[Reverse scrub] Demonstration at the National Mall
US Capitol Building and the Ulysses S Grant Memorial, Washington D.C.
Traveling back in time here (liminality doesn’t really care about the linear progression of time after all), and channeling my inner Sophia Petrillo, picture this…The day was extremely hot. I grew up here, I should have known better, but I am no longer acclimated to the mid-July heat of northern Virginia. In spite of COVID, the National Mall always seems to have something going on, even if it is just people walking around the monuments (and the finest of all of the monuments in this guy’s opinion is the F.D.R. Monument, but that is just because of a personal family connection to the CCC projects). America’s front lawn is a place of recreation and demonstration, tourists, fast walkers, Washingtonians who get annoyed with out-of-towners who stand on the left side of the escalator. The city is the heartbeat of U.S. Government, and many people derive an over developed sense of self-importance as a result. However, it is beautiful.
I took the orange line from Court House on the Arlington side of the river to Smithsonian, the station that is at the approximate half way point on the Mall. The Metro was stuffy and warm as usual, and only half full of people who have become accustomed to refraining from eye contact, or conversation masked with indifference. Arriving at my station, I climbed the escalator, dodging the tourists who were “escalumps” on the left side, and stepped out into the July heat. It was brutal. With my Rollei 2.8e and Zorki-4 bouncing on my hip, I swiftly walked past small groups of people who were sitting in the shade. I had made it a point to visit the Capitol Building first. The scene was nothing like the chaos I watched while at work on January 6th. It was serene and stately, with people relaxing on the lawn and people climbing the steps to the building. Peaceful as it should be. It’s the Peoples’ House. The fences were gone as well the presence of the the National Guard and those who were tasked with keeping the building and those who work within it safe. The only sign of the conflict from that frigid day were a few boarded up windows. She may have been scarred, but proof that as long as our Democracy stands, so shall she. I took a couple of photographs of the building, trying my best to capture it’s immensity, and came across a beautiful ornate public drinking fountain that I had never seen before. A couple more photos, and made my way back west toward the Washington Monument.
As I started to walk back through the National Mall, reflecting on the right to peacefully dissent and protest, fundamental to the First Amendment of our Constitution, I came upon a large throng of people who began to gather close to the Smithsonian “Castle”. Officially known as the Smithsonian Institution Building, it is the immense red brick structure that houses the administration offices and the remains of James Smithson for whom the institution is named. Hundreds of people, almost all of whom were of Chinese descent were gathered, forming perfectly regimented lines and spreading out bright yellow or white banners in a combination of Chinese characters and English with the word “Falun Gong” and “Falun Dafa” on them. Some of the banners were spread on the grass while others were held aloft on long poles, their banner men stretching them tight in the sweltering breeze like the hot breath of a panting dog while a man on a bullhorn was directing anyone who was wearing a bright yellow shirt to line up beneath them. I had no idea what Falun Gong was, but it was clear that a demonstration was about to take place. I chose to try and fade into the background, perhaps futilely since I was clearly not a part of the demographic participating in the event. Regardless, a story was about to unfold, and I didn’t want to miss it.
I do not find it easy photographing people, mostly out of fear that someone is going to get upset that I took their photo. While it is good practice to ask first, I find that the photo becomes a portrait rather than journalistic. If I am shooting digitally and asked to delete the photo, obviously I will even though there is nothing that requires me to do so as the person is in a public space. However, shooting film is an entirely different matter since you can’t just delete and I do not want to risk my camera. My rangefinder Zorki-4 is an old Soviet copy of a Leica II, plentiful, and nowhere near as expensive. It was paired with a 50mm Jupiter-8 lens which is sharp, accurate and fast to focus. The entire kit was put together for just under $200 and worth the risk of potential damage. I took my first few tentative steps in line with onlookers, unsure whether or not I was sweating from the intensifying heat of the day or fear that someone would confront me. Realizing that I was for the most part ignored, except with only a few people greeting me with wide grins and friendly nods, I took a few meter readings and began to shoot. The Zorki’s shutter curtain has an authoritative click as the spring from the winding mechanism releases. It is loud. No one noticed. This was a new and exciting thing for me as I slipped in and out of the back of the lines of demonstrators, close enough to smell their sweat in the baking sun. I have wanted to photograph demonstrations in the past, but frankly I don’t fancy getting CS gassed or tased. But this was peaceful. I became lost in the moment, and before I was aware, I had completed the roll of Ilford FP4+ that I had loaded, something that I usually struggle with doing in a reasonable amount of time. My time with photographing the demonstration had come to an end, right before they were to begin their forward march.
I do not know enough about what Falun Dafa is to have an opinion, however it was clear that it mattered to these demonstrators to be seen and recognized, as the people who marched on the building at the eastern terminus of the National Mall probably felt. The difference here is how they went about it. That I do know enough about. As I slipped out from formation, I was stopped by a couple women who handed me brochures about Falun Gong and the purpose of the demonstration. At that moment, I realized that I would need to be careful about how I present the images and what I say on social media to make it clear that I am neutral, but telling the story is just as important.