"Having a pistol pressed against your forehead does put things into perspective," says Thomas Sjoerup, war photographer with several visits to the former Yougoslavia behind him. He explains: There is nothing like the high you get when you get away from that someone pointing a gun at you. On the other hand, returning home becomes frustrating when listening to complaints about the local market having run out of banana-flavored yoghurt, is too much crap to take when you've just returned from a refugee camp where people are starving to death. For Thomas the big picture matters, as well as having a job that makes sense: Photojournalists must be where things happen. There are no shortcuts to this work. If the photographer is not there you don't get to see the pictures, if you don't see the pictures, you don't know what is happening. Risks are part of his job, and he is very aware of them: In the beginning I didn't want to give presents [to the local population] out-of-fear of losing my neutrality, but I do that now. The suffering during a war is simply too grotesque, and it does become too much for me to handle. One example is that of a small girl he met in Kosovo before the NATO intervention, and then again, several months later in a refugee camp in Kukes, Albania. In Kosovo he visited her family while on a photo expedition, he was invited to stay for dinner and to stay the night, because they felt safer while he was there. Thomas politely refused the offer. Then in Albania, while photographing in a refugee camp, a child took his hand and started speaking in Albanian, through an interpreter he found out that the girl said he dined in her parents' house. He remembered: I followed her to the open horse-carriage which was now her home. Her father had disappeared just after they entered Albania. The family was struggling to stay alive. I took the girl down to the shop for journalists and bought them huge bags of food. I had to. Thomas' first assignment was in 1990 with the Danish United Nations peace keeping force in Croatia. Back then, I made every possible mistake: First of all, we were three people in a car with only two doors. Never do that in a war zone. And, if you do, make sure that you are not in the back seat. Second, several times I stepped out of the car and went into the bushes to take a leak. I didn't even consider the danger until someone calmly asked me: what if you had stepped on a land mine there? As a third mistake, I didn't try to think as the soldiers from the warring factions. Once, we took a wrong turn and found ourselves approaching a military control post near the front lines. We stopped 100 meters from the soldiers and reversed the car. Today, I feel lucky they didn't just shoot us, as they could easily have thought we were trying to get away from them. Thomas' advice to photographers new to war coverage: Whenever you turn up somewhere, always ask at the first military checkpoint for the officer in charge, and get permission from him to take photos. Also, learn to say "hello" and "thank you" in the local language. Bring a short-wave radio to stay informed. When you are in a combat zone you know nothing. The BBC knows about things happening less than 50 kilometers away before you do. There is a lot of equipment you need to bring along to do the job other than cameras: a dark chamber, computer, satelite phone, and a bullet proof vest--being the most important. Thomas doesn't use his vest much, though: I don't wear it as much as I tell my parents and my girlfriend tha I do. I always keep it near me, but I don't use it all the time. I keep it for emergencies. Emergencies, Thomas says, are when he has a "bad feeling" about the area he is about to enter. Most of the time he relies on his "sixth sense." It is exciting to be there [battle zones] when the things are happening around you, but sometimes it can get pretty scary. I remember once I was forced into a police car and taken to a police station on the opposite side of town. At first I didn't want to come along, I kept saying "nema, nema" for "no, no," but then [the police man] pulled his gun out, and I went along. I was questioned and let go. Another time, on the other side of a ghost town I knew was full of snipers, I ran from corner to corner, my heart pounding, in the direction I thought was the right one. Luckily, it was! I arrived safely back at the press camp, one experience richer. Never walk around alone, you might disappear and no one will ever know what happened to you. Since then I have always worked in groups of two or three people. By now, I am pretty experienced for a Danish war photographer, but when possible, I stick with the experienced lot like the Reuters or AP people. All they do is war photography, and they know how to avoid unnecessary trouble. I have survived so far, which probably means I have learned to do it the right way round, but you never know. Especially not when you're in the middle of a war. I might not get home the next time. Thomas Sjoerup graduated from the Danish School of Journalism, worked as a freelance photojournalist for Black Star in New York, and is currently employed by the daily newspaper B.T. in Denmark. His home site www.sjoerup.com shows other aspects of his work. |
WORLDFOTO |
DIALOGUE with photojournalists |
Thomas Sjoerup: "Working in war Zones" |
By Lasse Havndrup |
"Having a pistol pressed against your forehead does put things into perspective," says Thomas Sjoerup, war photographer with several visits to the former Yougoslavia behind him. He explains: There is nothing like the high you get when you get away from that someone pointing a gun at you. On the other hand, returning home becomes frustrating when listening to complaints about the local market having run out of banana-flavored yoghurt, is too much crap to take when you've just returned from a refugee camp where people are starving to death. For Thomas the big picture matters, as well as having a job that makes sense: Photojournalists must be where things happen. There are no shortcuts to this work. If the photographer is not there you don't get to see the pictures, if you don't see the pictures, you don't know what is happening. Risks are part of his job, and he is very aware of them: In the beginning I didn't want to give presents [to the local population] out-of-fear of losing my neutrality, but I do that now. The suffering during a war is simply too grotesque, and it does become too much for me to handle. One example is that of a small girl he met in Kosovo before the NATO intervention, and then again, several months later in a refugee camp in Kukes, Albania. In Kosovo he visited her family while on a photo expedition, he was invited to stay for dinner and to stay the night, because they felt safer while he was there. Thomas politely refused the offer. Then in Albania, while photographing in a refugee camp, a child took his hand and started speaking in Albanian, through an interpreter he found out that the girl said he dined in her parents' house. He remembered: I followed her to the open horse-carriage which was now her home. Her father had disappeared just after they entered Albania. The family was struggling to stay alive. I took the girl down to the shop for journalists and bought them huge bags of food. I had to. Thomas' first assignment was in 1990 with the Danish United Nations peace keeping force in Croatia. Back then, I made every possible mistake: First of all, we were three people in a car with only two doors. Never do that in a war zone. And, if you do, make sure that you are not in the back seat. Second, several times I stepped out of the car and went into the bushes to take a leak. I didn't even consider the danger until someone calmly asked me: what if you had stepped on a land mine there? As a third mistake, I didn't try to think as the soldiers from the warring factions. Once, we took a wrong turn and found ourselves approaching a military control post near the front lines. We stopped 100 meters from the soldiers and reversed the car. Today, I feel lucky they didn't just shoot us, as they could easily have thought we were trying to get away from them. Thomas' advice to photographers new to war coverage: Whenever you turn up somewhere, always ask at the first military checkpoint for the officer in charge, and get permission from him to take photos. Also, learn to say "hello" and "thank you" in the local language. Bring a short-wave radio to stay informed. When you are in a combat zone you know nothing. The BBC knows about things happening less than 50 kilometers away before you do. There is a lot of equipment you need to bring along to do the job other than cameras: a dark chamber, computer, satelite phone, and a bullet proof vest--being the most important. Thomas doesn't use his vest much, though: I don't wear it as much as I tell my parents and my girlfriend tha I do. I always keep it near me, but I don't use it all the time. I keep it for emergencies. Emergencies, Thomas says, are when he has a "bad feeling" about the area he is about to enter. Most of the time he relies on his "sixth sense." It is exciting to be there [battle zones] when the things are happening around you, but sometimes it can get pretty scary. I remember once I was forced into a police car and taken to a police station on the opposite side of town. At first I didn't want to come along, I kept saying "nema, nema" for "no, no," but then [the police man] pulled his gun out, and I went along. I was questioned and let go. Another time, on the other side of a ghost town I knew was full of snipers, I ran from corner to corner, my heart pounding, in the direction I thought was the right one. Luckily, it was! I arrived safely back at the press camp, one experience richer. Never walk around alone, you might disappear and no one will ever know what happened to you. Since then I have always worked in groups of two or three people. By now, I am pretty experienced for a Danish war photographer, but when possible, I stick with the experienced lot like the Reuters or AP people. All they do is war photography, and they know how to avoid unnecessary trouble. I have survived so far, which probably means I have learned to do it the right way round, but you never know. Especially not when you're in the middle of a war. I might not get home the next time. Thomas Sjoerup graduated from the Danish School of Journalism, worked as a freelance photojournalist for Black Star in New York, and is currently employed by the daily newspaper B.T. in Denmark. His home site www.sjoerup.com shows other aspects of his work. |
