Real People

While the Internet flows over with clichés and stereotypes, there is something more – and better

Photo by Joel Muniz on Unsplash

Of course, there’s something completely wrong in using a stock photo to illustrate that there are real people behind lots of the stuff you see on a place like Substack.

Because, what is a stock photo? If it’s not made my AI, which is something I try to avoid using, but you never know – AI photos sneak in everywhere, so some of them could be – then, at least, it’s mostly staged. Hence, it’s not real.

But then again. The people in a staged photo are real people, and each of them has a background, a life, and a head full of thoughts about everything in life, just like the writers on Substack.

In that way, it sort of fits: there’s a facade, and that’s what most people see, and then it goes no deeper – until you spend a little time on making it happen.

I have, recently, thought about how I perhaps tended to see people here as an expression – a carefully crafted image of a persona that could become popular and attract likes, views, and comments, and perhaps also paid subscribers.

But when thinking like that, I felt that something was missing in my evaluation of the world. Because, even though the Internet seems to be full of fakes and personas, there are some real people behind or inside. Just like the stock photos.

Maybe I’m a bit afraid of seeing that, though. There is a memory that has been haunting me for many years, making me feel that I want to apologize, but can’t.

It was in Thailand, on a round trip, and we, the bunch of tourists, arrived in a mountain village in a couple of large busses, for a couple of hours invading the private space and authentic life of the villagers, making them museum artifacts or zoo animals for a moment. Their advantage was, as the guide explained it (with other words), that they were a very original people who hadn’t seen much of the modern civilization, but with tourists appearing, they could earn some money that could allow them to do things, buy things, that they otherwise couldn’t. We helped them become modern, wealthier people.

She didn’t say that this was at the cost of their privacy, integrity, and happiness. But as I walked around a bit with my big camera, that I always had around the neck, always ready for that next magnificent shot, whenever a situation appeared, I came away a bit from the rest of the flock. On purpose, because I didn’t want to make photos of tourists, but of something real – something behind that touristic expression, that lineup of “original” personas that had appeared near the group of tourists to dance a bit, and whatever they were doing, and sell souvenirs.

And there, walking between buildings behind the main show, there was a young woman walking with a small child in her arms, talking to it, smiling, and the child was laughing back at her. It was a beautiful moment for the two, and I felt with them, that beauty, that emotional situation – I lifted up my camera, zoomed in, and made a shot. And a fraction of a second later, the woman saw me. She looked hurt, her smile faded, suddenly making her look sad and a bit frightened, and with all right. I had stolen her moment with her child. It was theirs, privately, until I took it.

I didn’t get closer, the two quickly went away and I was left with a feeling of being a stalker, a monster who had, effectively stolen their souls – even though I don’t think they had that kind of primitive ideas about cameras. I think, to be honest, they felt more or less the same as when we, today on the Internet, can’t have anything of our own – it all becomes public, or it all becomes stolen and abused by Big Tech and everybody else. The Internet, and social media, can be seen as a “stalkers’ paradise”, where people can spy on each other all the time. Only, those two didn’t have that much of their own, not a bunch of daily posts in a hectical exchange of information – they had that moment, only.

No wonder why most people try to be anonymous and create a fake persona to represent their wish to share something – stories, quick thoughts, or photos. Or to just feel a connection with other people by sharing memes or jokes, or anything else, that can help create a moment of community. They want to share, but they don’t want to give away their souls to stalkers.

So, that photo, long ago, along with many others during the years, sort of assisted in pushing me into an understanding that getting too close is bad. We don’t have a right to know the deepest feelings of others, no right to take part in their emotions, or their precious moments.

So, on Substack, all the writings were – by me – taken at face value, literally. Whatever facade the writers wanted to present, I accepted as their expression, their artistic persona.

However, that also made me understand that I was probably being seen the same way, and for all of us, it made true, deep, connection to whatever was said, impossible. We could see what was there, and we could react with a “I feel with you”, or similar, but there was still distance.

Now, I am not going to argue that the distance needs to be shortened and we all need to move closer to each other. I think that the above should explain why – we cannot function that way as humans. Privacy means private, shared with a few, selected people only, as we decide to. Not the full openness for everybody in the world to take part.

But still, some of the posts are deeper. And some of the writers and other artists do, obviously, tell about something they want to share, something of a deeper nature.

To see that, it is necessary to read more of their posts, their public biographies, and whatever else they are eager to share, and be careful to see the human in it.

I still don’t want to be that stalker I was when making that village photo, but I want to allow for people to tell their honest story and be understood. I want them to be real humans, not just personas, when that’s what they aim for.

And that has, recently, made me pay more attention to what people write – and also to look at more of their stories, not just those that I accidentally stumbled upon.

What I have discovered, is that the old idea, often said but perhaps not so often truly understood – that everybody carries a burden you don’t know about – is very true.

People have seen things, experienced things, and are perhaps right now struggling with things, that often are much more demanding in many ways, than whatever small problem I may see and want to talk about.

It of course affects the relevance of my small problems in their eyes, and it is not strange if they may not feel able to pay attention to those. But still, many of these amazing people actually do that anyway. They look out to offer their support, a virtual comforting hand on a shoulder, a smile and an expression of their belief in you, and all that becomes so much more impressive when understanding how they themselves could probably need it even more.

I still don’t want to be a stalker, but I want to lift up myself a bit and become a better person who sees the needs of these good people, so that I can give them something back – or forward, whatever is the situation.

Considering the often impersonal and somewhat flimsy nature of the Internet, I could imagine that this will help improving it a bit. My little corner of the world is not significant at all, but so could every grain of sand on the beach say, and yet, they all are significant – not individually, but without each of them, there wouldn’t be a beach. Who knows which grain can be omitted and which not, to still see that same beach. In my perspective, they are all important.

Next to the needs of all these real people, there’s also the aspect of what they can and want to give to the world. Apart from their support, as described, they have stories to tell. Perhaps the stories are also supporting, but they can be anything – expressed by real people, for real reasons, all great reading for the one who tries to see their value.

It is difficult to not feel humble in the company of all those great people, who are also great storytellers, each in their way, and who together shape the world we see – generously opening their minds and offering their stories and their support to others who need it.