In the west, junctures between people, the natural world and the man-made environment are normally unmistakable. However, in much of Afghanistan, sheer attrition has forced the boundaries to converge and to blur, often leaving people superficially resembling the hardened environments that barely support them. In some cases the over-riding impression is one of desperate survival by any means, but in shooting this project it has become increasingly difficult to pinpoint what gives a person cause for happiness and or the strength to cope with extreme adversity. The individuals beyond the visual impression are often remarkable, bringing new insights into the history of the country and its possible futures.
Afghanistan remains littered with powerful reminders of past dynasties, which, despite decades of conflict, continue to feature strongly in daily life. In shooting ‘Russians and Royals’ I have looked at how ordinary Afghans are coping with the current era set against backdrops of the past; a past, which often remains the prevalent influence despite the on-going intervention.
Each of the four locations photographed (two Russian, two royal) has its own history and enduring legacy: from young men socialising at the Russian Pool to opium addicts at the Russian Cultural Centre, kite fliers at the King’s Tomb and impoverished children at the King’s Palace, life remains buoyant but to greatly varying degrees. While the scenes depicted vary considerably, the photographic locations lie very close to each other and all within the heart of the country’s capital, Kabul.
I am drawn to experiences in which I have found something unexpected that challenges common perceptions, including my own. It is a compulsion to explore ‘what we think we are’ and as often ‘what we believe we are not.’ Photography helps to place those moments of realisation and to sense what cannot so easily put into words. I am not attempting to portray, or allude to, a particular truth, but to produce images that may lead to the beginning of a personal understanding.
The Locations
The King’s Tomb
The hill known locally as ‘Tapa Nada Khan’ is typical of the windswept broken spaces in Kabul, except that on Fridays hundreds of men gather to fly kites and escape the claustrophobic city below. The Tomb – a resting place for royalty – is protected by razor wire while restoration work is completed and might as well be invisible as eyes gaze skywards. Young children stand on the terraced downslope gaze intently at the jostling kites above, looking for the first indications of severed string. Downed kites float slowly earthbound and are normally torn to shreds by a dozen hands, but as long as there are colourful kites in the air, there will be children hoping to win one as a prize for their patience. Boys weave between the memorials of laid to the nation’s greatest, while youths listen to music on their cell phones. Occasionally families will picnic looking out over the city, unperturbed by the rock and dust, but in the main this is the preserve of men; men enjoying the thrill of kite flying in the company of their sons and grandchildren. The physical scars of past conflict are everywhere, but the atmosphere is one of exuberance, of simple pleasures reclaimed.
The King’s Palace
Built in the 1920’s by King Amanullah and situated in Darulaman (which means ‘abode of peace’) this European-styled palace is one of the most poignant sites in Kabul. Amanullah planned to use the palace to house the country’s first ever elected parliament at the centre of a new capital city, but the reformist monarch was ousted by religious conservatives and the building abandoned. After being gutted by fire in 1969 it was refurbished before serving as the Ministry of Defence in the 70s and 80s, only to be set on fire again during the communist coup of 1978. Subsequent fighting between rival mujahedeen factions following the Soviet withdrawal caused most of the damage now visible. Almost ninety years after Amanullah drafted the country’s first written constitution, the building once again awaits restoration with a view to housing the national parliament.
Razor wire now surrounds the base of the dilapidated building and the once lush gardens have turned to dust. Parade grounds have become popular football pitches and monuments provide a backdrop to cricket games played by youths on Friday afternoons. For much of the week, the landscape is deserted, apart from the occasional soldier taking a shortcut to the nearby base and shepherds grazing their flocks across the short-lived spring flush of greenery. At the end of summer the ubiquitous thistles are harvested for fuel, while children from the nearby settlements scavenge for useful items and beg from passers by. The landscape is utterly unforgiving, as is the existence eked out by the families living in the area, most of which have tentatively returned from Pakistan. Hidden by mud walls, adults from these settlements are rarely seen, but the play of children, often cruel and sometimes brutal, injects life into this otherwise shattered place. Moments of abandonment, fragments of childhood and uninhibited joy are fleeting. Parliament lies only a few miles to the north, but the palace dominates and altogether different sense of place. It’s a relic of shattered concrete and twisted metal, with the energy of children in its shadow.
The Russian Pool
Like so many sites in Kabul, the swimming pool has a chequered history. Built by the Russians and subsequently used by the Taliban for executions, the pool on ‘Bibi Maru’ hill offers tremendous views across the suburbs and up to the crown of mountains containing the urban sprawl. Sitting above some of Kabul’s busiest neighbourhoods, the pool used to attract a steady flow of visitors, particularly at the weekend. Families would walk their infants, while older children would play in pooled water in the deep end. Games of volleyball would mix with swimming in the summer and during the winter the snow-filled basin formed an unorthodox arena for passionate football matches. As with the King’s Tomb, this site is one of the few public spaces in Kabul in which people can genuinely let go. Unlike some of the more popular picnic spots around the capital, the pool possesses a palpable informality and sense of separation from the wider difficulties. In 2009, the pool was renovated and painted to allow for clean water and supervision.
The Russian Cultural Centre
Lying vacant half a mile north of Parliament, the now ruined complex once showcased Soviet cultural excellence. The bold angles of Russian ‘industrial design’ are just visible from the street and bullet-torn railings that once alluded to what could be found within, have recently been covered by corrugated metal sheets to keep former residents out. The complex was used as an urban ‘strong point’ during the civil war in the 90s and extensively damaged as the various factions fought for control of the capital.
Until a year ago, the ruins were home to hundreds of heroin addicts desperate for shelter and seclusion. Set back off the main road, the myriad of rooms, underground passageways and pervasive darkness allowed Kabul’s addicts to survive; barely. Walking through the grounds one could have been forgiven for thinking the buildings were deserted. Children occasionally played football in the open areas, but addicts – aside from the most unfortunate – lived largely unseen within the dark interior. As a result of social stigma and harsh treatment by the police many addicts came to resemble apparitions, silently vanishing once inside the buildings and preferring to move in and out of the complex during the hours of darkness. Small groups of men would hide in the most inaccessible tunnels and well-disguised cubbyholes, using only small torchlights in the end of cigarette lighters for illumination. During winter, they would burn plastic bottles and other available trash to keep warm leaving their faces blackened like miners – a comparison invited by their habit of keeping their lighter-torches pinned beneath their headdress, so leaving hands free. Only the most incapacitated would be found outside during the day, propped up against walls or lying amidst the debris on the ground. The dead would often lie untouched for days.
From several years running up to 2009, men deported from Iran (where in most cases they became addicts) would be deposited in Kabul city. Without money, jobs and family support, there would be little choice but to move into the Russian Cultural Centre in order to avoid the country’s harsh weather conditions and persecution on the streets. For these men there was little hope from the beginning and addicts from around Afghanistan joined them. These men made their way to Kabul after being disowned by the families or voluntarily travelling to Kabul in the hope of finding the means to support their habit.
In 2008, a documentary on drug addiction in Afghanistan caused embarrassment to the Karzai administration and action was swift. The addicts were evicted following a short relief program by United Nations to provide food and detoxification support. A lucky few were enrolled at the Nejat Rehabilitation Centre, but the majority were simply displaced into much worse conditions elsewhere. Hundreds now live beneath bridges across the capital, subjected to the constant trickle of raw sewerage and the ravages of the weather.
Most consider themselves damned because they believe that they have shamed their families and betrayed their faith. After photographing Russians and Royals and consequently witnessing the human tragedy unfolding at the Russian Centre, I began photographing at Puli Sokhta bridge, where many of the unfortunates had congregated. This project became ‘Afghan Heroin: Not For Export’ intended to recognize the unseen men battling addiction within Afghanistan; men largely forgotten by the world, disowned by society and, in their own words, lost even to God.
Afghanistan remains littered with powerful reminders of past dynasties, which, despite decades of conflict, continue to feature strongly in daily life. In shooting ‘Russians and Royals’ I have looked at how ordinary Afghans are coping with the current era set against backdrops of the past; a past, which often remains the prevalent influence despite the on-going intervention.
Each of the four locations photographed (two Russian, two royal) has its own history and enduring legacy: from young men socialising at the Russian Pool to opium addicts at the Russian Cultural Centre, kite fliers at the King’s Tomb and impoverished children at the King’s Palace, life remains buoyant but to greatly varying degrees. While the scenes depicted vary considerably, the photographic locations lie very close to each other and all within the heart of the country’s capital, Kabul.
I am drawn to experiences in which I have found something unexpected that challenges common perceptions, including my own. It is a compulsion to explore ‘what we think we are’ and as often ‘what we believe we are not.’ Photography helps to place those moments of realisation and to sense what cannot so easily put into words. I am not attempting to portray, or allude to, a particular truth, but to produce images that may lead to the beginning of a personal understanding.
The Locations
The King’s Tomb
The hill known locally as ‘Tapa Nada Khan’ is typical of the windswept broken spaces in Kabul, except that on Fridays hundreds of men gather to fly kites and escape the claustrophobic city below. The Tomb – a resting place for royalty – is protected by razor wire while restoration work is completed and might as well be invisible as eyes gaze skywards. Young children stand on the terraced downslope gaze intently at the jostling kites above, looking for the first indications of severed string. Downed kites float slowly earthbound and are normally torn to shreds by a dozen hands, but as long as there are colourful kites in the air, there will be children hoping to win one as a prize for their patience. Boys weave between the memorials of laid to the nation’s greatest, while youths listen to music on their cell phones. Occasionally families will picnic looking out over the city, unperturbed by the rock and dust, but in the main this is the preserve of men; men enjoying the thrill of kite flying in the company of their sons and grandchildren. The physical scars of past conflict are everywhere, but the atmosphere is one of exuberance, of simple pleasures reclaimed.
The King’s Palace
Built in the 1920’s by King Amanullah and situated in Darulaman (which means ‘abode of peace’) this European-styled palace is one of the most poignant sites in Kabul. Amanullah planned to use the palace to house the country’s first ever elected parliament at the centre of a new capital city, but the reformist monarch was ousted by religious conservatives and the building abandoned. After being gutted by fire in 1969 it was refurbished before serving as the Ministry of Defence in the 70s and 80s, only to be set on fire again during the communist coup of 1978. Subsequent fighting between rival mujahedeen factions following the Soviet withdrawal caused most of the damage now visible. Almost ninety years after Amanullah drafted the country’s first written constitution, the building once again awaits restoration with a view to housing the national parliament.
Razor wire now surrounds the base of the dilapidated building and the once lush gardens have turned to dust. Parade grounds have become popular football pitches and monuments provide a backdrop to cricket games played by youths on Friday afternoons. For much of the week, the landscape is deserted, apart from the occasional soldier taking a shortcut to the nearby base and shepherds grazing their flocks across the short-lived spring flush of greenery. At the end of summer the ubiquitous thistles are harvested for fuel, while children from the nearby settlements scavenge for useful items and beg from passers by. The landscape is utterly unforgiving, as is the existence eked out by the families living in the area, most of which have tentatively returned from Pakistan. Hidden by mud walls, adults from these settlements are rarely seen, but the play of children, often cruel and sometimes brutal, injects life into this otherwise shattered place. Moments of abandonment, fragments of childhood and uninhibited joy are fleeting. Parliament lies only a few miles to the north, but the palace dominates and altogether different sense of place. It’s a relic of shattered concrete and twisted metal, with the energy of children in its shadow.
The Russian Pool
Like so many sites in Kabul, the swimming pool has a chequered history. Built by the Russians and subsequently used by the Taliban for executions, the pool on ‘Bibi Maru’ hill offers tremendous views across the suburbs and up to the crown of mountains containing the urban sprawl. Sitting above some of Kabul’s busiest neighbourhoods, the pool used to attract a steady flow of visitors, particularly at the weekend. Families would walk their infants, while older children would play in pooled water in the deep end. Games of volleyball would mix with swimming in the summer and during the winter the snow-filled basin formed an unorthodox arena for passionate football matches. As with the King’s Tomb, this site is one of the few public spaces in Kabul in which people can genuinely let go. Unlike some of the more popular picnic spots around the capital, the pool possesses a palpable informality and sense of separation from the wider difficulties. In 2009, the pool was renovated and painted to allow for clean water and supervision.
The Russian Cultural Centre
Lying vacant half a mile north of Parliament, the now ruined complex once showcased Soviet cultural excellence. The bold angles of Russian ‘industrial design’ are just visible from the street and bullet-torn railings that once alluded to what could be found within, have recently been covered by corrugated metal sheets to keep former residents out. The complex was used as an urban ‘strong point’ during the civil war in the 90s and extensively damaged as the various factions fought for control of the capital.
Until a year ago, the ruins were home to hundreds of heroin addicts desperate for shelter and seclusion. Set back off the main road, the myriad of rooms, underground passageways and pervasive darkness allowed Kabul’s addicts to survive; barely. Walking through the grounds one could have been forgiven for thinking the buildings were deserted. Children occasionally played football in the open areas, but addicts – aside from the most unfortunate – lived largely unseen within the dark interior. As a result of social stigma and harsh treatment by the police many addicts came to resemble apparitions, silently vanishing once inside the buildings and preferring to move in and out of the complex during the hours of darkness. Small groups of men would hide in the most inaccessible tunnels and well-disguised cubbyholes, using only small torchlights in the end of cigarette lighters for illumination. During winter, they would burn plastic bottles and other available trash to keep warm leaving their faces blackened like miners – a comparison invited by their habit of keeping their lighter-torches pinned beneath their headdress, so leaving hands free. Only the most incapacitated would be found outside during the day, propped up against walls or lying amidst the debris on the ground. The dead would often lie untouched for days.
From several years running up to 2009, men deported from Iran (where in most cases they became addicts) would be deposited in Kabul city. Without money, jobs and family support, there would be little choice but to move into the Russian Cultural Centre in order to avoid the country’s harsh weather conditions and persecution on the streets. For these men there was little hope from the beginning and addicts from around Afghanistan joined them. These men made their way to Kabul after being disowned by the families or voluntarily travelling to Kabul in the hope of finding the means to support their habit.
In 2008, a documentary on drug addiction in Afghanistan caused embarrassment to the Karzai administration and action was swift. The addicts were evicted following a short relief program by United Nations to provide food and detoxification support. A lucky few were enrolled at the Nejat Rehabilitation Centre, but the majority were simply displaced into much worse conditions elsewhere. Hundreds now live beneath bridges across the capital, subjected to the constant trickle of raw sewerage and the ravages of the weather.
Most consider themselves damned because they believe that they have shamed their families and betrayed their faith. After photographing Russians and Royals and consequently witnessing the human tragedy unfolding at the Russian Centre, I began photographing at Puli Sokhta bridge, where many of the unfortunates had congregated. This project became ‘Afghan Heroin: Not For Export’ intended to recognize the unseen men battling addiction within Afghanistan; men largely forgotten by the world, disowned by society and, in their own words, lost even to God.