The life of Kevin Carter (1961-1994), South African photojournalist. He covered in the 80’s the daily violence of the apartheid regime. Later, he went on to capture the brutal gang battles in South African townships near Johannesburg.
What he saw affected him greater than other journalists assigned to cover the inhumanity of human condition throughout the world’s misery and oppression. He would cry, drink and do drugs seeking oblivion.
In 1993, he photographed a little Sudanese girl collapsing in the way to a feeding centre, her tiny body curving over a dry, sandy ground. A vulture watches nearby.
“Seeking relief from the sight of masses of people starving to death, he wandered into the open bush. He heard a soft, high-pitched whimpering and saw a tiny girl trying to make her way to the feeding center. As he crouched to photograph her, a vulture landed in view. Careful not to disturb the bird, he positioned himself for the best possible image. He would later say he waited about 20 minutes, hoping the vulture would spread its wings. It did not, and after he took his photographs, he chased the bird away and watched as the little girl resumed her struggle. Afterward he sat under a tree, lit a cigarette, talked to God and cried.” (Scott McLeod, Time, Sept 12 1994).
Photojournalists have to think visually, shoot, work. Inside, it burns. Later, it’s time for mental misery and a soul in pain. Capturing death and human misery leaves deep scars, both mental and physical.
Observing the “homo homini lupus”, but not acting.
"The man adjusting his lens to take just the right frame of her suffering," said the St. Petersburg (Florida) Times, "might just as well be a predator, another vulture on the scene."
His photo of the Sudanese girl made him and the whole world cry, earned him a Pulitzer Prize and harsh criticism, too. He waited about 20 minutes to capture the perfect moment, watching a human collapse of starvation stalked by a well-fed vulture. First he acted as a photojournalist, then as a concerned individual. One chooses to most difficult job in the world not to feel good personally, but to make the world know.
Witnessing the horrors of human condition and having to live with it takes a toll.
"I sat under a tree and cried and chain-smoked. I couldn't distance myself from the horror of what I saw."
He went to New York to receive the Pulitzer Prize. Manhattan was a haven for him, he called her “my town”. Back to South Africa, depressed, worrying about money and haunted by what he saw, Kevin Carter gassed himself in his truck to carbon monoxide.
"I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings & corpses & anger & pain . . . of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen."
