UNESCO Youth Forum #1
A few weeks ago I received an email from an old editor suggesting I apply to be a participant in the 7th UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) Youth Conference in Paris. They were looking for 1o young journalists (defined as journalists under 30 years old) to represent various regions of the world (Europe, Africa, The Middle East, Asia, South East Asia, North America, Latin America and South America). In the email, it was made clear that it’d be a rare opportunity to be on the other side of history – instead of acting as a journalist (where journalists frequently react to news and follow history occurring), it would be a chance to help create a small sliver of history by sitting in on round tables, discussing with delegates from around the world and letting my voice be heard. Moreover, we would also act as journalists as well, interviewing other delegates and reporting on their thoughts. If I was accepted, I would have a chance to hold a one-on-one conversation with the Director General of UNESCO. Wow, I thought, what an honor.
Well, I applied, and after a few emails, a phone interview and some schedule re-arrangements, I was off to Paris for a week. I’ve since arrived, met the nine other young journalists (Ali from Lebanon, Hend from Egypt, Martina from Italy, Doudou from The D.R.Congo, Miguel from Chile, Laura from Cuba/now living in Mexico, Koulina from Cambodia, Rajneesh from Nepal and Jennifer from Nigeria) and am happy to start reporting on what is occurring. The team is incredibly versatile and insanely talented. Miguel (from Chile) is a film producer and has worked with 60 Minutes, the BBC and MTV. Ali is a blogger and activist (from Beirut), and was named one of the top-10 most influential bloggers in Beirut. And Rajneesh (from Nepal) Kantipur T.V. in Nepal, has traveled around the world following stories in Congo, Philippines, Thailand and India. When he isn’t working for Nepalese TV, he freelances for the LA Times.
Before I jump into the conference, I thought I would give a briefing on what UNESCO is, because to be honest, I had no real idea what it was before applying, researching it, and then arriving here:
Some brief facts on UNESCO:
• UNESCO is not in any way, shape or form controlled by the UN. It has it’s own member states (separate from the UN) and negotiates its own budget with member states. However UNESCO does fall under the United Nations “umbrella,” along with the UN itself, the World Health Organization (WHO), the Food and Agricultural Organization (FAO), and the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA).
• UNESCO has 5 major areas of expertise, in which it attempts to encourage positive, international collaboration.
> Education
> Natural Science
> Social and Human Sciences
> Culture
> Communication and Information
• The General Council (with 193 member states) meets once every two years, during the fall of odd numbered years; The GC is the equivalent of the UN’s General Assembly. This year the General Council is occurring the first week of November. The Executive Board (with 58 members) meets every 6 months, and makes recommendations to the General Council.
• Each member state of UNESCO holds one vote, and once voice. None of this UN-security-council-veto-wielding-super-country bullshit (aka The US, Russia, China, France and the United Kingdom)
(if you’re confused: within the United Nations exists a body known as the Security Council. It has 15 member-states, who must all be present in New York at all times, so that they can meet to discuss urgent matters whenever necessary. Ten member-states are elected every two years, but the other five permanent member-states (the aforementioned countries), have veto power. Any bill or resolution that goes to the security council and meets disagreement with one of those five permanent countries can be vetoed on the spot, without question, and it only takes one veto. According to Wikipedia (forgive me for typing those last three words, I’m on a deadline and this is a blog post) the five super countries have vetoed bills this number of times: China (ROC/PRC): 6 times; France: 18 times; the United Kingdom 32 times; the United States 82 times; and Russia/USSR 123 times.
In my personal opinion, this power totally nullifies the entire idea of global, democratic body. It should also be noted that since the Security Council’s inception in 1945, 72 member states have never been a member of the security council.
Ok back to UNESCO:
• UNESCO operates on a consensus basis. This means they won’t go forward with a bill or resolution until every. single. country agrees with every. single. sentence in the bill. When the 193 member-states don’t agree, they can agree to a majority vote on a bill. We held a conversation with an employee from the office of the Director General, who said that a bill going to a majority vote is a rare instance, mainly because UNESCO deals with less contentious issues, or because bills are written less specifically, to appease all member-states.
As for the Youth Forum:
This year, there are 245 delegates. The goal is to have all 193 member states represented, though this isn’t always possible, and I’m not exactly sure how many member states are represented this Forum. Some countries have two delegates, others only have one. The 245 who have been chosen went through extensive checks and balances system: they were vetted by age (19-24), gender (54% women), community participation (required to demonstrate specific instances of community involvement, action and experience), and anti-corruption (delegates can have no family/friend connections to government/UNESCO employees).
As for how UNESCO is treating us, the journalists. So far, it’s been pretty awesome. They’ve requested we tweet two or three times a day, and make one journalistic-contribution, in whatever medium we choose (blog, article, video, photo) once a day. I’ve decided to write blogs with photos. And considering the fact that UNESCO has flown us all the Paris, and is housing and feeding us, it’s pretty cool that they also said this:
“Of course, we hope you don’t find anything to criticize, but if you do find these things, please, do, criticize. This is your job. Document it. All we ask is that you criticize constructively. We are for building up, not destroying. Criticize, but do it constructively.”
As for the photos you’ve been looking at. I guess I better talk about my choice to use Instagram and what it is you’re looking at:
Welp, after years of criticizing iPhone photography, I’ve jumped into the big swirling pool of phone-photography poop. The sweet smell of hypocrisy. Actually, now that I think about it , I recall, just six short weeks ago, writing a scathing, 3-part tweet criticizing iPhone photography, “Wondering when this iPhone photo-essay craze is going to pass with professionals.We get it: your phone has a camera & color-warping apps. Chances are very good that you make much better frames with professional cameras and lenses. I can think of few situations where a phone is a better choice. Syria (where journos are targeted) being one of them.” Damn you, internet age, for remembering everything I do and say).
All I can say is, over the past two days, I haven’t much felt like putting a camera to my eye. It takes a certain amount of creative, emotional, and psychological energy to do so. The bar that any photographer sets for themselves when they pick up their camera means that every photo they take, while usually enjoyable and beneficial and fun, also comes with some amount of stress to take a photo the right way. And after weeks of covering Occupy wall Street, and no sleep, and then getting pepper-sprayed a few days ago, I just felt like I might give it a rest.
But at the same time, we’ve been touring UNESCO’s building and going through a few orientations, and I’ve found the building’s architecture and style and accoutrements really interesting – a trip back in time. Like any good person of my generation, I’ve also been cradling my iPhone the past few days (illogically, by the way, I have the damned thing in airplane mode), so I thought I would finally check out the Instagram I downloaded. And it turns out it’s really fun. And effortless. And easy-going. And damn those stupid filters are kind of cool. So I’ve been playing around with it and having a good time. If anything, my goal is to give the reader a sense of the space we’re working in while were here.
I should also say, whenever I go someplace new and have some time to waste, I like to walk around for a day or two without making any photos. I’ll have my cameras on me, but whenever I can afford to, the first few days are spent absorbing a place. Instagram seems to offer a nice middle ground. Just a quick click with your phone when you see something interesting. No RAW files or photoshop or 20 mB files.
But if I was actually going to try and justify using Instagram, I would simply say this. UNESCO has been really, really focusing on using social media to help steer the conversations with youth, and to help shape which issues they focus on most. They even monitored buzz words on twitter being used in select demographics to decide which issues the forum should focus on. So my decision to use Instagram comes after many hours of informed, thought-out, wise thinking (mild sarcasm). Seriously though, it seems to fit the Forum well. But kill, rather, mildly scold me, if I ever use an iPhone on a serious assignment.
Anyway, the real goal of the week is to create an entire portrait series of youth delegates from around the world. Starting tomorrow, UNESCO’s television studio has offered to lend me two studio lights, and I’m going to create a small studio next to the main foyer. The portraits will focus on youth delegates from around the world, speakers, special UNESCO youth envoys and various other personnel. My ultimate goal is to get delegates from countries with a history of conflict to pose together. If I can get a Palestinian and Israeli, or an Indian and Pakistani, or a US citizen and an Afghani together to pose for a portrait, in the name of peace, I will consider the week a great success.
If you’ve read this far, thanks so much. The conference officially starts tomorrow. Lots of buzz throughout the entire building, pretty exciting to be here. Should be a great week ahead.
Thanks for reading.
Protests in Paris
I’m in Paris currently acting as a young journalist representative at the 7th UNESCO Youth Conference. Before jumping into that coverage (for which I have many thoughts that I’m excited to share), I thought I’d make a quick post from a protest I covered in Paris on October 15. The original plan was to cover an Occupy Paris protest, but it fizzled throughout the day, and we eventually decided to head home. On our way back, we ran into a separate protest: French residents with ties to the Ivory Coast were protesting the French involvement in the Ivory Coast civil war, calling French President Nicolas Sarkozy a war criminal. The people blocked traffic on a major Parisian street, which caused riot police to show up (moments after we arrived).
Single Assignments from 2010/2011
A lot of what pays the bills in New York are single assignments – daily-grind-type-stuff. Grind is the wrong word. A lot of these assignments are good visual challenges. Well, plus good challenges in dodging the NYPD, and looking for a frame different than the other 100 media photographers are taking. It’s a good challenge. Here’s a collection of a few of my favorites over the past year. Images were shot for Getty Images, the Associated Press, Reuters, The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal and/or The Star Ledger. Please respect the copyright owners of these images.
A woman holds up a Libyan flag during a protest against Libya’s leader, Col. Muammar el-Qaddafi, outside the United Nations building on 1st Avenue in New York, February 21, 2011. The staff of Libya’s mission to the United Nations declared allegiance to the people of Libya, instead of to its government led by Muammar Gaddafi, a mission spokesman said on Monday. REUTERS/Andrew Burton
(Last two images) Frank Simmonds, of the Bay Ridge neighborhood of Brooklyn, NY, carries a cross on Brooklyn Bridge during the 16th annual ‘Way of the Cross Over the Brooklyn Bridge Ceremony’ in New York City on April 22, 2011. The ceremony, hosted yearly on the Christian holy day of ‘Good Friday,’ includes walking from St. James Cathedral, in Brooklyn over the Brooklyn Bridge to St. Peter’s Church, in Manhattan. The event attracts approximately 2,000 people each year. REUTERS/Andrew Burton
Craig Wallen, chef at Spasso, poses for a portrait on December 22, 2010 at the chef’s counter at Spasso in the west village. Andrew Burton for The New York Times
Captain Sean Giery of the Fire Department of New York, right, delivers a hot meal to Zelda Kaplan, 94, at her home on West 57th Street through the City Meals on Wheels program on December 24, 2010. Recipients of the program received a meal of fish, potatoes and collared greens. Kaplan said she was not feeling well and would only stick her hand out to receive the food. Andrew Burton for The New York Times
Metal workers pour bronze into a cast of artist Allston Chapman’s sculpture, “Looking Up,” at Modern Art Foundry in Queens, New York on May 10, 2011. “Looking Up” features a young girl and a dog, it will be installed in Riverside Park South in June; the sculpture was made possible through a five-year partnership between The Art Students League of New York and NYC Parks Department to Create Public Art for Public Spaces. Andrew Burton for The Wall Street Journal
Hans Charles, laying down, from Upstate New York, was stranded in John F. Kennedy Airport while trying to get to Haiti, on December 26, 2010. Andrew Burton for The New York Times
NEW YORK, NY – JANUARY 01: A large group of people took part in the Coney Island Polar Bear Club by run into the water at Coney Island on January 1, 2011 in New York City. (Photo by Andrew Burton/Getty Images)
Elvis Costello and The Imposters perform at the Beacon Theater during the Revolver Tour in New York on Sunday, May 22, 2011. The concert was marked by go-go dancers and a giant wheel that was spun by musician and audience member alike, to determine the set list. Andrew Burton for The Star Ledger
NEW YORK, NY – MAY 31: Sarah Palin, the former-governer of Alaska, walks past members of the media while arriving at Trump Tower on 56th Street and 5th Avenue on May 31, 2011 in New York City. Palin and Donald Trump later exited the building for dinner. (Photo by Andrew Burton/Getty Images)
NEW YORK, NY – MAY 31: Donald Trump enters a limo after leaving Trump Tower with former U.S. Vice presidential candidate and Alaska Governor Sarah Palin (not seen) at 56th Street and 5th Avenue, on their way to get dinner on May 31, 2011 in New York City. (Photo by Andrew Burton/Getty Images)
Cecilia Schudel, a sophomore at Columbia University, center, watches Sid Nair, also a sophomore at Columbia university, program during HackNY Hackathon, a 24-hour coding marathon held at New York University’s Courant Institute of Mathematical Sciences in New York City. The Event started on April 9, 2011 and finished at 12:00 PM on April 10, 2011. HackNY Hackaton is used to create new programs and raise money for start-ups; organizers were expecting students from over 30 universities to attend. Andrew Burton for The Wall Street Journal
(Last 4 images from the) Easter Parade and Easter Bonnet Festival on 5th Avenue in New York City, on April 24, 2011. The festival, which has existed for over 100 years, involves people wearing outfits and parading themselves on 5th Avenue.
The site of a house fire in the Bronx. (AP Photo/Andrew Burton)
(L-R) Alec Small, age 10, Cameron Dupre, age 11, and Tyler Small, age 12, hunt for loose tennis balls in the bushes surrounding the courts during the 2011 US Open in the Queens borough of New York, on August 29, 2011. Andrew Burton for The Wall Street Journal
NEW YORK, NY – AUGUST 23: Samantha Thompson, a park ranger, stands guard outside Federal Hall National Memorial on Wall Street after a 5.8 earthquake, which struck Virginia, was felt in New York, on August 23, 2011 in New York, United States. The earthquake was felt as far north as the Adirondacks. (Photo by Andrew Burton/Getty Images)
NEW YORK, NY – AUGUST 27: A child holds a pair of shoes, a flash light and a liter of water while waiting to board a bus, departing from Seward Park High School, a designated evacuation center for citizens who were required to evacuate their premises due to Hurricane Irene, and headed to Intermediate School 131, which was converted to a separate evacuation center, on August 27, 2011 in New York City. People were moved to Intermediate School 131 after Seward Park High School ran out of space. The city of New York required all citizens living in “Zone A” regions to evacuate their homes due to Hurricane Irene, which is supposed to hit New York sometime in the early hours of August 28. (Photo by Andrew Burton/Getty Images)
NEW YORK, NY – AUGUST 27: A woman and her dog, “Sparkle,” wait on a bus, departing from Seward Park High School, a designated evacuation center for citizens who were required to evacuate their premises due to Hurricane Irene, and headed to Intermediate School 131, which was converted to a separate evacuation center, on August 27, 2011 in New York City. People were moved to Intermediate School 131 after Seward Park High School ran out of space. The city of New York required all citizens living in “Zone A” regions to evacuate their homes due to Hurricane Irene, which is supposed to hit New York sometime in the early hours of August 28. (Photo by Andrew Burton/Getty Images)
(Next four images) From the (at least semi- )legendary (and now defunct) Dominique Strauss-Kahn case. (Photo by Andrew Burton/Getty Images)
NEW YORK, NY – MAY 19: Emergency Service Unit officers guard a police escort van as it is backed into the Manhattan Criminal Courts Building at 100 Centre Street on May 19, 2011 in New York City. (Photo by Andrew Burton/Getty Images)
NEW YORK, NY – JUNE 06: Supporters of the New York Hotel Worker’s Union wait to protest against Dominique Strauss-Kahn outside the Manhattan Criminal Courts Building on June 6, 2011 in New York City. When Strauss-Kahn arrived the crowd chanted “Shame on you!” (Photo by Andrew Burton/Getty Images)
NEW YORK, NY – AUGUST 23: Dominique Strauss-Kahn, former head of the International Monetary Fund, speaks to reporters outside his residency at 153 Franklin Street on August 23, 2011 in New York City. Strauss-Kahn had all sexual assault charges dropped against him earlier in the day at a New York court. (Photo by Andrew Burton/Getty Images)
NEW YORK, NY – AUGUST 01: A man watches a breaking news alert regarding the national debt limit on a television displayed in the window of a TD Bank at the corner 6th Avenue and West 44th Street son August 1, 2011 in New York City. The House of Representatives successfully passed a bill that would reduce national debt and raise the national debt limit, though the bill still needs to pass the senate. (Photo by Andrew Burton/Getty Images)
A police officer stands guard at Post Avenue, in the Inwood neighborhood of Manhattan, where an alleged shooting took place on Tuesday, September 6, 2011. Andrew Burton for The Wall Street Journal
A spectator cheers while watching the eighth race at the 143 Belmont stakes, the final leg of racing’s Triple Crown at Belmont Park in Elmont, New York, June 11, 2011. REUTERS/Andrew Burton (UNITED STATES)
In These Dark Canyons
Still trolling through 2010 looking for narratives I didn’t realize I was telling.
Found this set of images from last November / December (2010).
It’s funny, too, because when I got to the city, I knew I was pretty lonely, knew I was wrestling with my future, knew that the city was having its effect on me. I thought about trying to consciously create a portfolio called “In These Dark Canyons,” but I never set out to do it.
“Just another semi-good idea, wasted,” I thought.
Turns out I was creating it, quietly, in my subconscious, for a few months. It just took me a while to realize all the material was gathering.
I think this will be a story I continue to tell for a while, even though I have tackled the majority of those problems (loneliness, not knowing how to ‘make it work’ and New York in general). The “In These Dark Canyons” theme is something I continue to see in my work from New York.
Thanks for looking, and photographers, take note(!) never forget to troll your archives – you never know what’s quietly brewing behind the curtain of your own thoughts.
Finding Narratives
Like most photographers, I am perpetually behind on editing and cataloging my work. Over the past month I’ve made a serious push to go back and make sure I look at every frame I take. It’s led me on an interesting journey, leaving me to find narratives in my own work that I didn’t know existed. An entire portfolio – Love Song to Youth - was created after letting one summer of images marinate in my head for well over a year, before it jumped out from the screen at me. Personally, there’s something much more pure, or whole, uncovering a story you didn’t know you were following – something about how photography can reveal things going on on your subconscious that you didn’t know about. If you’re a photographer, I suggest you give it a try.
The next set of images were created in September and October of 2010 – just after moving to New York City for an internship. These were made walking around the city. I remember how I felt during those months rather distinctly, but I’d be interested to hear what these images say to you – so tell me, what’s the narrative here?
Upon the Marriage of:
Once when we were young
Do you remember?
Before I knew your name, before the tulips had bloomed
Stolen eyes under the carousel
diving for alabaster off the pier
torn buttons beneath the swinging chair.
How you walked the tram lines in the years with no work
I buried coins ‘neath the oak tree, invested for a ring.
We rationed our sugar, made plum cakes late at night
whispering how we were the only ones who knew.
Our time was spent holding fast, digging deep, breathing skin with swollen gasps.
You swore our joy inspired the prophets to invent magnets.
During the first spring rain came new breath
you wrapped her in lambs wool and promised her cinnamon cloves with her first teeth.
Sweet grass grew around our house
she learned to walk, soft toes on soft dirt.
The year the radio arrived the scientists swore death would soon be defeated
We laughed, for we knew we had found immortality long ago, one night in the wheat field while the sun still shown
–
I never noticed the clouds dampening the sky when I looked at you
and I never feared the dark at the end of the wick when near your voice
Now we are old, our eyes drawn fast toward each other
years rusted deep under December snow
I have never loved you more then when i watch you teach him how to whittle a pipe
when you show her where the choice trout grow.
In the new year, we will fall asleep under the oil lantern
And I will dream of how once I knew where life was found.
In the deep water beyond the road west.
In the columns of the east.
How wrong I was.
life is found where you are
and long after I forget my own name, I will know your pulse
long after the oak tree falls, I will hold you still.
-Written upon the request of my dear friends Brad Horn and Coburn Dukehart, for their wedding.
night before the wedding
Brad and his Mom
(Photo by Andrew Maclean)
Yours truly, delivering the aforementioned poem, during the ceremony.
(Photo by Andrew Maclean)
Everyone was asked to wear a crazy hat. The bride and groom happily participated.
Door County, WI, at dusk
Brad and his Pop
Arguably the best first dance I’ve ever seen
9-11
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.
Refugee Camp in Malakal, South Sudan
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.
The Maternity Ward in Juba
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.)
South Sudanese Shop Owners
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.
Sudan’s Independence, 6 weeks late
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.
Independence Eve Celebrations
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
Ban Ki-moon…and Mugabe…arrive in Juba
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
Trail to Eden
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.
Quiet day in Juba
Not too much going on today, though we did find a beautiful trail that locals use as a shortcut across a grass field.
Sudanese Independence, Dry Run
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.
Daily Life in Juba, and at our Hotel
Nothing too important to talk about here – just a few feature photos from daily life in Juba, and again, at our hotel.
I will say, photographs have an enormous power in suggesting the way life looks in a town – Juba, for instance: one can make Juba look like an extremely poverty-stricken, hell-hole of a town – depending on which direction you point you lens. The contrast is that, if you point your lens in another direction, you can make this town look like a pro-active, thriving town of middle class citizens. I hope my photos show both – it is very much a town of extreme contrasts.
As for the photos of gents playing pool: our hotel turns into a local watering hole each night, and we’ve been lucky enough to close out each night with a few games of pool and a beer or two with the locals – it’s a cool crowd to spend time with.
Sudanese Independence Prep
It’s been very exciting to be on the ground in Juba – there’s a lot of buzz in the air. That said, we’ve been less than enthusiastic about the bureaucratic run-around we’ve been on for the past few days. We were lucky enough to meet a second lieutenant in the presidential protection agency (we met him through our excellent fixer, Joshua), who has been personally escorting us to each office and helping us expedite the paperwork (including over the weekend) but even with his help, it will have taken us 3 or 4 days to complete everything. Unlike most western countries, it’s illegal to take photos in public in Sudan – first you need a photography permit – then you need press permits – then you need permits to take photos of the SPLA (Sudanese People’s Liberation Army – a huge component to Sudan’s independence and future security). All up, it’s been a time consuming, frustrating process.
However, for the first time yesterday (after returning from the Ethiopian refugee camp) we were able to photograph independence celebration preparation for about 40 minutes – this included the practicing of presidential processions, gardening, painting, and general finishing touches on the stadium where the independence celebration will take place. Thanks for looking.
Gorom Refugee Camp
This is a tough one – refugee camps. Not because there’s poverty or masses of people without proper housing or work (though those are issues) – it’s a tough situation because what we found when we arrived at Gorom refugee center were hard-working, optimistic people – and I’m worried my photos fall into the old cliche of poor, shirtless Africans in a refugee camp. As a journalist still fairly new to the scene, I want to focus my career, as much as I can, towards breaking stereotypes and not taking more token photos.
The fact of the matter is, Juba, South Sudan is surrounded by refugee camps of all shapes and sizes. We set out today to photograph in a refugee camp for Sudanese fleeing from the conflict on the border, but accidentally ended up in a 1000-person-strong Ethiopian camp run by the UN – these are people who have been shuffled from camp to camp since 2004, when they arrived in Sudan from the Ethiopian border. And while there were expected photos of babies with jutted stomachs (which I photographed) and mud shacks with metal roofs lining worn out dirt roads (which I photographed), and meager water jugs over small dirt-laden fires (which I photographed), what I was most interested in were a group of boys, 12-15 years old, who were clearing a field to grow sorghum, ground nuts and maise. These are boys who are becoming men, growing up, in their influential years and making the best of the shitty hand life dealt them. These are boys who are becoming men who were just as serious about getting back to work when I walked up to them and explained ‘I work as a photojournalist, please get back to work and act like I’m not here.’ I’m interested in displaying the optimism, joy and playfulness I saw in them. But it also requires you, the viewer, the take the time to re-think the photos you’re looking at. Please don’t assume that these children are the same children you see in Save-the Children commercials. These are boys who are becoming men, taking power in their own lives and making the best of what they have. We didn’t stay as long as we could have – we needed to head back and find the refugee camp we meant to find (which then got delayed a day), but I was inspired by what I saw today, and hope you, the viewer, are as well. Thanks for reading and looking.
The fishing Economy in Ggaba, Uganda
I’m currently traveling with Daniella Zalcman and Jon Alpeyrie, on our way to Sudan to document the independence of Southern Sudan. To get to Sudan we’ve had to spend a few days in Kampala, Uganda to apply for visas for Sudan. In the downtime, we spent the day (ok, really just the morning) in Ggaba, Uganda, a fishing village on the shores of Lake Victoria. We had all heard the stories of overfishing problems in Lake Victoria, so we thought we would head south and check it out. While this is in no way even close to a complete essay, it was a nice way to spend the morning, and an interesting place to explore and work in. What we found was a thriving village with a very active waterfront – fish, vegetables, meats, clothing, and goods – all for sale, people dodging bikes, cars and motorcycles while fishermen came and went in their boats.
The three of us all found our way out onto boats, where the men (I didn’t see any fisher-women) were casting lines and then dragging them in. By 10 AM they had collected their nets. All the fishermen admitted that in the past 10 years their catches have decreased dramatically. Moses, the fisherman I headed out with only caught one regulation size fish, though he seemed pleased – he said on some days he doesn’t catch anything – a massive change from when he first started fishing the lake.
We then headed back to shore, where the fish were auctioned off at market. Some purchasers immediately headed to a separate store where fish were gutted, scaled and fileted for a few schillings. The leftover scraps – skeleton, guts, skins, were then brought to the far end of the market, where they were fileted again, cooked, cleaned and packaged for various uses.
Had I been here 5 or 6 years ago, I would have lamented over the poverty throughout the market (I would venture to say this is a common assumption by most westerners). However, the truth of the matter is, Ggaba has a thriving (albeit low-income) economy with an active society. While hygiene could definitely be improved, we found most people happy, inviting and in good spirits – going about a normal Thursday morning (far from the how it might be perceived from an outsider’s perspective). I hope my photos show these people as happy, normal, hard working Ugandans. And I hope for their sake, the various governments that border Lake Victoria help bring back the fish populations – I have to speculate that these small, one-man fishing boats are not the reason for the overfishing - I assume there are massive, multimillion dollar fleets of boats that are decimating this natural resource farther out on the lake.
As for my choice to go black and white – I wasn’t feeling the color palate this morning – it wasn’t very consistent – too jumbled and distracting. As always, thanks for looking.
Through The Eyes of Hope Project
I recently received an email from the people behind Through The Eyes of Hope Project – a Rwanda-based organization that teaches children photography as an act of art therapy – asking if I would talk about their work on this little blog. I don’t personally know the group, but judging by their website, they’re making the world a better place by using photography – which seems like a pretty good gig. Check them out here and donate, if you feel moved.
Recent Assignments: Dining Reviews
I’ve been branching out recently, taking assignments in areas I don’t have as much experience (also see previous posts about interiors and concerts). The most recent chapter includes food assignments, which has been a great challenge.
Alcoholic milkshakes for The Oregonian
Bukhara Grill for The New York Times
Veritas for The New York Times
Niko for The New York Times
Hetherington and Hondros, In Memoriam
The photo community lost two of its biggest pillars yesterday, and in my own small way, I want to honor them – it only feels right. As with anyone who knew or admired Chris and Tim, I was floored by the news of their deaths – true heroes of mine. Words really can’t convey. It’s been such a sad, terrible day. I never met Tim, though I knew his work well. I had known Chris for about seven months.
Image © Matt Stuart
I don’t have much to say about Hetherington that hasn’t already been said. He was one of the best visual journalists to ever work, relentless in his work ethic, an innovator, and from what I hear, one of the nicest people in the industry. I have poured over his work for hours, trying to learn. His work was elemental in my education that photography is more than conveying facts – it’s about conveying emotion, and using the tools of photography to match the emotion of a scene. He was a groundbreaker, doing things no one had done before. He will be missed by our industry so dearly.
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Image © Associated Press
I first met Chris while I was a sports intern at Getty last October. On the day I met him I was meeting with news editors, showing them my book. Hondros tried to quietly slipped through the office’s glass doors, but his presence was immediately known. As he entered, Sandy, the editor I was working with, excitedly said, “Look! That’s Chris Hondros, have you met him? He’s the nicest guy, just got back from Afghanistan.” He immediately made the rounds, shaking hands with everyone, a big smile on his face. When I was introduced to him, he was warm and conversational, a firm handshake and steady eye contact. We talked about how my internship was going, and how he was going off to Germany for a few days of well deserved R&R. As with meeting any hero, it was a monumental moment – someone I wanted (and still want) to be just like. “And he was such a normal guy – so cool,” I thought as I left the office that day.
We would meet again in the coming weeks and months, at a few Getty events, and at a Luceo gallery showing in January. Each time, big smile, warm handshake, conversations about the industry, photo stories, travels. We even went on assignment together – albiet, separately. On January 12 Getty assigned both of us to snowstorm coverage – I headed out to JFK (as a freelancer) while he stayed in the city. And while my memory is hazy, I’m pretty sure he got published below-the-fold on the front page on the New York Times the next day. It was a nice frame of kids walking to school, bundled up in winter gear. I was so frustrated that he had been published on the front page (like all photographers, I too, am competitive), but I also knew when to recognize a great photographer – he had, without a doubt, out shot me.
The next major memory I have of Chris is in Tahrir Square, on Friday, February 5, 2011. The day was being called “The Day of Departure,” and we were expecting a lot of violence. Getty’s John Moore was also on the ground, and John had decided to take the street view, while Chris manned an overhead position on a nearby rooftop. As I scanned the roofs of Cairo, Chris could be seen in a white shirt and trademark dark sunglasses, gazing out over Tahrir. I eventually made my way up to the rooftop, where we talked about the day. I was pretty nervous, but he was calm and kind as we talked – he explained his thoughts about the situation, giving me some advice. We had both been attacked in previous days, and I was shaking in my boots a bit. He, acting as the calm veteran, explained how shit had gotten hairy for us during those few days because the rules of this specific engagement hadn’t been clarified. He continued to explain – now that we knew what the two sides looked like (pro and anti Mubarak), who wanted what, and where the army stood, journalists would be able to move around more safely. We eventually went our separate ways, though I would periodically see him through a crowd over the next few days.
I last saw Chris three weeks ago, over beers at a photo event in midtown. He was looking dapper, in a trademark tweed jacket and scarf. I had just returned from Japan, he was heading off to Libya the next morning. Our conversation didn’t linger very long on his travels to Libya – this was a normal, everyday assignment for him – run of the mill. Instead, We talked about how Japan had been and what the next major world events might include. That night, like the other times I had met Chris, I remember thinking, “Absorb this, absorb this – this is Chris Hondros, soak up everything you can. You don’t get to meet this kind of genius everyday.” But it was a big crowd of people, our conversation petered out as other colleagues swirled around. We went our separate ways, the night slipped away. The next I saw, his work from Libya was running the front page of the Washington Post. I wish I had said goodbye that night.
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Tim Hetherington and Chris Hondros, like the very best photojournalists, had a strong conviction for story telling and documentation of the world’s events. They believed in the stories they were telling and were the very definition of true professionals – members of the most elite order of photographers. They used their skills to share truth; they spent their lives valuably, with purpose, witnessing and recording history the moment it occurred. Perhaps most importantly, and what is often hardest to do: Hetherington and Hondros had the uncanny ability to make viewers care about the lives of other people, to inspire other to make a difference. Their work will go down in history books. My only hope is that these men, along with their family and friends, know just how much they are loved and appreciated.
In closing, my biggest regret in getting to know Chris is this: as photojournalists work alongside each other, we’re constantly trying to keep each other out of our frames – barking at journalists who get in the way, hoping to keep the scene clean. We spend too little time documenting each other for our own memories. Chris and I worked together on that Cairo rooftop for a while, in the late February sun. I know we both made a few frames. But last night I spent an hour pouring over every image I had from that day, hoping to find a frame with him in it. Nothing. I wish I had a photo or two to share.
Recent Assignments: Architecture and Interiors
I’ve found myself photographing interiors and architecture recently – a new area for me, but a good visual challenge.
For the Home and Garden section of The Oregonian, a personal home in southwest Portland:
Interiors taken during a portrait shoot of an interior designer, who designed this Manhattan home at the Sherry Netherland, on the southeast corner of Central Park – for The Wall Street Journal
And finally, interiors from David Bouley’s recently opened restaurant Brushstrokes
