‘Manuel’ biked up to where I was standing, watching the line of people inching past the hygiene station. We talked for nearly an hour and a half.
The guy had fire in his eyes. I’ve never seen someone talk so passionately about their faith, what they believe in with their insides. He wanted me to feel the fervor—it trembled his voice and lips while he stared at me, eyes unmoving. Except to tremble when he said:
“‘I AM.’ He said ‘I AM.'”
The guy had water in his eyes. It pooled and dripped, leaked out, leaving the whites redder than originally. He said, “Excuse my face.” He repeated it. Excuse my face. Excuse my face. He pulled his White Sox cap down so the curved swath covered his expression.
I was in awe of the fervor, but initially a little annoyed at it. I didn’t believe what he did, not exactly—and how do I negotiate between letting someone tell their story and explain the beliefs they’re coming from, and engaging them in debate? I think it’s my job right now to provide as-accurate-as-possible representation of these real people. To continue capturing their histories and what currently makes them tick. Part of being a good journalist is keeping your own beliefs from corrupting a story, so I think it’s important that I keep that in mind for the purposes of this project—but also, in forming these human connections, part of having a friendship is exchanging ideas. So as I continue to try and act dually as a journalist, reporting these stories, and as a person, building relationships, I continue to navigate this conundrum. It seems to be a pretty unique issue, specific to this kind of work.
So far I haven’t been doing much of the engaging-aspect. I think, to deepen these relationships, that’s something I can implement more after our ‘interviews.’
Chao,
Isabella – 3/18/17
← Read Manuel’s Story
Share this post: