Courage is what makes us human, in the age of AI.
Bring it on AI; we shall overcome.
ST. LOUIS. On an early summer evening in 2019, I was riding my bike home from the Missouri History Museum when I saw an old man sitting in the middle of Forest Park. He had a chair, a bottle of water and a small set of tools beside him.
In front of him, wood was in the works, and a face was slowly emerging from it. He was a carver.
I stopped, got off the bike and walked over.
“What are you making?” I asked.
“I’m carving faces of my ancestors,” he said. “I want to connect with African American history and my ancestors.”
I looked at the wood, then at him. And it made me realize that many people read about history. He was carving his way there. As if he was chiseling a portal out for himself to look into the past.
He asked about me. I told him I am an immigrant. I am always on the move, and I don’t always know what comes next.
That summer I was living alone in the Central West End, a short ride from Forest Park. Leaving the apartment in the evening took a little bit of courage. But I love biking, so Forest Park became my place. I rode its loops, carrying a camera on the side with a fixed-focus lens. The Missouri History Museum is arguably one of the best American history museums, and it’s free for every resident. A whole day of history for the price of the ride? Hold my… car keys.
So there we were, two strangers, both of us taking a step forward to get out there. In our own ways, we had both decided that day to do something about what we loved, and to learn something in the process.
I found that courageous.
So back in the park, I asked one more question, “Can I take your photo?” He smiled and said yes. He settled back onto his stool, looking at the carved face carefully as he resumed. I clicked a few photos, and one of them is this one, from that day.
I feel like this photo has forever locked in the image of what courage really looks like, in its truest, most human sense.
Looking back at the photograph, I’m not just staring at a man staring at a wooden face. This is a man carving a portal out to his ancestors through art and the meticulous work of his own hands.
And seven years later, as I look at this photo, to me it speaks of one more thing. It’s the difference between knowing about something and doing something about it.
It’s that when you want to change things, you build your way to it, like this risky endeavor I am on. Or carving your way to history, like this man was. Anyone can read about history, but it takes a little extra to cut your way into it. One careful chiseling at a time. I found that so beautiful.
Because it’s when humans decide to do things to fix what we know. It’s when we learn from our past to transform the present, in a way that benefits all of us and all those around us.
We learn from our mistakes so we can teach ourselves not to be frightened by what happened. In fact, I would argue that we often end up deriving moments of happiness and inspiration from our worst fears.
I see my own version of that day, too: leaving the house, stopping my bike, asking a question, starting a conversation. And that’s just one day in the long laundry list of life.
As an immigrant, always questioning myself, and as someone constantly answering the classic “Where are you from?” but never really sure “from where, actually,” every day is a tiny struggle that needs a little bit of my courage. Stepping out of the house and doing something.
“Face the day, or stay in?”
The battle is real, but so is THE COURAGE.
So on behalf of all of Humanity, I have to say, “Bring it on ‘AI and their lords’; we shall overcome.”
couragephotographyst. louisai
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