and supermarkets, on stoplights, on the grilles of police cruisers. Collectively, they recorded practically every step of my journey. Some of them serve corporate interests, others are used by various levels of government. I don't mind, and most people take their existence for granted, if they think about them at all.
But one person, one civilian with a camera, pointing it in an 'unusual' direction (example,: not AT the fireworks, but at the crowd WATCHING the fireworks - as has happened to me), THAT is suspicious; there is something CREEPY about that person.
I do realize there is another side to this story; some good people have reason to worry and some others are, in fact, creeps. I try not to be obnoxious when i shoot. I try to explain myself politely and with enthusiasm if I am confronted. I have been a photographer for more than 40 years and, like many other photographers, most of the pictures I take aren't very good; I tend to take more to up the chances of getting something better. Also, and perhaps more to the point, I know that my motives for working come from curiosity and excitement, not malice. I still have a passion for making pictures, but it seems to get harder every time i step out the door.
Ordinarily, the pictures that are the subject of this rant (no, I did not delete them) would most likely remain in a folder buried in a hard drive, never to see the light of day. But to be strong-armed into destroying something that is - at least in theory - such an important part of what I do in life, well, that pisses me off.
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I posted this story on my facebook page. Knowing that fb controls what one sees and doesn't see on a news feed, I also shared it as a message with a number of people. Next thing i know. I am blocked for 30 days.
But wait! There's more!. I am now receiving 'updates' from fb about all the activity i'm missing. Two in the last four days. Sadistic, or what?
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