A Lesson in Respectfully Reporting on Tragic Events

Story and Photos by Giles Clasen

I attended a vigil to celebrate the life and mourn the death of Davarie Armstrong on July 14, and per, usual I took my cameras. 

Hundreds of family and friends gathered to remember and mourn Armstrong at South High School. 
The group started gathering near the South High School building then walked in a solemn parade down to the football field, where Armstrong competed as a multisport athlete.

Before the procession could begin, the family asked the photographers present to stay back, give the family its space, and respect their privacy. One woman yelled at the photographers to stay back and marched the photographers away from the family.

This solemn event started with a family member singling out me and another press photographer, yelling at us to back away. 

During the vigil, the family gathered in a circle near the center of the South Football Field. Mourners circled around them. There were no megaphones. There was no sound system. This was an intimate gathering. 

Two photographers with local Denver press outlets had moved to the center of the intimate circle, kneeling and laying on the turf. They pointed their giant cameras and lenses just feet from the family.

Twice, the family stopped the vigil and requested that those in attendance back up to give the family and presenters space. At one point, someone near the center yelled, “Back up! Everyone is moving in closer and closer. The closer you move in, the closer the media is to us, and we don’t want that.”

Before the balloon release, the family asked everyone to spread out across the field leaving the family in the center of the football field to lead a prayer. They again asked the photographers to back away from the family during the time of prayer. I watched as one of the press photographers lingered, snapping photos quickly then retreating. 

I was another 10 to 15 feet behind him.

All of the press photographers present were white men covering a vigil commemorating the life of a young Black man. I imagine our presence as white documentarians prompted emotional responses from family and friends of Armstrong’s that  I can’t and probably won’t ever truly understand.

I want to be clear; I did not again get within 25 or so feet of the family after  that initial request was made early in the vigil. Instead, I stood on the outskirts of the group, trying to use creative compositions to create interesting images in lieu of being in close proximity to the focused events. I held my camera high to shoot over the crowd.

Davarie’s death was a tragedy beyond measure. In the past week, four Black teenagers have been killed by gun violence. It is unacceptable, and we as a community, must find a solution to this problem.

I don’t know the solution. I am not a sociologist or politician. I am in no way an expert on the subject of gun violence and public policy. I won’t pretend to parrot back something an expert said would solve the problem.

I do, however, know how to create imagery and attract attention to an event or issue. I like to believe the work I and thousands of other journalists do can fuel the collective conscience to action.

In college a friend gave me the book “On Photography” by Susan Sontag. It is a deep meditation on the way a photograph can convey reality but also distill reality to a product to be consumed. People in photographs can be powerful symbols, but are also objectified, separated in some ways from their humanity.

I often think of this quote from the book, “To suffer is one thing; another thing is living with the photographed images of suffering, which does not necessarily strengthen conscience and the ability to be compassionate. It can also corrupt them. Once one has seen such images, one has started down the road of seeing more - and more. Images transfix. Images anesthetize.” 

When I walk into a vigil like the one held for Davarie I have an image in my head I am hoping to create. I know what I am looking for before I even arrive. My goal when photographing a vigil is to walk away with something other than a closeup of a crying family member or participant.

For Davarie’s vigil, my plan was to find a puddle where I could shoot the reflection of the group and balloons. A thunderstorm had moved through not long before the vigil began.

I don’t think it is fair in most situations to put another person’s pain on parade.

There are exceptions, of course. I think of the Pulitzer Prize-winning photograph, by Moneta Sleet, Jr., of Coretta Scott King holding her daughter Bernice at Dr. Martin Luther King’s funeral. 

That image showed the strength and suffering tied up in one man’s death. Dr. King’s life had helped ignite a movement for equality. The photo of Coretta Scott King at her husband’s funeral conveyed the sadness of his murder, but also, somehow, communicated that the movement would continue without him.

It was an important photo and needed to be taken.

The rules were also a bit different at King’s funeral. Space had been made for a press pool. Coretta Scott King even insisted on Sleet’s participation, he was the only Black photographer at the event. King made sure he was given an ideal vantage point.

Coretta Scott King was a public figure. She had experience having her image, and her family’s image used to symbolically drive a needed racial change in our country. 

The families who have lost loved ones to unspeakable tragedies are not in the same position Mrs. King was in. These families were thrust into a national dialogue by tragedy. This must shape the way the media covers the Black Lives Matter Movement as well as vigils like Davarie Armstrong’s.

Those who gather at these hallowed events don’t show up to be photographed. They don’t bring flowers, balloons, and tears to become national symbols. 

The photographs and images we create are permanent in a way that photos haven’t been historically. They will be on the internet forever.

Angel Shabazz, Davarie’s mother, didn’t ask to have her pain immortalized by the media. Nor did Sheneen McClain, Elijah McClain’s mother. (Elijah McClain is the Black man killed by the police in Aurora, Colorado in 2019.)

We, as the press, must draw attention to these difficult subjects. We can help drive attention and discussion to issues that must be addressed. 

We also must remember there are a lot of ways to capture an event. We needn’t create images where the focus is on an individual’s pain. 

As a photojournalist, I believe the press can serve a purpose by attending these events to honor the victims of violence and presenting accurate information to generate awareness of innocent lives that have been lost.

However, when those leading an event ask the media to back away from the family, or ask that we let the family mourn in peace, we must find the appropriate way to do our job, create arresting images and respect a family’s right to privacy.

I want to apologize to Armstrong’s family if I caused any pain. I followed your directions and tried to be as sensitive as possible throughout the event. 

Based on how many people gathered to honor Davarie, it is obvious he was dearly loved. The loss of Davarie means a life of grief for those who loved him, and now the world will never see everything he would have accomplished.

Members of the media can help end these types of deaths by talking about them. We must also respect those whose lives are affected by these tragedies, and, if we are doing our jobs properly, we can help create a world where Black men and women no longer lose their lives because of racial inequality or senseless violence.