Graffiti: A Voice for the Voiceless

"With guns, you can kill Terrorists. With Eduction, you can kill Terrorism."

These are the voiceless:

These are their voices:

Ahmed was quick to come and move the spare firewood that blocked the graffiti I wanted to photograph
when he noticed we had come back.

Once cleared, the wall read: We are Helpless, [please] don't ignore us.

Beside the "camerawoman" of this photo stood Ahmed, as he and I discussed the changing history of these very warehouses over the the last few decades, as a mirror of the changing statuses of Serbia as a nation.
Please don't forget about us. 
That isn't just a plea. That's a warning to remember history, otherwise it is doomed to be repeated.

This particular wall was featured in the background of a picture of Ahmed I previously posted, and as focus-point of countless journalists' talking points.

Door: With guns, you can kill Terrorists. With Eduction, you can kill Terrorism. We need Education. No more War.
Wall: In Peace, sons bury their fathers. In War, fathers bury their sons. Once a Refugee, Always a Refugee.

Refugees are not terrorists.

Now, this particular photograph (in my opinion), speaks volumes in terms of the social commentary it can provide about the way people view the refugee crisis:

The blonde woman, a British photojournalist, stands at the forefront, basked in sunlight, with a glistening Italian Alfa Romeo (!!!) automobile behind her. In the background, a man hooded in all black struggles to find a cell phone signal in the wake of a decaying warehouse wall that features what may be the most powerful graffiti there: I am a person too.

At the very basis, it brings Western elitism into the equation. I observed her after capturing this photo, and she never entered the building. I asked Ahmed if she had been here before, and he said it was her third day, but she always travels with other reporters and has never spoken to any of the actual refugees, just photographed them without their consent.

Ahmed heavily stressed that she never asked if it was okay to take anyone's picture, she just did it. Almost as if she "forgot about decency," when photographing some of the young boys washing up outside with fire-warmed water.

When I expressed my distaste of her methods, Ahmed threw me his bullet-proof smile, before thanking me for coming back, remembering him, and, as he put it, "even caring to ask us."

I was stunned that kindness came as a shock. More so, I was concerned at the rarity of compassion.