Andrew Burton Photo

Ground Zero at dawn on September 11, 2011. This loses a lot of punch at such a small size. If somebody knows how to post this at a much larger size, let me know.

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I’ve spent the past four days working very long days covering the lead up to, and the anniversary of, September 11, 2001. The assignments demanded I reflect on that day, study what it means to be an American, and how our nation has changed in the past decade. I can say with 100% certainty that my head is in a very heavy daze. It’s a lot to try and process, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to convey all that’s been running through my head.

If I’m allowed one precursor, it is this: I was 14-years-old, living in Eugene, OR, on 9-11. I was a paper boy and a freshmen in high school. I didn’t know anyone even remotely associated with the attacks. I didn’t know what the twin towers were (other than tall towers), or their prominence in New York and around the globe. Much of my understanding of these events – my understanding beyond the immediate facts – my visceral understanding, my conviction as an American – has come in a rush over the past 96 hours, and in doing so, left me spinning. And In many ways, considering I was in no way directly effected by the immediate attacks of that day, I feel that I don’t have the right to write about, or speculate about that September day – almost as if I don’t have validation to do so. However, as an American – a person who has been effected by that day (as we all have, globally), and as a member of the news-media (where it is my profession to study and relay the events surrounding the events), I feel like I am allowed the think out about the past decade out loud. In doing so, I hope to write opening an honestly, from my perspective. If you choose to read this, bear with me- I don’t mean to offend anyone if I do.

Also, a quick note: All images are © 2011, Getty Images, except for the image of the USS New York, © 2011, The Associated Press

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Regarding the attacks: I don’t know if I, or anyone who wasn’t present- on the scene that day- will ever have a good understanding of just how horrific the attack was. Like many Americans, I have my own morbid and ill-logical fascination with the photos and video of the day. I have poured over the frames and broadcasts, trying to understand and comprehend, but I still don’t think it’s possible to truly grasp. The event was just too large to capture how visceral and immediate it all was. It was a day that photography and video failed at its job of properly conveying.

Regarding the people that were on the ground that day: I’ve become friends with many photojournalists who were there, under the towers, trying to get inside to document, and then RunningRunningRunning, stumbling and tripping and gagging and choking when the towers came down. The photo community lost some of it’s members that day, and the subject of what it was like under the towers now seems somewhat taboo in these circles(from my observations). Or maybe I’m ten years late. But even as this day has approached, I’ve only heard my colleagues talk about it in drunken whispers. Even then, they don’t linger long – quickly steering the conversation away from it all. At one point this week, I pointed out to a friend and photog that he made one of the most iconic images of that day. All he said was, “Yea, I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever processed it. I don’t have any thoughts on that. We keep our cameras to our face and keep moving.” And then the conversation changed. For people on the ground, they were asked to absorb something too big, something no human should have to witness.

 

Southern Manhattan from the State Island Ferry

 

Police officers in the New Jersey

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Regarding the police state and the military: It’s amazing to me how psychologically engrained the culture of fear has become in the US. Police, the military, dogs, mobile surveillance turrets, commando vehicles and police lines have all swarmed around downtown Manhattan like hornets around a nest these past few days. It becomes pretty intimidating. At one point I thought, “Man, I have been walking around for the past few days, and if any one of these police had ever stopped me and told me to do something – even absurd or ill-logical, I would have done whatever they asked in a heart beat, without question.”

 

But I then I step back and I remember – much too late – without probable cause, don’t the police need a warrant to search you? To ask for you to open your bag or say where or you’re going or why you’re taking a picture? Isn’t this a massive violation of our rights? I know the country received credible threats… but my guess is that most Americans are the same way I am these days. The culture of fear in a post-9/11 world is driven into our psyche, the media amplifies it, and then we find ourselves pacifically participating in giving up freedoms – prepared to do whatever the increasingly present police state requests of us. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. I guess I feel safer. But I do know that I’m ok with being pre-conditioned so much.

 

 

A mandatory police stop for all cars the police deem dangerous.

 

 

Welding shut man holes on September 9, 2011.

 

Police guarded many subway entrances

 

Mobile surveillance turrets. These were surrounding Ground Zero.

 

 

 

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On our response to 9-11: After our counter-attack on Afghanistan, after all our bombs and bullets, after the Taliban was seriously crippled in ’03, why didn’t we concentrate the majority of our efforts on helping improve their infrastructure, or schools, or medical system? Why did we need to bomb the shit out of them more? Didn’t we satisfy an eye for an eye? Why didn’t we spend the next 8 years helping improve Afghanistan as a nation and supporting their culture? Why didn’t we send a flood of teachers and doctors? A recent NYT article points out that for every $1 spent on the attacks, the US has spent $6.6 Million. The most scary thing to me is this: I recently read that a vast majority of rural Afghanis still don’t know what 9-11 is, what happened that day, or why we (counter-)attacked them(forgive me, I don’t remember where I read it). That is terrifying. That means we have potentially terrorized an entire generation of people and conditioned them to view us with more hatred, instead of people who liberated them. It means we are more vulnerable for more attacks. I just don’t see the world as a seriously better place a decade later. Seems like there are a lot of ways that money could have been better spent. I guess that’s the pacifist in me getting the best of me.

 

 

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On the state of the world: It’s amazing to me to think about how 9/11 has single-handedly define so much of this past decade, and how it will continue to define this century. The number of lives that wouldn’t have been lost, had it not been for 9/11. What the state of the middle east and central Asia would have been like. The increased and constant security presence throughout the entire Western world. I was talking to a photographer who covered the ’93 WTC bombing, and he said the day after the attack he snuck into the basement to photograph the scene. He said it wasn’t an issue getting around police lines then, to see what things looked like. “But that was a different time, it’s so much different now…”

I know it’s far too big to comprehend.

 

Arrival of the USS New York. Portions of the hull of the New York is made from iron salvaged from Ground Zero.

 

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On the memorial ceremony: The ceremony was beautiful. Hearing each and every name read, the short stories behind many of the lives lost, it was incredibly moving. Paul Simon gave me shivers.  I think the waterfall structures where the towers once stood are so fitting. As Americans, we are so ready to build up into the sky – but it was a good and right thing to leave those holes hollow. This is a permanent scar in the American landscape.

That said, I can’t help but think of the (hundreds of?) thousands of innocent people the United States has killed in the past ten years with our bombs and our drones and our guns and our men. People who were not the bad guys. Kids who were the the wrong place at the wrong time. People trying to flee Iraq or Afghanistan. I find myself asking: where are their ceremonies? When are their names read? It is such a luxury we have to commemorate the lives we lost on 9/11. I don’t say that as an anti-American statement. I say it as a person interested in remembering all of humanity, not just our nation’s citizens.

 

A woman ties a ribbon onto the fence surrounding St. Paul’s Chapel, next the Ground Zero.

 

Mikey Walsh traces his finger over his uncle’s name.

Obama.

 

Bloomberg.

A memorial in New Jersey

 

 

 

 

A flag with every victim’s name printed.

 

 

 

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On the media, 10 years later: My sister’s boyfriend told me a few days ago, “you know, the way you all swarm around Ground Zero, the way you constantly pester mourners and victim’s family members – you kind of take away from the sacredness of the site.” And I have to agree. I think we do. From a hypothetical, or altruistic perspective, the media is there to act as flies on the wall, conveying to those who are not present, what is occurring. But all too often, especially in New York, we become a part of the story ourselves. The huge broadcast trucks and shiny-faced men with microphones in their hands and lights following them around, and photographers with 27 cameras hanging off them wandering about asking for names for captions. We take what should be a quiet, holy scene, and turn it into our own circus, starring ourselves. It’s so American.

Broadcast gear sits under tarps on the tenth floor balcony of World Trade Center Two days before the anniversary.

 

 

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On the site itself: Everything I’ve written about above, it all comes to a physical manifestation at Ground Zero. The ever-present media and the police and the military and the culture of fear and our fast-twitch shortened attention spans and the mourning and the blood of those 19 men who did this to our country. Ground Zero becomes this hyper-concentrated nexus where all of these concepts swirl about and intertwine in a physical space. It makes you feel so damn small as you try to comprehend it. I hope my photos help.

 

 

 

 

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Anyway, those are a few of my thoughts. Thanks so much for reading and viewing.

A few songs that have been playing in my head for the last few days. If you have the time, look up the lyrics. I’m a big fan of lyrics and I think all of these songs poke holes into what I’m trying to get at, what I have felt for the past few days.

Tallest Man on Earth – Kids on the Run
The National – Fake Empire
Radiohead – Idioteque
The Decemberists – This is Why We Fight
Iron and Wine – The Trapeze Swinger

 

A New Yorker headed to a friend’s house on Staten Island for the weekend. Both in fear of an attack, and to avoid the media/police storm.

 

 

After Sudan’s independence I headed north on a series of UN flights aiming to get to Bentiu (near the north south border), where I planned to hire a car to take me north to refugee camps (also known as Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camps) that were forming from people fleeing North/South fighting.

The flight path was Juba > Malakal > Bentiu. However 5 minutes before we boarded the flight for Malakal, the communications director for UN-Mission in Sudan (UNMIS) called me and told me that the situation in Bentiu had gotten so dire, they were cancelling my seat on the flight from Malakal to Bentiu and bringing food-stuffs instead. As I later learned, Bentiu usually receives much of its imported food from the north, but with the independence of South Sudan, all shipments were being held at the border. This meant both the community in Bentiu and the UN staff were running low on food (for the record – this I completely agree with this decision and am not complaining, just explaining). I had the choice to continue on to Malakal, with the full understanding that I wouldn’t be getting any farther than that. While the other UN workers on the flight were unsure if IDPs were near Malakal, I figured I still might be able to find interesting stories, so I hopped on the plane.

It was the rainy season in Malakal, and the road conditions were the worst I have ever seen. Clay-and-mud roads had turned to a foul-soup, with puddles spanning the entire length of streets, sometimes three feet deep. A car could hardly go straight without slipping around. Everything slowed to a crawl. I was very, very lucky to get a room at the UNICEF guest house (typically, you must be a UN employee, and have made arrangements in advance), which came complete with a pair of muck-boots. As a town, Malakal is in a unstable region, and the town wears those scars on it’s infrastructure – it’s a pretty run down place. Rebels, sometimes numbering up to 100,000 come and go, occasionally using the town as a base and terrorizing citizens. Pete Muller later told me that only months before I was there, rebel factions had been shelling the very compound I was staying in.

After speaking to numerous aid workers, I learned that an IDP camp on the outskirts of town was currently home to a mass of people, many fleeing from the north, who had been their for about a month. Others were from a separate group, fleeing the Ethiopian boarder, and had been their for much longer. I headed their with a UN worker who was in charge of managing food for the refugees, and when we arrived we learned they had run out of the allotted food given to them, and were now going hungry. The aid worker soon left the camp, though I stayed behind to document what I saw.

I suppose I will let the photos speak for themselves (captions will come when I put this up as a portfolio). All i can say is, I was once again humbled, reminded how fragile societies can be, and how important it is for the international community to not let entire groups of people fall through the cracks. You feel incredibly powerless when in these situations, and it can be tough to look a person in the eyes and try and convey your empathy towards them. Alas, the last thing I will say is, while I feel powerless, the people, most certainly are not powerless. They have dignity and respect and pride. And despite their poverty, great contrasts exist. One man was sporting modern, urban American fashion. An elderly woman owned incredibly expensive boombox. Some how, these things trickle all the way down to an IDP camp in the middle of the boonies in Sudan. I don’t know how entire communities can be forgotten, but not the latest CD player or fashionable hat. It’s a peculiar world we live in.

Just a heads up – some of these photos contain graphic content.

Also – all photos were taken with the complete permission and understanding of the hospital, doctors, nurses, midwives and most importantly, the women and families in each scene. No photos were taken without consent.

When we arrived in Juba in early July, we found ourselves with much more free time than we thought. We drove around a lot, went out to a few refugee camps, spent time in the markets, walking around meeting random people and eventually went over to the hospital to check out the maternity ward. At the time, we thought it might be cool to document the birth of South Sudan’s first citizen. As it turns out, lots of media had that idea on the night of Independence, so that specific story got scrapped.

However, even with that story gone, I was pretty touched and intrigued by the process of birth, so for a few days, before and after Independence, we spent time visiting the maternity ward to take a exploring the culture of birth in Sudan, what it means to be a new mom, the health conditions in Juba’s hospitals, etc. On the most immediate, physical level, it interesting to watch a space where life, death, pain and joy all co-exist and intertwine in these very immediate and momentary scenes. – It was transfixing to spend time in a space that is set aside for one of human-kinds’ greatest purposes. I was also very touched by the kindness of the mothers – amongst other touching moments, Dani Zalcman and I even got to name a baby! We named her Grace, after one of the midwives who works in the hospital. (The full story is, we were working away in the maternity ward, talking with women-some of them first time mothers going into labor, others having just come out of labor and being taught how to breast feed, others who were veterans of the system (aka – mothers with 7 – 10 children). As we photographed one particular woman, she said something to Grace (the midwife), and Grace then turned to us and said, “This child is this woman’s eighth baby – she would like you to name her.” Dani and I tried out ‘Rebecca,’ but the Mom didn’t like it, so we went with ‘Grace.’ It was a pretty special moment.)

On the Monday after South Sudan’s independence (July 11, 2011) I walked along one of the main roads and worked on a small portrait series of South Sudanese shop owners. It was a self-assigned project – I’ve never been as confident with my portraits, and figured this would be a good challenge. What was most surprising is that of the eleven shop owners I photographed, only two of them were born and raised in South Sudan. All the others were from surrounding countries (or what is now (north) Sudan). What was originally meant to be a short series on South Sudanese entrepreneurs turned into a commentary on the huge numbers of immigrants who have come to the new country and in search of a better future. Thanks for looking, comments and criticisms always welcome.


Monica Nyambura works as a host at a road-side restaurant. She is originally from Kenya and has lived in Juba for one year.


Mohamed Adam Iesmer Suliman, originally from (north) Sudan, has lived in Juba for two months. He manages CPA restaurant.


Theresa Muiyuro, a Kenyan who has lived in Juba for two years selling clothing.


Mildred Mushira, a Kenyan hair stylist who has lived in Juba for 6 months, pauses for a portrait while styling Leila Melkior’s hair; Melkior is South Sudanese.


Mohmud Hussein, a shop owner from Somalia, has lived in Juba close to one year.


Million Gislassie, originally from Eritrea, has operated a general store in Juba for one year.


Jones Kyalimcua, from Uganda, rests while working in a typing and printing store. Kyalimcua has lived in Juba for two years.


Abdalrhiman Daflan, born and raised in Juba, proudly presents his South Sudanese driver’s license at his cafe, the Peace and Friendship Restaurant.


A barber who wished to not give his name or nationality.


John Keer Kaol Pay, originally from Bentiu, South Sudan, has lived in Juba for three months. He owns and operates a men’s clothing store.


Grace Muyigwa, who is from Uganda, poses for a portrat at the printing and typing store she has worked at in Juba for the past year.


Alice Wanjiru has lived in Juba for four years – she works in a road-side restaurant and is originally from Kenya.

Sometimes I feel like blogging, sometimes I don’t, and it gets pushed to the bottom of the to-do list for weeks on end. Should probably work on that…
Anyway, here are a set of images I made on July 9, 2011 – South Sudan’s independence. It was a brutally hot, unorganized, incredibly long, taxing day. Reuters’ Goran Tomasavich wrote a fairly accurate, and amusing, account of the day: here

Still it was an honor and a joy (and I really mean that), to witness history unfold, and to do so for the Associated Press. One of the biggest reasons I got into photography was to witness history on the ground floor, and I am proud to say I was there for this event.

You know, there’s often a lot of talk in the photo industry about the need for photographers to have a unique eye, your own personal style, to be your artist. That’s true, and I agree with all of that. But I also am attracted to, or subscribe to the belief that photojournalism is a trade and a craft – passed down from one generation to the next. So many amazingly talented photographers have worked in Sudan throughout the decades, attempting to reveal truth and highlight events for the world to see. I am so proud to join the ranks of those photographers, and contribute to this chapter in Sudan’s long history. I hope I did it justice.

Also, a very warm shout out to Pete Muller, who I worked with for two days for the AP. Pete’s an amazing guy, and a great photographer. He recognized that the independence of South Sudan was an important story to tell, and moved there in 2008 to follow the story through to completion. He has invested so much into this story – it was an honor to shoot along side him, chat with him about Sudan as a country, and more than anything, learn from him. He’s also one of the nicest mofo-ers around. If you don’t know his work, check him out: http://petemullerphotography.com/ And, if you’re in New York in November, swing by the Open Society Moving Walls exhibit – he was named a winner!

The day started at around 5:30 AM, and crowds were let into the viewing area around sunrise. It was the start of a very, very long day.

The band arrived in style!
















When you factor in the thickness of the crowd, the fact that this the president, and the general aggresiveness of the Sudanese secret service, (also! the fact that Sudanese are, on average, a foot taller than me) I have come to the conclusion that this is one of the hardest photos I’ve ever taken. I’ve never thrown so many elbows or pushed so hard. What up Salva Kiir.


















The South Sudan flag going up.


The (north) Sudan flag coming down and being presented to the Sudanese representative.


Again, I don’t know if I’ve ever been so aggressive to get a photo – wrangling with soldiers and secret service while history is literally folded in front of your eyes is…unfortunate.

Starting at around 9PM on July 8, celebrations broke out in Juba. Crowds poured into the streets with sparklers, booze, flags, water and aerosol cans (they would light the spray on fire). Cars, trucks and buses jam-packed with people honked as motorcycles raced around. It was an incredible event to be a part of, though I am not as happy as I could be with my photos. Actually, I think the photo of the night (no surprise, and many props) goes to Goran Tomasevic, with this frame: http://news.yahoo.com/photos/july-4th-fireworks-1309787329-slideshow/man-dances-fireworks-during-south-sudans-independence-day-photo-224703580.html

Certain images are © The Associated Press, 2011 – they are noted as such.

© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press




© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press


© The Associated Press

I was hired by the AP to photograph the arrival of Ban Ki-moon, secretary general of the United Nations, on July 8th, the eve of Independence. We were told to be at the Juba airport for his 4:30 flight, but by 5 PM he still hadn’t arrived. Then, out of the clouds a huge plane appeared, and we all released a sigh of relief. But as the plane taxied closer, we read the lettering on the side – Air Zimbabwe. ‘That’s weird,’ one reporter said. “Actually,’ an airport official said, “That’s Robert Mugabe – the secretary general of the UN won’t arrive for another half an hour…”

Images that are copyright of The Associated Press are noted.






© The Associated Press, 2011




© The Associated Press, 2011




© The Associated Press, 2011


Mugabe’s flight leaves as Ban Ki-moon’s flight arrives.






© The Associated Press, 2011


© The Associated Press, 2011

Portraiture has always been a big weak point for me – and while these still arent amazing portraits, I’m happy with them. To get far too cliche and metaphoric, I really like this trail that I’ve been photographing on – it cuts through a viney field that is also home to a graveyard, and on these days leading up to independence, it seems to stand as a good metaphor for the South Sudanese people emerging from the cloud of two decades of civil war into a new country they fought hard for; out of something bad, into something good; a trail between heaven and hell; or out of the desert and into Eden (cliche, I know, but I like the ring out it); people emerging out of death and into the birth of a nation.

I directed people as little as possible. Some immediately stand for a portrait, other ignore me and walk by, others do silly poses and I ask them to stop and stand still. Thanks for looking.

Not too much going on today, though we did find a beautiful trail that locals use as a shortcut across a grass field.

Energy is building in Juba. Today included a dry-run of the July-9 independence parade and general celebration from various tribes that have been bused in from the states through out South Sudan. It was a fun day to work, and the first real day of seeing other members of the press – there are a lot of great photographers in town.