The View from Here

ABOVE: Patients and doctors. Andy Olsen photos

Port-au-Prince, Haiti

The vast majority of us usually view human catastrophes of this magnitude through a television screen, myself included. Even as a photographer, this is the first time I've seen anything like this from the inside looking out.

Our hotel is swarming with media, busy people scurrying about with expensive equipment, private security guards (in some cases), cigarettes on their lips, and thick European accents. I don't mean to perpetuate stereotypes, but that is what I see. Journalists and TV crews are sleeping anywhere they can find a clear spot: Conference rooms, truck beds, and pool chairs (I spent a night on one myself earlier this week). Laptops and video equipment glow all evening, and Anderson Cooper's ever-present voice on CNN is both comforting and good for a laugh.

I've watched them do some great journalism, and I've also watched them do some pretty lame journalism. I've observed the power to transform: How one gunshot in an otherwise calm city (for Haiti) appears on the front page of every news outlet in the world and, suddenly, Port-au-Prince is transformed into a dangerous and gun-ridden ghetto in the public eye (I have seen no one here with guns so far except for police, soldiers, and private security guards, though I'm sure they're out there).

I've also watched UN helicopters drop food into masses of people which, as one would expect, caused something resembling riots. Those who have done relief work in Haiti for years and who are truly thoughtful and successful in their approaches know there are better ways to organize food distribution. I am beginning to understand how a poor plan can turn people upon each other and, when captured on camera, the ensuing chaos can shape the entire world's opinion of a nationality.

I also watched some great relief work done today by missionaries in Port-au-Prince, people I do not know but for whom I developed a great respect after spending a few hours with them. Their relief efforts -- medical care and food distribution -- were small-scale, to be sure. But they were well done and done with much love. While I appreciate the bravado and eagerness I've seen among the "big guys" like international rescue teams and military personnel, I find something almost more comforting in the quieter efforts of the Christian groups and grass-roots organizations here. Long after all the big planes fly away, I know the little guys will still be here, working quietly as they always have.

I really enjoyed shooting today (as much as anyone can enjoy Port-au-Prince right now), though I am exhausted. This city has moved past the destruction-and-dead-bodies chapter and is getting on with the real work of relief and healing. There is a real sense that we are no longer just gawking at a train wreck, but we are beginning to pick up the pieces.

But oh, how far there is still to go.

It is only beginning to dawn on people here what a historic moment this is. It will shift the balance of power in unknown ways here. It will ensure Haiti remains at the very bottom rung of the global economic ladder for decades to come. It will reshape the Haitian identity in profound ways. And it will surely alter the course of the future for an entire generation, shattering dreams before they were even dreamed.

But not too many folks are thinking about that at the moment. Right now, there is only one dream here: Stay alive and find a doctor, food, and something to drink. Then find somewhere to sleep and do it all again tomorrow.

I plan to return to Northwest Haiti tomorrow with a team of people, for there is more to be done there.