REFUGEES

A house burned down last Saturday. It was a rather run down structure in the hispanic neighborhood of Huntington Station. It housed as many as 40 men, women and children. The few rooms in the place were subdivided with cardboard and blankets for privacy. They were all Salvedorean and most were probably illegals. Three people died. One was a five year old girl.

The fire was long since out when I got there at 8 AM. Firemen were still going through the gutted second floor, hosing down the embers. Fire marshalls and Arson and Homicide detectives from the Suffolk County Police were combing the blackened wreckage. The immediate assumption was arson because survivors spoke of smelling gasoline.

Yesterday, three days later, police arrested and charged one of the young residents of the home with arson. It seems as though he and another young resident had been feuding.

On Saturday morning, I was told to look for a young female reporter who lived nearby and had been dispatched to cover the story. It was several hours after I got there that I finally met up with her. In the meantime, I was busy shooting some of the survivors who hadn’t been taken to hospitals. They were all dazed and frightened and very bewildered. And none of them spoke English. And, I spoke no Spanish. They look at me with fear as I approached them with my camera. I guess the first thought that went through their minds was the fear of the dreaded “Immigracion.” I tried to be as unobtrusive as I could in order to show their plight and when they saw me taking their photos, I would mumble something and hoped that they understood that I was sympathetic to their situation. I would ask their names and when I found that I couldn’t understand what they were saying, I would hand them my notebook and pen and ask them to please write their names for me. This was done, mainly by sign language. I am sure that they felt that they were signing away some basic freedom. And, the truth of the matter, as we all know, is that “Immigracion” can identify them from the photos if they want to take action against them. I can only hope that because of these photos, there will be a groundswell of public support for these hapless people and some one will come to their aid. But, I am a journalist and I document the news. Yeah, right.

However, none of my photos made the paper the next day. I was relieved by another photographer, and he was there when the reporter showed up so my photos didn’t match her story and his did, and that’s the way this ball game is played.

Yesterday, I was called off a Business Page job to rush over to the fleabag motel where the Red Cross had put the refugees up for a few nights. We had gotten a tip that the cops were going to arrest one of the refugees for the arson. They took him away ten minutes before I arrived. We had another photographer at Police HQ, but the cops didn’t want him photographed because they hadn’t actually arrested him yet. He was being detained for questioning. So they snuck him into the building through a back door and we didn’t get him.

Anyway, I met up with the young intern reporter who was of Cuban heritage and spoke Spanish. He told me to hang around because the word was that the Red Cross wasn’t funding the refugees for another night at the motel and they would be evicted. The reporter had been talking with these victims and he said that they hadn’t had a hot meal in three days. He had gone to a nearby bodega and ordered a bunch of hot meals to be brought to their rooms and he was going to charge it to the paper. He asked me what I thought. I told him that as far as I was concerned, it was a very humane thing to do. But, I cautioned him about getting caught up in the story and becoming a part of it. He wanted to drive one of the leaders of the group to try to find some agency to help them. Oh, Man! That’s really wonderful, but now YOU ARE the story and that isn’t the way it’s supposed to work. Buying them food is one thing. I mean, you can’t let people go hungry. Especially kids. And, you can always excuse it as buying lunch for a source since he was getting information from them. And, that’s done all the time. But when you start leading the drive to find relief for the subjects of your story, I think that’s going to excess no matter how high principled you are.

However....I said to him, “Why not give him the phone number of some of the local churches and let them ask, in person, for some assistance?"

The reporter agreed and went off to look up some phone numbers for them to call. He was soon back, saying that the phone service in their rooms had been cut off. Did I think it would be ok to let them use his cell phone?

Oh, shit! Why not?

In the meantime, I asked permission of one of the families to shoot them eating their hot meal. I wasn't going to say where it came from. The family agreed. As I prepared to shoot, I noticed the father sitting on the edge of the bed, with his head down. I started to wait until he began to eat, thinking that he was just too overwhelmed with the situation to eat. Then I realized that he was saying a silent thanks to God for his family’s meal. There was the photo that said it all.

That shot didn’t make the paper, today, either. The cops announced that the guy they were questioning had been charged and late last night, our late photographer got a shot of the kid being taken to a precinct to be held for arraignment. And between the tornados in the mid West and the hostages being greeted by their families, there wasn't much space for a any art from the motel.

Today I went to arraignment court and was able to get the kid’s mother and step father in the halls. Cameras aren’t allowed in the courtrooms in NY State anymore. I didn’t enjoy this assignment. The parents kept turning away from me every time I picked up the camera. They were also victims of their son’s crimes and I didn’t enjoy doing what I had to do. Again, I mumbled something that I hoped would sound sympathetic.

On an upbeat note, though, the Town of Huntington came up with some funds, yesterday, to keep the refugees in the motel for one more night. And people in the community have been pitching in with clothing, food, blankets and cash. I doubt if any of this would have happened if we hadn’t been there with our cameras to show our readers what this tragedy was all about.

Faustino Bonilla, pauses to give a prayer of thanks for the first hot meal that his family has had in three days. At left is his wife, Adoracion. At right is their daughter, Janet, 5. On the bed in the background is Jaime, 7 months. This is in their room at the Deer Park Motor Lodge where they are staying after being burned out of their illegal house along with 36 others.

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