A trip to the jungle and reflections on photography ethics

Last weekend Sinead and I took a trip to the Selva Lacandona. Instead of going with a tour group to the major ruins, we opted for a small (read: 200 people) town that I had heard about in the presentation by a nine-year-old at Pequeño Sol. Nahá.
It was definitely a different experience than a tour group.

While we were in Nahá, the government was working on the dirt road. An endless parade of big trucks carted in gravel along with clouds of dust and noise pollution.
Sinead and I worried about the deforestation and cultural implications that would arise if they ever decide to pave the road that leads to the town.

BUGS!

A familiar site. The cicadas were extremely loud!
Our guide said that some people roast and eat them.

Thousands of the biggest grasshoppers I've ever seen. These, our guide says, you cannot eat. 

An anthill of a serious size.

A Lacandon god in a ceremonial space. In building the highway, they almost passed right through this area. As it is, the road is only a few meters away, and our guide said some construction workers have come in and broken these figures. His father was a major figure in the Lacandon spiritual tradition, and he lived to be 120 years old. Now, our guide said, the young people have little interest in learning how to perform ceremonies.

The town of Metzabok (150 people) is about 15 miles from Nahá, but public transportation
is uncertain, so we paid one of the few people in town with a car to take us there for the afternoon.

Time for a swim!

Ceremonial cave. Can you spot the human skull?

Steep hike to a look-out point. Well worth it!

A few pictures I chose not to post include some of the guide who took us on our canoe tour in Metzabok and his son. Like most Lacandon men, they had long hair and long tunics. The pictures are nice. Charming. But they also make me a little uncomfortable. I took them either from behind or far away, and I didn´t ask permission. "They just happen to be in the picture," I say, but I know that I wanted them in the picture to add to the ambiance. Except that they are people, not ambiance.

In the highlands of Chiapas, many indigenous people vehemently (even violently, I´ve heard) protect their right not to be photographed. For them, photographs can steal their souls. I think the policy is a good reminder in general of the questionable ethics of photographing people. A toddler with lopsided pigtails and a too-big colorful tunic is adorable, and the many colors of the local indigenous clothing is certainly part of the beauty of the region. But if I were that child´s mother, I wouldn´t want a stranger taking her picture.

The kids at the schools where I visit are similarly adorable. At the start of the school day they line up with their uniforms neatly tucked in and reach up with tiny hands to give you a kiss on the cheek as a greeting. But in the US, there are strict rules about taking pictures of children in schools, especially for use on the internet. Why should US children have more protection from internet creepers than Mexican kids?

I have felt similar discomfort when recording for my inquiry project. At Pequeño Sol, parents and grandparents come to support their child for her/his "conferencia." I know that I should ask the family´s permission to record the presentation, but I feel nervous and uncomfortable. Maybe this says something, though. Ultimately, my belief is that you should always ask permission. And if you aren´t comfortable asking permission, maybe that says you shouldn´t be doing it in the first place.

***Note: If you are a person who does not have regular exposure to the cuteness of children, I suggest you visit a local second grade classroom. They may not be the creative bunch that I see every Wednesday at Pequeño Sol or the line of uniformed darlings waiting to kiss your cheek in the morning, but there is something fantastically charming about second graders. And I bet the teacher would love to have your help for the day!