Kathmandu, February 2006 #1

Leigh and I went to a rally today at New Road in Kathmandu (bad idea #1). Gotta say it was pretty upsetting and powerful experience. It was a new experience as well. It became clear to me early on in the rally that there is a difference b/t photography and photojournalism. And today it was obvious I do not want to be a photojournalist. Basically I was running around, not really running but kind of observing more than anything, taking a few shots here and there (nothing I’m really proud of, nothing that’s really any good). As this is a new start for me this year, it is a year to try new things and this was something I wanted to try – more hard news, more photojournalism, and more international press type of photography. I also wanted to see first hand the state of affairs in the country I’m staying in. Seems like there’s a protest or rally everyday and there’s a picture on the front page of The Himalayan Times everyday. Leigh wanted to join me (against my objections), but she insisted on coming and was interested to see for herself too. So we made our way down to New Road casually, leaving plenty of time to get down there and walk around, waiting for something to happen. There were a whole lot of police in their blue camouflage, and I mean twice or three times more than we have seen any day previous (as these protests are announced and usually grace the front page of the papers, the police know where and when things are going to happen). They were congregating around the major road intersections, especially the entrance and end of New Road. New Road is a very short paved road in the heart of Kathmandu. At one end you have the Durbar Square, or old square, where the King and his court used to have residence and now is one of the major historical (and therefore touristy) areas of the country. The other end intersects at a T with Kanthi Path, a major artery for the inner sections of the city. So this is a very short section of road that basically dead ends at either end. There are a few minor side streets branching off of New Road and these lead to the narrow, crowded alleys that maze their way throughout KTM. So Leigh and I kind of walked up and down the road for about an hour, putzing our way around, waiting for things to happen. The rally was scheduled for 3:30 and at around 3:45 with still nothing happening, we decided to visit a rooftop café at the Durbar Square end of New Road. From this high vantage we could see virtually all the way down to the other end of New Road and of course as soon as we ordered our drink I had the gut feeling something was about to happen and I should get down there now. Brushing aside the feeling (always a bad idea because the gut is almost never wrong), I sat and waited for our soda to arrive. And sure enough, as soon as it did, there was quite a large commotion down on the street at one of the minor road intersections with New Road. (Later we were to find out that corner is the place for political gossip in the city, so it only makes sense that things erupted at that appropriate spot). It seemed to be a fairly spontaneous start to the rally as Leigh and I had walked by that same corner several times just minutes before. As soon as I saw the shooting masses and other press people running down the street to the scene, I dashed down the steps to go do what I didn’t know, photograph it I guess, leaving poor Leigh to pay the bill and try to find me in the chaos (bad idea #2). Oh, and I’m running into the face of unknown danger without having equipment insurance and without having confirmation on my medical insurance (bad idea #3). Needless to say the day was full of dumb, rash ideas – it will be the theme of the day. We didn’t have a coordinated plan or a meeting point if things got hairy, which they did. When I arrived at the scene, I was actually surprised to see so many press people and photographers, both still and video. I don’t know why I was thinking that somebody wouldn’t be assigned to Nepal or the political troubles specifically but for some naïve reason I didn’t think Nepal would be that important to the international press. With some 20 or so photojournalists and video journalists there and about that many writers, I stopped and watched a very grotesque circus-like theater develop before me between the protesters, the police and the press. Between scattered, disruptive groups (there was no one large protest or group marching in one direction) shouting slogans and such, there was always a smaller yet more visible group of fluorescent yellow vested photojournalists hovering around the most animated or vocal enclaves like vultures or jackals smelling blood from a wounded, near dead animal. They would literally chase down the street the story, the image. It is very difficult for me to describe accurately all that was happening, all that I was seeing, and all that I was feeling during these hectic, frenetic moments. The whole thing seemed like a spectacle. It didn’t seem to me to be a very organized rally because the groups were small, there was no discernable direction they walked and there were no apparent leaders. But as events progressed and the police there on the scene became more aggressive, this flexible and organic system seemed to protect the protesters most effectively. As the police would come in and break up one group, the members of that group would split up and melt into the surrounding crowds. Then when the police were moving off to chase another group, that previously dispersed group would coalesce once more to form a strong nucleus of shouting protesters. And in this way the large crowd that was watching would become amused and laugh like it was a joke and the police would become more frustrated and angry at being mocked and taunted. It was this tense, strangely amusing game of cat and mouse for awhile. It really didn’t seem that serious for the longest time. There were Human Rights Watchers present, wearing their blue vests. There were UN staff, not soldiers, there with their light blue vests (one of which I watched eat her lunch while this was all going on…so strange). The police had their padded riot gear vests on. Then there were the press with their yellow vests. Boy, I really felt left out of the vest game! In fact, there was this one photojournalist who came walking by me with his climbing helmet on, oversized hip bags dangling from his waist, his two cameras yoked around his neck and his yellow vest on with a printed paper saying “PRESS” taped to his back. And as he came by me, he asked me in what I think was a British accent, “Is that new?” indicating my camera. Confused by his question, I asked him what he was talking about. To which he replied, “It looks like its right out of the box”. I then realized he wasn’t talking about the camera at all, but me. It was as if he was asking me whether or not I was in the right place. Of course if this is what he meant, then he is obviously an asshole. Was it a hazing? A teasing? An accusation of being green behind the ears? Regardless, the spectacle of the press interacting with the protesters and police and the relationship they seemed to have in this food chain, to me was fairly gross. The strength of that feeling surprised me. And I was relieved to feel that way. I was relieved to know that I didn’t like what I was seeing, nor did I want to be a part of it or have people like that British press photographer as my work colleagues. How does this leave me feeling about press? I still distrust them and still think they are vultures and too opportunistic. I still feel like I did back in 1993 when I took Journalism 101 at UGA and when we hit the section on sensationalism my interested in journalism died. I am not the type of person, nor do I ever want to be, who can coldly handle a camera when death, grief, heartbreak, terror, fear or pain are in the viewfinder. I am not the type of person who could work in a war zone, risking my life for what could hopefully be my next career making picture. I feel that international media works for propaganda, whose depends on the situation. I feel that generally the press (or media, the words are interchangeable) only increases or continues stereotypes. I feel that generally the press is only focused on disasters, death, conflict and negative events. Are most international press photographers adrenaline junkies, looking for the next reckless rush? Probably. Do the media serve a purpose? Yes. If the international media (the Nepali media are repressed and censored in heavy handed, dirty ways presently) were not there, who’s to say that the police wouldn’t have used guns instead of just batons to break up the rally? If it were not for media, then world leaders would not be held accountable for their actions (at least before the corporate takeover of journalism this was the case). Yes, there seems to be a place for media, but that place has become corrupted and twisted and now seems to be more monstrous and harmful than beneficial. Let those who choose that path walk it the best and most conscientious way they know how, and I will walk my path as a humanitarian-documentary-travel-human-interest-story photographer. The question of whether or not I ‘had what it takes’ to be a hard news press photographer was never really a question for me. I have always known that I don’t. Listening to my heart, I have always been more attracted to the beauty in the world, not the ugly. And that’s what I want to share to my viewers. Today was a strong confirmation of all this: it’s not me nor do I want it to be me – some hard skinned, cynical, aggressive, rude photographer running from bad news to bad news. Anyway, watching the press during the rally was almost more fascinating than watching the rally itself! Maybe I could do a story on the press? Burn all my bridges everywhere! Today’s events have left me confused in some ways and also somewhat depressed. As the rally continues, I eventually filter into the middle of things and start shooting some pictures. I felt like I had to do this to see for myself and experience it directly: do I have what it takes or will I like doing this? The images I was making were all uncomfortable and clichéd. I don’t feel strongly about any of them really and I think the discomfort and inexperience shows in them. At one point there was a police truck that was trying to make its way through the crowd when someone from the crowd threw a brick and smashed the front window. And there were the journalists, all over it; like now things were really starting to heat up and things were getting more intense. Eventually there were a couple of police baton charges where they run at the group swinging their batons at anyone who is Nepali (they carefully avoided the international press people and only abused their own). There were several hundred people there, not all of them actively demonstrating. Waving flags, shouting slogans, throwing pamphlets. With the tension mounting and the police getting more aggressive, Leigh and I should have left. Neither one of us was comfortable nor is it not like this was some Nepal tourist destination. Hey, instead of going trekking, we’re going to the rally today! But with some sort of gross fascination, I wanted to keep watching. I think that deep down I wanted something more dramatic to happen and I was soon to be granted this wish. It soon became obvious that the police were starting to move methodically down the street from the Kanthi Path intersection down towards the Durbar Square intersection, chasing people down the side alleys and trying to systematically disperse the crowd. They also started to use water hoses from the fire trucks to push people back. Thinking I could get some images of that scene, I started to walk towards that end with Leigh much farther behind me (bad idea #4). As we approached the police turned the hose on the crowd and then as the water subsided, they charged with their batons swinging. And the crowd Leigh and I were in, turned en masse and started running the other way, almost sweeping me away. Sadly, it did sweep Leigh away. She was seeking shelter in one of the side alleys (bad idea #5) when this stampede of people ran into her, knocking her down and with it her 500$ camera fell to the street where it was promptly stepped on my several feet and broken. Luckily, the crowed did not step on Leigh at all and she managed to narrowly escape serious injury. When she found me a few minutes later and I saw her ashen face and that she was visibly shaken, she told me what happened, showed me the bused camera, her bleeding knees, and it was only then did we finally scramble out of there. My shame was very great at having put my wife in such danger. It also made me very angry at myself. How could I have been so rash, so stupid, so naïve, so blind, so irresponsible to the serious danger I was putting both of us in by coming down her for mere curiosity, for mere show, for a personal experiment? For shame Jason, for shame. What else did you expect was going to happen at a forcibly suppressed political rally? I was upset with myself, I was upset with her. At that point, the game was definitely over and we left the area as fast as we could. The scene was only going to get more violent and aggressive and after reading the paper the next day our fears proved true.