An injured Palestinian is helped from the rubble following an Israeli missile strike in Rafah. Photograph: Hatem Omar/AP

I love how photojournalists can create beauty out of tragedy.

Time flies. We all know it does…which is why we are lucky that there are photographers dotted around the globe, documenting time as it passes.

Next year’s shadow is already darkening this year’s doorstep and while many people are under enormous strain, pregnant with recession, photo editors of the world have been quietly looking back.

Doing so affords us the opportunity to stop for a second and think. These are indeed troubling times. But by looking back, perhaps we can gain a morsel of perspective. From where I’m sitting, Ireland’s agri-sector has been dealt a devastating blow. The jobless rate is soaring and 13-year-olds are gunning down fathers in the street.

But I’ve also witnessed a critical mass bubbling up. Thousands have been taking to the streets to fight the genuine fight – for their jobs, families, health. We have that right, and it is one that we should cherish.

As I write this, somewhere in Iraq a child is quaking in fear. In Zimbabwe a mother is stricken with cholera and wondering how her children will fare should she perish. An Afghani is wondering if weeks on a cramped smuggling boat will end in a new life in Australia – or deportation back to the life he desperately wanted to flee.

So to know that is to appreciate what I have and, as dire as it seems, the position this country is in. And it also can’t hurt to see some of the sweeter, quiet moments that filtered through the woe every now and then.

Here’s how Reuters saw the year.

Issel Kato, Reuters

When the US was engaged in a bitter battle in Laos, during the so-called Secret War, they enlisted the help of one of the country’s indigenous groups, the Hmong, in fighting the communist Pathet Lao. Thousands of Hmong fell, but before going in to war, all had been promised that they would be taken care of by the US when conflict came to a close.

The US did not live up to this promise. As a result, many of those who fought – and their descendants – have been hunted ever since. Maimed, tortured and murdered, those remaining have been forced to retreat to Laos’ inhospitable highlands. But their chances of survival do not look good. The Hmong have been, essentially, abandoned by the US.

This abandonment has left a bloody legacy bubbling forth, and it is the memory of this that was evoked when I read that Gurkhas have finally been granted the right to retire in the UK. The fact that they had to fight so bitterly for this right, however, rather disgusts me.

Back in my homeland of Hong Kong, Gurkhas are highly respected and certainly during Britain’s occupation of HK, were well taken care of (their base was in HK up until the 1997 handover). Their work included patrolling the border between HK and China as it was then, but many also did security work for the Government. For men known for their fighting, I honestly think it would be hard to find a gentler type of human being. The Gurkhas I know, anyway, are of a wonderfully friendly and humble disposition. Today, a number of these men still remain in HK. But there are those who fought for the British who were seeking to live out the rest of their days in the country for which they put their lives on the line. Imagine how insulted these men must have felt upon initially being refused visas ‘because they couldn’t prove they had strong links to Britain’.

So it’s with relief that the news has come in that the High Court has overturned this frankly absurd ruling. It’s just a shame that the US hasn’t done enough to protect the very people who battled on their behalf – toward a war that was to leave the US hanging its head in defeat.

Read this.
And look at Philip Belnkinsop’s photos here

While I have clearly been absent from updating this blog in recent weeks (through no fault of my own, I might add) – the only thing I can really count as noteworthy in that time is the arrival of Sarah Palin onto the world stage.

But the Lipstick Jungle is crowded enough as it is and frankly I don’t want to give this abominable woman any more oxygen.

So….back to what this blog is really about: photography. August’s Photo Focus never happened, but I have one lined up, in the form of the late Dr Raymond Lasserre, which I hope to have up this week.

In the meantime, here’s some of my own 35mm work.

www.flickr.com/lollyburn

Sorry for my hiatus, readers. A combination of work, dodgy internet at home and the Electric Picnic have kept me away from posting.

That said, I plan on recovering this week and will be blogging before Friday. Til then, here’s something from the weekend.

See more of my photography at http://www.flickr.com/photos/lollyburn/

The athletes may be reaching for gold, but what about the photojournalists scrambling for the winning shot?

http://www.karikuukka.com/peking2008/100m/

Thanks Gary.

Conflict is misery, no matter how you look at it. There are no winners and for those that survive, the mental anguish that arises in the aftermath can be as devastating as the time spent embedded.

The LA Times has featured an intimate and distressing photo essay narrated by the subject – a US marine who fought in Fallujah and has since returned to the States, riddled with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder – with an epilogue by the man who documented his descent into depression, staff photographer Luis Sinco.

Watch it. You’ll come away from it with a completely fresh perspective on the war, no matter whose ’side’ you are on.

For those who are looking for the Olympic grit straight from the heart of Beijing, I would suggest taking a look at Ed’s blog.

I met Ed through Indymedia when we were both posting our experiences of the first day clashes at the 6th Ministerial WTO conference in 2005 in Hong Kong. A few years later, he joined me at the SCMP after a stint in HK Magazine and (I think) ATV – or TVB.

He’s been posted to Beijing to cover the Olympics for the Multimedia desk, so you can watch video content and interviews on his blog. Scroll down, though, to read about the completely unnecessary detention by Beijing police of SCMP photographer Felix Wong. Unreal.

My old colleague and flatmate Barclay Crawford had this to say about the incident:

‘To all my friends and colleagues in media across the world. What is going on? Why have you not done your duty to your fellow journalists and photographers in Hong Kong and run the pictures and video footage of the Beijing police assaulting them on Friday morning? Beijing claimed they would allow free press coverage for the games. China has blatantly shown these claims to be rubbish with the attacks yesterday. Our photographer Felix Wong was detained for six hours after being attacked by a mob of cops. Police smashed cameras, pushed cameramen off ladders and punched reporters in the neck. Hong Kong has free press under the Two Systems, One country system and the Basic Law.
Please pick up on this story. We need you over here!’

Again, another shining example of China upholding its pledge to treat journalists fairly. Good on the law. (These clashes took place around the end of July when I believe John Sweeney was filming the Panorama piece).

Pssst….Behind You, By Ed Lee

Upon winning its bid to host the Olympics, which begin tomorrow, China promised an open and fair environment for which the media to work in. So the BBC’s John Sweeney went along to see if this promise was being upheld – and it would appear that you cannot teach an old dog new tricks.

China is simply not used to an open approach when it comes to the media because to distribute that kind of power elsewhere would undermine the government’s power.

Everywhere the BBC went, they were accompanied by a 20-something minder who made damn sure that discussing the Tiananmen crackdown was not acceptable. ‘It’s a sensitive part of our country’s history,’ he tells Sweeney.

Another scenario involved the crew travelling to Sichuan just two weeks after the quake that ripped it apart and buried its children under the rubble of shoddily-built schools. It was extremely poignant – surrounding the rubble of what had been a school, were countless tall buildings. All managed to withstand the quake. The school did not. When one mother was being interviewed, the minder stepped in and told her: ‘I’m from the state administration for TV. They haven’t got authorisation to film here. I know you have lost your loved ones and I am very sorry for you. They are not here as journalists. Talking to them won’t be good for the country, particularly before the Olympics.’

And on and on this went. The frustration was searing. I was watching, both completely expecting this kind of behaviour and yet at the same time I was surprised by it. Surely I can’t have been that naive to believe that China would honour its commitment to allowing the practice of fair, balanced reporting to take place?

This was China’s chance. Unblocking a few internet sites just doesn’t cut it. But it would seem we’re not in a position to argue with that.

It’s hard to pinpoint what it is that draws thousands of people to mountains every year. I personally find them utterly bewitching; a fascination bred through the snowboarding I have done and the time I have spent nestled in the snow at the peak of a run. There is something to be said for seeing the world below from such an elevation. Mountains are as beguiling as they are unforgiving – and I think it is this hybrid that sucks people up and over them as much as it can kill them.

It was when I discovered Joe Simpson that I was really hooked. While I have never climbed much and at that, not for ten years, my interest in mountains and the people who climb them has grown increasingly over time. I’ve read many a book and watched many a documentary and am convinced that there is something incredibly special about mountaineering as a pastime.

But the allure of the Eight Thousanders is a particular kind – and I wonder in the approximately 60 odd years since many of them were summited for the first time, if the meaning behind it all has become clouded. After all, why climb? These mountains have already been tracked by their first ascents. Whether or not it is for charity, with the exception of most Sherpas, the sport now is largely about personal gain and nothing else. And while there is nothing inherently wrong with that, per se, there are many that would agree with me when I say that some climbers have become so blinded by a summit that they appear to lose their morals. Completely.

I will be the first to admit that I am nothing but an armchair critic in this regard. I’ve no comprehension of what entering the 8,000 metre death zone must be like but from all the books I have read, I can appreciate that it is one of the most punishing environments the human body can be subjected to. I understand that upon entering these altitudes, one’s own survival is of paramount importance and that simply staying alive is the ultimate struggle.

But when climbers past, present and (no doubt) future pass the body of a dying climber en route to a summit that isn’t going anywhere – and keep on going – I begin to struggle to understand just how such behaviour can be justified.

The late, great Edmund Hillary was disgusted with the abandonment of British climber David Sharp a few hundred metres from Everest’s summit by several climbing groups in the period leading up to his death.

If anything, Beck Weathers’ incredible tale of survival – in the notorious 1996 storm, no less – should surely serve as a reminder to climbers in the future that anything can happen. Even after a night of serious exposure at over 8,000 metres. A person’s life cannot be considered of lesser importance than a summit. Can it?

Documentary film maker Matt Dickinson has admitted that there is a hardening of the spirit, particularly on a final summit push, and that ethics often seem to be irrelevant.

But Pete Athans, an experienced climber who has climbed Everest on behalf of National Geographic, disagrees. He has said he finds ‘the manner in which climbers can pass these bodies as if they are fixtures utterly reprehensible’.

And from my armchair, I agree with him. It is bad enough that these mountains are becoming rubbish dumps. But I would hope that the sport will take a turn and that it will refrain from becoming littered with even uglier personalities. Particularly after such a warm and inspiring precedent was set.

(RIP Gerard McDonnell who, along with approximately nine others, perished on a descent of K2 some time today.)

In a departure from my usual ramblings, I want to take a quick moment to acknowledge St Joseph’s FC, the club for which my Papa coached.

Joeys has just been awarded the FAI Club of the Year award – an honour it truly deserves for all the work and dedication put into nurturing its young players.

An excerpt from the press release reads as follows:

‘In his acceptance speech on behalf of the club George Forsyth, Club Chairman, thanked the judging panel and acknowledged it was a privilege to accept the award on behalf of all the Leaders, coaches and, indeed, players at St. Joseph’s. To carry on the ethos of “putting the Player first” laid down by its founders shows that the development of children in the right environment, with the right values is, indeed, the way forward, which ultimately benefits society in the long term.

George dedicated the award to the late Austin Mullen, who passed away this season after a lifetime commitment to Joeys.’

Joeys were the cornerstone of Papa’s life, made all the more clear when hundreds of its members turned out to form a guard of honour as his coffin was brought to the Church. This dedication may have been made posthumously, but I think it cements what has been, and will continue to be, a formidable relationship between our family and the club.

Forward to the Goal.

Papa, fixed on the game, even from the sidelines

Sometimes I want to nuke Sky News.
This evening in work their bulletin was all over the quake in Los Angeles. PLEASE. It was a 5.4 and all the helicopter footage of the damn city featured its citizens going about their normal routines. All the people they phoned for expert opinions sounded like they honestly couldn’t care less.

I’m not advocating Mother Earth to deliver another godforsakenSichuan. But the kind of BREAKING NEWS, OH MY GOD, SCROLLING INFORMATION ON THE BOTTOM OF THE SCREEN, FLESHING OUT OF SENTENCES THAT ONLY MAKE THE REPORTER SOUND LIKE AN INCOMPETENT THESAURUS NUT – well, it gets my goat.

Sky News’ coverage of the Ipswich murders in the immediate wake of the discovery of the bodies was unbearable. It was uninformative, lazy and unnecessary. For a little reminder as to why I find Sky News’ style abhorrent, I spent a few hours watching their coverage. They repeated themselves over and over and over and over again. Meanwhile, other stories were breaking around the world, but they were pretty much nibbed.

Anyway, back to the earth moving. I’ve been in two earthquakes.

The first, was this 7.1 in New Zealand in 2003. A gang of us were in Rattlesnake after a great day up the hill when the ground beneath our feet shook violently. So violently, in fact, that the glasses on the walls smashed and I fell. I’ve never felt anything like it – and none of us really realised what had happened until a few minutes after it. The second quake was much less exciting or dangerous – I was working a late subbing shift on the 16th floor offices of the SCMP when the floor and desk I was sitting at vibrated quite significantly – the kind of vibration you’d expect if a train thundered past you. It lasted for about five seconds. We all looked at each other and went…’naaah…..’

But the Agence France-Presse story that hit the wires a few minutes later confirmed that it had indeed been an earthquake, luckily only measuring 3.5.

Two is enough for me. Feeling the earth move like that really is a reminder of how powerless humans are against its strength, but it’s humbling, nonetheless.

A few months ago, I borrowed Let Him Have It from a friend.

The premise of the story is that the protagonist, Derek Bentley, is involved in an armed robbery and is captured by the police. His accomplice is still armed, but knowing they will both be in a lot of trouble, Derek urges him to drop his weapon, saying ‘Let him have it!’

His accomplice takes this as having meant ’shoot the cop!’ – a sentiment unintended by the statement.

Derek hangs as a result of the misunderstanding.

Today, I received a text from my mum that read something along the lines of:
‘Have you been riding your bicycle much? If not, I’d like to try it out, am thinking of cycling more’. I replied: ‘Haven’t used in ages x’

Two minutes later I received a phone call from my frantic mother.

‘What did you mean by that? I think that was meant for someone else. Were you a user?? Did you use…..drugs???’

Clearly, the word ‘it’ wasn’t worth leaving out of that text, even for the sake of brevity.

Gary Fox knows how much of a photo nut I am so when he came across this article recently, he kindly sent it on over to me.

It reminded me of a story I read a few years ago about one of Catherine LeRoy’s most famous subjects, Vernon Wike, known to many as the Corpsman in Anguish. She kept in touch with him following the publication of the image – one of the most iconic of the Vietnam war – and eventually reunited with him. But Vernon Wike is not the heavily tattooed veteran standing in a cluttered bedroom, too old for his time. He’ll forever be the soldier, sodden with mud and sweat, hunched and wracked with torment and disbelief above the body of his friend.

Similarly, Kim Phuc isn’t a mother and anti-war speaker, she’s a wailing child covered in napalm.

We all know that war is hell. What we seem to forget, however, is that a single photograph is all it takes for the subject to be inextricably linked to that moment in time. For all the living that goes on from that moment, for all the laughter, tears and ‘moving on’ the subject does beyond the photo – the world won’t let them forget.

These are people the majority of us don’t ‘know’, yet we let these images define and shape our characterisation of that person. Such is the beauty – and, perhaps, unfairness – of photography. Vernon Wike was disadvantaged in comparison to his comrades who went unnoticed. The image of him became his shadow, such was its popularity.

So while Jospeh Dwyer may have been proud of being captured by Warren Zinn, he would never be able to surpass the image. Just as there can be wonderfully uplifting things to be remembered by, it should be important for photographers to bear in mind the sheer weight a powerful photograph can place upon a subject’s shoulders. Because sometimes not even a Pulitzer can help heal that kind of sting.

I’d come up with a snappier title if I were awake enough to do so. The point is, I got tickets for this gig. Kraftwerk, at Luggala. So in celebration of this wondrous news, I’m going to break with tradition and post a colour photo.

(I’d also like to say a quick hi to Ed, who has managed to read this blog – in spite of my recent Tiananmen post, I’m guessing – from behind the Great Firewall of China.)

Here’s one for Pricewatch.

Given the economic climate, you’d think biting into the Apple wouldn’t be a priority for Irish people. But don’t hold your breath: the iPhone 3G has already sold out and it only went on sale…was it just a few days ago? That was fast. Maybe people want to read all about the recession on the internet on their phone.

I can’t hate on Apple too much, mainly because I absolutely love everything they’ve ever created. I’m even writing this post from my beloved iBook G4, Humphrey Bogart. (Yes, I named it. Don’t ask…)

Anyway, I digress. I’ve always loved Apple, but noticed when I was living in Hong Kong that the price difference between countries was pretty significant. Jumping between the Apple Store countries on the company’s website, the price discrepancies start to become more obvious.

My friend Maggie is leaving HK in a few months’ time and e-mailed me last week asking for advice on where to buy an iPod.

‘In HK you nerd, they’re so much cheaper than in Ireland!’ was my reply.

So why is this? In a nutshell, I don’t know. Of course there are shipping costs and I’m guessing some kind of stamp duty when Apple send their highly coveted produce around the globe. But with the help of my favourite money site, Oanda, let’s do a little investigating.

13inch MacBook

US$1,099 (€692)

HK$8,600 (€693)

and in Ireland we pay…

€999

Mac mini

US$599 (€376)

HK$4,700 (€379)

and in Ireland we pay…

€499

20inch iMac

US$1,199 (€754)

HK$9,400 (€758)

and in Ireland we pay…

€999

We may be headed for bread and crackers land, but I wonder are those who can still afford lovely gadgetry in any way perturbed by this? I may not fall in to that financial bracket but, as a mac lover, I am. I think I’ve found Apple’s worm.

My favourite Olympic sport has to be the men’s swimming. For obvious reasons.

But this year’s competition will be particularly poignant as one American competitor, 24-year-old Eric Shanteau, has been diagnosed with testicular cancer.

Despite his doctor’s advice to be operated on as soon as possible, Shanteau is determined to make a splash at this year’s Games and be operated on as soon as he is finished.

There are certain people in Olympic history whose presence there heightens the entire experience, like Abebe Bikila running barefoot in 1960 or Cathy Freeman ploughing through the 400m finish line in 2000 before waving the Aboriginal flag above her head.

I have a feeling that Shanteau’s 200m breaststroke this year will be watched with the same feeling of excitement and anticipation – and I hope that his eventual treatment is a success.

We just have to see if Oscar Pistorius qualifies on July 16 and it could be one of the most memorable games ever.

Since temperatures crept up to over 15 degrees here in Dublin a few months ago, I ditched my converse and reinstated my havaiana and vans flip flops to pride of place in my wardrobe. I just don’t care if the weatherman is going to piss all over this damn city all ’summer’ – the flip flops are staying.

The unfortunate side effects to this choice of footwear are the unwanted splash marks of mud across the back of the legs – very unsightly, makes you grit your teeth that bit harder. I’ve also noticed that pavements are not flip flop friendly in Dublin, particularly outside Gunn’s camera shop on Camden Street and the entirety of Grafton St. But I’d rather slip and slide around Dublin than wear shoes.

You can take the girl out of Hong Kong, but you can’t make her take off her flip flops. Even if her feet get a little muddy.