Threads of Hope and Beauty: Capturing the Resilience of Life and Culture

For more than two decades, through the lens of my camera, I have sought out the hope and beauty woven into the fabric of all life and all peoples, from forest to ocean. In the face of the myriad unrecognized plights and urgent truths of our shared human and planetary condition, these shimmering threads promise change.

Images / Words © Cristina Mittermeier / Words © Kim Frank

National Geographic photographer and co-founder of SeaLegacy, Cristina Mittermeier, releases her new book this month, Amaze, published by teNeues. An intimate collection of over 25 years, Amaze combines impassioned poetic storytelling, indigenous wisdom, and an urgent plea to protect our planet. Amaze takes you on a insightful and hope-filled journey where the human spirit lifts from every page. Here is a glimpse into the book’s luminous world.

Ta’kaiya Blaney, a singer, songwriter, and drummer for her people, the Tla’amin First Nation of British Columbia, is seen in a cedar cape. The youngest speaker at the United Nations Indigenous Forum, she is a fierce advocate of indigenous rights and environmental protection.

Canada

AS WITH MANY IMPASSIONED JOURNEYS, MY LIFE AS A CONSERVATIONIST AND ARTIST BEGAN WITH A LESSON.

A lesson that rattles in my soul like a grain of sand in a chambered nautilus shell. Urging me onwards; reminding me why I do this work. Curled deep within this hidden spiral is the unwavering memory of one of the most powerful photographs I never took.

The densely knit Amazon rainforest; home to countless indigenous peoples and the once-mighty Xingú River, now forever tamed.

Brazil

When I was a young and inexperienced photographer, I was sent on an assignment to a remote corner of the Brazilian Amazon. Flying from town to town, over vast stretches of rainforest, and in increasingly small airplanes, I finally arrived at the Kayapó village of Kendjam; home to one hundred and fifty individuals. My mission was to give a face and a name to the thousands of indigenous people whose lives were soon to be impacted by the construction of the Belo Monte dam.

Young Kayapó children will sit or stand patiently for hours, as their mothers paint their bodies with genipap, a dye made from a forest fruit of the same name. Being painted, and painting others, is a very important form of social bonding in these remote Amazonian villages.

Brazil

Late one afternoon, I saw a group of women coming up from the river; one of them carrying a tiny baby in her arms. It dawned on me that they had just given this newborn his first bath in the river; a vital ritual bath that ties a person’s fate to the fate of the river. And I had missed it. I consoled myself, naively thinking I that could find the mother in the morning and ask her to bring her baby back down to the water, hoping to recreate what I had missed. Tragically, we woke to the news that the infant had not lived through the night. By the time I had figured out what was happening, the women had already buried the tiny body, and I had missed that ritual as well.

Dismayed, I began to wonder if I was up to the challenge of this assignment, wishing the editors had sent a more experienced photographer, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure approaching. It was the mother of the baby, walking straight towards me and bawling. Nobody was going near her. As she came closer, I saw that she was cradling a dirty bundle.

In her sorrow, she had dug out the body of her dead child, and was carrying him around. Clutching a machete in her hand, she was hitting her forehead with the blunt edge as she screamed out her sorrow. Her face, her dress, her dead son; all were covered in mud and blood.

I stood there, gripping my camera with frozen fingers; paralyzed.

I could think only of my children back home and how I would feel if a stranger shoved a camera in my face just after I had lost my child. I am ashamed to admit that I did not take any photos.

The Xingú river is intimately woven into the fabric of Kayapó life. This young girl’s eyes speak of a beloved waterway about to be dammed forever, of pride in her people’s traditions, of fear for a future unknown, and of the innocence that every child deserves to live with.

Brazil

A few months later we learned that the dam had been approved and construction was to begin immediately. I thought about the beautiful, generous people I had met and how their lives would be changed forever.

To this day, I am haunted by this question:

Would their fate have been been different if I had dared to do my job and take those difficult photographs? What if my images had been beautiful enough, or dramatic enough, to change the conversation?

The Kayapó people believe that if they are good to the forest and to the river, they will be provided with everything they need to sustain themselves.

I will never know, because that day I lacked the courage to press the shutter: a mistake I never made again. From that moment forwards, I pledged never to hesitate and to make images that matter.

For centuries the Kayapó way of life has been deeply entwined with the rivers that flow through the forest. For me, this image is a powerful symbol of nature’s familial hold on the human spirit, reminding us that nature is so much more than a commodity to exploit.

Over the course of my career I have witnessed photography’s ability to shape perceptions, help societies pause and reflect, and inspire change. Being a photographer allows me to share my deepened understanding of the truth that all things in nature are part of one vast ecosystem.

Unlike people, the Earth’s diverse waterways, wildlife, and forests are intricately woven into the fabric of the whole; not claiming a separate existence. My hope is that my images will inspire a stronger connection with the nature that lies within and around us, as it is infinitely worthy of our deepest respect and care.

In a raw world that seems to bleed everyday with shriveling resources, human tragedy, and environmental ruin. Where every moment with a press of a button or a swipe of a screen, we are assaulted with distressing news, stories and images that threaten our sense of security and dim our lights, we must find ways to remain optimistic.

We must work to remove the physical and metaphorical barriers that block our meaningful connection to one another and to our planet. In my twenty five years documenting remote tribal communities around the world I have learned important lessons from their collective wisdom.

A young girl of the Afar tribe, from Ethiopia. Her people are fiercely proud and independent, having lived forever in the harsh deserts of the Horn of Africa, as semi-nomadic cattle and camel herders.

Ethiopia

Spending time with Indigenous peoples has taught me that abundance is not measured in the things that we own, but in the strength of our human spirit, and in the depth of our connection to the natural world.

From the Amazon to the Arctic, these communities nurture an intimate awareness of the web of relationships that have sustained them in harmony with nature, for millennia. I have long thought about how I could share my own interpretation of this intuitive wisdom. Among the Kayapó, the Gitga’at, the Inuit, and the many other Indigenous communities I have photographed, I have witnessed a myriad of common strands — spiritual and physical; past and future. Woven together, they become the exquisite and universal fabric of something that I have come to call “enoughness”.

Made from the feathers of birds of paradise, the Indigenous peoples in the highlands of Papua New Guinea pride themselves on elaborate personal decoration. This woman’s spectacular headdress had been passed down from generation to generation.

Papua New Guinea

My personal true north for navigating the complexities and contradictions of modern life with more planetary integrity, I search for these threads of enoughness: belonging, purpose, sacred ecology, spirituality, and creative expression in the people I meet, and the experiences I have.

I describe and show enoughness within the words and images in the first part of my book, Amaze, and I share an excerpt with you here. It is my hope that enoughness can be recognized as a path to a more fully expressed life, as we seek to entwine these threads more deeply into our own personal tapestry.

I am often asked if I gave gum to these boys from the highlands of Papua New Guinea, but the answer is no. They were at the Mount Hagen Sing-Sing, a festival that celebrated the most culturally-intact tribe, and delighted in surprising me with their bubbles.

Papua New Guinea

We all yearn to belong, whether it be to a people, or to a place.

On the spray-soaked shorelines of the Pacific Northwest, a part of the world that I am now fortunate enough to call home, the Sundance Chief of the Tsleil-Wuatuth First Nation shared with me what belonging means to him. For his people, the land is not something that you own, nor is it a commodity to be bought and sold. Instead, it is something that you belong to.

For over 30,000 years the Tsleil-Waututh First Nation and their ancestors have lived in the region we now call Burrard Inlet.

Canada

Rock, tree, river, or hill, crow, bear, or human, all were formed from the same elements by the Ancestors long ago. Their land is alive with relations, no matter the shape that relation may take. When you love, need, and care for the land, in return, the land will love, need, and care for its people. For the Tsleil-Waututh, the land is both family and self.

It is the ultimate expression of belonging.

Wearing his people’s traditional headdress, Will George, of the Tsleil-Waututh First Nation, screams out his frustration at the Canadian government for allowing the expansion of another destructive oil pipeline across his people’s ancestral lands.

Over the years I have observed that irrespective of culture and our place within the world, the path to true fulfillment often lies in finding joy and meaning through purpose. Living a life of purpose may mean intentionally raising your children wholeheartedly as compassionate, courageous citizens, of planet Earth, or it may mean developing your unique skill or talent so that you can contribute to your community. For me, it is the feeling that my passion lines up with what the world needs. Regardless, it is about recognizing your own inner value.

Seeking shelter from the relentless sun, I was invited in by this beautiful Antandroy woman, who was wearing a traditional mask made of powdered bark, a natural mosquito repellent and sunblock. She too was feeling unwell and I was moved by her humble hospitality and grace.

Madagascar

I marvel at how when we treat one another with compassion, and respect the creatures and land we rely on, our sense of personal nourishment grows in direct relationship. The elements that make up enoughness help us cultivate fulfillment from within. Rather than needing or expecting the world to give us something, enoughness naturally inspires us to give back, to others and to the planet. Cultivating a sense of belonging, embracing spirituality, and intentionally finding purpose. Tapping into existing sacred ecologies and embracing our natural gifts for creative expression. This is how we can nurture enoughness, as individuals, and as an intimately connected global community.

In northwestern Yunnan, each village has a sacred forest where the locals believe the gods reside, along with the spirits of their ancestors. People are not allowed to cut down trees, but they can collect fallen branches, mushrooms, and medicinal plants.

People's Republic of China

Enoughness is the feeling of something central being restored. It is a luminous path to a fully expressed life.

What a joy it has been to find the purposeful focus of living from enoughness in my own life; by looking carefully and listening closely to the lessons shared with me by the people who still live close to the land and who know how to carve a living from the Earth without destroying it.

The embodiment of strength, knowledge, and the rich cultural heritage of her people, who have lived in the rainforests of Brazil for millenia, this Kayapó elder is a leader in her community and a proud keeper of their traditional knowledge.

Brazil

Eyes on the horizon, Miracle, Virtuous, and Heavenly Kaahanui float with their surfboards, waiting for the next set of waves to roll in. For centuries their ancestors have practiced this art, perfecting their prowess in the water, and nurturing a deep connection with the life-giving grace of the sea. In that moment, soaked in the glittering spray of the vast Pacific Ocean once again, I know for certain that long-lasting change will only come when we feel more connected to the surge of life that is beating on our shores.

Three Hawaiian sisters wait for the waves in Makaha Beach, Oahu.

Hawaii, United States of America

Over millennia, the tireless swing of the tides has given shape to the continents and character to our coasts; morphed and bent to the will of the sea. Every day, for a few precious hours, the shore belongs to the land. Then under the gravitational spell of the moon, it is once again reclaimed by the waves. To us, however, it never truly belongs.

There is an invisible line between the familiar feeling of our feet on solid ground and the inky abyss, often foreign and fearsome, where creatures with gills, scales, and fins are better suited to survive.

[1] A curious Stellar sea lion in the rich waters of the Salish Sea. [2] Molina Dawson, a young Musgamagw Dzawada’enuxw warrior, is occupying the polluting open-net fish farm that was placed in her people’s ancestral territory without their consent.

Canada

Though bound to the land, humans have benefited from the riches of the sea since the beginning of time. We should know by now that if our oceans thrive, so do we. Why then, are we collectively failing to nurture and protect the cornerstone of all life on Earth?

As he lifts his eyes to the falling snowflakes, Naimanngitsoq Kristiansen, a traditional Inuit hunter from Greenland, reminds me that nature is a spiritual sanctuary, made all the more hallowed by the first flurry of snow in Spring.

Greenland

Knowingly or not we have abused the generosity of the sea. Perhaps we have been walking on land for so long, we have forgotten that our very existence depends on a healthy ocean. Every second breath we take comes from the sea; the oceans are the watery lungs of our planet, producing vast amounts of oxygen and absorbing countless tons of carbon dioxide.

One billion people, including many of the world’s poor, rely on fish for their daily protein. The rain and snow that falls over distant mountains, irrigating fields many miles from the shore, originates at sea. Immense ocean currents regulate our planetary climate, maintaining the perfect conditions for our fragile existence. Today, human-induced global warming and exploitation of our environment are threatening to destabilize all of this.

On a three-week long expedition from the southernmost tip of India to Chennai, I stopped in every coastal town to see what the fishermen were bringing in. The women I met told me that the fish are getting smaller and smaller, and many species are disappearing.

India

HOWEVER, ALL IS NOT LOST. WE STILL HAVE TIME TO NURTURE THE OCEAN’S INCREDIBLE RESILIENCE.

From Mexico to the Pacific Northwest, I have witnessed entire ocean ecosystems spring back to life when local communities are empowered to sustainably manage and restore their waters. Slowly but surely, communities around the world are harnessing the political will necessary to bring our oceans back to health. When we act together, we can inspire great change. This is why I co-founded SeaLegacy with my life partner, Paul Nicklen.

Zah, an artisanal fisherman, harpoons fish in the Abrolhos Reef to feed his family. Because they live in a Marine Protected Extractive Area, fishermen like Zah are committed to complying with fishing regulations and no-take zones, which benefit their local ecosystem.

Brazil

With a mission to create healthy and abundant oceans for our planet, SeaLegacy is a strong, collective voice of organizations, social media influencers and individuals working together to spark the kind of global conversation that inspires people to act. Through powerful media and art we deliver hope — the kind of hope that empowers and generates solutions. Hope can be a game changer, and hope for our planet is empowering.

I watched as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the molten gold of sunset saturated the twilight. Just as his ancestors have done for centuries before him, Naimanngitsoq Kristiansen waits patiently for harp seal or walrus at the ice edge.

Greenland

Extraordinary opportunities exist to restore and thoughtfully develop our oceans in order to protect them and sustain life on this planet.

Our team at SeaLegacy works with an international council of experts to identify projects that are helping to create healthy and abundant oceans. We engage a groundswell social audience of over six million followers with compelling storytelling and invest in community-centered solutions, rallying global support through our massive media network.

Through vibrant digital campaigns, we take on projects such as influencing policy makers to protect whale habitats in the Norwegian fjords, filmmaking to show the critical ecological value of keeping the Antarctic Peninsula wild and free, and partnering with indigenous First Nations communities to ban harmful fish farming in northern Vancouver Island, Canada.

Every day, through our vital work, I experience hope in action. Co-founding SeaLegacy gifts me with the ability to align the rich elements of enoughness with my deep concern for life beneath the thin blue line of our ocean.

From the air we breathe, to the food we eat, to the climate we live in, we all depend on our oceans. Today, they are more important than ever. Healthy oceans absorb vast amounts of carbon from our atmosphere and help reduce the impact of climate change.

Honduras

On nights when the opalescent moon brings waves crashing against the rocky shoreline of the coast that I call home, I rejoice in the pungent scent of saltwater. The sea is like a forgotten womb from which all life emerged. It is here, at the water’s edge, that my heart beats its loudest.

Perhaps it is the reassuring cadence of the tidal rhythms or the way that the waves roll in from the open ocean with playful, operatic grace, carrying dreams of faraway underwater kingdoms. Or perhaps it is the way that the ocean’s low, sacred rumble rests in my soul, long after the last grain of sand has washed from between my toes.

A shimmering sunset is reflected in these shallow waters, as traditional Vezo fishermen draw up their boats for the night.

Madagascar

As a photographer, I feel an urgency to remind my fellow humans that our destiny is inexorably tied to the fate of the sea. As a scientist, I am motivated by the knowledge that continuing to ignore the failing health of our oceans now, while we ponder the consequences later, is an invitation for disaster.

Combining the two, I am a fierce advocate for our planet and strive every day to make a tangible difference. With hope as a beacon, my dream is that together we can turn the tide and achieve healthy, abundant oceans for all.

Two young Vezo girls, like water nymphs more at home in the ocean than on land, gather fish for their family’s dinner.

Madagascar

CRISTINA MITTERMEIER is a photographer, writer and conservationist documenting the intersection of wild nature and humans. Co-founder at SeaLegacy.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA

Abstract Australia from Above

“The real voyage does not consist in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” — MARCEL PROUST

Islands on natural salt lake, Lake Johnston, north of Esperance, in Western Australia. (Taken 2014)

I have been attracted to the Australian landscape because of its size and subtle differences — a sense of wonderment, how it all came about, the evolution of the landscape. Like the rest of the world it has gone through many stages to be what it is today — uniquely Australian. But it also is a very old landscape. It is the flattest and driest continent, which compared with other countries, does not manifest itself in grandeur as we know it; large rivers, large mountains and the dramatic changes of the seasons.

The Pinnacles. Limestone formations, Nambung National Park. (Taken 2009)

However, I found that by looking at the landscape from the air, many natural characteristics revealed themselves much better, showing the evolution and the geographical variations. Nature is a great teacher. Observing and experiencing it can stimulate our creative senses which in turn is beneficial to ourselves and our environment.

Pink Lake, north-west of Esperance, Western Australia. This is the natural colouration of the salt lake. (Taken 1988)

It was in 1955 that I bought my first camera, and this was the beginning of a long association with photography. Intrigued by the unusualness of the Australian landscape, I became a landscape photographer with a strong bias for aerial photography, which I felt captured the vastness of the outback best — each flight became a flight of discovery.

Late light on a drifting sand dune, Windorah, south east Queensland. (Taken 1994)

There are so many Australian landscapes worthy of consideration whether they be rivers, coastal plains or deserts — all of which vary seasonally and at different times of the day. As much as possible I like to be inspired by what I see and this is where I experience a sense of wonderment of a world so complex, varied and beautiful.

Coastline between Esperance and Cape Arid, in Western Australia. This shows the reflection of the clouds in the lake, with the beach and ocean in the foreground. (Taken 2006)

Of course there are many ways to appreciate the landscape. My own involvement is to photograph the highlights and to interpret them with the camera in a painterly way. I emphasise these highlights by pointing the camera down and focussing on the subject, excluding the horizon so one looses a point of reference and the reality often takes on an abstract view. I hope that the character of the subject is enhanced and that it reveals more through isolation by the camera angle.

A turkey nest dam near Newdegate, Western Australia, contrasts against the ploughed fields. (Taken 1994)

The aerial point of view also allows us to examine the impact of humanity on Earth. There is a beauty in the man made landscape which takes on a relationship beyond the form as we know it. Certain subjects such as mining dumps, industry and farming look mundane at ground level, but from above my eye begins to recognise a gratifying order in the chaos — crops, paddocks and ploughed fields become masterpieces in abstraction often unknown to their creators. Simultaneously, the aerial perspective can also indicate the abuse and destruction that has taken place.

Salt lakes surrounded by wheat fields, 50 kilometers north east of Esperance, Western Australia. (Taken 1994)

At all times, I take a very personal approach to my work, but I also take great care to retain the optical reality. There are a million pictures out there. I am the only limitation. I can tune in and absorb the reality of the variations, combined with my way of seeing and my attitude. The older I get the harder it becomes, and the more I am drawn to nature. It is the creation of all life and matter that appeals to me now. Maybe I can make a small contribution to its well being which is in jeopardy. If beliefs in eternity are formed, nature is a great catalyst. I often feel intimidated by a great outback landscape, but also inspired by it.

Forrest River, Kimberley, Western Australia. A tidal river system, north-west of Wyndham. (Taken 2003)

We now have more technical gadgetry at our disposal and there is no doubt it can help us to get a better photograph. But that in itself means little unless it enhances our understanding of the world around us. It is more important to use our creative spirit and gain wisdom than purely use it as a tool. Today in our digital age we have Photoshop with its possibility to enhance or to completely distort or create our own image using photographic components. We have become so image conscious that we often forget the beauty of reality.

Ocean between Ningaloo Reef and Coral Bay, Western Australia. The blue variation is due to the ocean’s floor level. (Taken 2006)

The subject of photography can either be concrete or intangible. In the first case the picture is basically realistic, where as in the latter case it is essentially abstract. But what makes photography so interesting is that by combining both we can introduce creativity in the subject and have the best of both worlds.

Ant clearings approx. 4–5 metres across, Great Sandy Desert, Pilbara, Western Australia. (Taken 2003)

Although many photographers can take photographs and do it well, it is work done in the full utilization of that creative spirit that stands out. It should be influenced by the subject itself and come from within oneself.

Tidal variations result in a coastal river pattern, Northern Territory. (Taken 2004)

“I still can’t find any better definition for the word Art, than this. Nature, Reality, Truth, but with a significance, a conception, and a character which the artist brings out in it and to which he gives expression, which he disentangles and makes free.” — VINCENT VAN GOUGH

Lake Dumbleyung, Wagin, Western Australia. Affected by farming this natural lake has become saline. After the first rains, it turns pink. (Taken 2005)

We do not always appreciate the aerial point of view. People regard the landscape as something you fly over. But in reality it is an opportunity to see the landscape from a different perspective. I never cease to marvel at the natural variations in the Australian landscape and although I value what is there photographically, in the end it is the observation and appreciation of the diversity that is the reward.

Top of Curtis Island, Cape Capricorn, north-east of Gladstone, Queensland. An estuary with sand banks. (Taken 1997)

Postscript — All of my photographs are as seen from the air and are not manipulated. I feel that the beauty, colours, and uniqueness of the Australian landscape is complete and needs no enhancing.

RICHARD WOLDENDORP is a Dutch-born Australian landscape photographer, with a focus on the aerial perspective. Appointed the Order of Australia in June 2012, “For service to the arts as an Australian landscape photographer.”

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA



Wild Africa

Leaving the urban setting and modern life behind, for 15 years I have been privileged to travel through some of the wildest regions left on our planet — compelled to capture the unique personalities and expressiveness of the magnificent wild animals of Africa. All in black and white, all part of one big family album.

My first meeting with Africa was like a thunderbolt.

There was a part of me that wanted to return to our roots, and Africa resonated with me like the animal instinct that lies deep within each of us. After travelling for thousands of miles, I always have this incredibly vibrant feeling of being in entirely unknown territory. Africa is always evolving, free, and wild... hugely wild.

Above: Lioness (2015)

Above: Hugs of lioness (2006)

Utterly disconnected from our urban environment, for more than fifteen years I have been drawn — mind, body and soul — to photograph the remarkable animals from this land of light and contrast.

Above: Cheetah before the rain (2006)

Above: Elephants and bird (2015)

I am constantly inspired by the sense of serenity and harmony between the natural landscapes and the diverse wildlife that roams these lands.

Everything is connected and the animals are totally adapted to their environment. I take photographs based on my gut instinct. For me, the thing that matters the most is the connection.

Above: Elephant, The road is closed (2015)

Above: Elephant crossing the river (2009)

I cannot stand strict pre-visualisation or procedures that lock people into pre-formatted ways of work. My conviction is never to prepare my shots. I prefer to be guided by luck, and to be inspired by the ever-changing spectacle of wildlife. Out in the field, I often work with a local guide who will drive the car while I concentrate on taking photos. It is very important to be utterly present in the moment, and not to be disturbed.

Opportunities in wildlife photography never come twice.

Above: Zebras crossing the river (2015)

Above: Rhinos quartet (2013)

For me, there is no difference between animals and humans in terms of photography technique. When I take a picture of a lion or a giraffe, I use exactly the same approach as when I photograph people. I try to capture something of the animal’s unique personality and expressiveness, as well as their strength and sense of freedom. I believe my pictures can create a connection between the animal and viewer, as the viewers discover a personality in these animals, and realise they have emotions too.

Above: Lion in the grass (2013)

Above: Two zebras (2004)

Above: Cheetah portrait (2013)

I am always filled with a great sense of tranquility and happiness when I leave the urban setting and modern life behind — travelling for weeks on end through some of the wildest regions left on our planet.

For me, there is nothing more powerful than the strength and beauty of Nature, and yet, at the same time, it is very fragile and precarious.

Above: Elephants crossing the plain (2013)

Above: Giraffe in harmony with their natural setting (2013)

Today, the fall of wildlife in Africa and elsewhere is disastrous.

I cannot know if we will discover more effective methods to halt or reverse this devastating change. However, I choose to hope and believe that we can. I believe that people are fed up with shocking images of destruction, poaching and deforestation — and yet it is of grave importance that we share these images, as we must all know what is happening on our planet. I don’t know exactly how photography can help preserve our wild ecosystems, but I feel proud when people experience my images and understand that these animals are just as ‘human’ as we are — with a personality, and a family.

Above: Lion, The small one (2013)

I believe that we must have a sincere conscience for our fellow animals, and the devastating impact our species is having on so many of them. We must open our minds and hearts to the fact that we all part of a living, breathing planet, and recognise that we are just one piece of this wonder.

We must leave more space, more life, for all the other species, because we will not survive their extinction. It is humanity’s greatest challenge.

* * *

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA

LAURENT BAHEUX

I am a self-taught French photographer inspired by the soul of nature and wildlife. I express this only in Black and White, like a big Family Album. www.laurentbaheux.com

 

Warm Waters

WARM WATERS is a long-term photographic project investigating the impacts of climate change on the vulnerable communities and environments throughout the Pacific Region. From rising sea levels and the effects of increasingly extreme weather effects, such as El Niño and super typhoons, to floods and droughts, the destruction of coast, and the first climate refugees — I am collecting visual evidence of what is happening on the front lines of man-made global warming today, and how these phenomena are being dealt with.

ABOVE: Residents of the South Tarawa Atoll in Kiribati, bathing in the lagoon near the town of Bairiki. Seawalls protect the tiny islets of the atoll from the rising sea levels, however, many of them are constantly destroyed by high tides. (South Tarawa, Kiribati)

ABOVE: Dead coconut trees on the atoll of Abaiang, in an area of land where soils have become increasingly eroded and salinated by the regular flooding that occurs during high tides. Abaiang is one of Kiribati’s most threatened threatened islands. The government says this area is a “barometer for what Kiribati can expect in the future.” Since the 1970s the residents of Tebunginako have seen the sea levels rise and today a major part of the village has had to be abandoned. (Tebunginako, Kiribati)

Since 2013 I have travelled across most of the countries in Oceania — covering sea level rise in Tuvalu, Kiribati, Tokelau and the Marshall Islands, land grabs and related climate change issues in Papua New Guinea, super cyclones in Vanuatu, Tuvalu and Fiji, and climate change related migrations in Solomon Islands. One of the biggest issues facing mankind today, I aim to document climate change through the prism of communities whose very existence is threatened. Warm Waters shows that global warming is not a distant reality for future generations, but a critical issue for which we must all take collective responsibility and immediate action.

ABOVE: A plastic barrel of drinking water is hoisted up in the coastal village of Hanuabada in Papua New Guinea. With climate change, tides here are rising, exacerbating already severe sanitation issues. During high tide events, human waste flows freely between water resources, water-borne diseases like diarrhoea, dysentery, and typhoid start spreading, and potable water becomes scarce. (Hanuabada village, Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea)

ABOVE: Children in front of the Kiribati Parliament House in South Tarawa. Kiribati is one of the four atoll nations that are located in the Pacific Ocean. Most of Kiribati’s atolls rise no more than a couple of metres above sea level, and are very vulnerable to rising seas. (South Tarawa, Kiribati)

2015 was the warmest year on record and sea temperatures are increasing. Responsible for many of the climate conditions in the Pacific, El Niño weather patterns are intensifying. From Category 5 Cyclone Pam in South Pacific, to ice melting beneath First Nations’ feet — storms, droughts, floods, and heatwaves are becoming more severe and frequent.

The ramifications of shifting weather conditions are extremely complex. Physical environmental changes are implicating culture, history and tradition. Rising sea levels and erosion are shrinking already tiny land masses and changes to ecosystems are affecting food resources and tourism. As quickly as communities build sea walls, they are destroyed by storm surges. As people rebuild homes and schools after a cyclone, they are damaged by another. Rising temperatures are fracturing once solid ice and cracks are appearing in otherwise strong communities. People need move inland, and in the most extreme cases, relocate entirely.

“They are not escaping war or persecution, they are fleeing their own environment. They are the world’s first climate change refugees.”

ABOVE: An aerial view of Majuro, the capital of the Marshall Islands. The Marshall Islands comprises two chains of coral atolls, together with more than 1,000 islets. It is on average just two meters above sea level. The country faces an existential threat from rising sea levels with some predictions claiming that the islands will be swamped by the end of the 21st century. (Majuro, Marshall Islands)

ABOVE: A collapsed house on the banks of Mataniko River in Honiara, the capital of the Solomon Islands. In 2014 the region was badly affected by flash floods, which took the lives of 22 people and left 9,000 homeless. Thousands of homes located on Mataniko’s banks were washed away and many gardens were destroyed. (Honiara, Solomon Islands)

The longer the locals on these submerging islands search for solutions, the more their landmass is decreasing. While discussions elsewhere in the world still revolve primarily around the causes of climate change, the lives of those living in the Pacific revolve around adaptation and survival. Carbon dioxide emissions continue to accumulate in the atmosphere and these communities, some of the world’s most vulnerable, are already experiencing the reality of one of the greatest challenges facing humanity.

ABOVE: A father and son building a sea wall in front of their house in Fale village, Fakaofo Atoll, Tokelau. About 350 people live on this islet, which has a height of no than two metres above the high water mark during ordinary tides. In an attempt to fight the rising sea levels, Fale residents have enclosed their islet in concrete, with 5 to 7 metres high sea walls, hoping to protect their homes from storm surges. (Fakaofo Atoll, Tokelau)

ABOVE: Children playing in the water near a seawall in Tebikenikoora village, one of the islands most affected by sea level rise area in Kiribati. The village is regularly flooded during high tides despite residents attempts to build sea walls or take care of those that were built by the local government, but frequent big waves continue to damage them, putting resident’s houses, and gardens, under constant threat. (South Tarawa, Kiribati)

In 2014 and 2016, I visited Kiribati and the Marshall Islands — small, submerging island states that are starting to disappear because of rising sea levels and the extreme power of super typhoons, which fall on them far more often than in previous decades. Scientists say that they will be unsuitable for habitation by the end of the century. These countries are located on coral atolls, pieces of land in the middle of the vast ocean, which are only several dozen meters wide in their narrowest parts.

During high tides and severe storms, huge waves flood the roads, and seawater gets into the houses, also destroying gardens and vegetable patches. In some parts of Kiribati, whole villages have had to move inside the island because of coastal erosion.

“People live in constant fear that their homes will be destroyed, and their small children washed into the ocean, so during bad weather some parents tie up their children to heavy objects inside the house.”

ABOVE: Children playing on a sea wall in the town of Betio, near the rusting remains of a wrecked ship that was lifted and smashed onto the wall during a king tide in February 2015. (Betio, South Tarawa, Kiribati)

ABOVE: Jorlang Jorlang, 70, lies on his bed while his wife Tita finishes hanging laundry. In April 2014 a ‘king tide’ hit their house in Jenrok village on the Marshall Islands, and the seawater came inside. The rest of the family evacuated the house, but Jorlang couldn’t move, due to his disability. His wife had to stay with him for two days and wait until the water was gone. (Jenrok, Marshall Islands)

In Majuro, the capital of the Marshall Islands, I visited a cemetery where the graves are gradually submerging. For me, this one of the most convincing arguments for those who deny the effects of climate change and global warming , because why would anyone build cemeteries within reach of the tide on purpose? Several decades ago the locals would never have thought that the bones of their ancestors would be underwater.

ABOVE: A graveyard in Jernok village that is slowly being destroyed by the rising seas, in the Marshall Islands’ capital Majuro. “Cemeteries along the coastline are being affected,” says Kaminga Kaminga, a climate change negotiator for the Marshall Islands. “Gravesites are falling into the sea. Even in death we’re affected.” In June 2014, rising sea levels washed out the remains of 26 Japanese WWII soldiers on Santo Island. (Jernok, Marshall Islands)

ABOVE: Children playing ‘hide and seek’ in Teone’s graveyard in Funafuti, the capital of Tuvalu. Massive coastal erosion in Teone caused many coconut trees fall down, and the sea eaten its way into and around the trees that are still standing. People from Teone are threatened on one side by the ocean and its tide surges and on the other by a pit that fills with salt water at high tide due the soil salinisation. (Teone, Funafuti, Tuvalu)

I also visited the Polynesian island nation of Niue, which has land much higher above sea level. Already, some of the inhabitants of Tuvalu, another Oceanic state that is gradually submerging, have been relocated to Niue. In recent years, many of the locals from Niue have been emigrating to New Zealand in search of work, so the authorities decided to give Tuvaluan people a home to populate again partly abandoned villages.

ABOVE: Hetu, 8, holds a shark that was caught by fishermen in Fakaofo Atoll, Tokelau. Tokelau is a small atoll nation of Polynesia, which is a self-administering territory of New Zealand. Access to Tokelau is possible only by ferry from Samoa, and boats usually depart every two weeks from Samoan capital Apia. Isolation, lack of job opportunities, and vulnerability to climate change has the forced majority of Tokelauans to leave their homes in search of a better life in New Zealand or Australia. (Fakaofo Atoll, Tokelau)

ABOVE: Children of Etas village on Efate Island watch a water truck delivering drinking water to their village. After Cyclone Pam hit Vanuatu on 13 March 2015, many local communities were left without fresh water supplies. International charity Oxfam organised an airport water tank truck to come to the villages around Port Vila and help locals to fill their barrels with drinking water. Over 15 people died in the storm and winds up to 165 mph (270 km/h) caused widespread damage to houses and infrastructure. Cyclone Pam is considered one of the worst natural disasters ever to affect the country. (Etas, Efate Island, Vanuatu)

In 2015 after spending time capturing the aftermath of the destructive Cyclone Pam on Vanuatu, I travelled to Tuvalu on a UNICEF commission. I was lucky to find myself on the same ship as the official delegation, headed by Tuvalu prime minister Enele Sopoaga, and including almost all ministers. The ship went to the most remote islands of Nui, Vaitupu and Nukufetau, all severely damaged by Cyclone Pam. I was the only professional photographer there to capture the aftermath of the cyclone.

Before our arrival the huge waves had eroded the cemetery on Nui, and there were bones and half-decomposed bodies floating all over the island. The pigs and chickens had started to eat them, and so the Tuvaluan government sent instructions that all of the animals must be killed to prevent disease spreading. For the locals, whose livelihood is based on fishing and animal husbandry, it was, of course, a tragedy.

ABOVE: People from Nukufetau Atoll boarding the ‘Manu Folau’, a ship that will take them to Funafuti, the capital of Tuvalu, where they hope to take refuge. Nukufetau was among the other outer islands of Tuvalu that were badly hit by Cyclone Pam in March 2015. Many residents left the damaged areas and went to to stay with relatives in Funafuti, which was not affected by the cyclone. (Nukufetau Atoll, Tuvalu)

ABOVE: Nelly Seniola, 35, extension officer in the Tuvaluan fisheries department, shows a photograph on his laptop of a corpse that was washed out of a cemetery by a storm surge. Nelly told me, “There were many dead bodies, skulls and bones floating around. Pigs and chickens started to eat some of the bodies. We received a radio message from the capital, that we had to kill those animals, as they could spread diseases.” (Tuvalu)

ABOVE: A house on stilts, built over a polluted ‘borrow pit’ on the edge of Funafuti, in Tuvalu. The settlement, called Eton, is threatened on one side by the ocean’s waters and tide surges and, on the other, by stagnant saltwater filled ‘borrow pits,’ where sand and rocks were excavated by the American military during WW2 in order to build a runway. The pits are a dump for the refuse that is increasingly clogging the islands and a health hazard for those living alongside. (Funafuti, Tuvalu)

Towards the end of 2015 I made a one-month trip around the islands in northern part of Oceania, including Guam, the Northern Mariana Islands, and the Federated States of Micronesia and Palau. In addition to documenting the effects of coral bleaching and sea level rise, I was also capturing the aftermath of super typhoon Maysak, the most powerful pre-April tropical cyclone on record in the Northwestern Pacific Ocean.

Maysak affected Yap and Chuuk states in the Federated States of Micronesia, with damage estimated at $8.5 million (2015 USD). The Red Cross reported there were as many as 5,000 people in desperate need of food, water, and shelter, and who required emergency assistance.

ABOVE: Roxanna Miller, monitoring technician of the University of Guam Marine Lab, inspecting species of staghorn corals severely impacted by coral bleaching event in 2013–2014. The bleaching resulted in loss of about half of all Guam’s staghorn corals. Although the remaining corals are slowly recovering, because of the increasing effects of global warming they can be hit again by rising water temperatures and extreme low tide events. Loss of the coral reefs would directly impact on local fishermen, as the habitats the corals provide to reef flat fish communities, would be gone. (Guam)

ABOVE: A small islet in the Ulithi Atoll. With only a few palm trees remaining, it is almost entirely submerged during high tides. (Ulithi Atoll, Yap State, Federated States of Micronesia)

Most recently, I spent time in Fiji, Samoa, Tokelau, and the Solomon Islands. On the 20 and 21 February 2016 Category 5 Severe Tropical Cyclone Winston hit Fiji, destroying the country’s infrastructure and thousands of homes. At the time of my visit, 43 people had been confirmed dead and more then 60 thousand had been forced to flee, living in evacuation centres hurriedly set up across the country.

ABOVE: The southern part of Taveuni Island in Fiji is among the areas most affected by Cyclone Winston. Some villages were completely destroyed and people were left without food for about a week, as access to the island was cut off. (Taveuni Island, Fiji)

ABOVE: Locals prepare food rations, given by private donors, for delivery to affected villages of southern part of Taveuni Island in Fiji, one of the most affected areas. (Taveuni Island, Fiji)

As global warming continues, many countries in the Pacific region will feel the effects of the destabilization of the planet’s ecosystem. Extreme weather events, such as unusually high temperatures and cyclones are already devastating small island nations. I have decided to dedicate several years to the Warm Waters project, and have plans to travel around the whole Pacific region from Alaska to New Zealand, documenting the unpredictable and severe effects of climate change.

ABOVE: Teiwaki Teteki, 28, carries his 4-year-old son Paaia to the shore in heavy rain. Teiwaki and other passengers travelled to Taborio village from North Tarawa by “te wa uowa” (double) canoe, which is the only way to get from north of the Tarawa Atoll to the south during high tide. For nearly two years, it has been raining almost every day in the northern part of the Gilbert Islands chain. In 2015, the annual rainfall was 4 times higher than the average. (South Tarawa, Kiribati)

And yet, despite the painful and challenging situations I have witnessed, this project is as much about resilience as it is about tragedy. Local and international organizations are helping to introduce renewable energy, new water tanks, and fortified roads into these communities. People are being relocated following, and in case of, the ever-increasing likelihood of natural disasters related to global warming. And in the children, I see hope. When it floods, they swim in the pools of water near their houses, or try to surf on improvised surf-boards during high tides.

“Many communities in the Pacific are optimistic and resilient, determined to find solutions rather than be case studies of climate change victims.”

ABOVE: A young girl playing in the remains of an oil barrel near the shore of Tebunginako village in Kiribati. The island nation is slowly being swallowed by rising sea levels, and will likely be uninhabitable before the end of the century. (Tebunginako, Abaiang Atoll, Kiribati)

 

 

Some photos from this gallery were taken on assignments for UNICEF Pacific and Oxfam Australia

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA.

 

VLAD SOKHIN

Documentary photographer, multimedia producer and film-maker, represented by Panos Pictures. Author of the book, ‘Crying Meri’.

www.vladsokhin.com

In Search of Beauty in Antarctica

Traveling on a sailing ship built in 1911, the same era the last great expeditions braved the unknown and departed for the infinite and barren landscapes of the white continent, René Koster leaves on his own voyage in search of beauty, the beauty of emptiness and cold.

Thoughts of frozen ships trapped in ice-covered seas cross my mind.

Embarking on a voyage to the South Pole, I travel in a sailing ship built in 1911, the same era the last great expeditions departed for the unknown continent. I recall images of the photographers who joined these expeditions to report of the unexplored. Fascinated by their stories I head for the same circumstances as those of the early twentieth century.

I am on a journey of longing, to a time that once was. A heroic saga, filled with hardship and adventure, in an infinite, barren land.

This series of photographs, taken with modern equipment, references the past. Personally, I feel no need for the photographs to look as if they have been created with techniques of the early 1900s. This is why I have deliberately chosen to work in color; allowing the greyscale of the landscape to emphasize the blue captured in ice. In my search for the right images, I have tried to avoid as many elements of the present time as possible; things that would remind me of everyday life.

The calm misty weather gives me a sense of desolation and makes the whole world feel smaller.

The slow rate of traveling by sailing ship influences my way of taking photographs; I seek stillness, harmony and tragedy in these otherworldly landscapes. In search of beauty, the beauty of emptiness and cold.

 

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA 

 

RENE KOSTER

@koster_rene 

René Koster's work concentrates mostly on travel photography and portraits for magazines around the globe. Work from his Antarctica project was awarded The Travel Photographer of the Year. Check out his website here.

Turning Tears to Power in Nepal

Young girls share their life stories with photographer Katie Orlinsky at a rescue center in Nepal that helps victims of sex trafficking regain their freedom and happiness.

Regularly described as one of the poorest and least developed countries in the world, Nepal is a ‘source’ country for traffickers, and its most marginalised people are also the most frequently targeted. While its capital Kathmandu benefits from a growing tourist economy, in general the country’s economic potential (for example, through opportunities to develop hydropower) is stunted by continued political instability, as well as very poor infrastructure.

Rural Nepalese — some 80% of its people — rely on subsistence farming, which frequently does not provide a stable or sufficient income to feed a family. It is under these already difficult circumstances that the sweet-talking and cajoling of sex traffickers infiltrate and take hold.

Passing through the India-Nepal border in Gaur, Nepal. Nepal’s border police have been notoriously lax in stopping suspected traffickers and are known to be susceptible to bribery. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Narayani, Central Region, Nepal

Fake migration schemes are one of the most common ways girls end up trafficked. Job options are scarce in Nepal, and around 200,000 women leave to work abroad every year, mostly as domestic servants. Poor, rural women think they are going to be domestic workers in Dubai, but instead end up working as prostitutes in Delhi.

Seeking migration paperwork at the district administration office in Haidera. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Narayani, Central Region, Nepal

The sex traffickers methods are varied and unpredictable, which is why so many people fall victim to trafficking in this region, despite the initiatives and interventions of extraordinary agencies on the ground.

 Shakti Kendra in Kathmandu is one such shelter, managing to educate hundreds of girls. I met fifteen current residents during my stay, all survivors of trafficking to brothels in India or of rape within Nepal itself.

Founded by Charimaya Tamang — the first trafficking survivor in Nepal to press charges against her traffickers and win — all of the staff at the shelter are also formerly trafficked women, some of whom have been specially trained by Shakti Samuha in Japan on how to run workshops and look after their young charges.

Young sex trafficking survivors at the Shakti Kendra shelter in Kathmandu, Nepal holds up their favorite drawings. From left to right, “an angel helping a girl in need”, “an imaginary house”, “going shopping”, “a house in the mountains” (Photographs: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal

The children living at Shakti Kendra take classes at the centre and are also involved in drama, weaving and jewellery making programmes.

A young survivor at Shakti Kendra traces a scene from an anti-trafficking awareness cartoon. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal

As a photographer, the Shakti Kendra shelter was an extremely challenging place to work. It has a strict media policy to protect the identities of all of its members. Still, I wanted to document the girls’ world, but it meant I had to be patient, and make a lot of images with turned backs, blurred faces and deep shadows.

An underage trafficking survivor rehearsing a play about trafficking at Shakti Kendra shelter. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal

In time, some of the adults opened up and let me tell their stories, but for the children, the policy was non-negotiable. Although frustrating from the point of view of documenting this issue, I respected this choice.

Trafficking survivors face huge stigma in Nepal, where the shame associated with the sex industry is so great that most survivors’ families don’t even want their own daughters to return home if they have been rescued.

A photograph discovered on the internet identifying a trafficked girl or woman could have repercussions — from an employer not wanting to hire them to a man not wanting to marry them.

Drawing class at the arts and crafts centre at Shakti Kendra Shelter. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal

I was by no means the first foreign visitor to the shelter, but it was hard to tell judging by how excited they were to see me. Some nights I would stay late to watch TV with them, and those were probably some of my most relaxing and memorable evenings in Nepal. I stopped thinking about the pictures and interviews and would just enjoy the company of the sweetest girls in the world as they tried to teach me Nepali and asked me a million questions on every last detail of my life.

[1] A sex trafficking survivor who works at the Shakti central office as a receptionist. [2] A sex trafficking survivor, who now works at Shakti Kendra shelter as a recreation officer and teaches weaving. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal

Growing close to women and girls who have experienced such a level trauma was difficult and emotionally exhausting at times. 

It was particularly hard with the children, like thirteen-year-old Sabina who had been rescued from a brothel in India just six months ago. She had a bright smile and so much love to give it seemed she might burst.

A Shakti Samuha adolescent group meeting in a slum area of Kathmandu, where staff members raise awareness about trafficking related issues with at-risk youth. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal

She loved pop music and called me ‘Katy Perry’. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she was the same age as my niece in New York, and how Sabina has already lived a life filled with more pain than I hope my niece would experience in a lifetime. Sabina dreamed of travelling, studying and getting a good job to help her family, who lived close by. She missed them, and talked about them constantly. What she had yet to understand was that it was her own family who sold her into trafficking.

Residents and staff at Shakti Kendra perform a play they wrote and directed themselves. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal

Trafficking in Nepal is not only something that can be managed and prevented, it can end, and it can happen within our lifetime.

It starts with the work of anti-trafficking survivor-run organisations like Shakti Kendra. These women have the motivation, ability, sensitivity and understanding to tackle the issue from all angles, from prevention and rescue, to prosecution and rehabilitation. They will not shy away from fighting to identify and imprison traffickers and their collaborators, from small-time pimps to local police to family members.

One day these young girls at the centre will take their place as the next generation’s leaders in the fight against trafficking.

Young residents dancing at the Shakti Kendra shelter. (Photograph: Katie Orlinsky) Kathmandu, Nepal

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA 

WRITTEN BY THE LEGATUM FOUNDATION

NAMIBIA: Colors of a Country

Namibia is a land of contrasts and extremes. Situated between the Namib and the Kalahari deserts, Namibia gets less rain than any other country in sub-Saharan Africa. Namibia’s coastal desert is one of the planet’s oldest, with powerful offshore winds sculpting the highest sand dunes in the world, in some places rising more than 1,000 feet.

Water — or more to the point, its absence — defines life in Namibia.

Hot and arid in the interior, Namibia’s coast is surprisingly cool and moist, the product of the cold Atlantic colliding with Africa’s warm and dry southern tip. Seals and sea birds come by the thousands to congregate in this narrow temperate zone.

In the rest of the country, only where there is water is there life. Here is my vision of this untouched and primal land, with its towering red sand dunes, vast deserts, and wild animals struggling to survive. 

KOLMANSKOP

Kolmanskop is a deserted German mining settlement located in Namibia. The town was abandoned in the 1950s, and the desert has been reclaiming it ever since, creating an interesting mix of colorful painted walls and sweeping sand dunes engulfing entire rooms.

QUIVER TREE FOREST

The Quiver Tree Forest, near Keetmanshoop, contains a collection of the so-called “quiver trees” which aren’t really trees at all, but rather a species of aloe, a flowering succulent plant.

NAMIB-NAUKLUFT NATIONAL PARK

Namib-Naukluft National Park preserves part of the extensive Namib Desert. The most famous area of the park is called Sossusvlei, which contains the tallest sand dunes in the world, rising more than 1,000 feet above the desert floor. Oxidization of iron in the sand gives them a reddish-orange color, which becomes especially intense when bathed in the warm light of sunrise and sunset.

One of the most stunning places in Sossusvlei is known as Deadvlei (which means “dead marsh”). The area used to be wet and covered in trees, but 600 or 700 years ago the water dried and the trees died, their eerie skeletons preserved by the dry air.

ETOSHA NATIONAL PARK

Etosha National Park is a beautiful national park in northwestern Namibia, known for its abundance of large game animals, including elephant, lion, rhino, giraffe, cheetah, zebra, and many more. What amazes me most about Etosha is the clear, strong light at sunrise and sunset, bathing animals and landscapes in warm color.

 

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA 

 

IAN PLANT

@IanPlantPhoto 

World-renowned professional photographer, writer, and adventurer Ian Plant is a frequent contributor to and blogger for Outdoor Photographer Magazine, a Contributing Editor to Popular Photography Magazine, a monthly columnist for Landscape Photography Magazine, and a Tamron Image Master. Ian is also the author of numerous books and instructional videos. See more of his work at www.ianplant.com

Conflict Zones Through The Lens of Marcus Bleasdale

“This is an exciting time for digital storytellers.”

Truer words have never been spoken. But in the spirit of the commencement of this year’s Social Good Summit, it should be noted that these storytellers also hold a great responsibility to the masses. As a distinguished photographer, Marcus Bleasdale embodies this sense of responsibility in his coverage of conflict areas around the world through the medium of his trusted camera lens. Over the past 15 years, the region of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) has captured his steady attention.

Throughout his time working within the DRC, Bleasdale has gained a first-hand perspective into a nation that, while rich in minerals, has been coerced into a haunting reality of violence, disease, poverty and profound injustice. Children are stripped of their adolescence, forced into militant lives plagued by mindless violence at the behest of their devious superiors. Families are torn apart, displaced, and involuntary bare witness to the perils of life within the misleading comfort of their own backyards. 
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As the conflict within the borders has continued to run its rampant course over the past 15+ years, 2 million Congolese natives have been displaced, 40,000 women fall victim of sexual violence annually, and over 5.5 million deaths have been recorded as a result of rampant disease, and violence throughout the region. In his Keynote adderess to the Social Good audience, Bleasdale stressed that these are simply the statistics; his images however, are what interpret the reality.

An important distinction however, is how Bleasdale goes about creating a narrative of an area so riddled by conflict for decades. He goes into depth about how he works to construct such a narrative in saying:

“For me, I’m trying to engage in order to enhance the narrative that I’m trying to tell. There are many different aspects of the story to engage with - the mind, the child soldiers, the sexual violence, displacement, horrific health issues that have spread through the DRC. I have to touch on each one of those in each unique situation to try and engage with a subject in a way that will truly hone the message that this should stop.”

He delves deeper in his philosophy toward photojournalism in conflict areas, stating, “Every image cannot be misery, and should not be so difficult to look at that you want to turn away. You have to also try to look for the beauty, and the hope, to show the opportunity that is available that has not necessarily been seized.”

Having covered the Democratic Republic of Congo for more than 15 years now, Bleasdale’s knowledge and wisdom towards his craft should be respected. As for his advice for the brave soul aspiring to photojournalism of this nature; one word came to mind, patience.

“Everything takes time, especially when working within the areas I have. In relation to my work in the DRC, you can’t tell that story in a week, a month. I’ve been telling that story for 15 years now and still I don’t think it’s finished, because it’s still going on.“

An award-winning photographer who has been heralded by the US House of Representatives, The United Nations and the House of Parliament in the UK, Bleasedale will undoubtedly continue to be a respected voice within the realm of photography, specifically within regions of conflict.

He can be followed on twitter @marcusbleasedale.


ANDREW BRIDGE @Bridgin_TheGap

Andrew is Editor-in-Chief of CATALYST's Social Good Summit Daily, and Managing Editor of CATALYST. He is a global enthusiast with a passion for the road less traveled. As a frequent collaborator with World Hip Hop Market and Nomadic Wax, Andrew has worked with numerous socially conscious artists from around the world in the pursuit of inspiring cultural understanding and exchange through entertainment. This fascination with the world at large has taken him to over 20 countries (so far) through studying, volunteering, and writing about his travels, with no signs of slowing.