http://cargocollective.com Chantal Anderson | Multimedia Journalist Wed, 25 May 2011 00:25:51 +0000 http://cargocollective.com en http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/Blog-The-Miracle-of-Birth-and-the-embarrassment-of-passing-out-cold http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/following/chantalanderson/Blog-The-Miracle-of-Birth-and-the-embarrassment-of-passing-out-cold Wed, 25 May 2011 00:25:51 +0000 Chantal Anderson | Multimedia Journalist 1494236 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494236/blog.jpg" border="0" width="600" height="400" width_o="600" height_o="400" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494236/blog_o.jpg" align="left" /> Today I walked into a delivery room for the first time, took some photos and fainted. It was a reminder that sometimes the reality of working in the field is impossible to prepare for. I woke up this morning, downed a malaria pill and slipped out of the house to explore the grounds of Bollobhpur — a hospital compound where I'll be staying for two weeks to report on birthing in rural Bangladesh. I'm traveling with a group of midwives from all over the world. The only fluent English and Bangla speaker in the small village is Sister Gillian Rose, a British midwife whose years of experience and service in this remote village have earned her the nickname "the second Mother Teresa" among her coworkers. We hadn't yet met when I saw her; her sandals swept across the grass on her way to the hospital ward. "Good morning," she said, moving swiftly across the compound. "Come this way — there's a delivery now." Cracking a wooden door open, she motioned for me to enter. Realizing she may have thought I was one of the midwives, I turned around to introduce myself properly, but she was already gone. In the back of the room I saw a small woman lying on her back, legs spread, toes wrapped around two metal poles on the side of the bed. Five Bengali nursing students and one staff nurse encouraged her through her contractions. "Dao, dao, dao," they said — "give, give, give." The nursing students looked inquisitively at me. I felt helpless as droplets of sweat trickled down the laboring woman's forehead. An hour went by — "It has to be 95 degrees," I thought as I fanned the woman with a duct tape–covered book. She was quiet as the nurses began checking her progress. The baby began crowning, but it didn't seem there was any way it would squeeze out from her body. The nurse grabbed a pair of scissors from a piece of cloth and performed an episiotomy — cutting the woman's vaginal wall — as the laboring woman broke her silence and howled in pain. As blood dripped down her leg into a bucket, the sounds from the room became muffled and the voices of the nurses seemed to be dubbed — I couldn't match up their movements with the cries I heard. My head seemed to sway back and forth like a bobblehead doll. I saw the baby's black hair and then, clutching the wall, I slipped out of the room and onto the dusty cement. "Breathe, breathe," I said to myself. "Pull it together!" Pushing my hands into the ground, my eyesight flicked on and off like a TV screen, then my knees buckled and I hit the cement. A few minutes later, awake again and somewhat composed, I walked back into the room (while the nurses furrowed their eyebrows, confused about my absence) and saw a curious little shishu — a baby — lying on his mother's tummy, as the nurse cut his umbilical cord. So, I missed it. Despite watching home birthing videos a few weeks prior, nothing could prepare my mind for the intensity of a live birth. I worried I would faint every time I tried to watch a birth — that perhaps I just couldn't handle it. Sister Gillian lent me some grace over tea the next day. "Episiotomies are hard for anyone to watch," she said, cracking a smile. She's a woman of few words so I have to say the encouragement made me feel better. Last night I photographed and observed two more deliveries. I even got to hold one 10-minute-old baby while the nurses prepared a bath. The new baby, little Sumia, blinked her eyes open and jutted her fist into the air. Her lips parted into a wide smile before she fell sound asleep. Her exhausted mother slept on the delivery table, with an arm outstretched to her newborn. It was amazing and I didn't pass out once. This story was first published on CLPmag.org http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/Print-Lawmakers-may-pass-health-standards-for-body-piercings-this http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/following/chantalanderson/Print-Lawmakers-may-pass-health-standards-for-body-piercings-this Wed, 25 May 2011 00:18:32 +0000 Chantal Anderson | Multimedia Journalist 1494208 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494208/pierce.jpg" border="0" width="608" height="366" width_o="608" height_o="366" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494208/pierce_o.jpg" align="left" /> ALAN BERNER / THE SEATTLE TIMES OLYMPIA — Whitney Nash, a bartender from Florida, is well-versed in the ways of the body-piercing industry after going through a piercing-apprenticeship program. So Nash was surprised to learn that Washington, unlike Florida, has no body-piercing health regulations written into law. "Oh my God, are you serious?" Nash said. "That's insane." The fact that infectious diseases — such as HIV/AIDS, hepatitis C, hepatitis B and MRSA — can spread through improperly sterilized equipment has prompted lawmakers, with encouragement from lobbyists, to take a stand. You can read the full story at Seattletimes.com http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/Radio-Lawmakers-Let-Businesses-Profit-Off-Of-Mt-St-Helens-Eruption http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/following/chantalanderson/Radio-Lawmakers-Let-Businesses-Profit-Off-Of-Mt-St-Helens-Eruption Tue, 24 May 2011 23:46:36 +0000 Chantal Anderson | Multimedia Journalist 1494094 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494094/banse_mt_st_helens_mess_300_22feb10.jpg" border="0" width="300" height="235" width_o="300" height_o="235" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494094/banse_mt_st_helens_mess_300_22feb10_o.jpg" align="left" /> &#9835; 022210CA_mtsthelensmess.mp3 http://stream2.opb.org:9000/download/?f=news/2010/02/022210CA_mtsthelensmess.mp3 Thirty years after the volcanic eruption of Mt. St. Helens, communities in southwest Washington are still feeling its effects. Sediment continues to flow into the Cowlitz and Toutle Rivers and their tributaries. That's been causing floods and drinking water problems. Experts say the sediment won't go away for hundreds of years. Now, as Chantal Anderson reports lawmakers, hope they can get entrepreneurs to help clean up the sand. TRANSCRIPT A year ago the Coweeman River ran through Luis Guiterrez's living room in Kelso. He's one of many residents completely washed out of the Villa San Martin. It's a subsidized community of townhouses unprotected by a nearby levy. Guiterrez says after the flood he had to move out for two months. Guiterrez: "I go to live with my brother." Damages were upwards of $500,000 to repair the housing structure. The heavy rain Kelso experienced played a part in the flooding. But there's another factor average citizens may not be aware of. The river inundated partly because sand from the Mt. St. Helens eruption three decades ago is still making the river higher. Stone: "Well because of the sand having the river raised up, perched up a little higher, it's into the softer riverbanks and so the riverbanks will erode away." Ken Stone is Director of Asset Management for Cowlitz County. He walks along the Coweeman River, telling me about the flood at Villa San Martin last winter. Stone: "The water filled up so high it crossed over the roadway into the apartments." Stone has worked for Cowlitz County since before the mountain blew. Since then he's dedicated a large part of his career to repairing damage the eruption caused. Miles of sediment and mud have created a nightmare for operators at the regional water treatment plant in Longview. More than 50,000 people in this area get drinking water from the river, after it's purified at the plant. Todd Douglas is an operator at the plant. He says the facility opened in 1946, and just isn't equipped to handle sand coming down the river. Douglas: "Essentially to build a treatment plant to deal with the kind of sediment that comes off of Mt. St. Helens would be unrealistic." Because of this, the city of Longview recently decided to stop purifying river water and switch to groundwater. The city is spending $40 million to replace the plant, and dig wells. Douglas: "You can tell that the sand is becoming more and more of a problem over here." In the back lot of the plant there sits a 10–foot pile of dirt. Douglas says during heavy rainy seasons filtered sediment gets taken out by the truckload. We take a walk across the street to look over the Cowlitz River. Douglas points out changes in the land. Douglas: "This beach right here will change constantly throughout the year with the sand being brought down. This is always changing, it is, and that's just what you can see right here in front of you." It's a problem the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers took on for eight months after 1980, when it dredged the Toutle, Columbia and Cowlitz rivers. Since 2007, the corps has dredged every year in lower Cowlitz County, pulling out around 3.5 million yards of sediment. Another pickle for the city? Finding somewhere to put all that dirt. Making things even more challenging, Washington state tacks a royalty fee on for people who sell the sand. The state waived the fee, so the corps could find a place to put all of it. This year, one Democratic Washington lawmaker wants to remove royalty fees on sand altogether. The goal of the bill is entice companies to take the sand and sell it. Back at the Coweeman River, Stone leaves me with a scary picture: what could happen if sand piles up so high there's a flood bigger than the one last year? Stone: "It'd be much smaller than New Orleans but it'd be the same kind of thing. All the houses all wet, all the businesses all wet, and there'd be hundred of millions of dollars in damage." Stone hopes removing the sand fee will prompt the free market to help fix an environmental problem. I'm Chantal Anderson, in Kelso. © Copyright 2010, Northwest News Network Listen to this story on KUOW here. http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/Print-Gregoire-s-inaugural-bash-ice-sculptures-and-sashimi-The http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/following/chantalanderson/Print-Gregoire-s-inaugural-bash-ice-sculptures-and-sashimi-The Tue, 24 May 2011 23:41:29 +0000 Chantal Anderson | Multimedia Journalist 1494071 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494071/2008620320.jpg" border="0" width="296" height="509" width_o="296" height_o="509" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494071/2008620320_o.jpg" align="left" /> Photo: MARK HARRISON OLYMPIA — Organizers of Gov. Chris Gregoire's inaugural ball aren't letting the sour economy dampen their party spirits. They're spending upward of $250,000 to throw the every-four-years bash at the Capitol Dome on Wednesday, financed largely through tickets that cost $100 each. Five corporations also are donating $4,000 each to help cover the cost, entitling them to seats at a VIP dinner before the ball. Read the full story at Seattletimes.com http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/Radio-Northwest-s-Sasquatch-Stands-Out-Among-Music-Festivals-NPR http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/following/chantalanderson/Radio-Northwest-s-Sasquatch-Stands-Out-Among-Music-Festivals-NPR Tue, 24 May 2011 23:38:42 +0000 Chantal Anderson | Multimedia Journalist 1494041 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494041/053110CA_Sasquatch1.jpg" border="0" width="670" height="446" width_o="675" height_o="450" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494041/053110CA_Sasquatch1_o.jpg" align="left" /> Mary Upchurch cheers during The Tallest Man on Earth's set at Sasquatch. <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494041/053110CA_Sasquatch3.jpg" border="0" width="670" height="446" width_o="675" height_o="450" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1494041/053110CA_Sasquatch3_o.jpg" align="left" /> My Morning Jacket poses for a portrait. Listen to the story for NPR stations in the Pacific Northwest here. QUINCY, Wash. - In the Northwest, Sasquatch is no longer just a hairy forest-dwelling monster. This year's Sasquatch Music Festival sold out faster than ever before. Each day this Memorial Day weekend, 25,000 music fans filled the Gorge Amphitheater in central Washington. The festival is quickly becoming famous around the country for its ability to attract eclectic, under-the-radar acts. Correspondent Chantal Anderson went to see what Sasquatch is all about. Mary Upchurch drove all the way from her home in Austin, Texas for this festival. She came for the music and for the breathtaking view. Mary Upchurch: “It looks like a mini grand canyon with a stage on top of it. Vampire Weekend was one of the acts Mary wanted to hear. Sound: Vampire Weekend music Mary Upchurch: "People know when I say Sasquatch they know what I mean now, no matter where I am. The smell, we decided, it's fresh grass. But all types of grass. (laughs)." Festival founder Adam Zacks is the first to admit this year's lineup is void of any household name acts. In fact he says that's part of the appeal of Sasquatch and what sets it apart. Adam Zacks: “We keep getting ranked among these much, much larger festivals like Bonnaroo and Coachella and Lollapolooza and they're all at least three times larger capacity wise than this festival and they all have household name headliners so its wonderful that we're mentioned in the same breadth. The festival has developed a good reputation.” The indie lineup at Sasquatch is what attracted Rob Annis and his wife from Indianapolis. They go to several music festivals around the country every year. Rob Annis: “This is one of the best that we've been too, line-up wise crowd wise the venue is probably obviously the most beautiful in the nation.” His big complaint: Rob Annis: “Beer is a little bit too expensive.” Sound: “Hello Sasquatch!” Kentucky-based band My Morning Jacket was one of the headliners of the festival. Patrick Hallahan is the band's drummer. Patrick Hallahan: There's a certain lightness to this, some festivals like you said they have kind of a heavy pretentious vibe to them and some like this, like you said there's people skipping rope next to an ice-cream stand, and I think these smaller festivals allow people to enjoy a little more, there's not the claustrophobia of the bigger festivals." Sound: My Morning Jacket My Morning Jacket closed the first night of the festival. Fans danced and sprawled out under the stars. One the web: http://www.sasquatchfestival.com/ Copyright 2010 Northwest News Network http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/Radio-A-Tale-Of-Two-Cities-Portland-s-Coffee-Culture-Swipes-Seattle-s http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/following/chantalanderson/Radio-A-Tale-Of-Two-Cities-Portland-s-Coffee-Culture-Swipes-Seattle-s Tue, 24 May 2011 23:24:56 +0000 Chantal Anderson | Multimedia Journalist 1133324 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1133324/coffee.jpg" border="0" width="450" height="315" width_o="450" height_o="315" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1133324/coffee_o.jpg" align="left" /> &#9835; 033010CA_coffee.mp3 http://stream2.opb.org:9000/download/?f=news/2010/03/033010CA_coffee.mp3 SEATTLE, WA (N3) - Ask a crowd full of Seattleites at a Starbucks what city in the United States has the best coffee, and the answer is unanimous: "Seattle, of course." But that's not the view of coffee industry insiders. They say it's been years since Seattle led the way in coffee culture. The consensus among connoisseurs is Seattle has lost its crown to Portland. KPLU's Chantal Anderson talked to coffee aficionados in both cities. She begins her story in Seattle. TRANSCRIPT In a neighborhood coffee house in Fremont with creaky hard wood floors and warm lighting, Jordan Michelman leans over to tell me something he probably shouldn't say in a Seattle coffee shop. Michelman: "There's not really any good coffee in Seattle." Jordan Michelman is one of the cofounders of coffee news website Sprudge.com. He doesn't consider a tall, nonfat, vanilla latte innovative. Michelman: "Seattle is very stuck in a mold of what coffee culture was like 20 years ago and third wave coffee is very, very different from that." Third wave is a term the average coffee drinker might not know. Michelman sums it up this way. Michelman: "It works on much more of a thinking about it almost from a gastronomy stand point of being really, really obsessed about seed to cup, where it comes from, who's roasting it, where it's roasted, the duration of time, having the choices, seasonality, all these kinds of things. There's nowhere that does that here." He says there are a few exceptions to his blanket condemnation of Seattle coffee. One of them is a cafe called Vivace Roasteria. Owner David Schomer literally wrote the book on how to be a barista and he doesn't suffer coffee amateurs lightly. He says one reason Seattle is falling behind Portland is Seattle consumers are more likely to accept mediocre coffee. Schomer: "When I opened on Broadway in 1988 as a cart in my infinite hubris I also opened one downtown in the financial district, well those people you could not establish loyalty with them, one day they'd have a Starbucks, one day they'd have mine, and I just thought well don't you stop and taste that? I wanted to rip my hair out because I was still you know believing that people are all available for culinary experience, and if you show them something better, they'll just flock to it. Well I've learned the hard way that, that is not true." One other complaint from coffee people in Seattle is city regulations. At Equal Exchange in Ballard, Sam Lewontin, tells me the city of Portland is friendlier to small businesses. Lewontin: "There's a lot of street food in Portland there are a lot of carts, a lot of small venders whose entire ethos is making something awesome for their customers and it doesn't have to be high rent or really even fully built. That's really what David Schomer did with Vivace. And it's an awesome model which doesn't work really well in Seattle anymore because of regulations regarding street vending, regulations regarding restaurant building really kind of prohibit it." For baristas like Lewontin coffee is not like fast food. Great coffee takes time, time for: sourcing, roasting, training, and creating the final drink. In Portland, coffee connoisseurs agree the bar for greatness was set by one company. McGovern: "Stumptown, definitely single–handedly shaped coffee here." That's Adam McGovern in Portland. He runs a cafe called Coffeehouse Northwest which serves Stumptown coffee. Adam McGovern: "If it's not the best coffee in the world it's some of the best. Because what's unique about Stumptown's coffee is for the very first time roasters are able to give feedback to farmers who haven't been able to try their product." Across town at Cellar Door Coffee Roasters in Southeast Portland, six friends leisurely sip coffee on a Saturday morning. They're into supporting local small businesses and view coffee as the new wine. One of them is Nikki Kelly. She says among her friends coffee infatuation is the norm. Kelly: "They'll talk about their French presses and how they clean them and how long they brew, and what kind of coffee they drink, like and not like. It's kind of really high up on Portland's radar." Inside the cafe, owner Jeremy Adams says what he's found is that Portland consumers are more receptive to hardcore coffee drinks. He says people also appreciate the do–it–yourself (DIY) attitude that comes with small cafes. Jeremy Adams: "Somebody said, Portland coffee's just more punk rock. Or something, or more you know DIY or more you know people hustling and trying to scrape things together and make it happen and still doing really high quality, but not always with the most resources, but I think there's something to that." Portland may be more punk rock, but Seattle has an espresso machine with a death metal name. It's called Slayer and it's considered one of the bright spots in Seattle's coffee future. Inside a Georgetown studio, three coffee dudes have created what some are calling the holy grail of espresso machines. The machines are selling at $14,000 and up. I'm Chantal Anderson reporting. © Copyright 2010, Northwest News Network This story was heard on KPLU, Oregon Public Broadcasting and KUOW. http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/Online-Capturing-Tragedy-The-story-behind-the-photograph-Common http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/following/chantalanderson/Online-Capturing-Tragedy-The-story-behind-the-photograph-Common Tue, 24 May 2011 23:18:04 +0000 Chantal Anderson | Multimedia Journalist 1493938 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1493938/untitled_image_634.jpg" border="0" width="600" height="400" width_o="600" height_o="400" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1493938/untitled_image_634_o.jpg" align="left" /> <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1493938/untitled_image_635.jpg" border="0" width="600" height="400" width_o="600" height_o="400" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1493938/untitled_image_635_o.jpg" align="left" /> <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1493938/untitled_image_637.jpg" border="0" width="600" height="400" width_o="600" height_o="400" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1493938/untitled_image_637_o.jpg" align="left" /> I left Bollobhpur village in a covered wagon. I waved as the wheels of the cart moaned over dusty potholes and little children shouted “Hel-low, how-are-you-miss,” their roadside cricket matches momentarily interrupted. I felt drained. I didn’t want to leave but I was eager to get away. Two and a half weeks earlier I had packed my backpack and set off for the little-known village in West Bangladesh to investigate maternal and child health issues and birthing culture in rural areas. I was following an international group of young midwives who planned to volunteer at the hospital in Bollobhpur, currently run by midwife Sister Gillian Rose, who is famous for providing excellent care in this remote part of the country. In Bangladesh, nearly 80 percent of births are delivered at home, and the main cause of death for newborns is infection, a risk that can be higher in non-sterile environments. I visited Bollophur’s not-for-profit hospital because I wanted to see what childbirth in Bangladesh could look like for women lucky enough to live near such an establishment. What I wasn’t prepared for was the stark reality of life and death — how both intermingled and how frequently — that I would witness firsthand at the hospital. I had read the numbers and done my research. I knew that for every 1,000 births in the country, 41 babies died in their first year. But before I came to Bollobhpur village I didn’t know what that meant. I had never been immersed in an environment where life is both beginning and ending around the clock. In my two and a half weeks photographing births and interviewing mothers and midwives, I watched a newborn and her mother lock eyes for the first time, their pupils expanding to take in more of each other. I saw a premature baby gain weight, come out of the incubator and go home with his family. But there was death, too. It was 9 a.m. on a Sunday and I was following Sister Gillian on her morning rounds at the hospital. I was capturing sound and images for a profile story when we came across a small family: a tiny premature baby boy, his young mother and his grandmother. I took a couple of photos of the miniature one-pound boy sleeping in his incubator, showing them to his mother, whose eyes lit up at the sight of her baby. Sister Gillian reached through an opening into the incubator to check the baby’s vitals while I continued documenting her routine. Then, in a sudden series of movements, Sister Gillian popped open the plastic container, felt the baby’s arm for a pulse, listened for a heart beat, picked up the child and placed him in his mother’s slight arms. Sister Gillian’s competent hand rose to the woman’s back, patting her between her shoulder blades and speaking a few sentences of Bangla. Sister Gillian then hurried out of the ward, leaving me with the young mother. I searched her face for signs of what had happened. I looked at the baby, not much bigger than a doll. Her eyes were fixed on the chipped paint of the blue swinging doors in front of her. And then I knew. The grandmother let out a howl, painful and low, from the bottom of her belly. She then stood up, threw her hands in the air and struggled out of the maternity ward. Tears swelled in the woman’s eyes, and she looked down at her baby — still in shock that he was no longer really there. I stepped back awkwardly, unsure of what to do. I looked away for some time and then began taking pictures of other patients, giving the mother some space. I considered taking her photograph from the back of the room. “This is the image that will actually make people understand,” I thought as I held up my camera for the shot, but I hated myself for wanting to take the picture. She wasn’t looking at me. I had a strong desire to hug her and rub her back. I didn’t want to be documenting this, but I didn’t want to not document it either. I took one shot and put my camera down. “What would another photojournalist do?” I asked myself. I still don’t know the answer to that question. One of the international midwives I had been staying with cut past me and said, “Try to be a little considerate." I took a moment to gather myself, placed my camera on a shelf and sat down next to the woman. She still hadn’t made a noise. I placed my hand on her back, and I felt her spine collapse as she exhaled. Tears streamed down her face as I tried to imagine what she was thinking and feeling. Nurses swept in, cleaning the incubator, gently lifting the baby from her arms, and wiping the scene clean in a matter of seconds — almost so quick it was as if it never happened in the first place. Everyone in the maternity ward was watching her. I could hear the grandmother’s wailing from outside. The young woman began to shake and cry softly as I rubbed her back, squeezing my eyes shut, trying not to cry myself. Later on, I asked Sister Gillian what she said when she realized the newborn was dead. She replied, “I’m sorry, God wasn’t ready to give you this one, so you’ve got to give him back.” Later that afternoon, I met with a government doctor. I wanted to know why the baby had died. Who was to blame? What could be done? The United Nations Development Programme reports nearly half of all children under 5 are malnourished in Bangladesh. The doctor explained that many babies are born prematurely because their mother is malnourished herself. Most women depend on their husbands for food, and a UNICEF study found “about 48 percent of Bangladeshi women say that their husbands alone make decisions about their health.” Sister Gillian confirmed that while there are many reasons babies are born prematurely, in this case it was probably malnutrition and anemia. When I left the interview, the heat of the day was approaching so I decided to escape to my favorite place in the village: the riverbed behind the hospital. It was a place where the mundane task of cleaning bodies and washing clothes suddenly became vibrant and lively. A village mom scrubbed her 5-year-old son with soapy suds as he giggled and flapped his arms. Other women methodically slapped their colorful saris against slabs of stone as the village kids floated by on palm tree branches. I cupped my face and sighed as tears collected into my palms. Shaking my head back and forth, I didn’t know if I did the right thing. I thought about what my best friend would say — my editor, my journalism ethics teacher, my mom. I thought about the people who would never witness a tragedy like the one that had just unfolded. The ones who might be moved to act by an image like this one. But most of all I thought about that young woman who lost her son. I didn’t even know her name. This reporter's notebook was published for the Common Language Project. http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/Print-Helping-immigrants-learn-to-talk-openly-about-AIDS-The-Seattle http://cargocollective.com/chantalanderson/following/chantalanderson/Print-Helping-immigrants-learn-to-talk-openly-about-AIDS-The-Seattle Tue, 24 May 2011 23:11:42 +0000 Chantal Anderson | Multimedia Journalist 1461617 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1461617/AIDS.jpg" border="0" width="608" height="427" width_o="608" height_o="427" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/2/78101/1461617/AIDS_o.jpg" align="left" /> Coffee-stand owner Hanna Tsegaye, left, is part of an AIDS-prevention effort in the immigrant community. Here she chats with health educator Solomon Tsegaselassie. For African immigrants, who come from countries with high HIV/AIDS rates and where the disease is often considered a death sentence, talking about AIDS in the U.S. is often difficult. That's particularly true for immigrant women, who are often the most difficult to reach with services, say local health providers. Read the full story at Seattletimes.com here