 Finbarr
O'Reilly's first prize photo shows an African mother, touched
by her daughter's hand, at an emergency centre in Niger.
Photo: Finbarr O'Reilly |
The
eyes of the children, the soldiers and the mothers follow me around
the room. Their hope, their despair, judgement and love reaches
out from the frames and touches me as I wander through the echoing
hall. The tumultuous events of the world brought to my peaceful
city.
It is the children who affect me most. The
girl, the little girl crouched on the ground with the blood
stained hands is the one who makes me cry. Her dress stained scarlet
with the blood of her parents. They were killed seconds before.
Shot dead by US troops in Iraq for not stopping at a checkpoint.
Hurrying their six children home in the fast approaching dusk,
her father did not see the hand signals of the troops or hear
their warning shots. He and his wife were slaughtered in the front
seat of the car as their children huddled terrified in the back.
Her mouth screams in anguish at the event that has torn her world
apart. She is illuminated in the torch light of the soldier standing
above her. His boot’s and rifle towering over her. Fear
and incomprehension splatter the ground at her feet. Her name
is Samar.
As I turn away from Samar, I am confronted by the heavily pregnant
widow of a US soldier. Her belly, swollen with life is pressed
against the cold, dead wood of his coffin. This is as close as
this unborn child will ever be to his father again. The grieving
widow camps out on the floor overnight by the coffin, refusing
to leave before his burial the next morning. I see her as she
lays on a mattress on the floor playing songs he loved on her
laptop. I want to feel sorry for her, but I just can’t.
Not after Samar’s bloodied reach for understanding and comprehension
at the crazy cruelty of her world.
When the children’s innocence has been shattered by the
wars, natural disasters or evil humans in their world, it is
their eyes, their posture and their hand gestures which display
their hurt and confusion. It is a universal language. In photos
it can clearly be seen. A
boy from Bangladesh is being beaten for not producing enough
garments in the sweatshop where he works. He raises his hand
to defend himself. His silent honour is clear in the way he
holds his body straight and unyielding. He does not attack,
only raises his hand slightly to defend himself against his
boss cruelly beating him for not being productive enough. Submission
to the economic necessities of his birth country. UNICEF estimates
that some 3.3 million children, one-fifth of the country's
labor force, are employed in Bangladesh.
A
Pakistani girl’s eyes challenge me from under her irradescent
green sari. She has been displaced after the earthquake and carries
all her belongings on a mule. She reminds me of the famous Afghani
girl photo by Steve McCurry. Those haunting eyes – what am I going to do
about it they ask?
And then there is the US marines. A
series of close ups of men from Kilo company who have
been deployed to Iraq. Their bravado and fears are on display
as their souls peep out from their crewcuts and uniforms. They
are only boys, on the verge of manhood. Will they offer enduring
freedom to those they bring enforced democracy to? Will Samar
thank them for the enduring grief they have brought to her
world? Will they ever recover from what they have had to endure
during their time in uniform?
Next to them on the wall is close-ups of the
faces of veterans of World War Two. This year marks the sixtieth
anniversary of the end of that war. A stark contrast to the young,
testosterone driven marines. These men are past their prime. Worn
down by life, weathered by their pasts. Their eyes misted over
with tears and age and endurance. The ghosts of their past hiding
behind. The scars they have inflicted on themselves, on their
fellow men and women marked on their being. None of the bravado
of the Marines can be seen here.
The faces of the parents, valiantly attempting to protect their
precious children against the ravages of war, earthquakes and
famines can be seen around the room. Any parent could relate
to the look of fear in their eyes, as their heart’s face
the possibility of not being strong enough, not powerful enough
to protect the innocence of the life of their young….unable
to hold back the betrayals of the world. A
Pakistani father holds his young boy with the amputated arm
as the doctor cleans the wound. The earthquake has not only taken
away the child’s arm but his unshakeable trust in the
protection of his father. He hides his face in his father’s
neck hoping from his depths that he can will the horrors of
the world away. If only it were that easy to heal the darkness....
The photos of nature and sports photography seem insignificant
compared to the power of the current affairs photos. To spend
time considering the beauty and angles of these images that are
starkly clean without the scars of pain, seems disloyal to the
suffering I have just witnessed.
And yet hope still quietly emerges, in the hearts of individuals
of all nations, races and religion. Those who see beyond the labels
of borders and bloodlines. It is the children who remind us that
beyond these labels, we are all human.
In researching the story of Samar, the Iraqi girl who witnessed
the death of her parents, I found hope. Samar’s older brother,
Rakan was taken to a hospital in Iraq after their parents were
shot. He was twelve years old. Due to the gunshot wound he received
in his lower back during the attack on his parent’s vehicle,
he would never walk again unless he received an operation overseas.
A man in the United States started a
website asking for donations for his surgery. He says “We
decided that this family is our family, and we will take care
of them in spite of oppression or darkness.” Over US$10,000
was raised. Rakan has now had his surgery in the United States
and is learning to walk again. He has returned to Iraq and lives
with his brothers and sisters in his aunt and uncle’s house.
Will he ever be able to forgive the loss of his parents? Can the
world really be healed by one individual at a time? I hope so.
The World Press Photography Exhibition was held at the State
Library, Sydney from May 5 – May 28, 2006. You can view
the exhibition online here: http://worldpressphoto.nl/
reviewed
by Michelle Meares |