A Lesson in Power & Payback
As a photojournalist, I’ve had my fair share of encounters with the police. Some amusing, some frustrating, but all educational in their own way. One such experience, however, had a delicious twist of retribution—served not by me, but by fate itself.
It all began one evening on Willingdon Island, near ATS Premium Bar. I had just wrapped up work and, admittedly, had a drink. As I was making my way home on my bike, a police jeep flagged me down. The officer asked if I had been drinking. Knowing better than to lie, I admitted it. That honesty cost me—I was fined for driving after consuming alcohol, and my bike was impounded at the island police station. They were kind enough to let me take an auto home and asked me to return the next day to pay the fine and complete the documentation.
When I arrived at the station the next morning, I was greeted by a familiar face. The officer on duty was someone I had seen numerous times at press conferences—one of those self-important men in uniform who loved basking in the glory of their ‘heroic’ criminal catches. As journalists, we had dutifully clicked away and published their tales of bravado. But today, the roles were reversed. I was the one under their authority.
After handing in my paperwork, I instinctively took a seat in the visitor’s chair, expecting a routine process. That’s when the officer turned to me with a smirk and said, “You may be known to me, but now you are an offender. You have no privileges here.” The words stung, not because they weren’t technically true, but because they carried an unmistakable tone of intimidation and an air of unnecessary superiority. I could sense the pleasure he took in putting me in my place, as if he had been waiting for this moment. I let it slide. After all, there was no point arguing with authority.
But fate has a way of settling scores.
A few weeks later, I was on assignment in front of the Taluk Office, where a scuffle had broken out between the police and student union members. As always, my camera was ready, capturing the raw, unfiltered moments of the chaos. And there it was—the perfect shot. Through the mayhem, I caught an unknown fist landing a well-aimed punch right between the helmet and face of none other than the very officer who had ‘put me in my place’ that day at the station. The irony was exquisite.
The next day, as the photograph made its way around the newsroom and likely through police circles, I could only imagine his embarrassment. He, who had once taken pleasure in making me feel small, now had to endure the sniggers of his own colleagues. Retribution, indeed.
The lesson? Power dynamics shift when you least expect them. And as a journalist, your camera will always be the ultimate equalizer.