Capturing the cry for change: photographers on the BLM protests
Minneapolis: Brandon Bell
A couple dance at a memorial site for George Floyd.
“I am a native-born Californian who grew up on the south side of Los Angeles. On 27 May, I had just finished documenting the first active protest in downtown LA when later that evening, I saw on the news that the city of Minneapolis was bracing itself for a second night of vast protesting. I booked a flight and flew out the next morning.
Surprisingly, when I hit the ground and began photographing, I felt a deep sense of acceptance. Everyone embraced me as if I were their own. Different men would say “Let this black man through”, or “Go ahead black man.” I felt that the community embraced the fact that I was a black man who genuinely desired to tell their story as a whole.
Although I was an independent photographer, community leaders gave me special access to photograph in intimate areas and spaces. Throughout the day, I was photographing: joy, mourning, and reflectance; and at the end of the night, I was photographing anger, frustration, and turmoil.
Top left: a Somali woman joins a demonstration. Top right: protesters sit down to block a street. Above: a protester is silhouetted against flames from a burning building
With a collection of photographs, I began telling the stories of the community in ways that portrayed its cry for change. Already feeling angry and grieved by the most recent killings of my people, I began to connect with the story on an even deeper level.
There have been many times where I’ve had to drop the viewfinder from my eye and wipe away the tears, so I could continue documenting. After hearing mother after mother get up and speak on how they lost their sons to police brutality, I couldn’t help but to feel physically and emotionally drained.
Mourners carry George Floyd’s casket into the memorial service
Almost every night, when editing photos, I feel the tears welling up and I’m reminded of the many faces, cries and pleas I’ve seen and heard throughout the day. I will not stop documenting until I see the change, sought after, come to fruition.”
New York: Flo Ngala
‘I Can’t Breathe’ on a flag at a protest in Washington Square Park
“Images are like languages. While with different languages, many of us can hear and speak the words or extract the meanings, sometimes we still won’t know how to translate things perfectly, sometimes our real accents will still be there. In those cases we look to a native speaker to translate, to teach us, to give us the correct pronunciation or best meaning. That’s what I see black photographers and photojournalists to be at this moment, and for this movement. The translators of these times and the teachers of our stories.
We have studied inequality for centuries, to exist, to survive, to be successful in a world where black excellence is not normalised … it meant we had to understand this difficult language. We’ve experienced it in ways our white counterparts have not and luckily for them probably will never have to.
Top left: a protester and a police officer by the Manhattan bridge. Top right: marchers cross the Brooklyn bridge. Above: an elderly man watches protesters before joining them in Harlem
The solidarity through marching or protesting is incredible, but understand that black creativity and expression was birthed out of mental marching and protesting to control our image and our narrative for years. When we wanted to express ourselves and struggles, we understood the necessity to visually communicate with each other, when no one else cared to look, listen or understand.
A demonstrator addresses protesters in Harlem
When you get that, when you see how deep it is, you understand why certain images and stories are not always yours to tell or to translate – there’s a chance that you yourself could not fully understand that language. So now more than ever, images are acting as messages and it is critical to make sure those sharing the messages best understand the language and what needs to be said.”
Protests in downtown Brooklyn near the courthouse
Detroit: Sylvia Jarrus
Hundreds march during the the sixth consecutive day of protests
“Black communities across the country are facing the risk of losing their life to a deadly virus or a deadly system.
Detroit is an incredibly resilient city that’s had its fair share of struggles yet remains fuelled by the most innovative, determined and passionate people you will ever come across. Protesters I spoke with are so tired of fighting for their mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons and everyone else who they love.
The exhaustion, fear, pain, and passion Detroiters are feeling could be felt as they chanted Breonna Taylor and George Floyd’s names on the streets of the city.
I witnessed people in pain, people in love, and people whose strength and spirit inspired me to keep documenting. I also saw many quiet moments of love and tenderness that reminded me this is not a fight we can win alone.
Top: Kelci Norton,18, is comforted by a fellow protester. “Right now I’m very hurt and distraught because there are so many instances where they’re not held accountable,” she said. “Your silence is compliance and we can’t have that.” Above left: Two protesters listen to a speaker. Above right: Brandon Crawford raises his fist in solidarity, “I’m here because I’m black, and black lives matter.”
Watching families in southwest Detroit neighbourhoods peeking out of their homes and venturing outside to watch hundreds of protesters march through their neighbourhoods, I felt it was representative of where many in our nation are at. More people are stepping out of the spaces they’re familiar with to speak up for what they believe is right and witness something powerful.
Residents watch from their homes as protesters march through southwest Detroit
Whether allies are supporting from a porch, or they’re on the other side of the fence marching through the streets. To me these protests are a sign of real change. I’ve never seen people so tired, yet so determined to fight for change.
Hundreds march to protest the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and others
I think we’ve reached a critical point in time, really a breaking point and people can’t take any more. People are simply sick and tired of seeing unarmed, black people being murdered. There’s a palpable hunger for change in the air and they won’t stop until they get it.”
Louisville: Jonathan Cherry
On the first night of protests, Louisville Metro officers don riot gear and create a line between protesters and the Hall of Justice.
“Sharp bangs echo through the streets near the Hall of Justice. A foreign, astringent smell lingers through the air with a subtle burn that stings greater with each breath. White clouds hover over the scattering crowds, reflecting a blue and red pulse from the countless police vehicles that line the block.
This is the first night of civil unrest in Louisville, Kentucky. We are being attacked while killers walk free. The death of sleeping Breonna Taylor at the hands of Louisville Metro officers sparks outrage – only amplified by the more recent and televised police killing of George Floyd.
Daily, we flood the pavement with our bodies and commandeer an intersection. Next, we march through the streets, take over the following block, speak our truth, and move on. We lie flat on the street, we raise our open hands, and then form a single fist, and we kneel. We approach the thick black line of heavily armoured men blocking our path.
Police officers attempt to quell protest tensions by engaging with the community, in Jefferson Square park
Looking down the lines of demonstrators, you notice the sea of scrunched faces anticipating the sudden pain of projectiles. Other faces are determined. Many more faces stare, eyebrows raised, below them, cloudy eyes welling with tears. We shall be heard.
A local Black Lives Matter organiser leads the march toward the heavily kitted police line
Organisation among this newfound family in the movement takes place seemingly overnight. Supply tents are erected one morning, stocked with water bottles and snacks. Homemade tear gas neutraliser kits are handed out to those who will be holding the line. Supporters of the movement work diligently collecting donated goods to help sustain demonstrators on the frontlines. We wear gas masks, make shields, and prepare for the impending use of force once the sun sets behind the clock tower of City Hall. David McAtee is killed later this evening.
Teenage protesters displays their home made-signs to officers at a blockade at the City Hall
The following days are peaceful. Our demands now include retribution for McAtee, whose passing remains shrouded in mystery. Who will be the next name added to our chants? Through our anger, we also celebrate the life of Breonna Taylor just a few days later on what should have been her 27th birthday. We shout through tears of sorrow mixed with the sweat of long marches. We dance in commemoration of these lives lost. We aim to show a system that no longer serves us that we only need each other. The involuntary sacrifice of Breonna Taylor sparked a movement that will change the world as we know it. It is apparent that we are transforming Jefferson Square Park into a monument for this pivotal moment in world history. We continue to stand for justice, because without it, there can be no peace.”
A protester raises her fist during the nightly demonstration in the Highlands neighbourhood