mariannet's story

When the news about the suicide of 12-year-old Mariannet Amper first broke out, it seemed to be an open-and-shut case. After all, she came from a poor family; that's why she took her own life. She lived with her parents and brother in a tiny house without electricity and water. Her parents took odd jobs: Magdalena earned Php50 (less than $1.25) a day working part-time in a factory and washed other people's clothes on the side, while Isabelo did construction work. So poor were they that other kids in their community in Davao reportedly would not even play with her and her brother.

If not for Mariannet's diary -- a class project -- and an unsent letter to the television program "Wish Ko Lang" (How I Wish), the world would probably never have known what life was like for this little girl. Her dreams were simple -- jobs for her parents and an education for herself. Yet, for want of transportation money, she was unable to go to school; nor did she have a bag and shoes to use. 

So on 2 November -- All Souls' Day -- Mariannet took some nylon rope and hanged herself. End of story. End of life.

Or so everyone thought. Yesterday, the newspapers reported that Mariannet had been raped. And this most likely contributed in a big way to her taking her own life. 

But suicide is never a simple case. Especially if it is committed by a 12-year-old, whose life at that age is really just beginning. After all the finger pointing, the preaching, and the hype Mariannet's suicide has generated, how will the media now report the case? Poverty is not uncommon  in this country. Nor is it something you can hide. You can see it wherever you go. What about the sexual molestation of young -- and poor -- girls, often by people they know and trust? It's not uncommon either. The only difference is that the latter is a more delicate issue. It speaks of a deeper malaise. No one wants to talk about it. 

Mariannet's story has become darker, more sinister, yet no less common -- that of innocence lost and hopes dashed. How many Mariannets are out there, still hoping for a better life? Will their stories even be told?

the princess and the paparazzi

The Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary defines paparazzo as "a freelance photographer who aggressively pursues celebrities for the purpose of taking candid photographs." The term came into use after the 1959 film La dolce vita, by Federico Fellini, featured such a photographer whose name was Paparazzo.

The paparazzi -- plural form of "paparazzo" -- feed on the public's insatiable appetite for delving into the private lives of movie and television stars, politicians, and in Europe, royalty. The lens of the paparazzi's cameras function much as the lens of the microscope does: examining, enlarging, and exposing details of these celebrities' lives in the name of sensationalism and tabloid journalism. And for a quick but hefty buck; photos of public figures and celebrities, especially "exclusive" ones, sell.

The truth is, photos can tell a story much more eloquently and dramatically than words can. They have greater impact, according to the rawness of emotion captured through the lens. The paparazzi know this. But their purpose is different. Impact, in the case of the paparazzi, is measured in the fleeting and secret moments in the lives of celebrities, snapped while hiding in the bushes after hours of waiting in the dark, or while chasing the subject down a busy street. It is in what they are able to capture, and when: exclusive photos of this politician dating that actress, the first photos of the pregnant princess, the last photos of the celebrity couple together. And it is in how human or ordinary the stars are seen in the photos: they dine, shop, marry, divorce, make mistakes -- and yes, suffer fatal accidents, as mere mortals do.

Because of their methods -- not to mention the resulting photos -- the paparazzi have had run-ins with the celebrities they cover. The most famous controversy involving the paparazzi was 10 years ago, after a vehicular accident killed Princess Diana, Dodi Al Fayed, and their driver, Henri Paul. With the inquest into their deaths having already started at London's High Court, the paparazzi and their practices are once again thrust into public scrutiny.

According to a news report on BBC yesterday, a paparazzo named Romuald Rat called one of the British papers from the site of the accident. He was offering exclusive photos of Princess Diana -- taken as she lay dying -- for GBP300,000 (roughly USD600,000). The inquest also repeated witness accounts of the paparazzi at the scene, taking photos of the princess just seconds after the crash, instead of helping her and the other passengers in the car.

There is something so glaringly wrong with the picture of the crash site painted by these accounts. After all, in real life, one could only hope that anyone arriving at the scene of an accident would call for help or otherwise provide assistance to the injured. The fact that the paparazzi did not -- according to the statements of witnesses -- and even sought to capitalize on the accident, as in the case of Mr. Rat, speaks volumes about the ethics (or lack thereof) of that profession.

The evidence raises important ethical questions. How far will the paparazzi -- and all media practitioners, for that matter -- go to get the story? Would they break rules of conduct, overstep boundaries of human decency? Would the job take precedence over morality? 

Were the paparazzi directly responsible for the car crash, and ultimately for the death of Princess Diana and her companions? Should they be held accountable for it? These questions may very well be not just for the paparazzi, but for the tabloid editors, publishers, and readers whose demand for such photos necessitated the supply.