I’m doing some work for my job, which requires me to look through photography archives for smiles. Unfortunately, these photographers document war or social issues. Cheery. Between rape, amputation, natural disasters and the mentally ill, these photographers have covered it all. 

After hours of pouring through the archives, I noticed that my pace quickened. When I first started I looked carefully at each photograph hoping to spot a smile, but as I recognized the style of photography, I began to realize that smiles only come from a select few: children, dictators, rich people or victorious protestors.  

In most of the photographs, no one smiles. They are grieving, in horror or staring blankly at the camera. 

I don’t blame them at all; my world is unimaginably different from theirs. I have never understood the pain of starvation, mass killings, self-mutilation, gender oppression or most of the other issues they face. 

Perhaps the photographer simply didn’t capture moments of happiness or laughter. I certainly hope that these moments exist, no matter how naive that wish is. Maybe the very fact that they are still alive is testament to their admirably steely will to survive, and that is far more than I possess, and weighs much more than any chuckle or grin.