Photo Gallery: One World, One Tribe—Reza

Conakry, Guinea

Photograph by Reza

"This photograph went around the world. Other countries in Africa used it to deliver a message: 'Look, you can erase dictatorship.'

Ahmed Sekou Touré ruled over Guinea for 25 years. His unexplained death while he was traveling abroad left a vacuum favorable to confrontations over power. We were about a hundred journalists authorized to cover his funerals, after which we had to depart the country leaving the struggle for power succession to the darkness of misinformation. I pleaded a physical ailment to stay a few more days. Three days later, a military coup d’etat got the better of the claimants to the dictatorial throne. In the streets, the freed population sang and danced to the rhythms of Bob Marley and drums. Any reminder of the man who had ruled in terror was erased."—Reza

Dogubayazit, Turkey

Photograph by Reza

“My brother and I share the same passion for witnessing events that stir the world. In the name of that passion, we took on the road of exile, and have fallen into disgrace with many governments.

I had been in Turkey for several months. Like a rendezvous that I desired as much as I dreaded, every day I would postpone my visit, to gaze at her, my homeland, even from a distance to stroke her with my hand, if my courage did not fail me. She was confined to the mountains. I know she had seen thousands of Iranians flee the repression of the Mullah regime. As for me, it had been years since I had seen her. Then came the day. Bravely and thoughtlessly, I set about for the visit. As I reached the town of Dogubayazit, my heart was pounding from feeling her so close. I saw her from a small alley lane that opened onto a vast stretch of land. She towered over the landscape, proud and unchanging. Her mounts, her slopes looked like the ones I could see from Iran. Something was perhaps missing; a detail to put the finishing touches to this visual reunion. Suddenly, I saw them holding this hollow television screen."—Reza

Burundi Builders

Photograph by Reza

"Despite the killings they had witnessed or narrowly escaped, these men, in exile, willingly expend a great deal of energy to build the precarious towns that comprise refugee camps.

In areas around the world so remote and so dangerous where even soldiers do not dare venture, I have met dedicated men and women willing to take almost any risk to help hungry or sick civilians, damaged in body or soul. These humanitarian workers are ready to make great sacrifices and show humankind's best side. On various story assignments, many of the humanitarians I met in the most challenging areas were French. Their presence and dedication contribute to a positive image of France around the world. I remember the words of Massoud, leader of the Afghan resistance, who always welcomed the French with much enthusiasm and respect. One day he said to me, 'They are free and pure souls.'"—Reza

Crossroads Shantytown, South Africa

Photograph by Reza

"This proud little man made me think of Mandela and his fight for the recognition of his people in an apartheid-ridden country.

Apartheid. The word still resonates like an insult in my ear. Until very recently, apartheid in South Africa was a value, the foundation of a white society that was convinced of its superiority, not only over anybody that was not white, completely white, but also over the rest of the world, which had abolished racial discrimination through the passage of laws. In those times, Mandela, the leading figure of the resistance against apartheid, was still behind bars. Bloody confrontations between blacks and white police officers were happening daily. There was no single day without riots breaking out in shantytowns. Everything in the streets emanated from injustice. As a matter of course, the South African Government had banned the presence of all reporters to prevent any stories getting out. Therefore, I introduced myself to the South African Consulate as an elephant hunter. I knew I did not fit the role but they thought I did. The anecdote is laughable when compared to the horror I discovered as I arrived."—Reza

Child in Hammock, Cambodia

Photograph by Reza

"This boy's father disappeared at the beginning of the war. His mother had decided to take the whole family and go village to village, asking at each door if anyone had seen her husband. This picture was taken a couple of hours before the family was reunited. The quiet child in the hammock does not know he is about to meet his father."—Reza

Gulag Prisoner

Photograph by Reza

"To escape the firing squad, Gulag prisoners would get the portraits of Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin tattooed on their chest. Who would have dared shoot at one of Socialism's heroes? Gennadi Vassilievich had done his military service in the '50s. He had traveled all the way to the Chinese border under Stalin's order. After the collapse of Socialist ideology, Gennadi added a cross.

On the Russian bank of the Amur River, I observed him, staggering along, lost and dressed in rags. Through his half-opened shirt, I saw his tattoo. I came near him and greeted him. I detected fear in his eyes. I introduced myself and asked his name. With difficulty, as though he were scouring his memory, he announced, 'Gennadi Vassilievich,' and started to weep. Then he apologized. "You know, nobody has asked me my name in ten years. Nobody. Ever since the day I was thrown out of the plant where I worked, out of the house I lived in. I have roamed the streets for ten years.'"—Reza

Akal-Teke Horse, Turkmenistan

Photograph by Reza

"To tell the story of a country through images, I have to put myself in the place of those who live there. At the same time I must keep a necessary distance to observe objectively. During an assignment on the countries surrounding the Caspian Sea, I got interested in the Akal-Teke horses. They symbolize the pride of the Turkmen people."—Reza

On the Nile, Cairo, Egypt

Photograph by Reza

"On the Nile, amidst the harmonious coming and going of feluccas and impressive cruise ships, the fishermen are the masters of the river. The Nile seems to belong to those thousands of men and women living on makeshift rowboats—their home, refuge, work place, and means of transportation. Before the day dawns, before the call to prayer resonates from the minarets, the rowboats leave the river banks and silently split the water. The four-month-old baby and the other two children are still sleeping in the hull, as Om Ali and Mahmud, her husband, perform the daily ritual of throwing the fishnets in the hope of getting a good catch. If the catch is fruitful, they will separate. He will go to the market to sell his fish while she will gather the fishnets, prepare the only meal of the day, and do the laundry. The children are woken by the first rays of the sun, and use the polluted river as a generous playground. After the trip to the market, in the overwhelming heat of the afternoon, the gathered family busies itself with the nets, their tool for survival. The nets are meticulously checked and any hole is mended. As the twilight settles, they curl up against one another and fall asleep, anxious to forget the unattainable luxury of hotels and villas whose opulence and splendors reflect in the silent Nile."—Reza

Rwandan Refugee

Photograph by Reza

"Massacres between Tutsis and Hutus had already started. They were sporadic but massive. Three photographers and I were sent to the region by FNAC and RSF to show the horrors to the West, image by image. These massacres would later be called '100,000 careless dead.' This woman was in a refugee camp."—Reza

Pashtun Tribal Zone, Afghanistan

Photograph by Reza

"With eyes that seem older than her years, this Afghan girl lives near Tora Bora, once home to Osama bin Laden. High in the mountains, the Pashtun tribal region offers many trails that lead to Pakistan. The Pashtun have never recognized the formal border cut through their territory, the 'Durand line' drawn by the British diplomat Sir Henry Mortimer Durand in 1893 to separate British India from Afghanistan, and later used as the basis for the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan."—Reza

On the Road, Cambodia

Photograph by Reza

"As he is about to leave the orphanage Chang tells his roommates that he has to avenge his father. Chang is twelve. A little soldier from an armed squadron, he stops people, checks them out and questions them. Sometimes he kills without any qualms. 'I was ten, I was following my dad, a soldier, near the front that separated the zone controlled by Pol Pot’s Red Khmers, between the Thai border and the city of Poipet. I led the same life as his troop. One day I was walking behind him, my head bowed down. I heard a very loud noise. The ground was lifted up into thousands of particles. When the smoke cleared I saw my father. I sat down next to him, close to his torn up body, his earth-stained body. I stayed there for a very long time, motionless, and promised to avenge him. I have been a soldier since.' Chang was taken in by an orphanage for street children. I had given him a harmonica as a present to replace the rifle he had left. Within hours melodies resonated like complaints from the instrument. After he removed his uniform, the little soldier became a child again. He played and made drawings happily. Two days later Chang had shriveled up. He found shelter in silence. Agitated or prostrate, he was no longer at peace. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed his sleepless nights. Nothing and nobody could stop the devastating madness of his internal imprisonment. The next day Chang ran away."—Reza

Artux, Eastern Turkestan, China

Photograph by Reza

"The curtain opened on Chinese children dancing, singing, and dressed in military uniforms as though to remind the natives that the occupation was still a current reality. In order to assert its power the Chinese Government decided to divide the conquered land into several small provinces that would together form the large independent region of Xinjiang. The year 1995 marked the 40th anniversary of the invasion of the region for the native populations or of the declaration of their independence for the Chinese authorities. Special events were organized by the government. Local populations were invited to attend this show in the public movie theater."—Reza

Near Baku, Azerbaijan

Photograph by Reza

"Oil wastes on the Caspian Sea bear witness to notorious pollution in the region. In 1949 the Soviet government decided that the Baku region would be a model for the petrochemical industry. Moscow drove the industry to meet rising quotas, but ecological issues were not taken into account. As a result, hundreds of thousands of tons of toxic wastes were released each year in the atmosphere or dumped into waterways that fed them to the Caspian Sea."—Reza

Nuristan Children, Afghanistan

Photograph by Reza

"Pakistan was far behind me. My feet were suffering from weeks of walking, from hiking up mountain slopes, from the harshness of the weather, and from the lack of rest. I was exhausted, worn out from the physical efforts, the lack of food, and the unrelenting tension we felt at the idea of falling prey to an ambush. Nevertheless, I continued to move forward, encouraged by the desire to reach the Panjshir Valley and the leader of the Afghan resistance against the Russian Army, young Commander Massoud. I found myself in front of one of Nature's gifts, where the Himalayan Mountains meet those of the Hindu Kush. Upon my arrival in a village, children rushed around me, as they often do, imitating the photographer. Their laughter, their warmth, and their spontaneous friendliness erased any trace of discouragement."—Reza

Young Boy, Afghanistan

Photograph by Reza

"This boy became the symbol of Aïna, the humanitarian association I founded in 2001 in a Taliban-free Afghanistan.

In 1990, the United Nations asked me to put aside my cameras in order to run a humanitarian program in an Afghanistan recently freed from Russian occupation. I had to open a route for wheat shipments needed to feed the population in the Northern Provinces. Eleven years of war against the Soviet Army had devastated the country. Fields lay fallow, roads were impassable, mined or destroyed, and buildings like hospitals and schools were nothing but ruins. I could have given away the wheat. Instead, I decided to barter it for work so as to avoid one of the unfortunate consequences of some humanitarian programs that foster dependence rather than offer new ways to live. Throughout the Province, a new army took shape. This time, men did not carry rifles but shovels."—Reza

Refugee, Afghanistan

Photograph by Reza

"'Your house, your country, your story are within you if you let them enter. Wherever you are they follow you,' he told me. Then with a sigh, his eyes gazing at the Afghan mountains, he admitted that he would not be able to survive without seeing his land every day. He had fled the war, leaving his village and his past behind, and had settled with his loved-ones not far from the border. He had waved the caravan to stop in this place. He said he would go no further, that they would make camp, and his decision was final. Nobody dared contradict the elder, the wise man, and life was organized accordingly. He spent his days reading the Koran or poetry."—Reza

Armed Escort, Afghanistan

Photograph by Reza

"An armed escort leads our team to Abdallah Post. Two days before resistance forces gained control of the post, which had been a frontline Taliban position. At the time the Taliban had control of 95 percent of the country and the only pocket of resistance was territory under Commander Massoud. He was key in repelling the Russian invasion of the 1980s and continued to hold his territory against the Taliban. The writer Sebastian Junger and I had gone to meet Massoud. We were following his men."—Reza

Village of Botkhak

Photograph by Reza

"They were shadows, they were men, they were mountain warriors against an iron invader. Afghanistan was still reeling from the shock caused by the invasion of the Russian Army supported by the puppet Afghan Government. The entire country, burning and bleeding, seemed to remain prostrate, mourning its dead. However, a resistance movement was quietly building. Rising against the 100,000 Russian soldiers, a young Commander named Massoud walked from village to village and gathered a hundred men who, according to him, would defeat the invader. At the time I was working for Time in New York and Sipa Press in Paris. I wanted to measure the ability of that immature resistance. Despite the dangers of such an expedition, with Russians stalking any author of visual proof of their destruction, I followed a group of 53 mujahidin as they launched a large-scale attack on the city of Kabul on May 14, 1983. That masterstroke on the part of the Afghan resistance induced an impact wave. The countdown to the end of the occupation in Afghanistan was ticking. I captured this image in the morning of the attack."—Reza

Mazar-e Sharif, Afghanistan

Photograph by Reza

"The city of Mazar–e Sharif has a great spirituality and is home to one of the country's holiest shrines. In the sky, a Russian helicopter makes me look at it. The alert is on."—Reza