Artifacts of a Kidnapping

Eleven years after an Al Qaeda-linked group held Harald Ickler captive in the Sahara Desert, he still hasn't washed the shirt he wore during his 54 days of captivity.

Westerners like Ickler who are held hostage by terrorist groups live at the forefront of the biggest ideological crisis of our world today: they are symbols of terror, victims of torture, survivors of captivity. 

They are the individuals who beg questions: Does paying ransoms fund terrorism? How can governments choose between citizens in captivity and foreign policy agendas? Can we prevent more Youtube videos of beheadings?

For those who somehow survive the harrowing experience, many hold on to some sort of memorabilia in the aftermath of captivity. It’s painful to remember but no one wants to forget: the burka one woman was forced to wear by Al Qaeda in Yemen, the toothbrush IS fighters chiseled down so it couldn't be used as a weapon in Syria, the jacket torn during a beating, the chess set made from equal parts cardboard and boredom. 

My pictures are of the objects hostages carried back. I’ve photographed these things as studio-style still life images, allowing ordinary objects to stand in for some of the most painful stories of our time.

Without these images, hostages remain abstract – pawns in a game of global politics and jihad. The decisions to pay ransoms can be seen as bowing to global terror. That simplistic reading changes when you see the last will and testament of an Austrian hostage in Algeria, or the pillow one hostage made by turning his pants inside out and shoving all of his clothes in it.  

Hostages exist in the grey space of the public imagination. James Foley’s execution on Youtube was watched around the world, yet the reality he and his cellmates faced as prisoners remains invisible.

To understand Foley’s death, you also have to understand his life.  I set about trying to do this on assignment for the New York Times in July and August, 2014. I met with ten hostages in six countries in Europe as I tried to understand and visualize captivity, torture, and the high stakes of hostage negotiation.

I didn’t know what objects hostages would keep – I operated on a sense of instinct that whatever I found would be interesting and would do the work of explaining the unseen lives of hostages and their experiences after they are released. Against a black backdrop, I photographed the items that define captivity: the flashlight Foley and his cellmates shared, the cans of tuna and luncheon meat they ate every day, the jihadi propaganda literature they were given to read. 

“They take us as hostages because they believe they can change the whole world,” one hostage told me.

These objects tell the story of people caught up in the mix of money and ideology that results in kidnapping. The purpose of photojournalism is to show the unseen. My goal for this ongoing project is to visualize the memories and experiences in the aftermath of captivity and to speak to what is happening to the people still being held inside other cells.

When I began this work, I made a list of hostages and gathered as much information as I could along with my colleagues at the New York Times. Sometimes I cold called and emailed hostages, and other times I used referrals from a network of international friends and journalists.

The process was painstaking – especially for those recently released, there is still a huge amount of raw trauma. Yet, many agreed to this because the idea resonates with them. I am now in active correspondence with seven additional hostages, and know of another dozen whom I would like to reach out to.

In the work I’ve already done, I’ve learned so much: what to ask on the phone and what to ask by email, how to explain my motivation and why there is value for the hostages in cooperation. 

Photographically, my pared-down visual approach parallels the gap in knowledge we have about hostages, which is mainly for the security and safety of those still in captivity as well as the privacy of backdoor deals made by governments, business, and families. Because we know so little, these objects do the heavy lifting of allowing us to understand at least a few aspects of the denial of rights and life in captivity.

Gruesome pictures of scars and blood and torture make most people turn the page or turn away. We are numb to images of violence and suffering. Nicholas Henin, a French journalist held by IS in Syria, told me that the torture he and the other hostages endured was much worse when it didn’t leave blood and scars. Using a black backdrop and studio lights, I photographed the jacket he wore, torn at the armpit, when he was tortured - a physical object that represents his experience after the fact.

Through these objects, I hope to share the story of terror in our global world by photographing the simple artifacts of captivity and allowing them to create insight for an audience that usually only sees headlines. My images capture some things we do know and stand in for all of the things that we don’t know.

“The first days, you have only fear that somebody kills you,” one hostage held in the Sahara Desert told me. And in the aftermath, he continued, “if you drink a juice, an orange juice, after this experience, you are thinking you’re in paradise.” A quote like this, paired with an image drawn in a notebook of the stark desert terrain where he was held will allow the audience to process not just what it means to be held hostage, but also what it means to finally be free.