Wednesday, April 27, 2011

MOMENTS OF OUR TIME

Via wayneford's posterous

Notes and thoughts on the photography that I am looking at...
April 27, 2011


 Moments of Our Time: Photographs that Define Modern History


 

Above Execution in Saigon, 1968. (©AP Eddie Adams/Courtesy of Monroe Gallery).


Over the past 100 years, the photograph has formed an important part of both our social and cultural history, with many images becoming icons of our time and often forming the the impetus to set political social changes in motion. Moments of Our Time at London’s Atlas Gallery brings many of these key images together, in what could be considered a sequel to the 2010 exhibition, Faces of Our Time.


Amongst the exhibitions many recognisable photographs, are Robert Capa’s (1913-1954) D-Day, Omaha Beach, Normandy, 6th June 1944, an image that places us, the viewer, at the very heart of the action, as the soldiers struggle to reach the beachhead through a raging surf, whilst under the threat of enemy fire, a photograph that clearly reflects Capa’s credo, ‘...if your pictures aren't good enough, you aren't close enough.’

Whilst American Joe Rosenthal (1911-2006), received a Pulitzer Prize for his iconic photograph Raising the Flag on Iwo Jima, taken in 1945, five days after the U.S. Marine corp landed on Iwo Jima. When asked about the photograph later in life, Rosenthal replied, ‘I took the picture, the Marines took Iwo Jima.’


Marines of the 28th Regiment of the 5th Division Raise the American Flag Atop Mt. Suribachi, Iwo Jima, 1945

Above U.S. Marines of the 28th Regiment, 5th Division, raise the American flag atop Mt. Suribachi, Iwo Jima, on Friday, Feb. 23, 1945. (©Joe Rosenthal/AP Photo/Courtesy of Monroe Gallery).


And several decades later it was a different war that took centre stage. On 2 February 1968, Eddie Adams' (1933-2004) photograph Execution in Saigon, South Vietnam, appeared on the front page of The New York Times (and syndicated around the world), a day after South Vietnam’s chief of police, Nguyen Ngoc Loan, executed a suspected Viet Cong collaborator. Just seconds before this man looses his life, we are presented with the fear in his eyes, and with the photographs publication, public opinion turned against the Vietnam War, reflecting the power of the photograph.

The attack on the World Trade Centre in 2001, was captured by Magnum photographer, Thomas Hoepker. His Twin Towers, Brooklyn, NYC, 9/11, 2001, depicts an almost idyllic scene, with a group of young people sitting and chatting in the late afternoon summer sunshine, as smoke billows from the ground zero, raising questions over about onlookers reactions to the scenes unravelling before their very eyes.

Whilst many of the images in this exhibition are by notable photographers, such as Capa, Rosenthal, Adams, and Hoepker, and others including, Ian Berry, Alfred Eisenstaedt, Elliott Erwitt, Stuart Franklin, Leonard Freed, Burt Glinn, Yevgeny Khaldei, Alberto Korda, Josef Koudelka, Don McCullin, Mark Power, Marc Riboud, W. Eugene Smith, Nick Ut, and Abraham Zapruder, works by authors who remain unknown, but whose images are no less poignant are also included.

On the 6 August 1945, an atomic bomb was dropped on the Japanese city of Nagasaki, the second such attack on the country. This now iconic image of the attack, depicting what The Times described as a ‘huge mushroom of smoke and dust,’ has become one of the most powerful symbols of the anti-war movement. Whilst the ethereal, almost cinematic image of President John F. Kennedy slumped in the back of his presidential car, and cradled in the arms of Jackie Kennedy, which has been utilised in artworks by contemporary artists Andy Warhol and Robert Rauschenberg, is etched on our shared memory of this tragic event.

These photographs, and others in Moments of Our Time, are rarely easy to look at, but are powerful markers of history over the last 100 years, and represent the important place the photograph holds in informing, and setting in motion social and political change.



Moments of Our Time is at the Atlas Gallery, London, until 28 May 2011.


(Monroe Gallery of Photography is pleased to have provided several key photographs to this exhibition.)

44 YEARS AGO: MUHAMMAD ALI STRIPPED OF HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP



Bon Gomel: Heavyweight boxer Cassius Clay, aka Muhammad Ali, posing outside the Alvin theater where "The Great White Hope" is playing, New York, 1968

Clay Refuses Army Oath; Stripped of Boxing Crown

The New York Times
By ROBERT LIPSYTE


Houston, April 28 (1967)--Cassius Clay refused today, as expected, to take the one step forward that would have constituted induction into the armed forces. There was no immediate Government action.

Although Government authorities here foresaw several months of preliminary moves before Clay would be arrested and charged with a felony, boxing organizations instantly stripped the 25-year- old fighter of his world heavyweight championship.

"It will take at least 30 days for Clay to be indicted and it probably will be another year and a half before he could be sent to prison since there undoubtedly will be appeals through the courts," United States Attorney Morton Susman said.

Statement Is Issued

Clay, in a statement distributed a few minutes after the announcement of his refusal, said:
"I have searched my conscience and I find I cannot be true to my belief in my religion by accepting such a call." He has maintained throughout recent unsuccessful civil litigation that he is entitled to draft exemption as an appointed minister of the Lost-Found Nation of Islam, the so- called Black Muslim sect.

Clay, who prefers his Muslim name of Muhammad Ali, anticipated the moves against his title in his statement, calling them a "continuation of the same artificially induced prejudice and discrimination" that had led to the defeat of his various suits and appeals in Federal courts, including the Supreme Court.

Hayden C. Covington of New York, Clay's lawyer, said that further civil action to stay criminal proceedings would be initiated. If convicted of refusal to submit to induction, Clay is subject to a maximum sentence of five years imprisonment and a $10,000 fine.

Mr. Covington, who has defended many Jehovah's Witnesses in similar cases, has repeatedly told Clay during the last few days, "You'll be unhappy in the fiery furnace of criminal proceedings but you'll come out unsinged."

As a plaintiff in civil action, the Negro fighter has touched on such politically and socially explosive areas as alleged racial imbalance on local Texas draft boards, alleged discriminatory action by the Government in response to public pressure, and the rights of a minority religion to appoint clergymen.

Full-Time Occupation

As a prospective defendant in criminal proceedings, Clay is expected to attempt to establish that "preaching and teaching" the tenets of the Muslims is a full-time occupation and that boxing is the "avocation" that financially supports his unpaid ministerial duties.

Today, Clay reported to the Armed Forces Examining and Entrance Station on the third floor of the Federally drab United States Custom House a few minutes before 8 A.M., the ordered time. San Jacinto Street, in downtown Houston, was already crowded with television crews and newsmen when Clay stepped out of a taxi cab with Covington, Quinnan Hodges, the local associate counsel, and Chauncey Eskridge of Chicago, a lawyer for the Rev. Martin Luther King, as well as for Clay and others.

Half a dozen Negro men, apparently en route to work, applauded Clay and shouted: "He gets more publicity than Johnson." Clay was quickly taken upstairs and disappeared into the maw of the induction procedure for more than five hours.

Two information officers supplied a stream of printed and oral releases throughout the procedure, including a detailed schedule of examinations and records processing, as well as instant confirmation of Clay's acceptable blood test and the fact that he had obeyed Muslim dietary strictures by passing up the ham sandwich included in the inductees' box lunches.

Such information, however, did not forestall the instigation, by television crews, of a small demonstration outside the Custom House. During the morning, five white youngsters from the Friends World Institute, a nonaccredited school in Westbury, L.I., who had driven all night from a study project in Oklahoma, and half a dozen local Negro youths, several wearing Black Power buttons, had appeared on the street.

Groups Use Signs

Continuous and sometimes insulting interviewers eventually provoked both groups, separately, to appear with signs. The white group merely asked for the end of the Vietnam war and greater efforts for civil rights.

The Negro eventually swelled into a group of about two dozen circling pickets carrying hastily scrawled, "Burn, Baby, Burn" signs and singing, "Nothing kills a nigger like too much love." A few of the pickets wore discarded bedsheets and table linen wound into African-type garments, but most were young women dragged into the little demonstration on their lunch hours.

There was a touch of sadness and gross exaggeration throughout the most widely observed noninduction in history. At breakfast this morning in the Hotel America, Clay had stared out a window into a dingy, cold morning and said: "Every time I fight it gets cold and rainy. Then dingy and cool, no sun in sight nowhere."

He had shrugged when Mr. Hodges had showed him an anonymously sent newspaper clipping in which a photograph of the local associate counsel had been marked "Houston's great nigger lawyer."

Sadly, too, 22-year-old John McCullough, a graduate of Sam Houston State College, said: "It's his prerogative if he's sincere in his religion, but it's his duty as a citizen to go in. I'm a coward, too."

46 Called to Report

Then Mr. McCullough, who is white, went up the steps to be inducted. He was one of the 46 young men, including Clay, who were called to report on this day.

For Clay, the day ended at 1:10 P.M. Houston time, when Lieut. Col. J. Edwin McKee, commander of the station, announced that "Mr. Muhammad Ali has just refused to be inducted."

In a prepared statement, Colonel McKee said that notification of the refusal would be forwarded to the United States Attorney General's office, and the national and local Selective Service boards. This is the first administrative step toward possible arrest, and an injunction to stop it had been denied to Clay yesterday in the United States District Court here.

Clay was initially registered for the draft in Louisville, where he was born. He obtained a transfer to a Houston board because his ministerial duties had made this city his new official residence. He had spent most of his time until last summer in Chicago, where the Muslin headquarters are situated, in Miami, where he trained, or in the cities in which he was fighting.

After Colonel McKee's brief statement, Clay was brought into a pressroom and led into range of 13 television cameras and several dozen microphones. He refused to speak as he handed out Xeroxed copies of his statement to selected newsmen, including representatives of the major networks, wire services and The New York Times.

The statement thanked those instrumental in his boxing career as well as those who have offered support and guidance, including Elijah Muhammad, the leader of the Muslims; Mohammed Oweida, Secretary General of the High Council for Islamic Affairs, and Floyd McKissick, president of the Congress of Racial Equality.

The statement, in part, declared:

"It is in the light of my consciousness as a Muslim minister and my own personal convictions that I take my stand in rejecting the call to be inducted in the armed services. I do so with the full realization of its implications and possible consequences. I have searched my conscience and I find I cannot be true to my belief in my religion by accepting such a call.

"My decision is a private and individual one and I realize that this is a most crucial decision. In taking it I am dependent solely upon Allah as the final judge of these actions brought about by my own conscience.

"I strongly object to the fact that so many newspapers have given the American public and the world the impression that I have only two alternatives in taking this stand: either I go to jail or go to the Army. There is another alternative and that alternative is justice. If justice prevails, if my Constitutional rights are upheld, I will be forced to go neither to the Army nor jail. In the end I am confident that justice will come my way for the truth must eventually prevail.

"I am looking forward to immediately continuing my profession.

"As to the threat voiced by certain elements to 'strip' me of my title, this is merely a continuation of the same artificially induced prejudice and discrimination.

"Regardless of the difference in my outlook, I insist upon my right to pursue my livelihood in accordance with the same rights granted to other men and women who have disagreed with the policies of whatever Administration was in power at the time.

"I have the world heavyweight title not because it was 'given' to me, not because of my race or religion, but because I won it in the ring through my own boxing ability.

"Those who want to 'take' it and hold a series of auction-type bouts not only do me a disservice but actually disgrace themselves. I am certain that the sports fans and fair-minded people throughout America would never accept such a 'title-holder.'"

Clay returned to his hotel and went to sleep after the day's activities. He is expected to leave the city, possibly for Washington, in the morning.



Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Elvis Presley and Muhammad Ali Photographs Tell Stories of Two American Icons


Andrew Berg, 12, of Souderton, Pa., views photographs of Muhammad Ali by Neil Leifer, right, and an anonymous photographer, left, at the James A. Michener Museum in Doylestown, Pa. Two American superstars have crossed paths in suburban Philadelphia at the museum, where a pair of photography exhibits called American Icons offers a peek into the lives of Elvis Presley and Muhammad Ali. AP Photo/Matt Rourke.

Via artdaily.org

By: Kathy Matheson, Associated Press


DOYLESTOWN, PA (AP).- In a culture saturated with celebrity magazines, paparazzi and red carpets, it's hard to imagine capturing an image of a young Elvis Presley alone on the sidewalk in New York. Or a picture of Muhammad Ali at play with neighborhood kids in a parking lot.

No screaming fans, no camera flashes, no entourages.

These unguarded moments are among dozens featured in "Ali and Elvis: American Icons," a pair of photography exhibits sharing gallery space through May 15 at the James A. Michener Museum in Doylestown, Pa., about 25 miles north of Philadelphia. This is the first time the exhibits have been displayed together.

The Smithsonian-curated "Elvis at 21" show offers a glimpse into Presley's life just as his star begins to rise. Needing publicity photos, Presley's record company hired photographer Alfred Wertheimer in 1956 to shadow the rock-n-roll prince who would become The King.

Wertheimer had extraordinary access, said Smithsonian project director Marquette Folley.

"After this year, 1956, no one can ever get this close again," Folley said. "The walls go up."

The images of Ali, taken by multiple photographers, chronicle his years from teen boxer to his reign as The Greatest to a beloved figure battling Parkinson's disease. They were first displayed at a Hofstra University symposium on Ali in 2008.

Putting the exhibits together was simply an effort to take a broader look at the concepts of fame and the making of icons, said Brian Peterson, chief curator at the Michener Museum.

Certainly the two superstars had similarities. Both sons of the South, Presley and Ali enjoyed worldwide popularity but also alarmed some people with their swagger and attitude — Elvis with his thrusting pelvis and use of African-American rhythms in his music, Ali with his braggadocio and conversion to Islam.

Wertheimer's 56 images — most enlarged to 3-by-4-foot prints — capture Presley's electrifying stage persona but also his more intimate moments: standing in solitude in front of New York's Warwick Hotel; sprawling on a couch reading fan mail; and interacting with his family.

Wertheimer also chronicles one summer week that found the American idol rehearsing alone at a piano for an appearance on Steve Allen's show in New York, kissing a giddy fan backstage in Richmond, Va., and splashing in his swimming pool at home in Memphis, Tenn.

"I was basically putting Elvis under my microscope," Wertheimer, now 81, told The Associated Press. "He permitted closeness."

The bulk of "Muhammad Ali: The Making of an Icon" features shots of the heavyweight champ in and around the ring: training in Miami; absorbing blows from George Foreman in Zaire; and looming over a floored Sonny Liston in Neil Leifer's famous frame from 1965.

But the exhibit starts with less familiar and more personal images from when Ali was known as Cassius Clay — shadowboxing with his family, preening in front of a mirror and riding a bike with adoring local children. It ends with pictures of Ali the celebrity and humanitarian, lighting the Olympic torch in Atlanta and receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

Curator Hava Gurevich said the power of the 50-image show lies in its combination of fine art, documentary and news photography.

"It's like a kaleidoscopic view of Muhammad Ali's life," Gurevich said.

Peterson, the Michener curator, said he didn't find out until after booking them that Presley and Ali had actually crossed paths. Elvis visited Ali's training camp in Pennsylvania's Pocono Mountains and gave him a rhinestone cape; Ali gave The King an autographed pair of gold boxing gloves.

"I can't say it was part of our grand plan," Peterson said. "(But) it made us feel we were kind of on the right track."

The next stop for "Elvis at 21" is the William J. Clinton museum in Little Rock, Ark. The next stop for "Muhammad Ali: The Making of an Icon" is the Historic City Hall Arts & Cultural Center in Lake Charles, La.

Copyright 2011 The Associated Press

Monday, April 25, 2011

Memorials Planned for Photographers Chris Hondros and Tim Hetherington

Via Photo District News





Memorials Planned for Photographers Chris Hondros and Tim Hetherington


The families of two photojournalists killed in a rocket attack on Misrata, Libya, on April 20 are organizing memorials.

Dean Hondros, brother of photographer Chris Hondros, announced that a memorial service will take place Wednesday, April 27, at 1 pm at Sacred Hearts St. Stephens Church in Brooklyn. Directions and information are available on the church’s Web site, http://www.delvecchiorc.com/; the phone number is (718) 246-8342.

In lieu of flowers, Hondros’s family and fiancee have suggested donations be made to The Chris Hondros Fund, which has just been launched: “This fund will provide scholarships for aspiring photojournalists and raise awareness of issues surrounding conflict photography.”

The Chris Hondros Fund
c/o Christina Piaia
50 Bridge Street #414
Brooklyn, New York 11201

The family of Tim Hetherington have created a web page, Timhetherington.org/condolences, where remembrances of their son are being posted. On the site, a note from Alistair and Judith Hetherington says, “We will be setting up a charitable organization to continue Tim’s humanitarian work around the world,” and adds, “Information will be posted here in the coming days.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Editor and Writer David Schonauer on the Risky History of the War Photographer

David Schonauer
David Schonauer
Former editor-in-chief, American Photo magazine


Via The Huffington Post
Hetherington, Hondros, and the Risky History of the War Photographer



To the list of photographers who have died while covering war and conflict, we must now add the names of Tim Hetherington and Chris Hondros, killed in Misurata, Libya on Wednesday. They join the likes of Ken Oosterbroek, a member of the so-called Bang Bang Club of photojournalists immortalized now in a new movie. Oosterbroek was killed in 1994 while covering the violence in South Africa during the final days of apartheid. They join Olivier Rebbot, killed in El Salvador in 1981 while on assignment for Newsweek. Rebbot was a model for the photographer played by Nick Nolte in the 1983 film Under Fire. They join Robert Capa, killed near Thai Binh, Vietnam in 1954, who was the model for all who would follow in his profession. If the war photographer has come to be seen as a romantic figure, we have the Hemingwayesque Capa to thank.


It was Capa, famed for covering the D-Day landing on Omaha Beach, who said, "If your pictures aren't good enough, you're not close enough," and the photographers who followed him into Vietnam took his advice. Vietnam was a particular deadly place for photographers, who jumped aboard helicopters alongside soldiers to fly into firefights. The names of the dead -- Larry Burrows, Gilles Caron, Henri Huet, Robert Ellison, Dickie Chapelle, Charles Eggleston, and Oliver Noonan among them -- have become legend. The haunting 1997 book Requiem memorialized these journalists -- 135 photographers from different nations known to have died in Vietnam. In the book's introduction, David Halberstam described why their job was so dangerous:

"War correspondents always know who is real and who is not. A war zone is not a good setting for the inauthentic of spirit and heart. We who were print people and who dealt only in words and not in images always knew that the photographers were the brave ones, and in that war... they held a special place in our esteem. We deferred to them, reporter to photographer, in that venue as we did in few others."

They were real because they had to be real; they could not, as we print people could, arrive a little late for the action, be briefed, and then, through the skilled use of interviews and journalism, re-create a scene with stunning accuracy, writing a marvelous you-are-there story that reeked of intimacy even though, in truth, we had missed it all. We could miss the fighting and still do our jobs. They could not. There was only one way for them to achieve intimacy: by being eyewitnesses.

I knew Tim Hetherington and Chris Hondros, but not especially well -- in the case of Chris, we went out for beers on a couple of occasions and spoke on the telephone a few times when he wrote a story for the photography magazine I edited. (He was a fine writer, too; urgent, clear, and caring.) My acquaintance with Tim was very brief -- I interviewed him last November, over coffee at a hotel lobby in New York, about his book Infidel, which had just come out. In similar ways, Chris and Tim impressed me, immediately and lastingly, as superior people -- humble, humorous, dedicated, and very intelligent. Real, as Halberstam put it.

Halberstam noted that the Vietnam War began "in an era of black-and-white photography and ended in one of color videotape beamed by satellite to television stations all over the world." The world of photography has changed just as radically in the past ten years. On 9/11, when photographers raced to downtown Manhattan to document the devastating scenes there, most carried film cameras. At the time, the first professional-quality 35mm SLRs were just coming onto the market. News organizations and photo agencies anticipated America's reaction to the terrorist attacks and retooled, almost overnight. When American troops went to war in Afghanistan a few weeks later, photojournalists covered the story with digital cameras and satellite uplinks, ramping up the speed with which they could deliver pictures. Later in the decade, as the Internet took hold and the old-media world imploded, photographers began doubling as videographers and writers. (Underscoring the evolution, last year the Associated Press dropped its time-honored byline, "Associated Press Writer," with the more ambiguous "Associated Press.")

Tim Hetherington thrived in this new journalistic landscape. A skilled filmmaker as well as a photographer, he could tell a story through a number of media platforms. In his Oscar-nominated film Restrepo, and in his small but powerful photo book Infidel, he told the story of a U.S. combat unit in Afghanistan's Korengal Valley, never veering far from the everyday reality of the soldiers' lives. "Symbols or representations of soldiers are often claimed by the far left and far right to mean a certain thing," he told me, "and we do these men an injustice by not digesting fully their reality."



2011-04-22-INF_FINAL_CMYK_HR_0096.jpg
An image from Hetherington's book Infidel



It's a dangerous job they do, and like others who do dangerous jobs they learn how to cope as best they can. A correspondent friend of mine who traveled with Chris Hondros on several stories in Iraq later told me that the photographer had taught him a valuable lesson about working in a combat area: to sleep when sleep was possible, in the lulls between action and danger. Chris, a recipient of the Robert Capa Gold Medal, a prestigious award for the highest level of war photography, knew what he was doing and why. And he no doubt understood the implications of another of Capa's famous comments: speaking of his work on D-Day, Capa said, "The war correspondent has his stake, his life, in his own hands and he can put it on this horse or that horse, or he can put it back in his pocket at the very last minute. I am a gambler. I decided to go in with Company E in the first wave."


Please take a moment to write a message to Tim Hetherington's family and share it with his friends

Friday, April 22, 2011

'Images' exhibit features photo icon's work

Bobby Kennedy campaigns in IN during May of 1968, with various aides and friends:  former prizefighter Tony Zale and (right of Kennedy) N.F.L. stars Lamar Lundy, Rosey Grier, and Deacon Jones
Bill Eppridge: Bobby Kennedy campaigns in IN during May of 1968, with various aides and friends: former prizefighter Tony Zale and (right of Kennedy) N.F.L. stars Lamar Lundy, Rosey Grier, and Deacon Jones

The Westport News
Friday, April 22, 2011

A retrospective of photojournalist Bill Eppridge's work will headline "Images 2011," the Fairfield Museum and History Center's third annual photography exhibit.


The show opens May 1 and continues through the end of August. A preview party is scheduled April 30.

Eppridge worked for Life magazine in the 1960s and took many of the decade's notable photographs -- the Beatles arriving in the United States for their appearance on the "Ed Sullivan Show," Barbra Streisand in Paris, the Woodstock Festival, the civil rights movement, the 50th anniversary of the Soviet revolution, the Vietnam War and Sen. Robert F. Kennedy's 1968 presidential candidacy.

Kennedy befriended the photographer during the campaign. One of Eppridge's best-known photos is of busboy Juan Romero cradling the fatally wounded candidate in the seconds after he was shot in the kitchen of a Los Angeles restaurant after the California primary.

In addition to Eppridge's photos, the museum said, "Images 2011" will include a juried exhibit of more than 50 photographs by professional, amateur and student photographers from the region.

The juried show attracted entries from about 400 photographers from Connecticut, New York, Massachusetts and Rhode Island. A panel of six photographers, including Eppridge, selected works in six categories for exhibit.

The museum has also developed a range of related programs in conjunction with the exhibition. These programs, focusing on the challenges, rewards and ethics of visually documenting history, news and events, at home and abroad, will be open to members, nonmembers and students.

At the April 30 preview party, guests will have an opportunity to meet Eppridge, a New Milford resident, along with collectors, gallery owners and patrons. Tickets for the reception may be purchased in advance and are priced at $100, 200 and $500. Proceeds from the preview benefit the museum's education programs.

To purchase tickets to the preview party and for information on the exhibit-related programs, call 203-259-1598 or visit the museum's website, http://www.fairfieldhs.org/.


Related: Bill Eppridge: An American Treasure

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

If you knew the cause would take a limb or your life, or leave you beaten or raped, would you do it?

Award-winning photojournalist Tim Hetherington (right) known for his work in war zones, died Wednesday in the Libyan city of Misrata when he was hit by a mortar round. He is pictured here with Sebastian Junger, his co-director of the film Restrepo, which was nominated for the best-documentary Oscar this year.
Tim Hetherington

Award-winning photojournalist Tim Hetherington (right) known for his work in war zones, died Wednesday in the Libyan city of Misrata when he was hit by a mortar round. He is pictured here with Sebastian Junger, his co-director of the film Restrepo, which was nominated for the best-documentary Oscar this year.

Via NPR's The Picture Show

The Toll Of Covering Conflict

by Jacki Lyden



Joao Silva. Lynsey Addario. Tyler Hicks. Tim Hetherington. Chris Hondros: the names of photojournalists grievously wounded, kidnapped or killed in the line of duty since October 2010. The names and casualties of journalists harmed during conflicts seem to be mounting, leaving many of us who knew them or who have worked with them or - even those a few steps more removed - feeling a bit more vulnerable.


Nearly all journalists in conflict areas, or areas of disaster, take risks. Photojournalists, I think, are the biggest risk-takers for the cause because they must be more proximate, and the lens attracts attention.

If you knew the cause would take a limb or your life, or leave you beaten or raped, would you do it?

Phil Robertson, a New York based writer, has been close to Chris Hondros since they covered Iraq together beginning in 2002. As he told me today, "Conflict is a meat grinder and it destroys people's lives. We've seen way, way too many people get killed or injured, but this is OUR part of the war. It makes me realize more and more what the local civilians go through and how they feel."


I agree. And not only them, but the many local journalists who work for foreign organizations – like NPR. War is a terrible, uncertain, lethal condition. There will be other Misratas and Fallujahs and Korengal Valleys. I think the legacy, the honor, is to remember the people who put faces and feelings and emotions in front of us from those places, and reflect that there have always been stories, songs, and images of war and disaster. Perhaps their details blend over time, but we would not have the details except for those brave enough to gather them.


Photojournalist Chris Hondros poses with a a former Liberian government soldier, at his home in Monrovia, Liberia, in 2005. Hondros' picture of Duo jumping into the air in exultation during a battle with rebel forces in 2003 was distributed around the world. Hondros was killed April 20 in Misrata, Libya.
Photojournalist Chris Hondros poses with a a former Liberian government soldier, at his home in Monrovia, Liberia, in 2005. Hondros' picture of Duo jumping into the air in exultation during a battle with rebel forces in 2003 was distributed around the world. Hondros was killed April 20 in Misrata, Libya


Robertson is writing a book at home now, in New York. He's the father of a toddler. But he has certainly taken risks and is thinking of Chris Hondros today. They shared rides in Afghanistan and a terrifying open-air truck ride in Fallujah.


And he and Hondros shared another ride. "He drove my wife and me and our new baby home from the hospital the day after our daughter, Zaina, was born in 2009," he said. "We were together on the most terrifying and beautiful days I have ever known."

Original post and slide show here.

Jacki Lyden is a correspondent and host for NPR.

Photojournalist Tim Hetherington Killed In Libya

© Matt Stuart


 
Via Photo District News


By David Walker


Photojournalist Tim Hetherington died today in Libya while covering the fighting between rebels and troops loyal to Colonel Muammar Qaddafi, the New York Times has confirmed. Hetherington died after being hit by rocket fire in the city of Misrata.


Hetherington was an award-winning photographer, and was regarded by peers as being among the best photojournalists currently working. News of Hetherington's death, first reported at about 11am EST on Facebook by photographer Andre Liohn, shocked the photojournalism community. Hospitalized at the same time were Chris Hondros, who Getty confirmed is in critical condition, Guy Martin and Michael Christopher Brown.

Hetherington covered social and political issues worldwide, and was most recently based in New York as a contributing photographer to Vanity Fair magazine. He is best known for his year-long collaboration with writer Sebastian Junger, documenting a platoon of soldiers in Afghanistan. The collaboration resulted in a film directed by Hetherington called Restrepo, which won the Grand Jury Prize for best documentary at Sundance Film Festival in 2010, and was nominated for an Academy Award earlier this year. Hetherington also published a book from that project called Infidel, which was published last year. He won the top prize at World Press Photo of the Year in 2007 with his photo of a solider in Afghanistan, and an Alfred I duPont Award in 2009, among other awards for his photography.

Previously, he was known for his work in West Africa, including Liberia, where he was a cameraman for a film called Liberia: an Uncivil War (2004). He also completed several photographic projects in Africa. In 2009, he published Long Story Bit by Bit: Liberia Retold, about that country's recent history.

Hetherington was born in Liverpool, UK in 1970. He studied literature at Oxford, and earned a post-graduate diploma in photojournalism from Cardiff in 1996. He began his photojournalism career working for a magazine sold by the homeless, before becoming a regular contributor to The Independent newspaper in London.

He was dedicated to producing long-term narrative projects, and reaching audiences beyond traditional print media. Hetherington told PDN in a 2006 interview that he was interested in reaching TV audiences, academics, and policy makers to gain maximum exposure for his subjects and effect change. "For me, the utility of my work is very important," he said. "Where can we push documentary? where can we put it? because for me, that’s what differentiates me from an artist."

Eric Smith Photographs "Murdertown, USA"

Steve Howe patrols the mean streets in his Chevy cruiser.
Eric Smith for The New York Times





The New York Times
By CHARLIE LeDUFF
Published: April 15, 2011

You Are Here

Riding Along With the Cops in Murdertown, U.S.A.

A sign taped to the entrance of police headquarters says it all: “Closed weekends and holidays.” Every weekday, the doors are locked at dusk.

It’s not that the cops here are scared; it’s just that they’re outmanned, outgunned and flat broke.


Flint is the birthplace of General Motors and the home of the U.A.W.’s first big strike. In case you didn’t know this, the words “Vehicle City” are spelled out on the archway spanning the Flint River.

But the name is a lie. Flint isn’t Vehicle City anymore. The Buick City complex is gone. The spark-plug plant is gone. Fisher Body is gone.

What Flint is now is one of America’s murder capitals. Last year in Flint, population 102,000, there were 66 documented murders. The murder rate here is worse than those in Newark and St. Louis and New Orleans. It’s even worse than Baghdad’s.

After the door is unlocked and I enter police headquarters, it is easy to see why. There are only six patrolmen on duty for a Saturday night. So broke is Flint that the city laid off two-thirds of its police force in the last three years. The front desk looks like a dusty museum piece.

I am assigned to ride along with Officer Steve Howe, a 20-year-veteran of the department. Caucasian. Late 50s. Medium build. Mustache. Clump of very well-kempt salt-and-pepper hair.

I sign a release form and am given a bulletproof vest.

"Isn’t that a little bit much?” I ask the sergeant on duty.

“You have to sign your life away,” he tells me.

Cops can be a suspicious, insular lot when it comes to reporters. But Howe and the others are blunt and self-effacing. “We ain’t cops anymore,” Howe says. “We’re librarians. We take reports. We don’t fight crime.”

He guides me through the yellowing jail cells upstairs that had to be closed down recently because of lack of manpower. “If you break into someone’s house, we can’t hold you,” he says with a straight face. “If you’ve got a weapon or you’ve murdered somebody, then county will take you. I don’t see any light at the end of this tunnel. Only darkness.”

We leave headquarters and head out into the night. Howe turns up the heat in his Chevy cruiser and switches on the computer.

“That’s something,” I say hopefully. “Some squad cars in Detroit don’t even have computers.”

“Hold on a sec,” he says. “Let it warm up.”

When it does, I see that there are more than 12 runs stacked up, including a kidnapping call that is more than six hours old. A home-invader call is two hours old. A “man with a gun” call is 90-minutes old.

“Sometimes, we don’t get to a call for two days,” he says. Last fall, an elderly couple called after being held up at gunpoint in their driveway. The police arrived on the scene five hours later.

Traffic tickets?

“Don’t make me laugh,” he says.

We drive 50 miles through the evening, and the city flashes by us in all its monotony. Liquor store. Gas station. Liquor store. Hi-C, 25 cents. Catfish steaks, $1.25. Regular unleaded, $3.65.

The action isn’t heavy tonight, either. Domestic disputes, mostly. A woman will not let her brother into the house, having already destroyed his furniture with a pipe and thrown his clothing into the snow. Another man has beaten his girlfriend and locked himself inside a neighbor’s house. Howe takes reports. The kidnapping call gathers dust.

We pass by an abandoned Victorian with a sign neatly spray-painted on the peeling door: “Please don’t burn.”

“Sorry, slow night,” Howe apologizes. “Last weekend we had four murders.”

Nature calls. Howe pulls into the 7-Eleven for a toilet break and a Big Gulp. As we get out of the car, I see a blue flash of light near the side of the store and the sound of gunfire. A shadow runs toward the apartment complex.

“Back in the car!” Howe barks at me.

Someone might have just become the 14th homicide victim of 2011, and winter hasn’t even broken yet.

Howe calls in: “Shots fired.” He gives the following description: A shadow wearing a hood. And in less than two minutes, the entire Flint police force on patrol swarms the area. All six of them. They find no gun and no victim. They do, however, round up a fidgety kid in a hood, but since he doesn’t have a gun, they kick him loose.

Frustrated, Howe heads back to the car and watches the kid walk away. Two more people are killed in Flint the following week.

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Tuesday, April 19, 2011

The Pulitzer Eddie Adams Didn’t Want

Lens - Photography, Video, and Visual Journalism


April 19, 2011, 5:00 am
By DONALD R. WINSLOW


Series of three prints


For a long time after Eddie Adams won a Pulitzer Prize for “Saigon Execution,” he wouldn’t speak of it. He turned away questions about the picture, grumbling some dismissive rebuff like, “Everything’s already been said about it.” Or: “There’s nothing new. I don’t want to talk about it now.” I experienced this firsthand in the 1970s as a college student. At an Indiana University seminar, I asked him about “Saigon Execution.” Before an auditorium packed with photojournalism students, Eddie cut me off at the knees, then pointed to the next raised hand.

I was stunned. After the slide show we’d just watched, we were collectively in awe. Eddie seemed like some kind of photojournalism God. I had no idea I’d stumbled onto such a sore point. It didn’t make sense. Who wouldn’t want to talk about one of history’s most iconic war pictures and winning the Pulitzer Prize? Why on earth would someone shun such an honor?

Eddie and I were later to become friends. But even in 2004, when he died of Lou Gehrig’s disease at 71, I still didn’t have the full story.

Indeed, the reason for his seemingly inexplicable feelings remained a mystery until just recently. His widow, Alyssa Adams, donated his archive to the Dolph Briscoe Center for American History at the University of Texas at Austin on the fifth anniversary of Eddie’s death. The archive includes more than 50 years’ worth of material from a journalist who covered 13 wars, six American presidents and nearly every major film star. With his family’s permission, Alison M. Beck of the Briscoe Center allowed me an advance peek into the archive as the staff categorized 200 linear feet of slides, negatives, prints, audio and video materials, diaries, notes and tear sheets. Everything captured my interest, but Eddie’s journals were the gems.

It turns out that he did, in fact, very much want to win a Pulitzer Prize. Desperately. Almost obsessively. But what I didn’t know until I sat in the basement of the Briscoe Center reading his 1963 and 1964 journals — scrawled in little red leather notebooks — was that Eddie wanted to win a Pulitzer long before he’d ever encountered a Vietcong prisoner named Nguyen Van Lem or Brig. Gen. Nguyen Ngoc Loan, chief of the South Vietnamese national police.

There, in his own handwriting, Eddie acknowledged how deeply he wanted to win a Pulitzer for his photograph of the first lady, Jacqueline Kennedy, holding the folded flag that had been handed to her at President John F. Kennedy’s funeral in November 1963. Eddie was angry when he didn’t win a Pulitzer and then furious when he found out that an administrator at The Associated Press had submitted other A.P. pictures to the Pulitzer jury instead. His photo hadn’t even been entered.


At John F. Kennedy's funeral, Jacqueline Kennedy held the flag that had covered her husband's coffin.



The photo that did win the Pulitzer Prize that year was by Bob Jackson of The Dallas Times-Herald. It showed Jack Ruby lunging out of a crowd to shoot and kill the suspected assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, during a perp walk. It was what’s known as a “reflex” picture; taken when there isn’t time to think, when some movement or sound screams to the brain, “Push the shutter now!”

So Eddie watched the Pulitzer for coverage of the Kennedy assassination go to a reflex picture rather than one so intentionally poignant, one that captured a national moment of mourning, a timeless and heartbreaking milestone in America’s history.



Associated Press
Eddie Adams in Vietnam. 1965.


But that doesn’t seem enough to keep him angry about the Pulitzers for so many years. After all, Eddie often felt slighted, overlooked; in the shadow of others who seemed to get the spotlight for lesser accomplishments. Especially in his early career, he suffered from what friends called “insufficient adoration.”

I scanned his journals, thought back on our conversations and recalled the many times I’d listened to him speak to student photojournalists and professionals in classrooms or in bars or on street corners waiting for news to happen. I cobbled together the bits and pieces of insight he’d share sparingly with one friend or another over time. That’s when it dawned on me. As I held both photos side by side, I realized what he’d been hinting at and saying indirectly.

Eddie thought he’d won the Pulitzer for the wrong picture.


There’s something you have to take into account about Eddie. Before he was a photographer, he was a Marine. And some Marine principles took root in his heart: honesty, fairness and the importance of holding and protecting a higher moral ground. Bear this in mind as you contemplate the two photographs.


Eddie made the picture of Mrs. Kennedy on purpose. It was intentional. Methodical. It spoke to the deep photographic talent of Edward T. Adams. A perceived moment was approaching, it came, and he captured it. Magnificently. This is a shining example of the best of the best of his photography.

Now consider “Saigon Execution.” Eddie himself said it was a reflex picture. That day in Saigon in 1968, Eddie saw the general reaching for his pistol as he walked up to the prisoner’s side. When the general raised his hand, Eddie raised his 35-millimeter camera to his face. In a pure reflex he released the shutter. He wasn’t certain of what he’d photographed until the film was developed and an A.P. editor, Horst Faas, picked out that negative.

And that, for Eddie, was that. In the following days there’s barely any mention in his journal of “Saigon Execution.” What’s clear is that in 1968, this ex-Marine saw the shooting as something that simply happened in war. It was just another day in Vietnam. No big deal. A prisoner had been shot. As time passed, Eddie came guiltily to believe that the general had gotten a bum rap for the execution and that he — as the photographer — had played a significant role in “ruining a man’s life.” To a rough-and-tumble, blue-collar Marine from New Kensington, Pa., this wouldn’t have fit the definition of higher moral ground.

Years later, while laying out the pages one day for News Photographer, the monthly magazine of the National Press Photographers Association, I received a surprise phone call from Eddie. He said he knew I’d have to write his obituary sooner or later and he told me what he didn’t want the first sentence to say. He also grumbled that he’d made a similar phone call to The New York Times but that he knew, when the time came, “they probably won’t be able to help themselves.” (The Times’s obituary.)


Boat of no smiles, Vietnamese Refugees, Gulf of Siam, Thanksgiving Day,1977
Boat of no smiles, Vietnamese Refugees, Gulf of Siam, Thanksgiving Day,1977