Refugee 1988- I looked through the viewfinder and found myself looking across more than a few yards. More than mere light came through the lens back at me. I was looking across centuries into the face of a man who could not begin to describe his misery. He was trapped in circumstances he had little understanding of, absolutely no control over, helpless. There I was, a war tourist, snapping pictures of his misery and when I was done, I could get back in my car and go to the hotel and a warm meal. I knew I had a powerful picture. When Afghans objected to having their picture taken because they felt that there souls were being stolen; they were not far off the mark. You knew you were stealing something.

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