I rarely post my work among the poor for some reason. Probably because I don’t want to come across as exploitative. Its a common conflict that many photographers have when documenting poverty — there are so many heart grabbing shots that could easily garner the wrong kind of attention. But I think the benefit of raising awareness of the less fortunate and bringing to light the systemic evil in society is a cause that needs to be accepted — and examined through the lens. Governments around the world are killing of their own people through the shameless greed and corruption which robs the poor of any chance at escaping their situations.
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I had pondered if I should just let the pictures stand alone to tell the story of my friend here. Allow me to add a few words for context. I have been saying hello to Ray for several years on my usual walk from our office to the mall. He’s almost always there, unless its raining or past dark. It takes him about 20 minutes to get from his house to his position on the elevated walkover that spans over the busiest highway in the country. Using his hands he catapults himself forward over the grimy sidewalk, managing about a foot at a time. He tries to avoid the spit, the urine trails, and countless other forms of filth that are soaked into the streets of Manila. He carries nothing with him for the days work but the rubber tire he has fashioned to cover his lower torso has a small fold where he can slide in the coins he receives. He doesn’t eat nor drink for the whole day, no doubt in part for obvious problems with finding a restroom that can accommodate him. Though I wish to suggest he could go into the nearby mall for water and use the toilet, I know (and Ray does too) the guard would never allow him past the front door.

Ray’s voice is timid and I struggle to understand him over the rumble of two train lines that intersect overhead, the eight lanes of cars and buses passing underneath, and the thousands of people that pass him each day. He is a man of few words who I imagine doesn’t have many lengthy conversations with people on the street. Nor do I gather he has many friends in the home he shares. Ray doesn’t know his parents and I speculate that his mom may have attempted to abort him and thus left him deformed — an unfortunate but common result of the underground abortion medicines that are often ineffective to do the job. When Ray was born without legs, he was quickly abandoned.

As I photographed him yesterday afternoon I noticed that a few would-be givers had shied away when they saw my camera. I quickly stopped shooting so as to not cause any missed opportunities, but I think there were a couple that I spooked away. I felt bad for that and quickly moved further away, while watching for a reaction of possible disappointment. There was none whatsoever. I realized that over the years of my brief conversations with him there was never a word of frustration, anger or any other mention of bitterness towards life. I wonder how a man like Ray could have such an attitude of quiet peace with the cards his was dealt. I have much more to learn from my friend and I suspect the world does too.

This images are obviously in great contrast to the wedding pictures that I take. It feels uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Well my point is create a certain uncomfortable juxtaposition here. How does it stir your heart?