A Silent Story

Giving me the liberty to write about whatever is running through my head is dangerous. I promise not to abuse my new and shiny privilege.
I recently read an article in New York Magazine. Anderson Cooper is the author. Being somewhat of a groupie of Anderson Cooper’s, I know his dedication to service and his love for travel. I was immediately enthralled. This brief article talks about the mementos that Anderson Cooper picks up when on the road. He speaks respectfully of his souvenirs. He says that along his path, he picks up items that are of interest to him: a Buddhist pendant from Bangkok, a smooth stone from Somalia. He always ends up losing these items though. Anderson Cooper says that he is okay with losing these items because he recognizes that they never truly belonged to him. Losing an item means that it is not meant to be in his possession anymore— someone else is in need of its healing powers. There is a particular item that Mr. Cooper has failed to loose through the years. While in Rwanda, Anderson Cooper found a picture lying in tall grass on the side of the road. This was 1994 and the genocide was in full swing. The picture was of three women. He explains his thoughts about these intriguing strangers, “Two of the women seem uncomfortable, but the one in the center stares right into the lens. Her expression I find impossible to read…. I don’t know if the women are Hutu or Tutsi. Victims or killers.” The time captured in this picture tells the entire story of the genocide— their faces project pain, their clothes elicit poverty. The three women that Anderson Cooper totes around “…cocooned in the soft leather of my [his] wallet, or sometimes between the pages of a book,” represent a tragedy. I do not know these three women and neither does Anderson Cooper, but looking at the picture in the magazine, I can imagine what they are thinking just through the expressions on their faces. Anderson Cooper picked up this photo because of what it represented. To him, it represented the disappearance of countless victims in this never-ending genocide. He did not want this picture to disappear with the many victims. To me, this picture represents what was not lost in the tragedy. This picture was probably taken by a loved one of loved ones. When I look at pictures, I often forget what a picture really is. These hardy women stood still for a moment in time during a life changing disaster. These are people that are still alive today, hopefully walking around this very moment. They have lives and loves that I do not know or even need to imagine. Although Anderson Cooper has yet to lose this photo, its presence in the center of the article has affected me. I do not need to possess this treasure to feel what he feels. Anderson Cooper realizes that the privilege he has been granted of being able to glance at this photo daily will not last forever, “Someday the picture will probably disappear. Left behind in a hotel room, or on a city street. That is, I suppose, how it should be. After all, the photo does not belong to me; I’m simply holding it until it’s needed somewhere else.” I am glad that he shared this picture with the world because I needed it and I am sure that many others felt the same. I hope that I often think about these women and their ultimate destiny. (595)