MEC, or Mountain Equipment Co-Op, is similar to the U.S. retailer Recreational Equipment Incorporated. It’s one of those big chains producing and selling an outdoor sporting equipment–think less hunting and fishing and more backpacking and climbing. Like REI, they’ve grown from a small cooperative to a brand name representing the outdoor lifestyle.

As a producer of its own brand, clothing, packs, and the like, they’ve turned to overseas manufacturing and sourcing of materials. With this comes the issue of the suppliers; are they treating their employees fairly? Do they pollute? Is it a “sweatshop?”

Well, this is the personal blog of the Director of Ethical Sourcing, Harvey Chan, and it leads with these words:

“WE BELIEVE BUSINESS CAN ADVANCE HUMAN RIGHTS. WHAT DO YOU THINK?”

I think it can…I think *we* can. Just go here.

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She was shuffling through a stack of playing cards that climbing equipment manufacturer Petzl had produced. “There’s one of me in here that you did,” she said. In her hands climber after climber pulling one hard move after another flipped past. And then a stick of chewing gum, just like the baseball cards I halfheartedly collected as a kid. (at right: climbing athlete Lisa Rands with her playing card and my image)

“Here,” she pulled out the card. “Don’t let anyone else know I’ve got them.”

There was Lisa Rands cranking on a boulder problem in Squamish at the Petzl Roctrip a few years ago. Half joking, I asked her to sign it–my first athlete memorabilia–and after a long search for a sharpie, she did.

A certified celebrity in the climbing world for her athleticism, skill, and painted nails, I wouldn’t claim to really know Lisa, but at that RocTrip I had a chance to talk to her about everything BUT climbing. Like geology. And travel. And working in with her climber-photographer partner Wills Young. While I got a kick out of the kitch of the “playing card,” it was nice to see another chance acquaintance, like Lisa, again.

That is the way the Outdoor Retailer Trade Show in Salt Lake City tends to work; it seems like ‘everyone’ is there either working or schmoozing or simply catching up. In the climbing world, which has a core lifestyle founded on itinerancy, it isn’t uncommon to see far flung friends under the artificial light of the cavernous Salt Palace. I hadn’t been in three years, but it had a familiarity of home. (at left: the Seattle crew in Kasi and Andreas’s home. L-R: Marshall, Megan, Jenna, Dylan, Jenny, Roger, Andreas, Kasi, Colin, and me in red)

I was staying with Seattle transplants Kasi VerBrugghen and Andreas Schmidt; Kasi’s employer, the non profit youth media production outfit Spy Hop, had been contracted to shoot a “Project Runway” style reality show for Outdoor Retailer called “Project OR” so she was in the Salt Palace. Andreas, who works for Black Diamond, was cruising the show looking at other manufacturer’s products. Roger Strong, an ex-crab fisherman turned gear sales rep, was working the Black Diamond booth. Jenny Uehisa, another Seattle transplant who now lives in Ventura working her dream job as a designer for Patagonia, was floating through fabric meeting after fabric meeting. Jenna Wellman, a past roommate and co-worker at Feathered Friends, is now global brand manager for Therma-Rest, a Cascade Designs brand. Her partner, Dylan Johnson, came down for the weekend to witness the chaos, do some climbing, and try and get some schwag; for his efforts he ended up with a carton of Raw Revolution bars.

I ran into Sarah Bruce, another Seattleite who is a production manager for MSR, at Squatters, one of the overrun pubs near the Salt Palace. Margaret Wheeler and Scott Schell, whom I was fairly close with until they moved from Seattle to North Bend and started building a house, popped up at a book publisher’s booth. Scott has traded guiding for academia but Margaret, the second female UIAGM certified guide, was leaving early Monday morning for Europe. To guide. And I can’t forget Colin Haley, a long time friend and confidante, despite being 11 years my junior, whose alpine efforts with remarkable partners have garnered him a reputation for youthful boldness and skill. In 2006 I spent some time hanging with him in Chamonix, time I really value, but time which has also put me on the other side of the pen; both Rock and Ice and Outside Magazine have interviewed me for pieces on Colin. (at right: ladies of the industry, Jenny Uehisa, clothing designer for Patagonia and Jenna Wellman, global brand manager for Therma-Rest)

I could stumble through a list of the veritable who’s who in the climbing world, including many sales reps who put in their time pushing the limits and, as they’ve aged, segued into lifestyles more conducive of families. But I think the significance wouldn’t reach far beyond the climbing community. (at left: Dylan Johnson scamming bars with the Raw Revolution promo card featuring Chad Kellogg)

This was why I came to Salt Lake City; to see friends. To turn my brain off. To get away from thinking non-profit and researching the darkness of humanity. I had only one scheduled appointment, with the new Patagonia photo editor Jenning Steger, and with it I circled back to work.

Subordinate to Jane Sievert, an incredibly personable and supportive photo director with a desire to affect social change (and who took me surfing for my first time ever), Jenning is an enthusiastic and intelligent woman who also has a desire to make a difference. It seems everyone at Patagonia feels this way. Since Jenning had seen some of my work online, our meeting was focused on how I could work with Patagonia. We didn’t talk athletes, trips, or product, which are often the mainstays of outdoor shooting, for I have transitioned. (at right: Jenning Steger, photo editor at Patagonia)

I am no longer out shooting climbing imagery on speculation, I just don’t have the time. I want my imagery to tell a story that can make a difference, that can create awareness or spur someone into action and I want to work with companies that can leverage their brand to do this. If a company is using organic cotton and slave-free labor, its product will cost more. However, I believe consumers who can afford to make lifestyle choices want to live responsibly. Helping them understand how they can do this is where my storytelling skills can be applied.

To this end, I met with several Patagonia staffers whose jobs deal with corporate social responsibility (CSR) or environmental campaigns. I feel hopeful that we’ll be able to work together, however the trade show is the trade show and there are a lot of ideas tossed around. (at left: it wasn’t all work and CSR, I did skip out to go climbing. here kasi and andreas cross a creek in American Fork canyon)

A chance rendezvous with Jenny near the Black Diamond booth led me to a panel discussion on CSR; one of her Patagonia coworkers was speaking. There were representatives from four equipment manufacturers and a consultant speaking about how to change corporate culture so suppliers in developing countries and, most notably China, could employ better environmental and social standards. Many of these businesses, it sounds like, do wish to be better work places but with market pressures and the demands of a variety of clients, it can be difficult to be as socially or environmentally conscious as a business might want.

So the question arises, if a supplier isn’t up to par, do you walk away? If you’re a big enough client, that might work. If you’re a small segment of their overall business, like most outdoor industry manufacturers tend to be, then you have less influence. For instance, one of the panelists said their second tier suppliers in China, the ones providing components for the final products, had one set of books for the government and another more representative of the reality. This company had chosen to stay with the suppliers because they feel they can slowly affect change from within rather than affect none by walking away. He then challenged the audience to find any company in China in that industry that didn’t have similarly poor environmental, social, or safety standards. They all could be improved, he said. (at right: Kasi pulling down on .12c limestone as Andreas belays. I had fun, but got the smack-down. I’m out of shape for this stuff).

The solution, it seems, lays in broad efforts to support social justice and environmental standards throughout the outdoor industry. Other industries, much larger ones, are making these efforts. The panelists were speaking about a unified corporate ideology that makes it easier for suppliers and for consumers to understand their role in this effort. They spoke of communication and transparency, of providing retailers–the consumer interface–with tools to explain just why that organic cotton, slave free, sustainable, recyclable, cradle-to-cradle t-shirt costs $40. It’s not just a t-shirt you’re buying, it’s life support for the planet and freedom for your fellow citizens.

At its core, the Outdoor Retailer Trade Show is about profit. It’s about selling a lifestyle. But it’s made up of individuals who all have a role in how this is done. An old friend of mine, sales rep Jackton Downard, recently did a graduate program in systems management with an emphasis on environmental and social responsibility. While he’s still selling socks (great socks from Teko) and other gear, he’s also involved with the Outdoor Industry Alliance’s Eco Working Group trying to show how it can be profitable to do business responsibly. (at left: Jackton appeasing me, the photographer, at the Teko socks booth)

What if this attitude and awareness were to spread further through the industry? What if athletes not only inspired us to live our dreams, climb hard, or get out into the wilderness, but also showed us consumers what we could do to buy right? What if advertising dollars communicated how a company was struggling to meet its own standards of corporate social responsibility, but in that struggle they revealed the complexities of the system and, again, how we can play a part?

I had dinner with a marketing representative from W.L. Gore, the company that makes what is arguably the most popular and effective waterproof/breathable laminate and what is probably in your rain jacket. The conversation trended towards my interests in corporate social responsibility. Enthusiastically, he asked “What can a corporation like Gore do?” A lot. But so can the rest of us.

I’ve got a “playing card” of Lisa Rands pulling down hard. On the back it lists her notable ascents. But what if it also listed her degree in Geology and her greatest social or environmental concerns? It’s a step towards awareness that’s as easy as a little soy-based ink on some recyclable card stock.

Well, here’s few more pictures for you. All in all, the show was good fun. We cracked beers at 3.30, sipped scotch at Mammut, danced until 2am, then had tacos on State Street. Marshall swing danced with Lynn Hill, Roger got up a 5 to solo a route in the canyon, I met Andrew Kornylak and his sister Christine, and Colin made the right decision.

Seattle’s Vertical World representing at the bouldering competition:

Below: the overall scene at the bouldering comp. Located on a parking garage rooftop, it was sweaty-hot and threatening to thunder and rain. amazing athletic performances though.

Below: Longtime friend and now alpine radster celeb Colin Haley.

Below: My images seemed to have a stronger presence than myself at the show, here a pose-down photo I took of Colin Haley at the Chamonix rail station in 2006 helps to sell Scarpa footwear.

Below: At the Black Diamond booth (they make climbing hardware) are L-R, back to front, Brent Zwiers, a buyer for Feathered Friends, who can cook, sew, play french horn, build houses, and gets hitched August 31st; Gavin…who loves offwidths, Trout Creek, and lives in PDX; Jenny Uehisa, who recently left us in Seattle to be a clothing designer for Patagonia; Jenna Wellman, Therma-Rest global brand manager, ex-roommate, and ex-coworker and whose wedding I’ll photograph in Thailand this winter; and the venerable Peter Hickner who, with his wife Carol, founded and still run Feathered Friends. My alma mater.

Below: Andreas Schmidt, for comedy’s sake, striking a pose. I shoulda had him remove that badge….

Below: Recent Seattle transplant Kasi VerBrugghen (in the orange tank) and her alumni students from the non profit youth media production studio Spy Hop, where she is managing director.

Below: Nuway Textiles VP of Business Development, Larry Harrison, as show commentator for the spoof “Project OR” where student designers from around the country were tasked with creating an outdoor-focused garment in 48 hours. Kasi’s Spy Hop team produced two daily segments for the Project OR tv show aired in the Salt Palace.

Below: Project OR winner Ryanneil Ocampo documenting his work.

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Romy, who worked for the CNLVD in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, under the sponsorship of the German Olympic Committee sent this link along. It’s a video short about their disabled athletes program which, especially in the case of the wheelchair athletes, was built just about from the ground-up. You should hear her stories about the wheelchairs they started with.

Click on the image to see the article and video:

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The non-photojournalist probably hasn’t seen this website, but if you have I’m sure you’ve spent more time than you anticipated learning about our world through the eyes of some of the best photojournalists.

Magnum in Motion is this historic agency’s step into the world of “new media,” that combination of stills, audio, and video designed largely for the web which aids in compelling storytelling. Also termed “multimedia” or “rich media” it has an effect–I feel–of bring you closer.

I’m choosing to highlight this piece for a couple of reasons. One, I think it just went live. Two, I like the style of the reporting and the techniques used. Three, having recently been to a native Alaskan village, it strikes me even more. Four, it’s about a subject I’ve grown to know pretty well–so well, in fact, that it’s grown hard for me not to see it in every day life.
That was one of the things I was warned about when I got into this psychological trauma work; once your eyes are opened you can’t close them. Many people, I feel, understand this and choose never to open their eyes. And that, I believe, is one of the main reasons perpetrators get away with it.

If you’ve read the Kivalina pieces I’ve posted (here and here), this will give you a different look at the Alaskan landscape. It’s a view that’s probably pretty similar to the one seen by a little girl in Kivalina who proudly told me she was ugly and stupid.

Of note: judging by the map in the media piece, Kivalina is not one of the villages featured in the story.

inmotion.magnumphotos.com/essay/alaska

From 1961-1987, 110 Eskimo children in 15 Alaskan villages were sexually abused by 12 priests and three Catholic Church volunteers. The secrets of the abused remained buried, until 2002, when the Catholic Church sex scandal came to light, implicating the Boston diocese, among others. Over the years, 22 of the victims have committed suicide. Today, the remaining survivors- grown and deeply troubled - are locked in a daily struggle with the residue of their trauma, and the ghosts of their tormentors.

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The studio was softly lit and quiet. Liz was fiddling with controls I didn’t understand as I took a seat facing hers. A very large, yellow microphone presented itself to my face.

Liz had emailed me a day or two before; she was looking to do live interviews at KUOW with someone who might have something interesting to say; she thought of me and the opportunity it would present to raise some awareness. (at right: an array of mics with liz at the controls)

We met about a decade ago at the UW Daily and got back in touch when she moved back to Seattle with her partner. Her interest in journalism has remained and while she is focused on radio and writing, she too developed a diverse “new media” skill set.

Like doctors are the worst patients (to stereotype grossly), I think journalists are hard interviews or, at least for me, guarded interviews. Liz said she wanted to know more about Cambodia and human trafficking; it’s something I’m fairly comfortable talking about but sometimes I feel I get too candid and, with the entirety of Seattle possibly listening, it did give me pause. When I was watching a journalist for L’Express interview Bill Gates he had a list (a long one) of questions and research he referenced. The PR flacks had the same list of questions which they’d reviews and with which they were structuring the interview. So I asked Liz for a few questions to be better prepared. (at left: one very large microphone)

Pulling her headphones over her ears, Liz sat down and placed a stop watch beside her notebook. I’d managed to forget my notes and was hoping I could remember the structure for what I hoped to say. I picked up my headphones then nodded. She began with the prologue and before I knew it she was saying, “Tim, thanks for being here.”

“Well, thanks for having me….”

To listen to the interview click here, choose your preferred player and, if you don’t want to hear about art therapy, scrub in to 4:56. The interview is about 11 minutes long.

My apologies to 4Culture.org for not mentioning on air that their grant is helping me return to Cambodia.

And here’s Liz.

The Rise of Human Trafficking
KUOW’s Liz Jones talks with a photo–journalist who’s documenting human trafficking and the sex trade in Cambodia. Human trafficking is a multi–billion dollar industry. More than 30 million people worldwide are victims, according to US government estimates. Most of the victims are women and children. Some are as young as four years old. The United Nations says the problem has reached epidemic proportions in the past decade. Seattle–based photojournalist Tim Matsui has been documenting this issue in Southeast Asia. His recent work focuses on several organizations in Cambodia that help victims recover from slavery–like situations.

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Believe it or not, for me it’s not all doom and gloom, international travel, or extensive computer time.

Sometimes people have birthdays and sometimes they’re surprise parties organized by their spouse. Sometimes those people are upset because their spouse spent the entire 4th of July weekend working 14 hour days at a race track working on…well…race cars in order to earn the cash to pay for a surprise party; on a 60 foot classic northwest wooden yacht owned by another friend, hiring a captain, paying for fuel, and catering amazing ribs, beans, corn and the like. And beverage. Sometimes friends fly in from distant cities to complete the surprise. Sometimes the weather is absolutely perfect, the evening light just right, and sometimes I get to use the skills I’ve learned to simply capture moments in time that are likely meaningless to the general population, but to those in the pictures they are momentous.

Special thanks to Mike for doing this, Chris for being a gracious host, Erika and John for the work you did, and to Rachel for turning 40 for us.

Click here for pictures of Rachel at 40.

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Well, the film is out. When I was in Portland for the Transitions Cambodia fundraiser, the theater had a poster for the film and a one-week run time.

It is Am Limit, or “To the Limit,” a documentary by Pepe Danquart about the sport of speed climbing, which was shot in Yosemite as the Huber brothers, Thomas and Alex, try to break the speed record on the 3000 foot Nose of El Capitan.

In 2006 Der Stern Magazine sent me to Yosemite to document this production. I had thoroughly enjoyed myself and am looking forward to seeing this film, especially since I was able to see how they were piecing parts of it together.

My blog entries from that trip:
June 23, 2006
June 24, 2006
June 27, 2006

Film Trailer:

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I know Morris peripherally; he was Lara’s co-worker at the Pacific Wildland Fire Sciences Laboratory. He is funny and sat in the corner by the window of the office they shared. Occasionally I’d hear stories about him. Like the time she took him up Mt. Rainier with a bunch of friends. (at left: Morris by the UW columns, his requested portrait location)

Morris suffered on the Muir snow field, a 5000 foot climb from Paradise to Camp Muir at the oxygen-poor elevation of 10,000 feet. For someone who lives at sea level, this is a potentially dangerous elevation and Morris, who made it to Muir but declined to ascend to the summit the next day, exclaimed his exhaustion was so deep he’d seen the ghost of Tupac.

Recently Morris asked me to photograph him in his graduation gown. Certainly, I said, especially because of how well Lara spoke of him. He had asked me rather casually, but after a few questions I realized that it wasn’t “just” a Ph.D. in Forest Resources.

He was one of 27 in his graduating high school class in Waterproof, Louisiana, where “you don’t go to the woods, especially a fella with a nice tan like me.” College wasn’t the first thing on his mind–the Marines were–but he found himself in Louisiana studying in a new urban forestry program, because they offered funding. During an internship in southern Oregon he met his mentor, a University of Washington professor who offered Morris a research assistantship and got him into the UW program. (at right: Morris and family, with their au pair)

In an essay authored by Morris for a 2003 issue of the UW alumni magazine he says:
“My parents did not go to university. On mom’s side I am the only child who ever graduated with a bachelor’s and other degrees. I tell my wife all the time that I’m kind of surprised that I’m even in college. I was raised by my great-grandfather and grandmother. I don’t even remember what my father looks like. My mother never had a real job. My great-grandfather never went to high school. My uncle and aunt know what a master’s degree is, but not my grandma. They know I’ve been in school for a long time, they don’t understand what a Ph.D. is.”

While Morris labored over his masters degree, his mentor told him to apply for the Gate’s scholarship one week before it was due. He applied and soon found himself on the Ph.D. track. And on graduation day he stood before me, a proud father dressed in heavy purple robes symbolic of smarts and determination. Proud work for a guy who never thought he’d never go to college. (at left: Morris with the boys)

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NOTE: This is a belated post–quite belated, in fact–but I though I’d share it because it’s a nice intersection of international travel and the domestic road trip.

With Romy riding shotgun, we headed south to Portland with camping, climbing, and other gear strewn about the wooden sleeping platform in the back of my Subaru. Late as usual, and getting later, we nudged through an early rush hour watching the clock. We had a fundraiser to get to. (at right: romy in the subaru)

This extended weekend was the first short road trip in a long time for my lemon of a car. It was warm enough we drove with the windows down–all but Romy’s since the electric motor is out. The part costs $180. It is one of a long list of ailments: cruise control: not functional; horn: dead; power outlet: fried; drive axle boot: leaking; brake caliper mounts: rattling again; clutch throwout bearing: sounding less like a mouse and more like an overgrown hamster; that engine oil leak: still untreated. I wanted to show Romy a slice of the “real” America, the grand open spaces, mountains, and the beauty of the open road. Assuming my car made it. When we got home, Romy would comment, “I guess it runs ok.”

Our first destination was a cute wine bar in Portland where the Transitions Cambodia (TCI) founders, James and Athena Pond, were hosting an event. I’d never met Athena, but I knew James from one rather intense month in Cambodia. He set me up with a lot of my contacts, gave me organizational access no other NGO was willing to offer, spoke in my support when I was slandered, and would often meet me at a watering hole we grew to love. I think I saw him almost every day he was in Phnom Penh and, when he left, the cityscape felt a little empty. James is the kind of guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, is no-bullshit, and works to get the job done. I like that ethic. (at left: athena and james pond)

The event started slow, giving me a chance to meet some of the board members and Holly writer and producer Guy Moshe, but it quickly built. With live music in the warmth of the open cellar, it was a pretty cool event. Romy and I were fortunate enough to meet two supporters of TCI, Sherry and Mellani. Good friends, Sherry is a very successful sales person and Mellani is the Queen of Benefits for the recovering addict. The next day she would give us a tour of Central City Concern in downtown Portland.

I like Portland, I enjoy exploring it and doing so with Romy was fun. We had met in Cambodia and this time, instead of cruising around on her moto, we had my beat up car to tour with. In true travel form, we wandered from person to person, place to place. Mary, a new FEAR Project volunteer I met in Seattle, came down from Centralia and we had a chance to check out the bar scene and, the next day, the coffee shop scene. (at right: Transitions Cambodia board member Erin McNamara and Holly screenwriter Guy Moshe)

I had a chance to meet with Wendy Freed, a prominent researcher in the field of human trafficking, as well as Keith Bickford, the sole officer comprising Oregon’s anti human trafficking task force. I find Keith’s willingness to be challenging and forthright in a very delicate field admirable; things don’t get done by standing on the sidelines, but with the political and ethical issues coming to light in domestic human trafficking, striking a balance is no small feat. Wendy, after she learned I had worked with Lucy Berliner at HCSATS took her card back, put down her personal email and phone, and began a more candid conversation. (at right: Q&A after the screening of Holly. James, Jaya, Wendy, and Keith with my pictures on screen behind)

I’m still learning just how far Lucy’s influence spans; she is a friend and mentor to many, a strong leader, and I’ve only realized recently just how valuable that first interview years ago was for me–had she not taken the time I sincerely doubt FEAR Project would exist or that I’d be as involved in anti-trafficking as I’ve become. (at left: Jaya Sry at the theater for the screening of Holly, a film about sex trafficking shot on location in Phnom Penh)

Romy and I stayed with the Ponds where we saw Jaya (pronounced Zaya) the director for Transitions’ Phnom Penh aftercare facility. Ever smiling, she denied being jet lagged however the next morning she didn’t emerge until nearly noon. This was her second trip out of Cambodia; the first was in February when she went to Bangkok. James lost her in a large department store, a scale she had never seen before, and didn’t find her until he remembered she liked smells. Like Ferdinand amongst the flowers, they found her in the perfumery.

We headed south to Smith Rock, a climbing crag I used to make regular weekend pilgrimages to. There we woke to the scent of juniper and sage, shared campfires in the Grasslands (now called Skull Hollow), and spent hours climbing on the sharp-edged volcanic tuft. The usual suspects, locals and seasonal locals, were there as well; comforting in their seeming permanence. (at left: a wind turbine near the Columbia river)

Taking Highway 97 north, we drove through open range land, dined on authentic taco truck cuisine (Romy loves Mexican food–something I miss when I travel), and found the wind farm I’d longed to photograph several years ago when it was being constructed. There’s something about seeming the swooping blades of a massive turbine carving across the horizon which, when you crest the gentle rise, you see is but one set of hundreds spread across an open landscape of green grass and dull rock.

We took some time to drive amongst the forest of towers, crisscrossing fields on gravel access roads. The light never quite got right for the pictures I was hoping to make; we could have stayed the night and waited, but home called us on so we headed north into the gathering dusk. (at right: looking like a space ship, an under construction head of a turbine lies flat on the ground)

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NOTE: This is Part 2 of 2, from an entry held until the client published.VIEW IMAGE GALLERY

It was a little past midnight when Austin’s brother in law shouted at me, “You want to go back to town? Come on, then!”

As fast as I could, I packed my gear, said hurried thank you’s to the men staring out at the ocean and ran, on half-frozen feet, across the snow-crusted pack ice to the snow machines. Snapping a few frames in the dusk of midnight, I stuffed the camera into the front of my parka, mounded the machine, and pulled my goggles down. We were off. (at right: an image of the pack ice shot just before departure)

Clenching the seat with my thighs, the back rail with one hand, and the other trying to keep my camera from smashing into the other, I broke into a grin, then a smile. I was being tossed around like a rag doll as we hurtled over pressure ridges in the ice, but we were in the most serene of landscapes.

I had spent most of the day watching the light change over a whaling camp positioned at the edge of the melting pack ice. I had the pictures I wanted: atmosphere, weapons, scenery, teamwork; I’d eaten traditional foods, helped them move the camp, gotten into the energy of whale watching and witnessed a successful seal kill. And now, in the extended alpenglow of a near-polar sunset, I was screaming across the ice heading back to Kivalina, Alaska, a native village of 400 whose existence still relies on subsistence hunting. For them, the day was like any other out on the ice. For me, it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, something I’d read about as a kid, studied at university, and never thought I’d get to experience. (at left: whaling boat at the ready)

Getting out on the ice was no small feat. Apparently native villages, especially when it comes to hunting, aren’t the most hospitable. We were warned of this, but the general sense I felt was not a lack of hospitality, just that people tend to stick to their own. I suppose two journalists (in a growing stream of them) snooping around town asking questions about a very controversial subject qualify as something to watch from a safe distance. The town is suing 20 oil companies for climate change, the impact to their beach, and the fact that one major storm could wipe out half the town.

Part of it is not having a lot; the assignment was initially proposed with an adventure photographer in mind because there was no hotel. There’s no bar either: it’s a dry town (meaning, by law, no alcohol). I immediately thought “cool, home stay.” Now, having seen the weather beaten one to three room prefabricated government boxes, some of which house three families, I understand why we stayed at the school. There is no road to this town; supplies are flown in to their dirt airstrip during the winter and barged in during the summer. While they have a small store, packed with quality items like donuts, chips, and canned goods of dubious nutritional value, food is expensive to import. Most of the residents rely on subsistence hunting, and it isn’t uncommon to see drying hides hanging outside of homes or, in one case, the four upended legs of a frozen caribou on someone’s staircase. (at right: kivalina from the air; the ocean to the left, the bay to the right, and the river’s mouth in the foreground)

Another part of the guarded nature–in my unsubstantiated and opinionated commentary–is the nearly cheek-to-jowl, somewhat primitive living conditions. There is a moratorium on building because the village is bounded by water on three sides, an airstrip, cemetery, and landfill on the other. The only buildings with running water (and toilets) are the school and the teacher’s housing. The remaining houses are plumbed, but apparently a village administrator absconded with the funds to finish the project. So residents haul their water in plastic garbage cans from the city’s two water towers and use five gallon buckets as toilets. At one point I set my pack down in the snow outside a home only to hear a woman say “I wouldn’t stand there, your standing in shit!” Looking around, I saw a cardboard box filled with plastic bags of frozen human waste. Good to know.

I believe this close proximity has an effect on the social fabric, both positive and negative. The community functions as an extended family, in the literal and figurative, which can strengthen bonds. But I ran into a couple of people who made some venomously disparaging remarks of others; I suppose when you live next door to your hated kinfolk the only way to continue to exist is to not get involved in the affairs of others. (at left: ansbert sneaking into the frame)

What this meant for Ansbert and I is it was harder to make meaningful connections. The lack of a sense of time also complicated things; that far north long winter nights are complimented by long summer days. With no where to go, few real jobs, and endless days, time ceases to be important. For us it meant a lot of standing around simply “being there” in hopes of connecting. As such, I think we worked well together; I feel we had an even balance of leadership, discussion of which subjects would work best, and when it came down to only one of us getting out on the ice, I went and Ansbert found more interviews. I would have loved to have him out on the ice, but he found a way to do it through conversation.

We were fortunate that we arrived a day before two documentary filmmakers left; they were a pleasure to spend time with and were instrumental in introducing us to a few people, notably teacher Anna Hercha. Though not native, she’s a native Alaskan and has taught in Kivalina for 11 years. She’s a tough woman with an incredible sense of humor and a generous heart. Unasked, she came into the school two mornings in a row and cooked breakfast for Ansbert and myself. Also, in her company, I laughed harder that I’ve laughed in a long time–cheeks hurting, stomach cramping kind of laughter.

Still, there were a few moments when Ansbert and I, in the modicum of privacy afforded by the school’s faculty lounge, looked at each other and sighed. Would we be able to get what we needed to make this story work? He needed interviews, I needed portraits, we both needed atmosphere and something to represent the culture. And then, there were the enormous sandbags on the frozen shoreline I was supposed to make a dramatic photo of. They were white, buried in snow, and on the shore of a frozen sea. But they were the physical representation of the village’s fight to preserve itself. On our last night, we both had the same look. (at left: ansbert and myself at midnight)

“You know what I’m thinking?” I asked.

“How good a beer would be right now?” Ansbert replied.

“Exactly.”

While I can’t read the German, I feel it was a successful assignment on many fronts. For those of you who also are unable to read German, this is a summary from Ansbert:

“The story itself has three parts: At first I explain the traditional lifestyle, the whale hunt and how cliimate change threatens all this. The middle part is about the lawsuit: I discuss the tobacco wars, compare them to the law suit now and finally I tell how Kivaliina was caste as a plaintiff. Part three describes the life behind the picture of a traditional lifestyle, the alcohol and drug problem, the bad education, the welfare. Conclusion: climate change is there, it threatens them, but their lifestyle has changed already and will continue to change.”

It’s not the rosiest of pictures, but it seems pretty factual to me, based on the impression we were able to achieve.

For me, it was a great experience, I met some cool people, saw some beautiful sights, and pleased a client. Ansbert quoted the photo editor who, in a rare moment, exclaimed “These are paintings!”

Flattering. But even more so, was his admission: “I had shorten my text because the (page designers) refused to reduce the size of the photos - that is not usual here and says a lot about the quality of your work.”

I think part of that success came from how we worked as a team. I look forward to a chance to do so again. (at right: hamming it up while waiting for our flight out at the airstrip)

VIEW IMAGE GALLERY

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NOTE: This entry (part one of two) was written over a month ago and held until the client, der Spiegel, published.
View the article in PDF (in German)
View their web edit

I was awake when alarm number one went off, with that nervous feeling of sleeping in; the kind of energy I have before an alpine climb. With only three and-a-half hours of sleep, I hit the snooze and rolled over. Minutes later alarm number two, the clock radio, went off. Madonna’s “Holiday” quietly reminded me I had to get up. In two hours an aircraft would be taxing across the Anchorage, Alaska, tarmac, with or without me. It was four in the morning and I’d been up until one trying to finish some work for a non profit client. (at right: attorney Heather Kendall at home)

By midday I would be in Kivalina, a 400 person native village on the northeast coast of Alaska. The assignment, given to me last week, was to accompany a writer for the German news magazine der Spiegel. The story was about how this native village, essentially an extended family steeped in an ancient way of life, is suing 20 oil companies for climate change, ie. global warming. But, technically, it’s about property damage.

The chain goes like this: the beach is eroding so the village needs to relocate; it erodes because of winter storms; the storms destroy the beach because the pack ice melts early and forms late; this is because the climate is changing, it is warming up, due in part to carbon emissions from burning liquid fossil fuels. Oil.

If I have this right (don’t quote me and if you’re a lawyer please correct me by commenting below) but in California, where the case has been filed in Federal court, tort law says if your actions have been injurious to others’ property–in whole or in part–you can be held liable. With few jobs and a subsistence-based lifestyle, Kivalina needs someone to pay for its relocation. After 15 years of trying various government agencies, and recently being told that Congress can’t afford it, as a last resort the village is turning to the oil companies. (at left: writer Ansbert buying last minute supplies in Anchorage)

While this is a lot more complicated than I can summarize here, in its treaties the Federal government essentially said it would take care of an indigenous population if it exercised some semblance of conformity.

When Alaska became a territory, and later a state, the government mandated all native children attend school. This effectively ended their nomadic native practices for the government plunked down school houses and little else in locations of its choosing. It established an official school at a summer fishing camp on a narrow, vulnerable spit of land best suited for barged resupply and an airstrip.

More at stake than Kivalina’s beach front property, with its sweeping panorama of the sea, is a native culture that, while struggling, is very much alive. A large part of that culture is subsistence hunting; beluga and bowhead whale when pack ice fills the Bering Sea; walrus and bearded seal during the spring break up; arctic char and dolly varden in the summer when the river runs free, and caribou and wolves throughout the year. With the changing climate animal migration or access to wildlife is changing, altering a traditional way of life. Kivalina is said to be in the top 10 of 180 native villages facing cultural extinction.

Showered, I stuffed the last items into my over-filled pack. Heather Kendall, the only native Alaskan attorney working this litigation had given us a primer the day before. Chiefly, be self-contained. We would sleep on the floor of a classroom, for $50 per night, and may have access to a small kitchen where it was expected we would do our own cooking. Layered in my pack were items I’d take backpacking; high-calorie, easy to cook (or simply consume) foods. Cheese, meat, some canned, and a couple hardy vegetables. My German companion, the writer Ansbert, had tossed in some Oscar Meyer hot dogs. Classic. (at right: groceries to take to Kivalina)

The reason for the self sufficiency, Heather explained, is that food is expensive to ship in and is also difficult to go out, find, then kill. To be invited into someone’s home for a meal, in this reserved community, would be momentous. It should not be expected and, if offered, treated with utmost respect and appreciation. Even if it is whale meat soaked in rancid seal oil.

We’ll see. I’m kitted out with my regular winter climbing clothes and the same digital media studio I had in Cambodia six weeks ago. I’ve got four days to build relationships that allow me to photograph a story about a culture facing extinction in today’s changing climate. Even though, on paper, it is really about liability and property damage. (at left: pack ice from front street in Kotzebue, a small town and layover on our way from Anchorage to Kivalina–which lies over the hills in the distance. BTW, there is a wi-fi restaurant on front street!)

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I’m pretty used to rejection these days; not in the dating sense, necessarily, though I’m well steeled for that kind of rejection too. It’s my collection of rejection letters I’m talking about. Internships in college, contests, grants, and the all too common editor-who-never-responds-to-proposal-X. This business requires the hide of a rhinoceros. Thick.

A friend and mentor, Wes Pope, told me he once papered his wall with rejection letters. Even though I’ve only got a file, I liked the idea. The collection showed me that at least I was trying.

So when I pulled the mail out the other day, saw the address, and felt the weight of the envelope, I though I knew what was inside. A one-page form rejection letter.

Instead, much to my thrill, it read:

“It is our great pleasure to inform you that your 2008 Individual Projects application to 4Culture has been recommended for an award in the amount of $7500 in support of your project: Cambodia: From Victim to Survivor.”

There were 220 applicants asking for a total of $1,153,924; of those, 75 applicants were selected for support and provided with funds totaling nearly $300,000. I was one of them.

I received the maximum amount to cover the expenses of returning to Cambodia and printing an exhibition showing why people might migrate and the risks associated (human trafficking) in an effort to celebrate the many immigrants who’ve made it to King County to try their hand at the American dream.

It was a complete chance I applied; I was picking up my exhibition from Cheryl dos Remedios in the City of Kent offices when she mentioned a workshop starting in an hour for a grant due in a few days. Speaking with Heather Dwyer, the King County 4Culture program coordinator, and dos Remedios forced me to shape a story from the mess in my head; I’d been home less than a month and my mind was still spinning.

Later, Heather commented “It is really your great work and commitment to the project that won the panel over,” but I don’t think I would have had a successful entry without their guidance.

So this fall I head back to Cambodia to finish this segment of an ongoing project. Now all I have to do is raise the rest of the proposed $23,000 budget–the part that pays me a living wage to do the reporting and multimedia work.

See the 4Culture Newsletter and the Recipient List.

Excerpts from the grant application:

Project Description:
War, poverty and natural disaster limit the livelihood—and life–of many across the globe. These factors drive migration, some documented or “legal,” but most undocumented, from developing countries to the developed. King County is host to a large immigrant population that arrives here filled with the hope of finding religious or political freedom and economic success. However in our state, as many others, migrants are often left in the precarious position of relying on unregulated transnational migration.

Human trafficking, estimated as the third largest global criminal enterprise behind arms and narcotics, preys upon the vulnerable and disadvantaged seeking a better life for themselves and their families. Victims are lied to, cheated, beaten, raped; their documentation–if any–is often taken from them. Identity-less and “illegal” in the first place, victims are unwilling to approach law enforcement for fear of imprisonment or deportation. Slowly, governments worldwide are addressing this aspect of migration and realizing how economically and politically destabilizing it is, but also how profitable this human commodity is to criminal groups.

I am seeking funding to continue my documentary work raising awareness about the affects of and efforts to counter human trafficking. For this phase of the project I am focusing on Cambodia, a nation torn by genocide and 30 years of occupation and civil war. It is but one example of a vulnerable population forced into migration, either transnational or within its borders.

These are stories of survival; I am showing that today the same struggles leading to the founding of the United States still exist. In America, in a land of privilege and comfort where the prevailing idea is if you work hard enough you will succeed, I believe we tend to forget what it means to live without opportunity. It is difficult, when lulled into complacency, to understand why someone might knowingly take the risk of years of exploitation or death simply to find a job.

Through stories of human trafficking in Cambodia I will show a nation struggling–in trauma-speak–to become a survivor after decades of victimization. With these stories I hope to build awareness, empathy, action and an attitude of greater openness to and understanding of immigrant communities in King County….

Project Impact:
Immigration is an important political issue in America. With its agricultural businesses Washington state is on the migrant labor circuit; this is a somewhat divisive issue between the more conservative eastern part of the state and the more liberal western counties. While Cambodians and Hispanics are culturally disparate, the same issues of economic gain and freedom are at the root of migration.

I believe my work illustrating precursors to migration will help King County citizens better understand the migrant laborers and the immigrants in their midst. I also feel that immigrant residents, particularly our relatively substantial Cambodian population, will have cause to reflect on their origins with a sense of pride and success.

Most importantly, I believe this project will add a strong voice to the growing awareness of the global nature of human trafficking. The United States is a destination country; our demand for sex and cheap labor make us a crucial part of the chain of exploitation and a powerful voice in ending it.

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Editor’s Note: The idea of guest authors was sparked awhile ago but Jessie is the first I’ve asked. I met her at a time when she was discouraged. She was reeling with the raw nature of Cambodia, but I think she was also facing herself.

Jessie is struggling a bit with her early 20’s and Cambodia was a something of a mandate from her family. Her sister asked me to check in with Jessie when I was in Siem Reap; I had to work, but I found some down time I to spend with her. The Jessie I met was incredibly open, honest, and a pleasure to hang out with. So, when she wanted to head home in frustration, I encouraged her to stay and put a little more effort into connecting. I hoped she would be able to see Cambodia as a place not just for adventure tourists, but a country full of people trying to succeed in life–as we are–but with fewer opportunities.

Jessie did connect, marvelously.

———————————————————————————-

Guest Author Jessie Hoffman:

The first thing I noticed about Phnom Penh was the smell. I later learned that it is a combination of Khmer food, hot garbage, human waste and exhaust. The air in Cambodia is heavy and the smell almost penetrates your body. One person described it perfectly when he said “the air in Phnom Penh feels like it could corrode your skin off.” The smell was the first thing I resented, and incidentally, it was the first thing I became accustomed too.

I wasn’t supposed to be in Cambodia. I should be in the second semester of my junior year in college. But life has a funny way of NOT going accordingly to your plan. I failed out of not one, but two colleges. I have a smattering of credits almost qualifying for an Associates Degree, and have I little to no career experience. My parents were fed up, tired of spending time and money on a fruitless investment, meaning not just my schooling, but me. I was lost. I had no direction, no passion and no idea who I was or where I wanted to go in life. I was just as fed up as my parents.

Driving home, my phone rang with a strange number. I thought it was a prank, but it was my sister. She has been living in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, off and on for two years working for different organizations and is in the process of starting her own company. She sounded like she was in a box, but I made out three distinct words: “Come to Cambodia.”

Thinking, I took the long way home from school. I had no idea what Cambodia was like. I didn’t know what language was spoken, how the people lived, what state the economy was in. Nothing. I pictured streets filled with men in pointed straw hats and rickshaws behind, rice paddies, bungalow houses on stilts and people eating crickets and spiders. I had no clue.

My parents gave me 24 hours to decide during which I frantically researched, called friends, and smoked way too much. But I left two weeks later and arrived jet lagged and ill-prepared for my first day as a volunteer English teacher at the school my sister worked for.

I spent most of my days helping the kids with the new computers the school had received. I had no clear instructions, only to “hang out” and adjust. Apparently I did something wrong. The owner of the school told my sister that I “wasn’t working out” and was “not what he expected.”

Re-cap: I flew 15 hours to a country where I knew only my sister, who I think saw me as a burden, to work a job I thought I had for 6 months. I felt trapped, alone, and lost in a world I knew nothing about. To top it off, my parents weren’t receptive when I called them, hoping to find an answer.

Scared and feeling helpless, I met one of my few friends for lunch. He encouraged me to stick it out and gave me the website and a contact person for an organization working with kids.

I arrived at the Cambodian Dump Children’s Committee, a part of the Center for Children’s Happiness. It resembles, for lack of a better word, a compound; there is a rec yard, a rusty swing set, a little garden and two huge buildings. One was the boy’s dorms and school rooms, the other the girl’s dorms and main building for the kitchen, theater stage and computer room. About 93 children live there, most orphans found at the city landfill, Steung Meanchey.

There were so many children there, but one little girl changed my life. Her name was Srey Ka. She wanted to be a traditional Khmer Dancer, but was too young to start training. She would watch the other girls and copy their movements. When I asked her what she was doing she took my hands in her tiny ones and moved my fingers into extremely painful positions, mimicking the movements.

I think I needed her as much as she may have needed me. We could only communicate in mime, usually with her laughing at me, but she loved being held. She wanted to know that I wouldn’t let go. Once I opened up to her and the other kids, Cambodia became different. It wasn’t a scary place, it wasn’t as dirty as it was before and the more I relaxed, the more the country offered. I met more people, explored the city and found wonderful new places. I could get on a moto taxi and know where I was going. My perpetual fear gave way to an entirely new sense of independence; I knew freedom.

Leaving Srey Ka was hard. They were simply being themselves, but she and the other children opened my eyes to the beauty of Cambodia. Those kids have never played Xbox, eaten a Twinkie, watched prime-time television, or done the many things Americans equate with happiness, yet they were happier than any other group of people I have met. They have the uncanny ability to look at each day as the gift that it truly is. They don’t tell themselves to relax, enjoy, or absorb; they do it naturally.

I left with a sense of hope, something I had lost a long time ago. I don’t fear tomorrow anymore then I dwell on yesterday. I was only there three months, but I learned the importance of loving myself and loving others, of being accepting, open, and kind. One day I hope to return to Cambodia to give back as much as I received.

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Rob Haggart, former Director of Photography for Men’s Journal and Outside Magazine, ran a blog titled “A Photo Editor” in which, while remaining anonymous, he rather openly discussed how it is behind-the-scenes in the world of editorial photo editing. Entertaining and insightful, it quickly gained notoriety in the photo world.

He quit his job at Men’s Journal for a lifestyle change you can read about here, came out of the closet about his identity, but has continued to develop “A Photo Editor” with a purpose he is still exploring (read this post).

I met Rob several years ago while I was helping to create and manage the trade organization Travel and Outdoor Photographer’s Alliance; he came and spoke at one of the State of the Industry panel discussions we held. His participation was a gesture I appreciated helps me appreciate even more the work he puts into “A Photo Editor”.

Rob put the Folio Browser website together as a resource for photo editors and a place for photographers to find new clients. As a photographer, it’s an inspiring collection of some talented photographers. And, I’ll confess, it’s validating to know in Rob’s eyes I made the cut. I’m about half way down the page amongst the other journalistic imagery.

Enjoy his blog and the work of so many skilled photographers!

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It took me a month to be able to talk about it with perspective, another month to try and catch up on my affairs (I’m still behind), but I think I’m ready to start telling stories. Feathered Friends, my past employer, my past land lord, my alma mater, is graciously donating the space.

These are stories about the anti human trafficking work being done in Cambodia. I’ll be up front, some of the stories are hard. Some of the pictures are difficult. But it’s all real and many of you, because you care and want to know, helped me get there to find these stories.

This is the slideshow I’d hold in my living room, were it big enough. The work is not finished, but I’d like to share with you what I have, what you helped create.

Feathered Friends
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
7.30pm
119 Yale Ave N, Seattle 98109

See the full page poster here.

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