An Object on our Streets
Completing an assignment for my Photojournalism course, I took to the streets of Melbourne in order to document the isolation of those experiencing homelessness. This is a recollection of my time sitting with Lisa on Swanston Street.
Having arrived at Flinders Street Station, I removed the Pentax 30mm Film camera from my bag, reeling the canister ready to begin capturing the lives of those who reside on the streets of Melbourne. I had been very specific with the type of camera I chose, along with the ISO and film quality. Each photo needed to depict a stark contrast between those sitting in the shade, in-between the alcoves of convenience stores, and the public passing by.
I spot a woman arched over, holding a sign telling her story, a victim of domestic abuse who has been forced onto the streets and locked out of her home. Her beanie is filled with only a few coins, so I hand her some spare change from my pocket and nervously sit next to her asking if she would like to have a conversation. I'm not a very social person, I enjoy keeping to myself and indulging in hours of time alone. However, I was determined to succeed in my aim to document just a few of the stories present on our streets. I knew my only obstacle would be the initial contact, the ‘Hi, how are you?’ moment when I would have to sit next to a complete stranger and ask if I could take photos of them. She told me her name was Lisa, and without needing to prompt her with another question, she began sharing the story of her life without a home.
Lisa’s partner was abusive. He knocked out a few of her teeth, verbally abused her and put her in the hospital multiple times. She was understandably reluctant to share her path to homelessness but ensured I learnt the impact an abusive relationship can have on the victim’s life. With frozen bank accounts and a home she was no longer welcome to, Lisa had to beg for money from the public and use this to find appropriate accommodation at night. She simply had no other choice.
After giving me a basic run-down of the amount she needed to collect each day, the places she would stay at night and her opinion of the homeless community in Melbourne, we engaged in people watching. Generally you think of an elderly person sitting on their porch watching the cars go past, but watching members of the public walk past you when you’re sitting on the footpath is much more entertaining. Lisa pointed out the ‘wankers’, the teenagers who had clearly been to the Emporium flaunting their Chanel shopping bags, and the rather humorous individuals trying to read her cardboard sign without making eye contact. In reality, this is incredibly depressing and makes a sad statement about our society, but as Lisa said, “sometimes you can do nothing but laugh”.
I wondered to myself if the people who stared as they walked by realised the harm they were doing to the individual they looked down upon. After another thirty minutes of joking and laughing about the characters Lisa had encountered on the streets, she proposed a challenge to me. To ask someone walking past if they had a spare dollar. Having broken down the barrier of nervousness by an hour of laughing, I decided to go for it. Challenge accepted. The first few attempts were ignored. Some people acknowledged my presence on the ground but refused to stop. I tried asking on Lisa’s behalf, but still no success. Then I spotted the perfect member of the public, a student from the High School I had attended. Still in uniform and having recognised me, I went ahead and asked if he could spare a dollar for Lisa. Another failed attempt. I wondered where I went wrong. He was with a group of friends, and admittedly I put him on the spot in an awkward situation. Peer pressure? He said he had no spare change but was that a lie?
With the streets starting to empty and the temperature dropping, our conversation slowed down. Instead of explaining more about the hardship of living on the streets, Lisa was staring into the distance, remaining in silence for the next few minutes. The humour had passed, the laughing had ceased. I looked up at the businessmen and women, the school kids heading home and inspected the passing sweeper car cleaning the pathway. An elderly man went out of his way to step on Lisa’s beanie full of coins. The sweeper made an outline around us, brushing her sign over. Fewer people made eye contact with me, purposely avoiding it. I was an object on the streets. Ignored by those passing, a neglected part of our society, it truly was surreal.
I handed Lisa a few more notes to help her reach the goal needed to stay in a hostel overnight. Having parted ways, I decided to take another route back to Flinders Street. I passed four more homeless men and women. Thousands of people walk past them every day ignoring their existence, refusing to acknowledge that these people need help and are just like any one of us. They are not objects, they are people.
This is just one story from the streets of Melbourne. You can read more stories of those who are homeless in our city here — Homelessofmelbourne.
