Their world…

“Tom’s going back to his world.”

This walk used to scare the shit out of me. Not because of what was happening, but because of the potential of what could happen. If the wrong people come at the wrong time, I’ve lost all control over the situation.

The Eye

Can you see this man’s eye? Did you notice it? Click on it and see what you think, the photo is nothing without it…

Sabes Que?

…Sapoy loves Benny

?

Competitive Sport

Kaly lost a bet.

Young Men

This is (l-r) Dan and Davey, two people from the village where I grew up, people I liked and respected as individuals, and people I saw, and still see, as good and dignified human beings. Both are the younger brothers of school friends and people I spent a lot of time with until about the age of 24. Both were good amateur boxers. Davey now has a family and kids, and as far as I know is successful professionally. He was known as a tough kid, and was regularly knocking people out in street fights; black eyes, smashed teeth, broken noses and broken jaws. As far as I remember there were a few problems with the police, but he managed to stay away from any serious convictions. It certainly wasn’t a unique form of behavior, however out of my circle of friends I remember him as probably one of the best at it. I also remember the first time I had my own nose broken badly in a fight, I was 14. I think, no matter how tough you want to be, inflicted physical damage has a lengthy emotional impact.

When I was about 24 I took a phone call from a close friend who told me Dan was dead. He died after a strong drug and alcohol cocktail, vomiting in his sleep, his brother Kev, my best friend for a time, found him dead in the morning. The funeral was massive there wasn’t enough space in the church, so we stood outside listening to the service on loud speakers. The night of the day of the funeral we partied and I didn’t sleep for almost 48 hours. I don’t know what was driving us, a whole mixture of emotions I guess. Dan’s mum Leslie remembers him every year by lighting tens of Chinese Lanterns, sending them flying over the old mining village in northeast England where we all grew up, and where many friends still live. In the space of 18 months three of my friends, both childhood and university, died from drug and alcohol abuse. Dan, Gary from heroin, and Mark’s heart stopped at the age of 24. In those years there were other deaths, but I didn’t know the people, I’ve also heard of more deaths since I left, but again I didn’t know the people. The deaths are often related to drugs and drink, and occasionally to someone cracking their head hard after a heavy punch. All of these people were male.

Facing the death of a young person for the first time in my life was a very bleak experience, the absolute finality of it was so dark. Yet the behavior that leads to these deaths continues to be practiced and celebrated (and probably has been for much of human history). I haven’t seen the statistics myself but apparently it is the men who drive the numbers for drug and alcohol abuse, violence in all its forms, and in the end suicide also. What pushes men to be so destructive? Is it a biological reaction driven by our ‘Y’ chromosome? Is it our cultural upbringing, and the pressures of proving our masculinity in whatever cultural form it comes in? In Mexico, and especially working class Mexico, I am at times lost in a cultural/linguistic maze, where I just do not know what’s happening. However through this, I see, in the young men I’m photographing, many things I recognise from my own life; aspects of struggling with what it was to be a man in a working class region from the ages of 14-24. If you ask me to say exactly what they are, I may find them difficult to articulate, but I know I recognise them, I saw them and felt them without even looking for them. As I’m in Mexico I’ll relate it to Mexico, but I know it could be reflected worldwide. Mexico seems to suffer acutely from this destructiveness. With a traditionally strong patriarchal culture, strong man politics has dominated the country for almost its entire existence, while strong man violence is now terrorizing large sections of the country. 90% of the people killed in the drug’s violence are male, and around 40% of these are between the ages of 15-29. It’s a very male world, in a very male world.

I came all this way to Mexico, but I’ve found in some ways, I’m just photographing myself.

Anyone can take a picture.

Cars and fun fights, but what do you look like when you’re sitting chatting to your Grandma? Can I come home with you and photograph what you look like there?

Do a photography project and you’ll learn a lot about yourself, what you’re good at and what you’re not so good at, both personally and in terms of the photography.

Why am I always photographing at night? There’s hardly any light, the photos are soft, it sometimes scary, it can be tiring and cold and wet.

These people seem so full of energy, it’s non stop. Imagine what they could do with all this energy.

Stories and stories and stories…

“My father didn’t give a shit about us. I’m 21 now, I met my father for the first time when I was 19.”

“I don’t know why she left me, she just got up and left, she took my baby.”

“I preferred to be on the streets with my friends than with her. Tom, I spent time with other girls.”

“My grandfather touched my mother, you don’t touch my mother. I beat the shit out of him.”

Too much of a cliche?

Kike drives very fast.

“Tom this is your house. Anytime you want to come, we’ll be here.” Don’t take it literally, but it’s a nice gesture. I think in Britain we’d say something along the lines of, “feel free to drop-by anytime”.

“For three or four years we were always fighting with the other gangs around the neighbourhood, it was everyday. When the drug violence started all the fighting between gangs stopped. People don’t want to be on the street corners so much, but also people get married and have children, it calms you down.”

“What would the people prefer, the fighting we had before or the gunfire we have now?”

“How many sobrinos do you have Dante?” “I have three and I have a daughter as well”, I’ve known Dante for 4 months and this was the first time I’d heard he has a daughter. “I see her every now and again, they bring her to the house for 10-20 minutes and then she’s gone.”

Don’t become romantic.

“15 – 20 people that I knew on a first name basis have been killed in this neighborhood over the last two years.” (For me the neighborhood is tiny.)

“If these people didn’t know you, you’d get it.”

However, Dante (67) told me he wants to quit all the substances, go back to school, get an education and become a photographer like me. He said he’d love to travel and meet people in the way that I do. It’s very positive to hear.

The older men have been shaped and hardened in the furnace. They have their ways, and it’s much harder for them to understand and accept difference: like me. Not that I’m trying to change them, but I guess I represent something that is different. The younger men are softer, they’re interested in knowing and learning. They seem to want to grow, they just need the confidence and of course the support to do it.

Everybody says I look about 5 years younger than I actually am. I think that’s probably a very subjective statement. I think I’ve just managed to lead a healthier life, due to place of birth, upbringing, education, available resources and so on… I also think it’s harder to notice my grey hairs with my haircut, and no light also helps.