National Geographic Society

Workers at Oil Spill Cleanup, Oliobiri, Niger Delta
Photograph by Ed Kashi

Photographers shooting for National Geographic often explore controversial issues in their stories, and the magazine strives for balanced coverage that air all points of view. But in reporting a story there are times when photographers come across social injustices so shameful or environmental devastation so appalling that it's impossible not to take sides. Occasionally they go on to become forceful advocates for victims they've documented, long after publication.

Two recent NG Live! events for FotoWeek featured photographers Ed Kashi and Mattias Klum, both of whom persuasively use their images to incite their audiences to take action.

Rolling Stolen Gasoline to Market in Yenagoa, Bayelsa State, Niger Delta, 2006
Photograph by Ed Kashi

Ed Kashi

Ed Kashi's most recent book, Curse of the Black Gold: 50 Years of Oil in the Niger Delta (also a story for National Geographic), investigates the impact of oil production on the local population. At his talk, Ed stated up front that this was one of the most graphic examples of economic injustice he had ever witnessed. Why was the Niger Delta such a hellhole, when it should be as prosperous as Kuwait City? The delta has no running water, no education, and most puzzling of all, no electricity. How is it that the oil-producing heart of the world's sixth-largest oil supplier could have no electricity? Hundreds of dollars worth of oil are pumped out every day, but the lakes are so polluted that no one can fish anymore. Niger Delta oil brings in $2.2 million a day, while residents live on $1 a day. Ed admitted that when he began shooting the story, he blamed the oil companies, but came to find that the government was an even greater culprit. And as the US takes 50% of their oil, we're not blameless either.

Ed addressed the issue of objectivity. As he said, "We're taught about objectivity in journalism school. I think of it as searching for truth. Of course you try to report both sides. But there are times when you can't get both sides. [Many of the oil companies, for instance, refused even to reply to requests from Ed or the writer, Tom O'Neill, but they persisted until they won access.]. If I can maintain the dignity of my subjects, and get as close as I can to those truths, sometimes that's the best I can do. I take the journalist part as seriously as the photographer part. National Geographic goes to great lengths [to delve into all aspects of these controversial situations], but there are times when one side really needs to be told and I can see that that's my job."

Ed Kashi on assignment in the West Bank
Photograph by Ed Kashi

Ed also spoke directly about advocacy journalism, about the need to create work bigger than one story, bigger than your career or your ego. It's not enough to publish the work, even for a National Geographic audience of 30 or 40 million people, and walk away. He promotes the idea of using photographic coverage to raise awareness, and empower other advocates for your cause. He has partnered with academics, with experts in the field, to create toolkits for teachers and for activists, and to create websites with links spelling out what anyone can do to get involved. As he says, they can take the work that you've created and do something with it which could be very powerful.

Another intriguing aspect of last night's talk was Ed's deep involvement in multimedia. He has been one of the pioneers, often working closely with his wife, writer and producer Julie Winokur, and with MediaStorm founder Brian Storm. What he loves about multimedia is that it give his subjects a voice, so that viewers can hear their intonations and the way they express themselves. And of course there's no denying that moving images are powerful, too--in a multimedia piece about his father-in-law Herbie, I loved seeing a sequence in which Ed's daughter is breakdancing with Herbie and Herbie's caretaker. But while watching several of Ed's multimedia pieces, I couldn't help feeling that the stills within them are more lasting for me than the video. They seem to imprint directly onto my brain in a way that clips do not. And I can accept a much higher degree of stylization in a still image than I can in video, where attempts to be inventive often seem contrived or lame. But perhaps that's just the consequence of my coming from an older generation.

While Ed enjoys every form of information gathering, he says he doesn't want to be a one-man band. For economic reasons, newspapers are pushing their photographers to do it all--audio, video, stills. Ed calls these poor souls "multimedia ninjas," and when he sees them in the field, he wonders how they can do anything well. He's realized that still photography is his true passion, and that's what he remains dedicated to; he would rather work with a videographer than do it all himself. He worries that he and his multimedia colleagues are unwittingly destroying still photography's role in the media universe. But it's clear that he will embrace any tool with the power to inspire an audience to take up his causes.

Oil palm plantation, Sarawak
Photograph by Mattias Klum

Mattias Klum

When wildlife photographer Mattias Klum first went to Borneo 20 years ago, he assumed it would be a natural paradise. But he soon realized he had been harboring a fantasy.

Mattias has spent a combined total of almost four years in Borneo, and the rainforest has become something of a second home to him. He told us of the challenges of bringing 300 kilos of equipment into remote areas, and showed pictures of himself and his wife Monika relaxing 210 feet up in a fig tree. When talking about equipment, he advised that the most important thing to bring is a durable assistant, describing one recent companion from Sweden as "a leech magnet" whose legs were covered with leeches swollen to the size of golf balls as they turned him into a Swedish smorgasbord.

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Corcoran College of Art & Design Photography Department Chair Andy Grundberg during a portfolio review
Photograph by Elizabeth Krist

As I watch the photographers line up for portfolio reviews at the Corcoran, I wonder how many of them have the talent and the dedication to pursue a life in this art and business of creating images. Not all of the photographers are young, but it's clear that most are students or young professionals just starting out. I admire their courage in wanting a clear assessment of their work, and think of all the aspiring journalists whose work I've critiqued. Do they know what a struggle awaits them? Do they know that even if they learn how to manage a business, as well as the technology, it doesn't do you much good unless you possess a perceptive eye and a passion for what you're documenting?

Greg Breisinger is contemplating a career in photography, and this was the first time he'd ever asked a professional to evaluate this work. Spurred by the feedback, he plans to look at a much greater variety of photography, including many more landscapes and cityscapes, his own specialty. He also came to a realization about the rigor required to successfully capture a scene on film or in pixels: Shoot it 20 times in 20 different kinds of light, since different elements can combine to create very different versions, each evoking a different feeling.

I sympathize with those reviewing the portfolios, too, knowing how potentially painful this process can be, but also knowing in my heart that it's a waste of the photographer's time (and yours) unless you're utterly honest. Lucian Perkins, formerly a photographer with the Washington Post (and along with Nadia Hughes a contender for the title of photographer shown in the greatest number of FotoWeek venues), spoke about the rewards of catching glimpses of real talent amid mediocre work, and steering a photographer to move in that direction.

Joel Sartore and Randy Olson at the Smith Farm Center
Photograph by Elizabeth Krist

I thought about all of this later that same day, as I watched National Geographic photographers Joel Sartore and Randy Olson speaking to the packed Smith Farm gallery amid the Visions of Paradise exhibit. Here are two photographers who have dedicated their photographic careers to enlightening us. As Joel said, neither he nor Randy started out as environmental photographers, but ultimately everything seemed to point in that direction.

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Tramway Station, U.S. Capitol, 1935-36
Photograph by Volkmar Wentzel

If you like National Geographic magazine and want to see photography by four of the all-time greats, come to the National Geographic Society headquarters in Washington, D.C., before January 4 to see the "Odysseys and Photographs" show. Luis Marden, Volkmar Wentzel, Thomas Abercrombie, and Maynard Owen Williams shot a collective 162 years (!) for the magazine. They were intrepid explorers as well as photographers. Williams first came to the magazine in 1919 and Abercrombie retired in 1994, so this selection gives you an idea of how National Geographic saw the world through much of its history. I would bet even most photo buffs have never heard of these gentlemen, but as you will see in the book Odysseys and Photographs edited by Leah Bendavid-Val, their work is superb.

In addition to the exhibit at headquarters, come celebrate the lives and work of these four great National Geographic photojournalists, and check out the Odysseys and Photographs NGLive! event, Monday, November 10.

Woman and Coffee Blossoms, El Salvador, 1941
Photograph by Luis Marden

What's wonderful about the exhibition is the way it's captured the sense of adventure these men felt when they went into the field. You get a taste of their personalities not only from the photographs themselves, but also from the (often entertaining) telegrams they sent to their editors and even from the sound of their voices, which you can hear when you pick up one of those heavy, black, old-fashioned telephones installed in the museum. Kids especially seem to enjoy hearing the photographers talk about their exploits on these "telephones to heaven" (as one of my colleagues dryly described them). You can also see their black-and-white prints on a desktop and their color transparencies and even a few autochromes strewn on a lightbox, as if an editor had just stepped away.

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