I took this in downtown Minneapolis, while on a road trip from Los Angeles to Philadelphia. I had just got my first car: an enormous 1999 Crown Victoria, an ex-police car I bought off a Russian cab-driver in North Hollywood for $900.
Why Philly? I had a mate living there, so with my new wheels I figured this was an ideal time to hit the road and see the country. It turned out to be fairly gruelling. I’d miscalculated the distance – and the quality of my vehicle – so what I thought would be a three-day drive was a solid five-day slog with little time for stopping. It was intense: a foot-down, white-knuckle, bald-tyres, 4,000-mile drive.
Minneapolis was one of the few stops I made, four days in. It was a crisp Sunday morning and I decided to go for a wander with my camera. The streets were empty. It was a ghost town: there was nothing catching my eye. Then I turned a corner and was met with this scene in front of the courthouse: barristers marching around and maybe 60 or 70 Muslims milling about, the women separate from the men. I had no idea what was going on but things seemed a little tense.
I knew I only had seconds to get this shot. I walked towards them, lifted my camera and managed to get one photo before they got up and moved. You can see in the image that the women in black look like they’re trying to hide – they weren’t happy I was taking a picture. The one in pink didn’t move, though. She just stared right back at me, which I think is what makes the image interesting. To me, she serves as a bridge: at a time when there is so much Islamophobia and judgment in the western world towards Muslims, it was a moment of connection.
Later that day, I looked into what had been happening: it turned out a couple of Somali Americans had been accused of funnelling money to some extremist groups in Somalia. The court was in session and this group of women were the wives, family and friends of the men involved.
I don’t trawl the streets looking for this kind of thing, but the subject matter is as interesting as the composition itself. I didn’t crop it, although I may have straightened up some of those lines. Taking photos of people when they don’t want you to isn’t my favourite thing. And the truth is, most people don’t want you to take their photo. But if you ask someone, often you lose whatever it was you wanted to capture.
And there’s the rub. You can say that it’s in the cause of art, and this noble profession of documenting the world, which is an important thing to do. But I don’t think that gives you licence to do whatever you like. The key here was proximity: I was maybe 70ft away. I wasn’t in these people’s faces. I don’t think I was making them physically uncomfortable. I’m happy to photograph people from a distance.
There are, of course, brilliant American photographers capturing life in the US. But personally, I’ve always been triggered by being in a foreign place. I am more likely to be analytical, to notice every little thing. When you’re an immigrant like I am, you have hungrier eyes.
George Byrne’s CV
Born: Sydney, 1976.
Trained: Sydney College of the Arts.
Influences: Wim Wenders, Stephen Shore, Piet Mondrian, David Hockney.
High Point: “My first major solo exhibition, Local Division, in Sydney in 2016. It was the first time I saw my work realised on a grand scale.”
Low Point: “When I was in Melbourne, five or six years earlier, I was setting up tents for an events company getting paid $12 an hour. It was a shocking job. I hated it.”
Top tip: “If you know you’re good, don’t give up.”