Saturday, April 30, 2005
The Baixa. Maputo, Mozambique. I made this photo, on a typically hot afternoon, in the Baixa, a crumbling neighborhood near Maputo's port -- all faded Portuguese-era buildings, weedy lots and broken concrete.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Elephants, Limpopo Province, South Africa. I don't do much wildlife photography, but elephants are about as cool as it gets, no?
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Abkhazia, The State of Where? The latest Colors magazine has a photo essay on Abhkazia, one of the breakaway Georgian provinces, by Eric Baudelaire. Some, though not all, of these haunting photos are available online (registration required). The accompanying text, by Dan Halpern, is pretty sympathetic to the Abkhaz cause, something I've rarely come across in any Western media. Whatever the merits of the Abkhaz case for statehood, though, Halpern makes this good point about how states come into being, and who decides:
[ ... ]
for most of the stateless, the proof is in the lines on the ground. In Georgia, along the Black Sea, the ancient Abkhaz nation currently fighting for independence dates the original sketching of its own lines to tribes back almost as far as the sixth century BCE. "Amazing Abkhazia!" as the Russian writer Isaac Babel called it, and later, "the fertile and enchanted
garden," was sovereign by the eighth century and saw its independence live, die, and be reborn over and over until the 20th century, when it became subject to Soviet Georgia. When the Soviet Union dissolved in 1991, Abkhazia declared its independence again. "But will Georgia give up Abkhazia?" asked the Polish journalist Ryszard Kapus'ci'nski at the time. "There are four million Georgians and only 100,000 Abkhazians. It is easy to predict the chances."
[ ... ]
Ten years ago, Abkhazia established its own government, with the force of more than a thousand years of history behind it. But who will recognize it? The existence of a nation requires little besides the nation's belief in its own existence; the state requires the sanction of other states to exist. There is little agreement on how to treat the invisible; it is hardly any wonder, then, that the invisible feel that to be seen, they must make a noise.
for most of the stateless, the proof is in the lines on the ground. In Georgia, along the Black Sea, the ancient Abkhaz nation currently fighting for independence dates the original sketching of its own lines to tribes back almost as far as the sixth century BCE. "Amazing Abkhazia!" as the Russian writer Isaac Babel called it, and later, "the fertile and enchanted
garden," was sovereign by the eighth century and saw its independence live, die, and be reborn over and over until the 20th century, when it became subject to Soviet Georgia. When the Soviet Union dissolved in 1991, Abkhazia declared its independence again. "But will Georgia give up Abkhazia?" asked the Polish journalist Ryszard Kapus'ci'nski at the time. "There are four million Georgians and only 100,000 Abkhazians. It is easy to predict the chances."
[ ... ]
Ten years ago, Abkhazia established its own government, with the force of more than a thousand years of history behind it. But who will recognize it? The existence of a nation requires little besides the nation's belief in its own existence; the state requires the sanction of other states to exist. There is little agreement on how to treat the invisible; it is hardly any wonder, then, that the invisible feel that to be seen, they must make a noise.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Colesberg Township, Northern Cape Province. Taken late one afternoon in the black portion of this drowsy town on the edge of the Karoo. We spent three or four days here, gathering string for a story that never ran, an apartheid parable on the construction of a dam near here in the late 1960s. Much of the area was flooded, and about a thousand black residents -- most of whom lived on white-owned farms -- weren't given more than a day or two's notice, even though their bosses had known for months or years. Many had to flee their homes, leaving everything behind, as the water rose.
back home, the story was picked up, then dropped, by a few different news organizations. A very frustrating experience, all told, and I felt terrible when a few of the people I interviewed wrote to ask what had happened to the story.
(This is when Alex and I had the Mercedes, too, but that's another story.)
back home, the story was picked up, then dropped, by a few different news organizations. A very frustrating experience, all told, and I felt terrible when a few of the people I interviewed wrote to ask what had happened to the story.
(This is when Alex and I had the Mercedes, too, but that's another story.)
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
The Arab Street. Specifically Cairo's streets, that is. I've got a photo essay on life in Cairo up on Orkut's Digital Image Cafe, a new Google media site with weekly photo essays and columnists (including my old friend John Gorenfeld, the left's leading expert on the Moonies). There's even a Q&A -- first one I've ever done. Check it out if you're so inclined.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Kezar Field, 7.30 pm. I shot this one evening at the track , near my home in San Francisco. There's a lot of history here: At one point, this area marked the far western edge of the city (at this time, Buena Vista Park was known for the bandits that emerged from its shadows to rob passerby on the road over the hill). It also used to be the home of the 49ers, before anyone much cared about pro football. When my Dad was in the Navy in the 1950s and posted to Vallejo, he came to a few games here. Now, Kezar is mostly used by runners from all over the city, and the occasional high school football game or track meet.
