w*r Photographer (2001)

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It seems too graphic

and unemotional.

I would prefer

those grieving people.

- For this double page here?

Yes, for the big page.

- Okay.

There's already a great deal

of misery in it!

I like this sad

figure walking through

the streets full of destruction...

Fits perfect!

And Goma! One million refugees!

Thousands d*ed

and couldn't be

buried in the volcanic

soil. There were piles of corpses!

Right! The piles of corpses...

It'd be great!

There are the piles!

Okay.

That looks fantastic!

You think we should

use this one? - I'd enlarge it.

This is also a terrific picture.

The corpses being dumped.

- Maybe we should put it here.

Have it enlarged.

- Okay, fine.

Can you tell that the corpses

being dumped aren't in Africa?

You don't have

to see the corpses...

You can substitute

them with this.

Here you feel like you're being

shown some scene in Africa.

It starts with Africa, and you

think it's an African horror trip.

But his idea is worldwide horror.

It zooms in again...

- Then there's the head...

Then there's that poor guy.

- Looks terrific. - Okay.

Exactly.

Then we'll have a look at it.

Comma... now it's shorter.

After the Berlin Wall fell,

wars changed.

It was no longer nation against

nation,

but people against people.

Instead of high-tech weapons...

r*fles

and machetes.

- James Nachtwey,

the world's most

famous w*r photographer,

has portrayed

these new conflicts and

victims in a way

nobody else ever could.

My son has arrived!

Oh, my son! Oh, my son!

Oh, you!

"Please, don't," I said.

"My brother

is deaf and speechless."

But they threw him

down from the truck,

took his money and k*lled him.

They cut off my other

brother's arm with a bread Kn*fe.

They tore my uncle's

son from his arms,

but he wouldn't let go.

So they sh*t him in the head,

and the child fell on the ground.

They gave me 2 minutes time,

and they held an a*t*matic

w*apon at my neck.

They wanted money.

Goodbye.

There are w*r photographers

who are only

able to endure the horror

of what they've seen,

experienced and escaped...

like in Vietnam...

by going with the soldiers

to the same brothels

and bars

and drinking the same whisky.

Others have become cynical.

Jim is a remarkably

uncynical person,

which is all the more remarkable,

because most people have seen

a lot less misery and suffering.

Lonely because...

his experience sets him apart

from his colleagues and others.

He has become

a different person

as a result of those 25 years.

While we talked

about that horror

in order to

comprehend what we saw,

the absolute inferno of people

who were dead,

dying and vomiting,

never-ending lines of people

waiting outside the first-aid tents,

Jim said almost nothing.

Jim said hello. He talked

about some

organizational details,

then he said, "I'm going to bed."

And while

we needed beer to recover

from what we'd seen that day,

Jim had

one or two glasses of water

before going to bed.

Then he got up early

the next day to head out alone.

Good morning, Mister.

- Good morning.

For me, the early 80s

were characterized

by my move to New York.

I was a photo editor for GEO.

I'd worked

for SPIEGEL before that,

and I had an opportunity

to take over

the photography department

at the New York office of STERN.

That was in 1982.

It was

the first time that Nachtwey

came to STERN's office

with a portfolio,

and that led to a friendship,

a love affair.

Both of us had an idea

what that New York situation

was supposed to lead to.

Nachtwey wanted

to make a name for himself.

He was very bright...

and determined.

His mind was focused

Like flight routes.

No winding roads.

There was one distinct,

straight, narrow, stony path

he had decided to take.

Of course,

at times I wished it was

a warmer, closer,

more intense relationship.

But his work was

of great importance.

I'll do it.

I'll do it with my pictures.

I'll convince

people with my pictures.

Nachtwey came

back from Nicaragua.

He was relaxed and happy.

He brought me a necklace

made of shells.

He put it around my neck,

and I thought that was great.

I remember

the first time I met him.

His hair was parted,

his jeans were creased,

his shirt was immaculate.

And amidst all

that dust and chaos,

stood this man

I'd never seen before

taking his pictures. He was

in no hurry like the others.

He was somehow calm,

as suddenly

South African photographer

Ken Oosterbroek

was k*lled next to him.

Normally, two sorts of journalists

are hit:

the ones

on their first assignment,

and the ones

who have been at it too long

and think they're bulletproof.

Jim is in danger

of seeing himself as bulletproof,

in danger of pushing his luck

once too often.

As someone

who is quite reserved,

he needs that kick,

that adventure,

that flow of adrenalin

and the fear of dying,

in order to feel alive.

Jim is at his best

in the most extreme situation.

That's it. He keeps

on pushing those limits.

Tough...

Tough, tough, tough.

It's also very difficult

to talk to Nachtwey

about the insane situations

he has narrowly escaped.

It's excruciating the way some

photographers and journalists

never stop talking about what

they've experienced.

With Nachtwey, however,

you have to

drag everything out of him.

You really have to beg him,

and, even then, he tries to avoid

making the impression

that he's bragging, showing off.

When he returned

from an assignment,

and I wanted to grab him

and say,

"Tell me about it. How was it?"

No, first he had

to develop the pictures

and then look at them.

I don't know

where he kept everything,

or where he keeps it,

because the photo

material alone, the pictures,

are only a fraction

of what he has seen, felt, smelled

and heard.

He has his own library

of suffering in his head.

What were you thinking of?

Don't you want to talk about it?

Allah is great!

I feel that

James Nachtwey's pictures

possess the precision

of a w*r surgeon.

He hates to hear that.

He doesn't want to be compared

to a w*r surgeon,

because everyone

will then say,

"Aha, a

cold-hearted w*r surgeon."

He is unrelentless when dealing

with people and situations.

This very old-fashioned,

very unmodern characteristic

makes him, at the same time,

so untypical, so fascinating.

Do I make a living

from other people's suffering?

Has their suffering

and misery been...

my ladder to success?

Do I exploit people?

Am I the bloodsucker?

The vampire with the camera?

Thank you.