Love Thy Neighbor ~ photography series by ALICE TEEPLE

New York City-based photographer, multidisciplinary artist, and writer Alice Teeple presents a series of street documentary photographs taken mostly between 2015 - 2019 in New York.

This series, Love Thy Neighbor, presents an unblinking view of the dire circumstances of the thousands of homeless human beings who exist on the streets of the city every day and whose plight is generally tuned out by most passersby.

In this accompanying essay, Teeple writes about her own struggles with money and homelessness, along with the difficulties she has had getting these photographs professionally shown in galleries due to the rawness of their subject matter.

Thoughts on Love Thy Neighbor - by Alice Teeple

During the last Gilded Age, photographers Lewis Hine and Jacob Riis visited tenements and urban streets to bring public attention to the dire conditions in which people were existing. Likewise, writer Upton Sinclair visited slaughterhouses and factories to relay the horrors of pure, unregulated capitalism during the so-called “Progressive Era.”

With my predecessors in mind, my documentary photography examines the dire poverty that has doggedly plagued New York City in modern times. As always, an aggressive political climate fans the flames of selfishness, greed, and inhumanity. The collateral damage is increasingly evident as class wars, the opioid crisis, and violence skyrocket in major cities. Mayor Eric Adams’ attempts to “clean up” the city is a cruel, shortsighted reaction to a deeply systemic failure. In short, this maelstrom of late capitalism cannot be solved with halfhearted shelters and free cheese sandwiches on the subway. 

For those who do not see it on a daily basis, even the concept of abject poverty in the United States is too horrifying, to the point of dissociation. For those who witness it on a daily basis, there is willful ignorance, dismissal, and pity. It is too easy to deny our collective shame as those on the streets suffer the gravest injustice of life. 

In January 2020, New York City reported an estimated 91,271 citizens living on the streets, in shelters, or temporary housing.  The Coalition For The Homeless cites the following as the immediate causes:

•    Eviction

• Overcrowded housing

•    Domestic violence

•    Job loss

•    Hazardous housing conditions

Add to this list increasing rental costs, incompatible wages, school loans, rising health care costs from unchecked insurance companies. Covid fallout. People losing jobs with no warning or preparation. Forced pregnancies. Mental health obstacles, including drug addiction. 

Coming from a working-class background in rural Pennsylvania, I was shocked to see such extreme juxtaposition of wealth and poverty largely ignored, maligned, and even mocked. I’d certainly known and witnessed rural poverty throughout my life but was unprepared for the sheer horror of seeing people rotting in the streets, and the collective indifference to it. My small hometown held community dinners, football game “canning,” and raffles to help out neighbors in need; I spent many hours as a teenager volunteering with clothing and food drives. Countless New York streets, in comparison, resembled the hellish visions of Goya and Bosch. Miserable souls splayed out on train platforms, outside abandoned stores, shivering in ATM lobbies, screaming for food at each corner.

Most of these images were photographed between 2015-2019, as I traversed the city at all hours to various gigs. During much of this time, I myself experienced homelessness, rotating weeks on friends’ sofas for nearly a year and half until I could afford to sublet. I existed off-grid, nomadic, living on various forms of potatoes. The iPhone 6S I had purchased several years prior operated on Wi-Fi, and until I could save up for a used DSLR, my phone was my sole source of photography. With no access to my paperwork, I found myself ensnared in a bureaucratic nightmare. When an automatic payment accidentally landed me $300 in the red with “convenience fees,” my credit Union closed my account. I quickly discovered how Sisyphean a task it is to return to “normal,” when you have expired IDs, no bank account, working phone number or the money to get a passport.

Even with a solid network and endless gigs, it still took me three years to successfully return to the grid, in the midst of immense depression, PTSD, and grief. I understood firsthand just how precarious life is for anyone one paycheck away from destitution. If mental illness, domestic abuse, or addiction destroys someone’s support system, it is, even in my limited experience, incredibly difficult to survive.

I certainly didn’t have the financial resources to help those in my photographs, but thought if attention was called to the problem, people outside of NYC might feel some compassion. I shared this work on social media, pleading with people to stop getting into endless arguments about Trump’s dark circus, which seemed so insignificant in comparison to this snowballing crisis.

Instead, it worsened after the 2016 election disaster. I documented a series of protests, as thousands of upper-middle class people in absurd pink pussy hats shouted into the void about compartmentalized identity politics. Only two of the dozens of rallies I documented addressed the economic problems directly contributing to the homeless cause: the Healthcare Professionals protest against the ACA Repeal, and Ben Carson’s appearance at the NYSE to ring the closing bell. Carson, who was responsible for urban housing, refused to meet those clamoring for his help. I watched in dismay as angry residents of the crumbling and neglected NYCHA projects, and their advocates chased after Carson’s caravan.

While I was certainly empathetic to most of the problems cited in other demonstrations, it was difficult to ignore the fact that the underlying problem lay not so much in identity politics, but rather the bleak umbrella of late capitalism itself. The truth is, we are not a nation of individuals: we are each connected as a society, and all equally vulnerable in this toppling house of cards.

The homeless I encountered encompassed all genders and all colors of the rainbow. Since Covid, the number has increased exponentially, with no relief in sight. The distraction of smaller battles distracts us from the real war against humanity. Where were these so-called justice warriors when I found an unconscious man at Union Street and waited 45 minutes for the EMTs? Where were they when a homeless man dropped dead from a heart attack in front of me? The overdose in Chelsea where three of us helplessly stood by a lifeless body as passing people shrugged? Where were they on that 2 AM 7 Train when a woman and I tried in vain to revive a man suffering from alcohol poisoning, only to witness three NYPD officers hurl him against a wall at the Court Square stop? It became increasingly difficult to feign sympathy for virtue signalers, theatrics, or histrionics over trivial matters (like cis solidarity at trans rallies), when two blocks from Trump Tower a homeless woman silently held a sign asking if anyone might have some spare Similac for her baby.

Long before the Supreme Court decimated the very rights cited in these rallies, our nation’s basic priorities weren’t even met. How, then, can we possibly expect the rest to follow?

The futility of this project led me to temporarily put away the images, as I gathered my life back together. Most outlets deemed the subject “too depressing,” or worse, “too controversial.” I debated whether it was even ethical to share them. Ultimately, I concluded that the exploitation has already happened, I merely documented it. These are humans with souls, who deserve an amplified voice.

The first thing that vanishes in exploitation, after all, is humanity. As I peruse these images, remembering the circumstances, conversations, and often heartbreaking encounters, I wonder who these souls had been, and what they could have become if circumstances had been kinder. What is their favorite ice cream flavor? Soda? Band? Color? Moment in their life?

Every day, millions of Americans make staggering choices for basic survival. The choice between buying a box of tampons or having something to eat that night. The choice between a small jar of healthier peanut butter, or a larger jar of glorified Crisco to slather on white bread to fill an empty stomach. The choice to down a bottle of Listerine on the Q Train to facilitate a restless nap between Eric Adams’ cop raids. The choice to chance a night sleeping rough under a scaffold, or the potential to be attacked by thieves and rapists in a shelter. The choice whether or not to exploit your body to make sure rent and student loans are paid. The choice to give your children a deserved chance to shine, only to find them exploited by predators posing as priests, Scoutmasters, and coaches.

Despite everything, I still strongly believe documentary photography can be a vital tool to incite social change. My goal is to be the messenger and spark action through the same empathy I gained with my own experience. May we all strive to do better.

Alice Teeple is a photographer, multidisciplinary artist, and writer. She lives in New York City, where she works as a freelancer.

Listen to Alice discuss more about this series and her personal experiences with Jason Crane on his podcast A Brief Chat.