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November 16th, 2009

Editor’s Choice - November 16

Posted by: Jeremy Schultz

A 15-year-old girl with a gunshot wound on her leg rests in the emergency room of a hospital near the Petare slum in Caracas November 14, 2009. Gun laws are lax in Venezuela, where the government estimates there are 6 million firearms circulating among the population of about 28 million. Venezuela’s murder rate is about 8 times that of the United States. REUTERS/Carlos Garcia Rawlins

An Iraqi policeman stands guard in front of a damaged helicopter which police believed have belonged to former Iraqi President Saddam Hussein’s family near Samarra, 100 km (62 miles) north of Baghdad, November 13, 2009. Three helicopters were found hidden in farms on Friday, a police source said. REUTERS/Sabah al-Bazee

A worker installs lanterns to decorate the site of an opening ceremony for a newly-built highway in Luoyang, Henan province November 15, 2009.  REUTERS/Carlf Zhang

Laundry man Shahzada lines up napkins and sheets to dry after a wash along the street near a slum area in Karachi on November 15, 2009. Shahzada washes napkins, towels and table-sheets for a nearby food street restaurant in Karachi.   REUTERS/Akhtar Soomro

Click here to view the full Editor’s choice slideshow and click here for further showcases of Reuters photography.

November 13th, 2009

Surrounded by demonstrations in South Korea

Posted by: Lee Jae-Won

It was October, 1990 when I was on a street in central Seoul for the first times as a news photographer. My first job: to cover an anti-government demonstration by students and workers. Protected by a helmet and gas mask, I shot pictures with a Nikon FM2 without the help of a motor drive. It was a battle. The protesters, hundreds of them, had steel bars, stones and petrol bombs. They were forced back by riot police, armed with tear gas, heavy sticks and hard-edged shields.

It was in those last days of the country’s period of autocratic rule, riots and mayhem had become almost daily routine. Sometimes, the photographers, including me, were victims of attack from both sides

By 1997, news photography had become my full-time job. By then too, South Korea had a democratic government in power and major protests were less common. When they did happen, the tear gas may have gone but the tactics were tough and people got hurt. But now there was public opinion to worry about. There was an unwritten rule that members of the media should not be attacked.

This year, things changed again.

In May, I was covering a rally against the government of President Lee Myung-bak, an ex-businessman who had taken office in February 2008, promising pro-business reforms to set the economy on a new path of growth.

Thousands of people rallied in the capital’s center against his policies and to mark the mass protests a year earlier against his government’s decision to allow imports of U.S. beef.

One evening, I saw several policemen using force on a local newspaper photographer. She was shooting protesters being detained by police. Suddenly, an officer ordered his men to detain me. I asked what I had done wrong. The response was to drag me away from the scene, kicking me and using some pepper spray. I was let go after about half an hour, still without explanation for what I might have done wrong.

Photo courtesy of REUTERS/Choi Youn-seck

After protests, a police officer came to my company’s office to apologize.

A little later, one of my friends told me that I was partly to blame and should not have argued with the police. I was quite shocked. Would the same treatment be meted out to a text reporter standing there with a notebook and pen?

A photographer’s job is to get the photo. He or she must get into the fray and, in the process, risk getting hurt. But it is reasonable to expect not to be a target of any violence, especially by the enforcers of the law, when photographers are just doing their job. Isn’t it?

November 13th, 2009

Editor’s choice - November 13

Posted by: Corinne Perkins

Men mourn the death of a Pakistani man working at the Iranian consulate in Peshawar after his body was brought to a Shi’ite congregation hall there on November 12, 2009. A gunman shot dead a Pakistani working at Iran’s consulate in the city of Peshawar on Thursday, police said, in an attack likely to compound strains in relations between the Muslim neighbors. REUTERS/Fayaz Aziz

An Afghan girl touches her mother’s artificial leg the ICRC Ali Abad Orthopedic center in Kabul November 12, 2009. The center, which is run mostly by disabled people, aims to educate and rehabilitate landmine victims and people with any kind of deformities, to help them integrate effectively into society. They also provide the patients with a 18-months interest free $600 micro credit loan. REUTERS/Jerry Lampen

People pose next to a wax figure of President Barack Obama at Madame Tussauds Wax Museum in Shanghai November 12, 2009. REUTERS/Aly Song

A paramilitary policeman stands guard on Tiananmen Gate amid a snowfall in Beijing November 12, 2009. REUTERS/Kevin Zhao

Click here to view the full Editor’s choice slideshow and click here for further showcases of Reuters photography.

November 12th, 2009

Editor’s choice - November 12

Posted by: Corinne Perkins

People in swimsuits dance during an attempt to break the Guinness World Record for the largest swimwear parade at one time, in Sydney November 12, 2009. REUTERS/Daniel Munoz

Ice forms on a public bus, following a snowfall in Taiyuan, Shanxi province November 11, 2009. Thousands of vehicles have been trapped on roads after two days of snow in China’s biggest coal-mining province, disrupting the movement of people and coal, state media reported on Wednesday. REUTERS/Stringer

A wooden cross floats amongst poppies that have been thrown into a fountain in Trafalgar Square during the Armistice Day of remembrance in central London November 11, 2009.    REUTERS/Stefan Wermuth

A man begs for money in the subway in Tbilisi, November 11, 2009. The inscription on the wall reads “I’m hungry”.  REUTERS/David Mdzinarishvili

Click here to view the full Editor’s choice slideshow and click here for further showcases of Reuters photography.

November 11th, 2009

Editor’s choice - November 11

Posted by: Corinne Perkins

A young Buddhist monk holds a pair of sunglasses during a teaching session by spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama, in Tawang, in the northeastern Indian state of Arunchal Pradesh November 10, 2009. The Dalai Lama arrived by helicopter in this remote Buddhist enclave nestled in the icy folds of the eastern Himalayas on Sunday. REUTERS/Adnan Abidi

Remains of a swimming pool are seen where a hotel stood before Hurricane Katrina struck at the Gulf Coast in Gulfport, Mississippi November 9, 2009. REUTERS/Carlos Barria

The coffins of six British soldiers killed in Afghanistan are driven though the streets of Wootton Bassett in southwest England November 10, 2009. Six British servicemen were flown home on Tuesday — five of whom were shot by a rogue Afghan policeman. REUTERS/Suzanne Plunkett

A child walks inside a mosque at Teluk Meranti village in Pelalawan, Indonesia’s Riau province,  November 10, 2009. REUTERS/Beawiharta

Police officers escort Tatsuya Ichihashi upon his arrival at Tokyo station November 10, 2009. The Japanese suspect in the death of a young British woman found naked in a sand-filled bathtub has been caught after more than two years on the run during which he had plastic surgery, Japanese media reported on Tuesday. Ichihashi, 30, had been sought in connection with the death of Lindsay Ann Hawker, a 22-year-old English teacher from Brandon, near Coventry, after her body was found on the balcony of his apartment in Ichikawa, east of Tokyo, in March 2007. REUTERS/Kyodo

Click here to view the full Editor’s choice slideshow and click here to view further showcases of Reuters photography.

November 10th, 2009

Those left behind: The legacy of Arlington’s Section 60

Posted by: Larry Downing

Larry Downing is a Reuters senior staff photographer assigned to the White House. He shares that duty with three other staff photographers. He has lived in Washington since 1977 and has been assigned to cover the White House, since 1978. President Barack Obama is the sixth president Larry has photographed.

“People sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”  George Orwell

Veteran’s Day is a time to remember “All gave some….Some gave all.”

Before reaching the new gravestones in Arlington National Cemetery’s ‘Section 60’ it’s easy to recognize why a simple, quilted, patch of green grass and white stones buried alongside the quiet banks of the Potomac River troubles the heart.

Names etched into fresh marble tell the sad tale of early death …Travis L. Youngblood…. Justin Ray Davis….Andy D. Anderson….Thomas J. Barbieri Jr….. Kenneth E. Zeigler II….James R. McIlvaine …. America’s varsity players benched early in the game.

‘Section 60’ is America’s promise to honor its warriors for first serving, and then dying, in the strange dusts on foreign soil.

Its 22211 zip code is the final address for roughly ten-percent of America’s dead from combat action in Iraq and Afghanistan. More than 570 service members from “Operation Enduring Freedom” and “Operation Iraqi Freedom,” are “interred, inurned or memorialized with honor inside the cemetery.”

Spend time in the section and you can’t help but breathe the restless cloud of uneasiness that hangs over the calm symmetry of the graves. Your eyes lie; you actually “see” the pieces of shattered hearts and lost ambitions scattered across the manicured grounds.

You “feel” why this is America’s field of broken dreams.

Fathers, mothers, widows and children are all lost as they chase the ghost of vanished love inside the shadows of a sinister fog.

Watch an abandoned friend or family member alone in anguish softly whispering to the dead and you’ll realize the devil deals mean cards.

Cards that have forced a grieving mother to stare at the letters of her baby’s name chiseled onto a gravestone not long after those same letters were neatly printed on a new birth certificate.

No woman deserves to lose her child in war and then tragically continue her life driving a car with the unwanted license plate reading “Gold Star Family.”

No wife should ask God “why” the only man who ever promised to protect her is gone.

And no child should ever cry out to mommy “where’s my daddy?”

An ‘Arlington’ funeral means a father will never experience the joy of giving his daughter’s hand away in marriage.

Television got it right when they called ‘Section 60’ “the saddest acre in America.”

Robert E. Drawl Jr…… Kevin D. Grieco…. Charles E. Wyckoff… Michael Ross Stahlman….

Death is the greatest equalizer; only after a funeral does the phrase: “…all men are created equal” written in the nation’s ‘Declaration of Independence’ take life.

Generals lie buried the same depth underground as the men and women they commanded in life.

Black, white, brown, or yellow skins are equal. There is no racial prejudice after death.

Republicans and Democrats agree…In silence.

Gays are finally treated with respect. No one asks…no one tells…

Passages recited from the Koran are as beautiful as those recited from the Bible.

The impact of two distant wars became personal once the “knocks on the door” delivered the horrifying news and haunted a house forever. Prayers that the Pentagon “got it wrong” vanished when asked if they wanted an ‘Arlington’ funeral.

‘Arlington’ is an idyllic hillside cemetery and is easily seen while driving on the Arlington Memorial Bridge towards Virginia. It’s the last stop straight ahead.

It’s also the last stop for those sons and daughters who were killed after announcing to their family they wanted to be “Army Strong” or part of “The Few…The Proud” and then fearlessly joined the deadliest profession.

They volunteered; even while never reading the frightening draft notice of their father’s generation. One sent on behalf of the President of the United States during the Vietnam War beginning with the terrifying, “Greeting….You are hereby ordered for induction into the Armed Forces of the United States….”

Both the draft and that war ended in the 1970’s.

The names of 58,261 brave Americans are etched into the “wall” inside the Vietnam Veterans Memorial at the other end of that same bridge.

About the time energetic eighteen year-old college freshmen are searching for an “awesome” campus tailgate party, America’s young soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen are finishing their individual combat specialty schools and boarding the express bus to the front lines. Thoughts of joining sororities and fraternities are long gone. Learning the dangers of the “kill radius” of an Improvised Explosive Device (IED) and recognizing the “signs and symptoms of hypovolemic shock” are more important. A severed femoral artery is quick to kill in the field.

Today’s military volunteer swears to an oath to do “whatever it takes” to hold the protective umbrella over the nation during the storms in violent times.

Doubts of joining the military were erased after witnessing an attack on their nation September 11, 2001.

Things became clear for them in the dawn’s morning light.

‘Section 60’ is one of approximately 70 sections inside the 624 fenced acres of ‘Arlington’ where more than 320,000 heros are honored. The first military burial took place in 1864 during the American Civil War when the cemetery opened.

The U.S. Army’s 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment (The Old Guard) maintains a sentry inside the cemetery on duty every second of every day.

The ceremonial guards from each branch of service provide military honors during the somber burial of one of their own.

Temporary paper markers are placed in the dirt above the grave after a funeral while waiting for the permanent marble stones.

Ryan Patrick Baumann….Eric W. Hall….Colby J. Umbrell….James C. Edge….

A triangular folded American flag is all that remains to hold for the devastated family members during a funeral in ‘Section 60.’

“Gold Star” mother Lyvonne Lightfoot hugs the flag that draped her 20 year-old son’s casket on August 4, 2009. Anthony M. Lightfoot died in Afghanistan, July 2009, while supporting Operation Enduring Freedom.

Rebecca Baldeosingh holds the flag from her husband’s casket at his funeral on August 4, 2009, after he was killed last June in Iraq.

The Iraq war made Laura Youngblood an early widow in 2005 while pregnant with her second child. Husband Travis Youngblood was a U.S. Navy medic who died from wounds suffered from an IED during combat operations with the U.S. Marines in Hit, Iraq.

She visited her husband in May 2009 during the Memorial Day weekend.

After touching his gravestone, she stood up, gently kissed the top of the marble and said, “See you tomorrow, honey.” And then left….

“Gold Star” mother Paula Davis thought she was an “Army of One” when raising her only child, Justin, alone for eighteen years before turning him over to the U.S. Army. He had just graduated from high school weeks earlier and he had no fear of serving in wartime.

Justin was spirited and was strong. “A million dollar smile,” Mrs. Davis proudly boasts. Proof is seen in a large photograph moments after entering her home in Maryland. “He wanted to be in Kung Fu movies…the next Jet Li.”

And he loved the idea of joining the Army so much that the night before he reported for his first day of duty he made his mother stay up with him and watch two war movies, “Saving Private Ryan,” and “Black Hawk Down.”

Hours later they drove to the U.S. Army recruiting office. Mrs. Davis was now alone for the first time in nearly two decades. “I drove a few blocks down the street, stopped, and just cried….”

One year later she cried again…only harder. Justin was finally coming home from the war and “did she want him buried at Arlington?”

The entire time he was gone she thought “Afghanistan was a safer war,” she said.

For two months after his funeral Mrs. Davis slept inside his bed; “I still go and sit on his bed for comfort.”

Justin’s room is exactly as it was the day he joined the army in 2005. The four cardboard boxes containing his belongings from Afghanistan are still unopened on the floor of his room.

Justin’s first pair of baby’s shoes hangs from the door knob to the room.

Mrs. Davis drives to ‘Section 60’ after church every Sunday, “rain or shine,” to honor him. “If I don’t, who will?” “This is our Vietnam Memorial,” she said.

She then explained, “The burden of two wars falls on a select few….Most Americans are not asked to sacrifice. Our leaders should find every means possible to not go to war…”

Justin died shortly after turning 19 years-old. “He would have been a great father…..now I’ll miss that,” said Mrs. Davis.

Mrs. Davis and “Gold Star” mother Xiomara Mena (Anderson) are best friends now after meeting in ‘Section 60.’ Their boys are buried within steps of each other. Mrs. Anderson is also a “Blue Star” mother; she has two other children serving in combat overseas.

Mrs. Anderson patiently uses her household scissors to trim the grass around the gravestone of her son, Andy D. Anderson, who died in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom in June 2006. “Arlington takes good care of my son…” she said, “but I like to keep him neat.”

Mrs. Anderson’s motherly instinct is still alive after three years since Andy’s funeral. Watching her carefully clip the grass around her son’s grave seems as natural as watching a loving mother making up her son’s bed in the morning.

“Gold Star” mother Vicki Zeigler deserves her own medal for the unwavering devotion to her son, Kenneth E. Zeigler II; driving EVERY weekend to visit ‘Arlington’ from Dillsburg, Pennsylvania. Kenneth died while serving with the U.S. Army in Baghdad, Iraq, in May 2005.

Mrs. Zeigler arrives early and unfolds a beach chair before spending the entire day serenely staring at the name of her baby boy while recalling the day he was born after “6 hours of hard labor” in 1983.

Kenneth loved “God, mom, family, ‘Metallica’ and the New York Yankees…and in that order,” says Mrs. Zeigler.

“He was a momma’s boy until the end,” she proudly said. As he was lying on the ground and fighting for his life while wounded his sergeant leaned down and whispered “we’ll take care of mom,” she explained. Kenneth then relaxed and slipped away after knowing his mom was in strong hands.

Mrs. Zeigler drives in a car devoted to the memory of her hero.

All three women expressed concerns for American’s who have loved ones in harm’s way and may be forced in the future to sit in the “green chairs” for family members during an ‘Arlington’ funeral.

Theodore Uland Church….Garrett T. Lawton….Darryl Demetrial Booker…. Deforest Lee Talbert…

Photojournalists assigned to military funerals are tough and rarely flinch. Cameras make great walls to hide behind when emotions become powerful. Tears have always dripped down from behind mine during an “Arlington’ funeral.

Watching a sobbing widow hug a cold casket for the last time is unnerving.

Rebecca Baldeosingh and her daughters attended the funeral of her husband and their father, Juan C. Baldeosingh, who was killed last June in Iraq. He was buried in Section 60 with honor on August 4, 2009.

The most horrifying funeral I’ve attended was by accident at the end of the first Persian Gulf War in 1991 along the Iraq-Kuwait border. It still haunts me today.

Photojournalist Mike Nelson and I stumbled upon an eerie scene in the desert that belonged in “The Twilight Zone.”

Over 100 Iraqi soldiers were fleeing north from Kuwait at the end of the war when allied warplanes launched rockets stopping the head of the snaking convoy.

The attacking aircraft then dropped exploding gas bombs high over the remaining vehicles in the convoy. The explosion created huge clouds of fire above the troops and burned all the breathable oxygen without scorching anyone below.

In short, the explosion sucked the air out of the lungs of every man.

Each corpse looked alive as we approached and they were still holding their rifles while seated inside their vehicles.

The memory of that sharp, biting, warm stench of death remains with my lungs today.

The British army arrived and carved a mass grave using bulldozers. Soldiers respectfully dragged the scores of dead bodies across the warm sands to their final grave before prayers were offered over the fallen.

Nearly 19 years have passed since that day and Iraqi mothers are still wondering where their sons are buried.

The Americans stationed inside the secure air base in Da Nang during the Vietnam War were easy targets for the Viet Cong who were hiding in the surrounding mountains east of the base. The VC used seven-foot long, deadly 122mm Russian-made rockets launched inaccurately from bamboo bipods to terrorize the troops below.

Chalk was used to tally “the count” on a wall inside the perimeter and over 650 rockets were launched from those mountains between September 1972 and September 1973.

A lethal game of Russian roulette played against the grim reaper during the year of living dangerously.

“If you heard a rocket explode or heard the siren, you had one goal…grab your helmet, flak jacket and haul ass to the nearest sandbag bunker scattered around our compound,” said a friend of mine, a U.S. Air Force security policeman who survived that year.

During one night’s rocket attack that same airman raced into the thick, wet muck in the “binjo ditch” that was used to drain latrine water away from the barracks. Both of his feet slide in different directions when they hit the sewage and then stopped abruptly. His forward motion continued and both ankles were brutally twisted as he fell hard. The memories of the “pop and a blinding pain” around his ankles are linked with the intense fear of dying during that rocket attack.

The injuries were so severe that at “20 years old, I would never be able to run, jump or even walk normally for the rest of my life,” he writes in an email. “They would’ve healed if they both broke,” said the doctors.

September 1973 arrived and he hobbled aboard the “freedom bird” leaving Da Nang. Vietnam and the war were now in his rear view mirror…or so he thought.

In the years before he arrived “in country” the air base had supported “Operation Ranch Hand;” an Air Force program involving the spraying of millions of gallons of a harsh herbicide “Agent Orange” over the jungles of Southeast Asia. The deadly chemical was used to kill the thick vegetation hiding the enemy. “Agent Orange” was sprayed over the rivers, fields, and jungles of Vietnam altering the normal life cycle of all living plants, animals and humans on the ground.

Air Force Security Policemen patrolled the areas on the base where splashed “Agent Orange” had dripped onto the ground leaving a contaminated residue. My friend spent a year kicking up and inhaling that dust.

36 years have passed since he left Vietnam and he will never be able to enjoy the simple, pleasurable, act of walking a dog.

The permanent damage to his ankles combined with the exposure to “Agent Orange” leaves him 100% disabled.

His days begin, then end, sitting in a motorized wheelchair. It’s a painful “hell;” his crippling souvenir for bravely volunteering for a year in Vietnam.

“There were dark, dark periods of unmentionable anger, fear, even desperation a time or two,” he said. He admits he is now “a controlled drug addict” relying on powerful prescription drugs to ease the sharp pain he wakes up to each morning.

He was my hero when we were Air Force Security Policemen stationed together on an island in the Mediterranean and he is my super-hero today.  (I’ve omitted his name at his request).

Jeremy A. Chandler….Deveran L. Owen….Adam Leigh Cann…. Steven R. Koch….

Combat veterans find the search for “closure” a lonely battle after losing a friend in war.

Veterans’ motorcycle club “Patriots Pride” rode from Charleston, West Virginia, to visit the grave of soldier DeForest Lee Talbert who is buried at ‘Arlington.’ Each rider served in combat with Talbert before he died in July 2004.

Talbot’s son, Deontae James Hamlet, stands proudly with the men who knew his father.

Susan Blankenship traveled to ‘Arlington’ to “rub” the gravestone of Steven A. Davis for her son who served with Davis in Iraq. Mrs. Blankenship’s son could not make the trip to ‘Arlington’ but he wanted the rubbing for “closure.” Davis died in 2007.

“Gold Star” mother Carolann Barbieri sits alone as she writes a private letter to her son on July 4, 2009. Barbieri died in 2006 while in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom.

Visitors to ‘Section 60’ leave small stones or personalized mementos on top of a grave to honor those buried below. Some are unique but most follow the simple Jewish tradition of leaving a single pebble per visit on the gravestone of a loved one.

Veteran’s Day is celebrated on November 11th in the United States.

It’s a national day of honor recognizing veterans for “throwing their hat in the ring” to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

Look for a veteran in November and buy him a cup of coffee, or a sandwich, and give thanks for their service.

Travel to Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington D.C. and volunteer to help the “wounded warriors” who are fighting for their dignity with less than whole bodies.

U.S. Army Sgt. Joey Bozik (L) talks to Vietnam veteran Army Col. Oliver Mahatha Sr. (R) in the physical therapy room at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in 2005. Bozik lost two legs and one arm from an explosion in Iraq.

Wounded Army Sgt. John Daniel Shannon wears the Purple Heart with pride on his eye patch while testifying before Congress in 2007.

Or, walk the extra mile to ‘Section 60’ inside ‘Arlington’ and place a small pebble on the grave of an American hero….It’s their day.

U.S. Marine SSgt. William C. Rapier, of Quantico, Virginia, shows his son around Arlington National Cemetery in 2006.

Greg Lamonte Sutton…. Jamie D. Wilson…. Charles E. Wyckoff… Philip Andrew Johnson Jr…..

November 10th, 2009

Editor’s choice - November 10

Posted by: Corinne Perkins

People peer through a section of the former Berlin Wall at the wall memorial “Bernauer Strasse” in Berlin November 9, 2009, during day-long celebrations to mark the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall.   REUTERS/Pawel Kopczynski

Palestinian and international activists stand atop a concrete blast wall on a patrol road used by Israeli troops along the controversial Israeli barrier during a protest marking the 20th anniversary of the toppling of the Berlin Wall, in the al-Amari refugee camp in the West Bank city of Ramallah November 9, 2009. REUTERS/Yannis Behrakis

A member of a cross-community group takes part in a ceremony marking the 20th anniversary of the collapse of the Berlin Wall, at a “Peace Line” in west Belfast, Northern Ireland November 9, 2009. “Peace Lines” or Walls were erected during “the troubles” to separate the Catholics and Protestants. The red lines across the person’s face is caused by another photographer’s auto focus assist.   REUTERS/Cathal McNaughton

Fireworks illuminate the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin November 9, 2009, during celebrations to mark the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall.   REUTERS/Kai Pfaffenbach

Click here for the full Editor’s choice slideshow and click here for further showcases of Reuters photography.

November 6th, 2009

The best job

Posted by: Eliana Aponte

Editor’s Note: Eliana Aponte is a highlighted photographer this month on the Reuters website. See an extensive portfolio of her recent work here.

 
Being a photographer is one of the best jobs in the world because when you enjoy what you do it is more a hobby than a job. In our case, it is a hobby with considerable responsibility.

As a journalist traveling through different countries, meeting interesting people, or working in inhospitable places, storytelling is a privilege. I have always thought that my eyes are the eyes of many people, and that through them others can see what is happening.
 
When I started as a photographer I always wanted to contribute my bit to make the world a better place. Many of us think that when we are young and full of dreams. As time passes, I realize that the real changes in history are made by the people who are living their own lives. Photographers just document what happens, nothing more.

Reuters  photographer Eliana Aponte (2L) is seen while working next to colleagues in the West Bank village of Qabatiya near Jenin, May 15, 2006. REUTERS/Mohamad Torokman

When I was in Colombia, I spent almost a month in the wildest part of the country where the sun never shines, the sounds of animals never cease and the darkness is neither gray nor black. Reuters was witness to the freeing of 300 policemen and soldiers who had been kidnapped by FARC guerrillas and held in the jungle.

It was the hardest experience in my life, both as a photographer and as a human being. I learned there is nothing more degrading than being deprived of freedom in the jungle. I slept, ate and lived like any of the real hostages in those camps. It shocked me to see their blank stares, the paleness on their faces and their hope to walk out of there one day alive; this is what I remember the most.
 
Life in the jungle is an arduous test of mental and physical strength, both of which are necessary to survive. When we arrived at the first camp, everyone wanted to know who we were, and why we were there. To a certain extent our presence there was a confirmation of their freedom but the skepticism in their eyes remained. We told them many times that their captivity was almost over, but they didn’t believe it. We were led to three different camps after long hikes and many hours by boat and vehicle through inhospitable terrain, without the faintest idea of what part of the jungle we were in. As the days passed we reached the conclusion that we were being led in circles around the same area just to throw off our sense of direction. For those who don’t know the jungle, everything is the same, green everywhere.

Forty-six Colombian policemen held prisoner by Marxist FARC rebels huddle in a boat June 20, 2001, as they are escorted by guerrillas from behind, near the end of a two-day river journey on their way to being freed in a unilateral release set for June 28. REUTERS/Eliana Aponte

The big day arrived and 300 policemen and soldiers recovered their freedom. All local and international media received them as they exited the jungle. The guerrilla leaders called it a humanitarian gesture.

A Marxist FARC rebel crosses over to land as 46 Colombian policemen held prisoner by the group huddle in a boat near the end of a two-day river journey on their way to being freed in a unilateral release set for June 28. The FARC have already freed more than 40 sick policemen and soldiers in return for the government returning 15 sick guerrillas held in state jails. Picture taken on June 20, 2001. REUTERS/Eliana Aponte

The saddest part of this story is that 6 years have passed and some of the group we saw are still kidnapped in the jungle; not all of them made it to freedom. Soldiers and policemen are still rotting in the jungle more than 11 years later.

But my work has had also beautiful and happy moments. I covered the carnival of Rio de Janeiro, which filled my soul with images of happy people to which dance is sacred in their lives. While walking back and forth taking pictures through the early hours of dawn, I did not feel tired because their happiness was enough to overcome my fatigue.

Members of Brazilian samba school Salgueiro dance in Rio de Janeiro’s Sambadrome during the first of two nights of competition, February 22, 2004. REUTERS/Eliana Aponte

Being a woman photographer among so many men has some advantages, depending on which part of the world you are in. Women have the ability to show another angle that men often do not see. I call it female sensitivity. We tend to do stories that are more human, emphasizing sensuality and childhood. I assume that it has to do with the maternal instinct we carry within.

The beauty of this job is that we get to cover all types of events, from politics, religion, and war, to sports and fashion. We often witness history being made.

Jewish Ethiopian men attend a morning prayer service at compound awaiting immigration to Israel in Gondor March 8, 2007. More than 5000 Ethiopian Jews are waiting to immigrate to Israel to reunite with their families. REUTERS/Eliana Aponte

A few days after being posted to Jerusalem I received a call from my editor who asked me to go to Hadassah hospital where Ariel Sharon had been taken. I froze for a few seconds. I ran to my hotel room, grabbed my equipment and I headed to the parking garage. I could not find my car, and when I finally managed to locate it I started to drive without first realizing that I didn’t have a clue where the hospital was.

I am a disaster with directions; I literally can get lost in an elevator. But that night my internal compass worked beautifully and I made it there. When I got to the place, there were at least 150 journalists. It was the news of the moment worldwide.  For me, it was also kind of ironic. The day Sharon fell sick I had photographed the pool pictures of his usual meeting with the ministers and to my surprise soon after, those were the last photos of Sharon as Prime Minister that the news agencies distributed of him.

Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon attends a ceremony completing the sale of Bank Leumi to a private U.S. investment group in his office in Jerusalem January 4, 2006.  REUTERS/Eliana Aponte

This is the way this job is. I never know what will happen tomorrow or, in this case, from one minute to the next. This is what I like most about my job; routine doesn’t exist.

In 2004 I went on an embed with U.S. troops in Iraq. I had to wait days for them to let us do something. It was one of the worst stories I have covered. Usually the fate of embeds are run by luck, and unfortunately I didn’t have much. As I waited I had no choice but to play cards with the soldiers on the outskirts of Falluja. They were young soldiers with little or no experience in war. Many were there simply because they couldn’t find any jobs back home.

One day we were sitting playing cards when suddenly a mortar landed near us; we heard the explosion and we all ran to take cover beneath armored vehicles. Five seconds later another mortar landed and killed eight soldiers. We all watched as their bodies flew through the air in a surreal scene that still haunts me. We were paralyzed. There was silence until the captain shouted, “This is Iraq. Move!” I took some pictures from the distance, they didn’t let me get closer as the injured where rushed onto a helicopter.

U.S. Marines carry an injured colleague after exploded a mortar at their position in Sunni Muslim city of Falluja, November 10, 2004.   REUTERS/Eliana Aponte

Traveling the world taking pictures and doing stories is interesting, but ultimately what counts for me are the memories, good or bad, that stay with me. The rest will only be a document, a file for history being done by an honest photographer.

Thanks to the camera, I have learned about various cultures in the world, their sorrows and joys, their hatred and alliances. It has taught me that tolerance and respect are key for human survival. No matter what our beliefs are, it is important to be impartial and tell the facts as they are.

A Mexican group performs the Aztec dance in honor of the dead in San Gregorio Atlapulco cemetery during the Day of the Dead in Mexico City, late November 1, 2009. On the Day of the Dead, Mexicans pay homage to their dead relatives by preparing meals and decorating their graves. The Day of the Dead festival has its origins in a pre-Hispanic Aztec belief that the dead return to Earth one day each year to visit their loved ones. REUTERS/Eliana Aponte

November 4th, 2009

Former Iron Curtain oddity now a tourist hotspot

Posted by: Fabrizio Bensch

Former Iron Curtain oddity now a tourist hotspot

By Caroline Copley

MOEDLAREUTH, Germany - A tiny village of 50 residents straddling the former border dividing East and West Germany and nicknamed “Little Berlin” has preserved its own 100-meter section of the Iron Curtain — for tourists.

For more than 38 years Moedlareuth belonged to two different countries and ideological systems. The 2.5 meter (eight foot) high Wall, similar to the famous Berlin Wall, remains a fixture in the village center even 20 years after Communism collapsed.

Nowadays the farming hamlet that lies some 300 km (186 miles) south of Berlin has become a prime destination for tourists searching for the remnants of the Communist era when East and West Germany were divided.

“Visitors can come here to get a real glimpse of what it was like to live here with the Wall running through the middle of the village,” said Robert Lebegern, director of the Deutsch-Deutsches Museum in the heart of Moedlareuth.

For four decades the villagers of Moedlareuth were divided by the Iron Curtain. Half of the village was in the old German kingdom of Bavaria, the other part lay in the eastern state of Thuringia. It was one bizarre aspect of the country’s division.

A neighborly cup of tea is now a mere matter of a few steps, but traces of the old division still persist: there are two different post codes, two dialing codes and two different school systems.

Those living in the former East greet each other with “Guten Tag” (good day) while their neighbors from the heavily Roman Catholic state of Bavaria tend to use the traditional greeting “Gruess Gott!,” literally translated as “Greet God!.”

In addition to the original segment of Wall — which looks like a compact version of its big brother in Berlin — the old border posts, watch towers and barbed-wire fencing still stand in their original positions.

The occasional barking dog — an eerie echo of the past border control — interrupts the droning of a tractor in the nearby fields. But gone are the armed guards who once surveyed residents. Instead snap-happy tourists arrive by the busload.

The inhabitants of sleepy Moedlareuth have grown used to the constant influx of visitors who shuffle to the museum to watch a 20-minute film documenting the peculiar split reality that became normality for nearly four decades.

NO WAVING

More than 60,000 visitors came to Moedlareuth in 2008 and the museum expects a similar number to make the trek to the isolated village this year as the 20th anniversary of the Wall falling approaches.

“It feels very frozen in time,” said Huw Diprose, 20, a student of International Politics at Aberystwyth University in Wales, who was on a walk along the former Iron Curtain.

“I was barely a year old when the wall fell. I wanted to come here to get into the mindset of what it was like back then.”

East Germany started to fence itself off from the West in 1952 — a border that for centuries had been administrative then divided families, friends and neighbors. East Germany built the Berlin Wall in 1961 and at the same time in Moedlareuth.

Even neighborly greetings were outlawed.

“We could wave to our friends on the other side of the wall, but they weren’t allowed to acknowledge us back,” said Karin Mergner, a 62-year-old farmer living in western Moedlareuth.

When the Wall finally cracked open in 1989, eastern Moedlareuth was overwhelmed by the sudden media attention. Residents quickly became resentful of visitor stereotypes of backwardness and reports of bitter East-West division.

It took a while for the small town to reunite. Four weeks after the Berlin Wall was opened on November 9, 1989, a direct border opening was finally made in Moedlareuth on December 9 1989 but everyone was still required to present their passports.

It wasn’t until six months later, on June 17, that people were allowed to cross the border in “Little Berlin” freely, after the mayor on the Bavarian side, Arnold Friedrich, knocked down larger chunks of the Wall with a digger.

“It was a great moment of celebration,” said Lebegern, director of the museum. “But afterwards some East Germans complained that he had damaged East German property.”

November 4th, 2009

A 23 hour day with Obama

Posted by: Jim Young

Sleep is overrated.

On Wednesday, I was up at 5:30am so I could start my White House shift. U.S. President Barack Obama had 5 press events on his schedule for the day, so I ended up staying until 7pm. I had just sat down to dinner at 8.30pm, when I heard my cell phone ringing, it was Washington Editor-In-Charge Jim Bourg calling about breaking coverage for an Obama event but it was being kept very quiet. The President was planning to fly to Dover Air Force Base in Delaware and take part in the dignified transfer and return of 18 U.S. personnel who died Monday in Afghanistan, so I had to be back at the White House by 10pm. The event would be covered the White House travel pool, a very small group of photographers and reporters who always travel with the President, but what we would be allowed to cover was unclear..

The pool left the White House at 10:45pm for a short drive to Fort McNair military base to board 2 U.S. Marines’ helicopters for the 40 minute flight to Dover. The president would depart separately from the South Lawn on Marine One and we would meet at the Air Base in Dover. The details of Obama’s trip would not be released until the official pool report is released in an email as he departs on the helicopter..

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We arrive a couple of minutes before Obama and we are told that we can only photograph the President’s arrival on Marine One, but is was unclear whether we were going to see any of the soldiers return. We were taken to a holding room and given a military briefing on how the event would take place. Even though 18 soldiers and DEA agents were returning to the U.S., the press would only cover the dignified transfer of U.S. Army Sgt. Dale R. Griffin of Terre Haute, Indiana, as per family member’s wishes, and witnessed by Obama. Obama would be meeting with the family members and taking part in the return of the other 17 personnel over the next 3 hours. There is no press coverage..

We waited on a bus for the signal that we could drive out onto the tarmac and at 3:50 am we head out to the C-17 military transport plane and it is very, very dark. The event takes about 10 minutes but the actual transfer from the plane to the truck is over in seconds. Obama walks off the tarmac and we are rushed back on our helicopter for the flight back to Washington.
A very quiet and solemn event, but with all dignity and respect for a soldier who lost his life.

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I start filing while still on the tarmac and I manage to get 4-5 pix filed to our pictures desk in Singapore by the time we take off. We can still get an aircard signal on the flight back, but it fades in and out, and sometimes it’s very weak. We return back to Fort McNair and board our vans for the ride back to the White House. I finish up my filing at the press room and wrap up at 6am, 23 hrs after my day had started. The sky is starting to lighten and someone else will be coming to the White House within the hour to start the morning shift, so it’s time to go home and get some sleep..

But a couple hours later, I can hear my daughter calling out to me downstairs. Time to get up for another day…