When History Happens

When history intersects your travel plans, be grateful for your camera. Last fall I took a trip to the UK. When I arrived on Tuesday, September 6, the latest news showed the frail but spry-looking Queen Elizabeth II greeting the new Prime Minister, Liz Truss, earlier in the day. Just two days later, Britain’s longest-serving monarch was dead. I had an opportunity to observe up close as the nation processed events that, while inevitable, still seemed to arrive as a shock. Thank goodness I had my camera!

The Queen’s passing marked more than the death of one of the world’s longest-serving leaders. It brought to a close an era in British history that covered the nation’s transition from the ashes of the Second World War to its rise in the 21^st century as a post-colonial democracy grappling with ethnic, economic, and political tensions. More than just a figurehead, the Queen was a global pop icon, arguably the most recognizable woman in the world. As the nation bade farewell to its most famous citizen, many people mourned, a few celebrated; some sat glued to the TV while others griped about the nonstop coverage – but there was a universal sense of change, an end to familiar tropes and an inflection point in the country’s trajectory into a future that will certainly look different.

Trying to capture the essence of those days photographically presented several challenges. First was balancing the privacy of people to experience grief and other emotions against the desire to record a unique moment in history. Over the course of several days, there were times I would have liked to raise my camera but decided not to. Often I preferred to engage with people before making their photo. In the land of the stiff upper lip many were, uncharacteristically, wearing their hearts on their sleeves and I wanted to be respectful at a sensitive time.

Also, in London as the Queen lay in state and the funeral approached, it became increasingly hard to move around, especially in Westminster, the district that includes key sites such as Buckingham Palace, Parliament, and Westminster Abbey, where the funeral was held. Roads and sidewalks were blocked and there was a massive police presence. At certain times even major Underground stations shut down. Journeys that should have been a block or two became a mile or more of trudging along authorized and strictly enforced detours. One of a photographer’s most valuable capabilities – the freedom to move about at will and try to put myself in the right place at the right time – was seriously diminished, yet I felt it was important to stay close where the main events were happening.

As an alternative, I tried to raise my awareness of my surroundings. What was I seeing, hearing, and feeling? What did I sense about the people and events around me? How could I make photos that would represent how it felt to be at that spot at that unique moment? It’s a worthy task that shifts focus from a purely documentary approach toward what I call subjective documentary, in which I aim to make pictures that communicate both the event itself and also my emotional response to it, very different from journalism’s neutral stance.

I’m no monarchist, but I felt the Queen’s death and the nation’s mourning deeply because only a few months earlier, my mother had passed away. I planned the UK trip hoping to turn the page on that melancholy period; instead, it all came back, amplified up to global scale. But this time I had the opportunity to observe others experiencing those strong feelings and interpret some of the moments photographically. This chance to externalize my emotions and observe them through the mirror of other people actually helped me process my own situation. Although it was necessitated by circumstance, the “subjective documentary” approach turned out to be a stroke of luck.

After several days of buildup, the day of funeral, September 19, 2022, was longest and most intense. There seemed to be battalions of police, from all over the country, on every corner. In Westminster, major roads and Underground stations closed. To cover a distance that would be around two miles on a normal day, I walked more than ten, encountering protestors, patriots, families with children in tow, elderly and disabled, tourists, bemedaled veterans, street artists, souvenir hawkers, and just about every other category of humanity you can imagine.

And yet I, too, felt the emotions of the day and couldn’t completely abandon myself to impersonal street photography. Although I was on the other side of lens, surrounded by strangers, I was somewhere in the limbo land between participant and detached observer. But there was no time for philosophizing: the hours were ticking away. Camera at the ready I plodded on, caught up in the rivers of humanity who jostled for a glimpse of history. At one point the new king’s car sped by. Through a thick window you could see a hand waving vaguely to acknowledge the crowd. In hopes of getting lucky I raised my camera high overhead, but missed the shot. Eventually the Queen was laid to rest at Windsor Castle and restrictions began to ease. As the adrenaline subsided I became aware that I was tired and very hungry. Fortunately an inviting café was nearby. After a good meal I headed back to my hotel for a hot shower. Still processing all that transpired, it was a couple of days before I started looking at my photos.

The next day, as abruptly as life had changed back on September 8, things went back to normal. The city reopened, normal broadcast programming resumed, visiting police returned home, queues dissipated, the melancholy mood seemed to evaporate. The learning for photographers is, don’t procrastinate! When history strikes, one reason it’s important to get out with your camera into the thick of things is because the opportunity won’t last forever. Be flexible: in the face of the unexpected, if your initial plan is stymied, have a look around, stay in the moment, and consider how what you’re seeing, hearing, and feeling can become your subject.

And yes, always bring your camera (along with an extra battery and memory card)! You never know when you’ll have an opportunity to tell a story about a memorable time in history.