Two recently viewed documentaries depicted individuals that caused me an uncomfortable emotional response. One, a young Ethiopian boy living in a shanty without running water or electricity, was intelligent and resourceful, but left me wondering what hopes exist for the realization of his capacities in a country in which the general standard of living is only marginally better. The other, a morbidly obese, economically disadvantaged and drug addicted American man at the end of a life of loss and despair, illustrated that even in a rich country like ours, human capacity does not always flourish.
When I felt the pity for the two subjects and the judgment that quickly followed, I was reminded of a woman—I’ll call her Gloria—that I visited in a nursing home. She was in the end stages of Parkinson’s disease from which she’d suffered for decades. While Gloria’s cognition was eroding, she was obviously highly intelligent, and, unlike many of the other residents in the facility, she had a keen awareness of her surroundings. That caused her a great deal of suffering, even beyond the ravages of her disease.
Gloria was housed with roommates not of her choosing, some of whom spent their days sobbing or screaming. A number of these died mere feet away from her bed. Gloria’s only meaningful social connections were with the patients in the facility for post-surgery rehab—people who could reasonably hope for discharge back to their homes. At the end of one of my visits in which she spoke of losing yet another of these short-term friends, I had tears in my eyes. Observing that, she shouted, “Don’t you dare pity me. That invalidates my existence.”
So, my response to the two documentary films was complex. Yes, I felt pity. Was that compassion, relief, or a judgment that my life is “better”?
Then my thoughts turned to the filmmakers who selected their human subjects. The young boy was apparently recognized as someone whose circumstances made for a good story. The man shown as stunted by poverty and drugs appeared to be deliberately selected to make a point. In both cases the filmmakers went away with a possibly award-winning documentary. I wonder how the interactions between the filmmakers and their respective subjects affected that individual’s self-concept. As someone with an intrusive nature, I would find it difficult to witness and not interfere. I thought, geez, wouldn’t that Ethiopian boy benefit from getting an iPad?
I was questioning the ethics of documentary filmmakers “using” their subjects, then I realized that I just used Gloria to make a point. That’s the advantage of fictional characters.