The Girl at the Mosque

I got a call from a colleague about a potential protest at a Phoenix mosque. We loaded our gear and headed in that direction.

When we arrived, the mosque was staffed with Phoenix PD in riot gear. Lines were drawn. People were passionately stating their positions — and by passionately, I mean there was a lot of anger. A lot of screaming. Signs. Custom-printed message apparel. The whole theater of outrage.

As a photographer, my views on the subject had no bearing, no influence, and no preferential positioning. I was there to capture what was happening. And what was happening was layered — everything from revolutionists in military gear to religious fanatics ranging from street preachers to hippies singing hymns. Several sides, all gathered to make a statement.

There was a Muslim presence, but it was calculated. People on the mosque side, yes — but no one acting like or promoting any extremist views. Just people standing on their own ground.

Let me be clear: I am not in favor of any terrorist logic, methodology, or belief. I'm an American. I proudly support our constitutional values. I'm also a father, a husband, and a human. All of those things were with me that day.

‍

I captured about 300 usable images from the event. The timing and intensity didn't allow me to focus on each shot as it happened — it was more like notice, point, shoot. Notice, point, shoot. Instinct over composition.

It wasn't until I got back to the studio and started processing the images that one spoke to my heart.

One image. A child's face.

No matter who you are or where you come from, a child's perspective is something we should always receive with full compassion. This one moved me. Deeply. Her expression told a story that none of the adults screaming on either side could articulate.

‍

I ordered a print and took it to the mosque.

Maybe I shouldn't have. My intentions weren't to fuel hatred or justify anger toward anyone. It was to show the leader that as an American, I valued this little one's perspective.

When I arrived, there was hesitation. I asked to speak to whoever ran the place and was met with very cautious engagement. Understandably. It just so happened that the Imam was within earshot. When he approached me, I told him the truth — I was at the rally, I'm a photographer, and I'm not a Muslim. I told him that this photo of this little girl showed me the reality of what events like this produce when hatred takes the stage, and that her expression moved my soul.

I handed him the print.

Without a word, he pulled me in close and gave me a heartfelt, lengthy, and genuine hug.

We parted with smiles and gratitude.

As usual — this is just me sharing with you how I see the world.

‍