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February 23, 2007

A freelance journalist Gert Van Langendonck, on assignment in, Beirut - Lebanon, for the Belgian newspaper De Morgen, found the young people figuring in the World Press Photo of the year 2006, interviewed them and wrote the following article...

Award-Winning Photo Puts Subjects On Defensive

February 22, 2007
By Gert Van Langendonck

It was around 1 p.m. on August 15th, the second day of the ceasefire that ended the 33-day war between Israel and the armed Shia resistance group Hezbollah, and all of Lebanon was in upheaval. While tens of thousands of refugees from the South were clogging the roads on the way back to their homes, many others headed for the Dahiye, the Hezbollah-controlled southern suburbs of Beirut. Some wanted to check if their houses had survived the massive bombing campaign by the Israeli air force; others were simply curious.

It was at that moment that a red car caught photographer Spencer Platt's eye. He shot four or five frames, he says, but this was the only one he sent to his agency.

"I liked it because it showed another, fabulous side to Beirut," Platt says from his home in New York City. "It is important to show the cliches, the refugees, because that was the reality of what was happening. But this is Beirut too. It is this dichotomy that makes Lebanon such a fascinating place. But I never thought it was the picture."

Jad Maroun, 22, and his sisters Bissan, 29, and Tamara, 26, were not feeling all that fabulous on that sunny day in August. Despite the fact that they are Christian, they all lived in the Dahiye, which was once a Christian neighborhood. At the start of the war they had fled the bombing and settled in the Plaza Hotel in Hamra, a Sunni part of Beirut. It was there that they had met Noor Nasser, 21, a Muslim, and Liliane Nacouzi, 22, a Christian, who were working as waitresses in a sandwich shop in the hotel. They too were refugees from Beirut's Southern suburbs.

It was also where they ran into Lana El Khalil, 25, the owner of the Mini Cooper in Platt's picture. El Khalil, who calls herself an atheist, had given up her apartment in Hamra to make room for Shia refugees from the South and moved back to her parents' house. But she was hardly ever at home. When the war began, she was part of a sit-in in downtown Beirut to call attention to the Palestinian cause. As soon as the bombing started, she threw herself into relief work. She joined a NGO called Samidoun that was set up specifically to help the displaced people from the South. During the first days of the war, El Khalil helped evacuate people who were trapped in the Dahiye. Later on she would ferry food and medical supplies to the neighborhood. The little convertible came in handy.

But on August 15, two days into the ceasefire, it had served its purpose. When Jad and the others asked if they could borrow the Mini Cooper to go check on their houses in the Dahiye, El Khalil was happy to oblige them.

Six months later, they are all gathered in the apartment of Bissan's fiance in the Christian neighborhood of Achrafieh. Only Tamara, the blonde girl in the picture, is missing; she is getting ready for her engagement the next day. Jad, who was driving the car that day, admits that he had second thoughts about opening up the convertible. "I was worried that it would give people the wrong idea. But it was a hot day. There were five us in a tiny car and we all wanted to get a good look at what had happened to the neighborhood."

They never saw Spencer Platt. The first they heard about his picture was when it was published in Paris Match in September. It is not so much the picture that bothered them; it was the caption that often went with it in publications around the world: rich Lebanese Christians doing war tourism in the ravaged suburbs of Beirut.

"Take a good look at the picture," says Bissan Maroun, a bank employee, "I can assure you that we were not having fun. The looks on our faces show consternation at what was done to our neighborhood. And I can tell you that not one person in this photo belongs to the Christian bourgeoisie."

There is the obvious question. What were they thinking dressing up in sexy little dresses, tight t-shirts and designer sunglasses on a day like this, and in a conservative part of town? "Hey, we're Lebanese," says Noor. "It's not like we dressed up like this to go visit the Dahiye. We dress like this every day. On any other day, nobody would have given us a second glance. It was the contrast with the destruction in the background that made the difference." There is something the world needs to understand about Lebanon, adds El Khalil. "Glamour is a very important part of life here. It transcends class. Even if you're poor, you want to look glamorous."

A lot has been read into Platt's picture based on what viewers thought it conveyed. But such are the intricacies of life in Lebanon that they don't entirely disagree with its message, either. "It is a very interesting picture," says El Khalil. "And, yes, there was war tourism going on in Lebanon at the time; just not in this case."

It can be difficult for people in the West to grasp what life in a war zone is like. During the last war with Israel, many Lebanese who could afford it went up to places like Faraya, a ski resort in winter time. They settled in five-star hotels there and spent the day shopping or lounging around the swimming pool while the Southern suburbs were being bombed. Many of Beirut's designer boutiques and even some of its trendy night clubs followed their clientele to the mountain resorts. "I went to Faraya myself one weekend during the war", says El Khalil, "and I too was shocked by some of the things I saw there." But she doesn't judge. "Everybody reacts to war in their own way. Me, I chose to help people. Others went to la-la-land and partied. There is a survival instinct that kicks in. It's another form of resistance, to try and keep living your life the way you want to despite the war."

The choice of Platt's picture for the World Press Photo has stirred up quite a debate in the photojournalism community. Some critics applauded the break from more traditional war photography. In an interview, Lebanese photographer Samer Mohdad  described the jury's choice as "an insult to all news photographers who have risked their lives to cover this horrible war."

The young Lebanese in the picture are not quite that angry. But they ask themselves why Platt's picture was chosen, "and not, for instance, the picture of a dead young boy being taken from the rubble after an Israeli bombing in Qana." Could it be, asks El Khalil, "that the photo of the dead boy shows the reality of a war, and that this makes people in the West uncomfortable?" This is why she feels Platt's photo is dangerous. "It distracts attention from the harsh reality of war. It confirms what many people in the West think already, that war only happens to people who don't look like them."

Bissan Maroun's boyfriend Wissam Awad, 32, takes the argument one step further. "Giving the award to the picture of the dead boy would have harmed the reputation of Israel in the world. Platt's picture doesn't do that. On the contrary, it suggests that the Christians had nothing to do with the war, that they were all against Hezbollah and on the side of Israel. And that's just not true."

Spencer Platt never knew who the people in his picture were. He wants it known that he never meant to judge them. "I never talked to them. For all I knew, they might have lost members of their family. Noone was immune to hardship in that conflict. And I certainly didn't mean to make a political statement, as some have said. My fixer, Wafa, was of a very similar type to the people in the car, and her life had been turned upside down by the war." In the end, he says, "what I think this image partly asks us, the viewer, is to challenge our stereotypes of victims of war."

Source: PDNEWSWIRE

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