I just got home from watching Hondros at Village East Cinemas in New York. It is a documentary about Chris Hondros, a photojournalist who covered conflict zones on the global stage. His work brought him from New York to far flung parts of the world, including Liberia, Iraq, and ultimately Libya where he died while reporting on the revolution that ultimately deposed Muammar Gaddafi.
It was a well made piece, with war correspondents honoring one of their own. He died in 2011, and it was immediately noted by members of his community, some of whom I had been acquainted with on the Black Flag Cafe of comebackalive.com where adventurers rub shoulders with international journalists.
What moved me the most, was not the story of Chris Hondos, but rather as a good journalist it was the stories of the people he met while on assignment that were the most meaningful. One child soldier who he had photographed who had grown up and gotten an education and ultimately become a police chief. Another was the story of a US Army unit and a girl who had been the only member of her family to survive a shootout in Iraq. It is difficult for me to describe, but while we watch the news about wars, now Syria, we forget that there are people there. Not just the belligerents in a given conflict, AK-47s in the dessert, but there are regular people, families, kids who have to live through horrifying circumstances.
Sometimes, once in a while, our worlds meet. It can be through photojournalism, a televised interview, word of mouth. We citizens of the world need to learn to respect each other and work together to find peaceful resolutions to our problems, and we need to know each other’s stories preferably without the eulogies of journalists killed in mortar fire.