Because of my newness to the scene, I still get a little warm and fuzzy when I see myself in the international media. I’ll be in a photo on the BBC or AFP wire or I’ll see an image appear in the NYTimes that I saw being made. Its a weird feeling.
Well… be as it may, here’s my angle of something covered by news outlets around the world:
A presidential candidate casts his vote. Michel Martelly was slated to cast his vote at the Lycee on the north end of the square in Petionville.
That is about a 5 minute walk from where I live. So… that’s where I went. I’m not shooting for anybody, I just walk up and cover an event with international attention for myself. Wouldn’t you?
I selected my spot initial location – after taking a few overview shots – based upon what I know of the Haitian election process: each citizen is assigned a location. At that location, they are then separated evenly into rooms at that location. I found Martelly’s location and camped out there. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
Voting day in Haiti, to say the least, is a spectator sport…
It is on Sunday, everything is closed, nobody has anything to do… so, they come in droves to the big voting sites – the Lycee being one of these – to see what happens.
It is not unusual to have a local tell you, “I went to the polls but I didn’t vote.”
But, few other locations were quite as attended as this one.
It became an all-out rally. For Martelly.
While everyone is standing in line and finding their name on the list…
…by Room 17, Michel Martelly’s name could be easily found. Alphabetical. So that’s where I went. The first third of the alphabet on the 1st floor, the second third of the alphabet on the 2nd, and the third third on the 3rd floor. Room 17, second floor, east end. I had been there for an hour already.
But, he arrived. And so began an impromptu rally.
In Haiti, it is illegal for candidates – or anyone else on their behalf – to campaign within a certain distance from a polling station. Not only that, but there can be NO campaigning at all past Friday night. But it would be hard to say that waving to a crowd is campaigning.
Every time Martelly appeared, the crowd went wild. Like, an extraordinary, deafening roar. Surely, popularity is definitely on this man’s side.
He made it to Room 17, directly beside me. There’s nowhere else to go when the corridor is only 4ft wide. But the room – maybe 15ft square, was literally PACKED with media. Cameras, video, audio… literally packed. It took him 5 minutes to get from where I stood to the ballot box… maybe 30 feet.
By that time, I had made my escape. Back downstairs.
As he emerged from the ballot room, he appeared to the crowd once again. Again, the crowd loses their minds behind me.
And inked thumb and an ID. Proof – he voted.
Then came the exit:
There’s a trick all photojournalists should know: find the choke-point. Find the spot that, no matter what happens, the subject MUST pass through, shedding most of the outer ring of journalists – usually the ones not aggressive enough to be on the inside ring – and picking you up in the process. It will make an image like this:
In this case, it was between a police truck and another mob of extremely undisciplined, local journalists. The security does not want to deal with the local journalists and the truck isn’t going anywhere… picking me up in the process.
Now, you might be saying: “Noah, that’s a horrible photo! He looks awful!”
Well, in fact, he did. By this point, he was in the middle of an absolute swarm. A single mass of writhing human beings. They were either trying to be as close as possible or trying to keep everyone as far as possible. At this point Martelly looked like he had been wrung out. I noticed this as he approached and in the photos immediately after, his head is even ducked. People were trying to rub his bald head.
He passes, and the spectator sport continues. The crowds clear fast and the line to vote reforms. Only, this time, there is a conspicuous new carpet of pink and white…
A little planning and a little foresight and the coverage of an international event passes without a hitch. The Kinam Hotel – a block away – completely filled with journalists within moments of Martelly’s departure.
By that time, though, I had my two eggs, bacon, coffee and a juice. Photo’s loaded on the laptop.
But nowhere to put them. Such is life. All dressed up and no place to go.
Stay tuned…
-Noah D.
