5 hours ago
10
I took this picture during my first time in Iraq, 20 years ago. It was the first entry in a body of work about the US post-9/11, at home and at war, which has occupied a good chunk of my professional life for the last two decades. I had turned 25 the week before and it was a formative journey on a personal level. It was the first time I experienced war, and my understanding of my country and its relationship to the world developed in the crucible of this extremely violent situation, which was descending into civil war while I was there.
I had been embedded in Iraq with the US military for six weeks or so at this point, and had taken some good pictures. But this one was different and it still means something to me today. It was the first I had taken that wasn’t overtly channelling the history of war photography – which largely focusses on violence, horror and victims. Those are important things to show, but I wanted to understand this particular conflict, and how my position as an American of the same generation as those fighting could help me interpret it for the public. I guess the image crystallised something I had seen – this vast machine of military might mobilised in the Middle East; the momentum of all these young men with powerful weapons patrolling cities in search of people identified as enemies of America, enemies of democracy.
The soldiers would go into the homes of people they deemed suspicious, most of whom did not fit the definition of terrorist but some of whom did define as actively resisting occupation. The soldiers would search the houses of these “suspected terrorists”, and usually they found nothing.
With all this money, weaponry and rhetoric, an anonymous living room like this one, that could be my grandma’s, showed the reality of what I saw on the ground. A dejected soldier sitting in this domestic space.
To me, it’s a picture of that particular conflict, but it says something more enduring about the nature of war. The incongruity of the soldier in the domestic surroundings shows how absurd, and how close to us, war is. Insane violence continues amid absolutely normal life. I think it expresses that war is part of the human soul – in civilised society we tend to forget that. It’s disconcerting, but it reminds me that we’re animalistic.
History has shown that there’s a very, very narrow pathway to externally created regime change. When I was in Iraq, the war had already started spiralling out of control. Iraq and Afghanistan were both unmitigated failures, on every level. It’s very hard to be optimistic now.
There was a time when embedding journalists with soldiers was heavily criticised. That never made sense to me – I was never censored by the military. And I don’t think having sympathy for the soldiers colours critical thinking. Soldiers on the whole are decent people capable of extreme violence. I try to reconcile those two things. We all fancy ourselves as peace-loving, but you twist the right knobs and you’re a killer. Being a war photographer is a deeply morally complicated position – and I embrace that.
I do believe there’s a moral stance in thoughtful records of human violence, but that doesn’t mean it’s a pure or beautiful thing to do. I passionately wanted to see war for myself, for reasons I still don’t fully understand. As a history student, my world view was shaped by photographs: I saw the violence humans were capable of, and it horrified me. So I thought about how photography could impact other people like me, rather than thinking I could shift the nature of war itself. Being against war is like being against clouds – it’s so much part of human existence, and it always will be until it destroys the last of us and leaves only the cockroaches behind.
I’m a dad now, so no trips to the Middle East are planned. The next question is how to find a new purpose, when what I previously found purpose in is no longer an option. But being with my daughter is way more fun.
This image is part of Odyssey, the 27th Magnum Square Print Sale, in partnership with the Photographers’ Gallery, London, which continues until 29 March
Peter van Agtmael’s CV
Born: Washington DC, 1981
High point: Being accepted into Magnum is still the most powerfully validating moment of my professional life. It came the day after one of the lowest points, the funeral of a beloved aunt
Top Tip: Be honest and unsentimental with yourself, while maintaining confidence. There are lots of talented people out there, but the ones who survive in the industry are usually those who want it the most. And then it is still a difficult and confusing journey, with many highs and lows
