Photography as a Sacred Duty

Attuning to people, environment, and relationship to capture binational solidarity in the San Rafael Valley

Photographs and story by Kathleen Dreier

At the end of May, I photographed an event near Lochiel, Arizona on the US-Mexico border. A celebration of binational friendship and the San Rafael Valley grasslands, the event was also an expression of opposition to the extension of the border wall proposed by the Trump administration. 

I carpooled with two friends, a videographer and drone operator. We were happy to be a trifecta of media professionals hoping to create a visual memory of the event. We parked under a 100-year-old cottonwood tree along a dirt road running next to the border fence. 

The first thing I noticed were people playing volleyball using the fence as the “net.” I reached instinctively for my cameras. There in the middle of the group game, playing along, was Santa Cruz County Sheriff David Hathaway, in uniform and towering over the half dozen or so others. I held up my camera just as he struck the ball back over the fence. 

This might be the singular best first impression I have ever experienced of a law enforcement officer.  Later, Sheriff Hathaway addressed the crowd—about 150 people in all—on a portable PA system, sharing his family story, a lineage of five generations who have lived cooperatively with all borderlands people. He set the tone for what would be a full day of beautiful, respectful, and humane gestures.

When I photograph my whole body is as much of an instrument as my camera. All of my senses are heightened, and I am in somewhat of an altered state. I take in the periphery. My body becomes a weather vane. 

My previous career as a social worker helps me scan the environment to anticipate what may happen next. I form an intention to do good work that is of service somehow to the people I am photographing. The work becomes moving meditation for me. 

I notice things that seem important. Sheriff Hathaway not wearing a gun. He read a poem in Spanish about peace. He stood quietly next to his wife. I wanted to capture his essence, his kind regard for others, the gentle manner in which he passed the microphone to someone on the other side of the fence, so their words could be heard by everyone. 

On this day, I knew the importance and historical context of what I was documenting and knew I was providing a vital service—to show something of the human, animal, and environmental story of this place. The work, for me, was a sacred duty.

Through a small hole in the bottom of the fence, those on the Mexican side passed endless plates of burritos and tacos, all homemade right there at their campsite. I photographed these exchanges and also stopped to eat. A man played his guitar and sang for a long time. I delighted in the music, dancing and singing along. 

Often when I photograph, I alternate between being an observer and a participant. At one point I put my camera down to play a matching game of hand shapes with a little boy through the fence—we put our fingers together in heart-shapes. Soon, I was photographing that boy as he played catch with an American boy close in age. Later, I gave water to some thirsty pre-teens and then photographed them engaging with another photographer, who was operating a drone to capture the event from above. 

After lunch, we walked together along both sides of the fence carrying cardboard cutouts of grassland bird species, symbolizing our one community regardless of our race, culture and species, underscoring that all living things will be detrimentally and devastatingly affected by the border wall. I moved quickly up and down the hills to capture the “flock.”  When people began to exchange their birds with those carried by their counterparts on the other side, I quickly climbed the fence to document laughter and connection. 

At one point, I watched mothers tear up when others shared words of love and resistance. As a mother myself, I recognized those tears. I have worried about my son, wanting to protect him the same way the mothers I saw through the fence want to protect their children. I photographed a father holding his baby. I photographed a boy balancing high at the top of the fence distributing raspados to his new American friends. Throughout the day, people talked through the fence, played cards, painted murals and hung them from trees, shared food. All of this was beautiful to me.

A photograph is an archive of what happened, of what existed in a moment of time. As I worked, I knew I was capturing what would someday be decimated by machines, fear, and greed.

From my perspective, community has no barriers. I believe we are fuller human beings when we both embrace our diversity and recognize how much more alike we are than different. I use my photography to underscore this perspective. I want viewers to become curious about the people in my images. Curiosity, not judgement, leads to a willingness to learn about others. Community is built one interaction at a time. 

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Kathleen Dreier is a passionate and versatile portrait/event photographer based in Tucson, Arizona. She serves clients from all communities, fostering an inclusive environment where everyone’s unique stories and experiences are celebrated. Honed from a long-time social work career, Kathleen specializes in capturing candid moments, documenting authentic emotions and genuine interactions. View more of her work here.