Green Light

Just like the traffic signal, this sigil of a saying has one purpose:  To let someone know it’s okay to proceed.

When I worked in Hollywood, ‘green light’ was the ultimate phrase anyone anxious to begin a project wanted to hear.  It was final approval.  Few in the industry are allowed the privilege to confirm whether something is green lit or not.  You either had the money to green light a project or you were the spokesperson delivering the message.  No matter where you were in the hierarchy of the industry, you anticipated hearing the phrase, ‘green light’.

Some in my business never want to hear it.  I know I don’t.  In my line of work, it means someone in the hierarchy of the gang structure has given the okay to commit murder.  I recently learned that members of the southern California gangs operating outside of California were given an automatic green light to get shanked.  

A shank is a makeshift stabbing weapon.  Prisoners make shanks out of anything that’ll maintain its shape long enough to be shoved into someone else.  An inmate will use a glass shard to work off a piece of furniture, sink, toilet, or whatever else over a period of weeks, even months.  They’ve been discovered in every hiding place you can possibly imagine, including rectums.  For people who do not read, this craft is one they spend their time perfecting.

I’d been working an OIS (Officer Involved Shooting) in an area just north of Dodger Stadium when I witnessed a sudden shift in the attitude of the officers around me.  Since I was the only civilian, I questioned the nearest person in uniform.  He proceeded to tell me that the Mexican Mafia had just given the green light to kill a police officer.  I was suddenly relieved and comforted by the fact I would not be mistaken for one from any angle or distance.  

Although the order was never carried out, we were forced to wear our bulletproof vests before traveling into that particular area for months after the incident.

Over the years, I’ve learned that everything good can easily be twisted into something bad.  I now know what a simple, innocent catchphrase means in the minds of those hell-bent on wielding power over life and death.  I am, however, keenly aware that I too wield power over my own life; the only one with any real authority to green light a positive attitude. 

Scars

The devil saw mine and left.

I have reached a point where ‘see no evil’ is beyond what I do to get by at work.  I take a long, hard look at it.   In ways hard to describe, I can honestly say the misery people inflict upon each other and towards the innocent is beyond what I have seen on television.

Those who know me understand why I cannot watch television for very long.  Shows like Storage Wars, Pawn Stars, or my favorite, Antique Road Show are complete diversions from what I do and have seen up close and personal.  The simplest line from an onscreen cop or make-believe detective is enough to make me cringe.  I work with the real people behind that thin blue line, not actors spewing canned lines.

A discussion of scars is normal.  On children, scars can be telltale signs of how long they have been abused.  I document them all, fresh and old.  Oftentimes, I have heard the detectives and officers talk about the ones never seen, but which can appear later in life.

I took a walk along the eastern part of Downtown, Los Angeles, taking photographs of anything and everything that most outside observers might not consider.  I call this sort of thing ‘grabbing elements’.  I shot fire hydrants; full framed views, close ups, different angles.  I walked through Little Tokyo, clicking away at any kind of contrast; skid marks across white paint, cracks in the sidewalk, and graffiti in every crevice.

I was about halfway into my lunch hour when it dawned on me that this city is full of scars.  People who cut into trees make deliberate scars.  Skid marks across painted white lines leave accidental scars.  Various graffiti creates scars of expression.

Later that day, as I sat alone in the office, that creepy feeling of being watched came over me.  I felt a bizarre presence.  I wondered if the presence would eventually shuffle off and leave me be, but decided to get up and make things happen.  

Something or someone was going to leave me the hell alone or my active mind was going to have to put a cork in it.  Either way, I sought out the source of the weird noises and what I perceived to be voices.  I looked across the hall and in the direction of the disturbance through a half door that allows me to interact with customers while maintaining some separation. 

My poor mind had to apologize.  Apparently, the ‘whooshing’ noises were from the elevators that were being used by workers on another floor.  During a shift change, their voices would echo throughout the building while they rode up and down along the lifts.   

No matter how I see it, the devil now knows I will get up each and every time to stare him in the face.  I refuse to give in to fear.  Let fear be his problem, his tool.  It will never be mine.

The Dark

Do you ever see darkness fill the light?  No, it never does.  Light, however, fills the darkness, chasing it away like the scared thing that it is.

I bring light with me wherever I go.  I have to bring at least one flashlight since most of my photography is at night and the lights are not always on.  The bright flash from my camera illuminates an entire room to such a degree that it looks like daytime work.

I’ve had things come out in the final print that were not obvious during moments I floundered around, trying to catch my footing; writings or stains on the walls you’re glad you didn’t touch, and something else I’m not allowed to talk about yet.  Let’s just say some things get missed.  I’m glad that particular job didn’t come back to bite me.

Going to sleep after a long day is a big part of the darkness for me.  There are times when I just dither about, looking at cat videos and finding geological stats on things like the Marianas Trench that I’ve long since forgotten.  

Experience has brought about some new fears for me.  I try to tamp them down to plain weariness. Experience is the best survival tool anyone can have.  Unresolved traumatic experiences have the opposite effect.  They rob your life of the ability to truly live.

I received a call to photograph a house that had been tear-gassed in order to remove its occupants. SWAT, our Special Weapons and Tactics team, has an awesome array of less than lethal techniques they use to safely detain distraught people.  They’re really good at it.  It’s one of the things about them that never seems to make the news, but greatly impresses.  

Fresh tear gas is not my idea of fun.  My anxiety attempted to take me over as I came up towards the house.  I reminded it, in not so gentle a fashion, just who was in charge.  Me.  I bring the simple light of documentation to a scene.  I rest on that ideal a lot.

The simple truth is photographs don’t lie.  I fill the void so often created when truth and sincerity are absent.  I carry light.  So can you.