Why I do what I do

This excerpt from Kabul in Winter by Ann Jones is a haunting reminder to me of why participatory photography- cameras in the hands of community members- is so vital. The indignity of posing, as proof that the donated clothes from an American church had been properly used, is such a poignant example of how we view so many of the world's poor. What was her name? Where was her husband? What was their story? Did she want these clothes? What does she want? How would she tell her story if given the camera and time to put words to images that she wants to frame her life?

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I hung back, feeling the cold rising from the bare mud floor through my socks. The plastic at the window flapped in the wind. Lema gestured toward my digital camera, which she had asked me to bring along, and signaled that it was time to take pictures. She directed the mother and her daughters-in-law to squat on the floor, each one with her pile of old clothes. The three women did as they were told, stone-faced. They drew the corner of their headscarves over their faces and raised their eyes to the camera with the blank look of those who have already endured every indignity. I turned to Lema. Humiliating was the word I wanted, but it seemed beyond her English vocabulary.

"Do you think they feel bad?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "Make photos."
"But why?"
"We show we give these things. We show we not steal them. Very important. Donors want see. Make photos, please."

I too did as I was told, though I tried to lighten the moment. I coaxed the children into the pictures and passed the camera around so the women could see the images of their offspring on the tiny screen. I asked the women and children to pose for one last photo in the yard, a photo of all the family with Lema and Nasrin too. Lema told them to smile, and they did.