CHAPTER 8

The ethics of photojournalism

I felt completely terrorized by the blasted lens. It was a helluva struggle. Finally, I decided ‘Damn it, you’re not going to do this to me, lady. I’m not going to be photographed like one of your grotesque freaks!’ So I stiffened my face like a mask. Diane went right on merrily photographing – clickclickclickclick – cajoling me, teasing me, flattering me. This frail rose petal creature kept at me like a laser beam, clickclickclick. She’d jump off the bed periodically to load the camera. Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief, she’d be on top of me again! It was a battle between us. Who won? It was a draw. After that afternoon I never saw her again. I never saw the photographs either.

(Germaine Greer ...

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