When we were camped in the desert, I heard that the brigade had
received some prisoners who were going to be flown to another camp
for interrogation. I was driven to where they were being held. There
were about 30 prisoners, plus a small boy, who caught my eye. The
unit that was transporting the prisoners wasn't the unit that had
captured them, so the soldiers didn't know if the prisoners were
combatants. The soldiers took the prisoners from a truck inside a
tangled ring of razor wire, and, following orders, put hoods and
handcuffs on the prisoners, including the boy's father. The child was
terrified and started to scream.
One of the American soldiers then cut off the man's plastic handcuffs,
so he could embrace and calm his son. I could hear the man, who
was frightened himself, murmuring to his son in Arabic. The soldier's
compassion and the father's love were heart-warming.
The army couldn't tell me the prisoners' names, and I don't know what
happened to them because I had to leave with my ride. I tried to find
out, but with troops scattered and on the move in the desert, and
communication limited, I could not.
- How did you personally experience the situation in which the
imprisoned Iraqi man is protecting his four year-old son?
I couldn't help but imagine my own little girl, Lauren, who was the same
age, 4, and the same size, in the same situation. I thought of that a lot
before, during and after taking the photo. The image shows no guns, no
soldiers, no blood, but for me it shows a truth of war - that it affects not
just the soldiers who fight it and the politicians who order it.
- Why was there a child in the transit camp for prisoners of war?
The boy was with his father when he was captured, and they didn't
want to leave the child alone in the desert.
Jean-Marc Bouju, Winner World Press Photo of the Year 2003
