So why can’t a shooter get any love?

PHOTO by SUSAN SABO

While shooting at the Port of Long Beach recently, I wasn’t concerned when a big black SUV belonging to the Long Beach Police Department pulled me over, lights flashing. Mr. Susan, however, was freaking out. Relax, I told him, we’re not doing anything wrong.

Questions, answers, more questions, same answers, louder questions, deer in headlights looks, loud pointed questions, stammering, turning over of driver’s licenses, noting of identifying marks, choices of doing this the “easy” way or the “hard” way, more stammering, and then the whopper:

“One picture of yours can cause the U.S. economy billions of dollars in damage.”

Looking at my modest digital SLR and kit lens, I thought to myself, “Gee, am I really that good?”

The fact is, we weren’t doing anything wrong. We were on a public street, taking pictures. The LBPD told me that I was breaking the law—that a permit was required to take pictures at the harbor (something the Harbormaster Security Patrol later denied, vehemently in fact, and suggested I complain to the LBPD about the officers who stopped me).

But why let facts get in the way of the keeping us safe “in these days”?

When The District recently sent me on assignment to photograph the architecture at area elementary and middle schools, I knew in the back of my mind what kind of trouble I could encounter. (I’ve already been conditioned to know when to shoot what. Basically, I already censor myself. Yeah, I’m a coward. I’m a married, 47-year-old woman with a grown kid and three dogs and a mortgage and I don’t want to spend the night in jail and a chunk of my savings on an attorney just to prove the point that hell yeah I have the right to take pictures.)

So I wasn’t even fazed when I was accosted by a woman with a walkie-talkie while taking pictures of an elementary school exterior from the sidewalk.

“Stop! You have no right to take pictures of this building.”

“Yes, I do,” I replied. “I am on a public sidewalk. I am perfectly within my rights.”

“No, you need permission of the school.” She whipped out that walkie-talkie and, very official-sounding, shouted, “We got a woman out here taking pictures.”

Hell, with all that, I was even scared.

About 10 seconds later, the principal came outside and asked me if there was a problem. Yeah, I told her, the woman with the walkie-talkie is giving me grief for taking pictures. When I explained what I was shooting for, the principal told me that when that usually happens, someone contacts them for permission.

Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t get that bullshit memo.

“I’m sure you understand,” she said, “in these days.”

I have dozens of stories like these, and they all end in, “well, in these days.”

Oh yes, the days of extreme paranoia and the constant threat of rainbow alerts that keep us tattling on our neighbors and hassling residents who are minding their own business, and, might I add, trying to make a living here?

I have been chased down the street, threatened with bodily harm, threatened to have my camera broken, had the cops called on me, had my license plate written down—all by regular people!—just while trying to take a few pictures around Long Beach.

Just the other day, I saw a fabulous fire station that I wanted to shoot. It was gorgeously retro and spotless, exactly the kind of thing Long Beach residents love about Long Beach.

But when I went to the door to tell the captain I was going to be taking pictures, he wasn’t thrilled. “I don’t like people taking pictures of my fire station,” he said.

Um, yeah, I’m still trying to get my head around that one.

Might it occur to one of these Einsteins that pictures of the city could actually be good for tourism? Or might attract new residents to the city? Or foster a close sense of community within the people who already live here? Or just make people feel good?

I love Long Beach. I love her like I once loved a man who dressed nicely and spoke kindly and had nice breath but then in an unguarded moment referred to the Hispanic waiter as “Paco,” which reminded me to never marry him.

I want to marry you, Long Beach. I want to commit. But first you’re going to have to get over yourself.

Susan Sabo is a freelance photographer and regular contributor to The District. You can view her photos online at susansabophotography.com. A list of photographer’s rights is available at kantor.com/blog/2005/12/legal_rights_of_photographers.shtml

Tags: photography, Port of Long Beach, security