The War Diaries

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A Stoic Island In the Middle

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A couple fish along Lanarca’s waterfront in February. ©2019 Derek Henry Flood

Larnaca- I spent three very tranquil days on the southern Cypriot coast where I didn’t do much other than walk around in the rain and sample savoury vegan cuisine as the hours rolled by. I’d longed for years to visit this outpost of Hellenic culture-both ancient and modern-anchored in the eastern Mediterranean. Zeno, the founder of stoicism, was born on Cyprus, as was the goddess Aphrodite if you believe in that sort of thing. I have the impression that mainland Greeks consider Cyprus its own separate deal with Arabic and Turkish linguistic influences fomenting a unique island dialect that might be abrasive to erudite Athenians as a hypothetical. The same may have been true for the Pontic Greeks from Abkhazia.

The third largest island in this sea saddled with a painful modern history just south of Turkey and west of Syria and Lebanon is a cultural and geopolitical outlier in several respects. It is part of the EU yet firmly outside the internally borderless Schengen area. I’d momentarily forgotten this when at the Vienna airport I wondered why i was going through an emigration queue to get my passport stamped despite that fact that I was boarding a domestic EU flight. Cyprus is in the eurozone (well the internationally recognised ethnically Greek republic anyway) but is more of Middle Eastern locale in terms of its proximity to the Levant than to, say, Brussels.

The island is locked in a frozen conflict with its Turkish minority inhabiting the unreognised Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus in the northern 36% of its territory. After the failure of the enosis movement in the mid-20th century in which ethnic-Greek Cypriots sought to be formally incorporated into the Hellenic Republic (i,e, Greece), a coup ensured followed by a Turkish invasion that has divided the island ever since. Cyprus effectively has four governance entities: the Greek-ruled south, the Turkish-administered north, the UK exclaves of Akrotiri and Dhekelia-the so-called Sovereign Base Areas-and of course the United Nations Buffer Zone in Cyprus, better known as the Green Line, under control of Bangladeshi-led UN peacekeepers. interestingly timely note: movement between the UK territory and the Republic of Cyprus of Britons and Cypriots alike is fluid as both are EU member states but no one has an idea what may happen to the movement of people and goods on the island post-Brexit.

Larnaca is an ideal jumping off point to Lebanon because besides being perhaps the shortest genuinely international flight possible at just under 25 minutes, there’s a Lebanese/Armenian community there whereby you can brush up on rusty colloquial Arabic before boarding. It was a good few quiet days on this clean, confounding island with its complex human and political geography.

Written by derekhenryflood

February 16th, 2019 at 5:18 pm

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A Freudian Slip

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A quick walk around Vienna’s quiet city centre reveals a panoply of architectural styles from authentic Baroque to neo-Baroque and from modernism to post-modernism. ©2019 Derek Henry Flood

Vienna- I went through the former multi-imperial capital at the crossroads of central Europe as part of this gradual journey eastward toward the orchestrated chaos playing out in the Levant. Part of why I chose to visit the Austrian capital was simply that I had never been there. When I first began traveling in the EU over 20 years ago, the airline industry here had only been formally deregulated the previous year. Thus traveling overland across the continent in the late 1990s was still both the economic and cultural norm.

As a university student you would travel on Eurolines buses or via train on a summer Eurail pass. As such, I traveled all over western, northern, and central Europe in a largely contiguous fashion until reaching the politically disjointed post-colonial Middle East. With the advent of Ryanair, Easy Jet, and the like, by the mid-2000s I began flying from point to point on uncomfortable low cost carriers which did away with observable overland gradual cultural and linguistic shifts. By 2005, I was in Barcelona and suddenly I was in Athens. Yes, these were both urban centres southern Europe but how were they connected in terms of a historical grand narrative? Rarely ever in train stations and ports of call today, it becomes more challenging to intellectually discern-by way of visual and audible minutiae-the linkages between civilisational entrepôts. Travel had been a way to absorb knowledge by the nature of its comparative inefficiencies. Today, internet-driven hyper connectivity has brought vast new opportunities for the denizens of this vast economic bloc but at a cost to cultural nuance, a boon to aspirant autocrats and vilifying populists.

As the EU has become more of a cohesive supranational geopolitical entity, some qualities have fallen by the wayside in the name of some of globalisation’s uniformity principles. I’d visited or at least passed through all of the states surrounding Austria save for tiny Lichtenstein in my early travels but stopped moving about in a spontaneous just-for-fun manner as the era of the Terror Wars was hastily ushered in immediately after 9/11. Austria is of course the republic’s Latinised exonym for Österreich, ‘eastern realm.’ (Thus the Aust in Austria is a Latin phonetic of Öst ‘east’ and unrelated the naming of Australia which is purely Latin in origin derived from Terra Australis, ‘southern land’ after New Holland was renamed.) The name to me intimates that it is the gateway to the beyond. It largely signals the periphery of the Germanic and Latinic world (with the exception of Latin outliers Romania and Moldova) abutting the Finno-Urgic ethno-linguistic exclave of Hungary and the western reaches of the vast Slavic realm.

In essence I made myself pass by the city of Sigmund Freud and the one-time monarchic seat of the Austro-Hungarian Empire just for the sake of going somewhere I hadn’t been. To be somewhere unfamiliar. To see the wide boulevards that felt more Budapest than Berlin to me. I only wish I’d allotted more time to such a spectacular urban space.

Written by derekhenryflood

February 14th, 2019 at 2:49 pm

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Unfrozen

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An Azeri chai khana in central Georgia. ©2013 Derek Henry Flood

An Azeri chaikhana (tea house)  in central Georgia. The South Caucasus region, despite its painfully deep divisions. remains inextricably linked by hard physical geography, and great power competition. ©2013 Derek Henry Flood

New York- I have an article out for IHS Jane’s Terrorism & Insurgency Monitor entitled “A dangerous thaw – Nagorno-Karabakh heats up” after the recent clashes in the most hotly disputed territory in the South Caucasus. Nagorno-Karabagh, a Russian-Turkic-Iranian word mash meaning (Nagorno or Nagorny) Mountainous (Kara) Black (Bakh or Bagh) Garden, is part of land internationally recognized as a constituent territory of Azerbaijan yet de facto ruled by ethnic Armenian separatists who term their unrecognized republic “Artsakh.” Karabakh had, for years, been lumped together with Abkhazia and South Ossetia as a so-called ‘frozen conflict’ impeding development and economic integration in the post-Soviet, South Caucasus.

Screen Shot 2016-04-25 at 11.12.04 PMWhen the term was in vogue, frozen was far more apt for pre-2008 Abkhazia and South Ossetia than Karabakh which has always been simmering with regular small arms exchanges as well as occasional mortars, known as “ceasefire violations” in diplomatic speak.

Karabakh is an oft overlooked conflict that rarely makes international headlines as the disputes origins are it little understood, its geography relegated to the obscure. It took the use of heavy artillery, drones, tanks, and so forth to elevate Karabakh to the center of attention if only for one brief weekend in early April. The fight over this heavily mined, gorgeous Mountainous Black Garden is perpetually framed by ultra competitive, irreconcilable narratives held tightly by Armenians and Azerbaijanis.

No party involved has either the mechanism nor the mindset to foster a lasting peace. Russia sells weaponry to both sides, the Americans are divided between a desire for Caspian hydrocarbon products that circumvent the Russian Federation and a vociferous, diaspora-powered Armenian lobby in Washington that tirelessly lobbies congress albeit with somewhat declining influence. Iran, though co-relgionists with the Shia majority in Azerbaijan, supports Armenia in part due to the paranoia of Azeri irredentism among ethnic Azeris in northwestern Iran. Turkey’s support for Baku’s position has been, for the most part, largely rhetorical in nature.

After three days of fighting in which Azerbaijani forces touted regaining two hilltops and one village and dozens of soldiers and Karabakhi militiamen were killed, Karabakh has faded back into the shadows as quickly as it temporarily emerged. Yet it is only more explosive as both Armenia and Azerbaijan have acquired more advanced armaments primarily from Russian vendors. The threat of violence can only temporarily subside in this tragically intransigent morass.

Written by derekhenryflood

April 25th, 2016 at 8:41 pm

The Walls Have Ears

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My view of Gauhati, capital of the troubled Indian state of Assam. ©2007 Derek Henry Flood

My view of Gauhati, capital of the troubled Indian state of Assam. ©2007 Derek Henry Flood

It’s the middle of winter here in NYC and I’m staying busy cleaning out my laptop and here I happened upon another unpublished story from my archives that I later used as the background for an article “Motivations and Methods of India’s United Liberation Front of Asom (ULFA)” for The Jamestown Foundation down in DC.

Gauhati- I’d come to Assam a few days ahead of India’s Republic day celebrations.  Tightly sandwiched between the Kingdom of Bhutan and Bangladesh, Assam is the bottle necked gateway to the “Seven Sisters,” the seven states that used to make up the Northeast Frontier Province during the British colonial era.  Deep in the shadows of the Iraq dominated headlines, an under rported insurgency raged there.  Delhi is rapidly beefing up its troop presence in the region in a quest to smash “the terrorists” as they are referred to in the Indian media.  The terrorists in this case are ULFA , a Maoist inspired group fighting a people’s war against the Indian state and the Hindi speaking migrant labourers and economic migrants from Bangladesh.

During 2007, ULFA was being blamed for the killings of dozens of migrants in a bid to send them packing back from whence they came. Along with some of the other ethno-linguistic based communist outfits here, they have also been employing Iraq-esque IEDs to discourage Indian units from patrolling villages considered ULFA strongholds in Upper Assam.  The crisis has taken a steep escalation since the start of the New Year with a combination of executions and randomly placed explosives in busy marketplaces. The central government in Delhi, which locally is simply referred to as “The Centre” has responded by ramping up a counterinsurgency campaign in the rural areas backed up by truckloads of paramilitary forces brought into the Northeast from all over India.

Getting our car searched for weapons in Tinsukia in upper Assam with the insurgency raging at the time. ©2007 Derek Henry Flood

Getting our car searched for weapons in Tinsukia in upper Assam with the insurgency raging at the time. ©2007 Derek Henry Flood

All of this certainly does not bode well for the over hyped “Rise of India” too often touted by Anglo-American intelligentsia in the 2000s.  For the Centre, ULFA is just one of the issues to tackle.  There are literally dozens of Maoist and Marxist-Leninist insurgencies not only in the troubled Northeast, but also in West Bengal, Jharkand, Orissa, Bihar and so on.  In a recent attack in the newly created Jharkand state, an obscure revolutionary group managed to kill 14 Indian policeman with an IED buried in the road reminiscent more of Ramadi or Nuristan than the buzzing call centers of Bangalore that were so in vogue at the time.

2007 was the 60th year of India’s independence from the British Crown, Indian elites seems to have two primary goals: to promote foreign and domestic investment, particularly in the economic services sector, and to demonstrate it’s robustness as a state.  The latter would be the reasoning behind India’s refusal of direct government-to-government aid after the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami that smashed the coastline of Tamil Nadu.

In Assam, Indian authorities put on a show of strength far from the eyes of any media observers, international or local.  The national press here puts far more emphasis on the latest cricket crisis or the Bollywood scandal de jour than it does for the casualties taken by its own troops fighting homegrown leftist militants in the bush. The total lack of media there was almost bizarre as if there was a veritable information blackout. But then India is a vast country with a multitude of issues occurring with vexing simultaneity. The Assamese conflict garnered a short fit of attention when the country’s then bespectacled Sikh Prime Minister Manmohan Singh trekked out to Assam for a photo op with families of the dead migrants.

Walking around Gauhati at night was desolate. All the shops were shuttered and only the odd food stall remains open. Many of the migrants had fled back to their villages and cities in the state of Bihar.  I went searching, foolishly I suppose, for an internet café that would still be open to post this story at the time. I met a local man named Amitsabh who told me there would be nothing open except for a darkened pub where he and his friends where taking some Fosters and cheap whiskey.  He invited me to join them when I told him I was looking for a decent place for dinner.

Inside the pub was black as the night sky with a constellation of dimly lit Beatles posters for minimal décor. I plunked down in a booth with a group of Amitabhs friends for food, drink, and to get their take on the conflict here.  The troubles here, they said, stemmed from land rights and linguistic chauvinism, but were primarily based on the fundamental economic inequalities of the state and the curse of oil.  Many of the Assamese, they told me, resented the Centre’s exploitation of their resources while the local population saw virtually nothing in return.  To then invite outsiders to work and benefit from this exploitation is to add insult to injury.  After over three post-independence decades of this cycle, some in the Assamese community were angry enough to take up an armed struggle against the Centre beginning in 1979.

I wanted to get more into their impressions of ULFAs motivations and more of the actual specifics of the fighting.  “These are sensitive topics” one them warned me.  “As they say, in a place like Assam, the walls have ears.”

“Let us go out of here”.  We paid our tab and got into a Suzuki the size of a suitcase, whizzing around the empty streets with the stereo blasting Punjabi Bhangra Beat music.  “We need to be careful of police checkpoints” one said to the driver.  “What do I care, I am not militant. I have nothing to hide!” And we sped off into the night.

Indian troops in their finery for Republic Day celebrations in Gauhati. ©2007 Derek Henry Flood

Indian troops in their finery for Republic Day celebrations in Gauhati. ©2007 Derek Henry Flood

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February 6th, 2016 at 6:06 pm

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#ParisAttacks Heavy gunfire in Saint-Denis

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New York- A hail of bullets can be hear in the video during an anti-terror police operation in the northern commune of Saint-Denis approximately 12 kilometers from central Paris. Here is a map of the precise location according to Youtube user trystero19Screen Shot 2015-11-18 at 12.26.32 AM

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November 17th, 2015 at 10:27 pm

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The Intervention

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Military interventions are not theoretical war games or 'surgical' in any way. They affect the lives of real people. Each scenario should be based on its merits, rather than merely on the oversimplified failures of the past. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

Military interventions are not theoretical war games or ‘surgical’ in any way. They affect the lives of real people. Each scenario should be vetted on its own merits, rather than merely on the oversimplified failures of the past. Bombing is a horrific act but then IS is a horrific force. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

Murşitpinar- Another quick blog entry with some images from Kobane and environs and recent days. The media narrative on the siege has shifted from predictions of the city’s imminent fall to IS being on the back foot in the battle thanks to a sharp uptick in coalition bombing. Although on the surface this is a fight between the harshest kind of Islamists engaged in offensive jihad to eradicate those they deem unbelievers–in this case the Kurds of the secular, leftist PYD-YPG/YPJ–the struggle for Kobane is primarily a battle of ethnic identity politics, at least as many Kurds I spoke with see it.

For lightly buried in the takfiri salafism of IS, particularly I suspect the older members with genuine military experience, is an Arab ethnocentrism despite the modicum of ethnic diversity of IS’s commanders. Then there are the Turkish troops and border gendarmes who are content to watch all this go on from a barely safe distance. Understandably Turkey does not want to be drawn in, at least not under conditions upon which Ankara is not the actor setting them.

There are those who are opposed to the very concept of military intervention in wars far from home based on their ideological principles or because they reflexively distrust the specific crowd that advocates for military solutions to humanitarian crises. What should have been done to rescue Kobane? The best policy may be that such cases be looked at individually rather than the flawed policies of those that came before. Part of why these situations are deemed failures is when people conduct post-mortems on them and find that once the world took its eyes off supporting state/institution-building and reconstruction, the place rapidly devolves into chaos. See: Libya.

What will happen in Syrian Kurdistan–if it is not overrun by IS–will be determined by the post-intervention steps that are far more difficult than demolishing concrete block structures from many thousands of feet in the air. But for now, the Kurds are cheering.

An errant mortar lands on Turkish soil in a battle between IS and the YPG. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

An errant mortar lands on Turkish soil in a battle between IS and the YPG. This shows just how much Turkey has taken a hands-off approach to the war at their doorstep. They refuse to be goaded into the war despite what some might consider provocations at there feet.  ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

A coalition air strike hit western Kobane in the late afternoon of October 15. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

A coalition air strike hit western Kobane in the late afternoon of October 15. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

After being repeatedly intimidated by Turkish security forces, journalists were forced to flee to safer ground. Here a TV reporter prepares for a live stand up far from the action. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

After being repeatedly intimidated by Turkish security forces, journalists were forced to flee to safer ground. Here a TV reporter prepares for a live stand up far from the action. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

Ambulances are a far too common sight on these Orwellian road trips. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

Ambulances are a far too common sight on these Orwellian road trips. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

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October 16th, 2014 at 2:06 pm

Peace In Light of War

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The sun sets over Cituadella Parc. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

The sun sets over Parc de la Ciutadella. The air and light in the Mediterranean region is like no other which is part of  why I return year after year. This spot is calm incarnate. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

Barcelona- I realized the other day that going to wars for years and years affects perhaps not only the psyche over the long term but also the synaptic algorithms that are part of an unending string of decision making processes driving daily routines. I can be in the most secure Western city environment but am still often making the smallest decisions in a wartime mindset without even realizing it. Hard to explain but basically always bracing for the worst. Here the most petty detail like the food stores being closed on Sundays somehow evokes the most careful conflict behavioral patterns. I remember in Afghanistan in 2001 when ABC and CBS had teamed up to set up a joint broadcast compound and they had gone to a bottled water warehouse in Tajikistan beforehand and bought half the potable water in Dushanbe to take with them down to Takhar.

Those early experiences had a molding effect on me that is often difficult to gauge. Now even if I am just coming to the EU, I find myself prepping and packing as if I was going off to war. You can leave a war but war never quite leaves you.

The last significant acts of terrorism here were a parking garage bombing in June 1987 that killed 21 attributed to ETA and a bar bombing that December which killed an American sailor during a Christmas port call and was claimed by Catalan radicals. But the wealthy from societies in conflict today seem to all be here as tourists and so to me war is never far away. Just before I shot the above photo, a nouveau riche family with a brand new Porsche bearing unmistakeable Ukrainian plates had their car towed where friends and I were sitting and asked for our help as they did not speak Spanish much less Catalan. As I was shopping for clothes in the discount department store yesterday, I find myself reflexively trying to discern where the niqab-clad North African in line ahead of me might precisely be from. This stuff is just always on my mind. An innate curiosity coupled with too much experience often makes it difficult to zone out.

The past few years the only way I could justify being here was by go to and fro to conflicts; Libya in 2011, Mali in 2012, Iraq in 2013. This summer I decided to simply return to Catalunya without forcing myself to justify it. Did I miss out on the big Sinjar drama? Of course I did. One thing I have learned in all this time is that if you do miss out on a story, if you’re patient enough another one will pop up in no time. Despite tracts written about how this is the most peaceful time mankind has yet lived in comparative to the scale of the World Wars that consumed the first half of the last century, there are seemingly always more wars to come. They may not have vast trench networks and poignant ballads written about them but today’s wars are many if not ‘Great’ or “Patriotic’ in the grandiose appellations of an era gone by.

To relative safety. After being nearly shot by a regime sniper nest in Qwaleesh my agile driver roared our Hi-Lux back to a friendly checkpoint hoisting Qatari and Tunisian flags. ©2011 Derek Henry Flood

To relative safety. After being nearly shot by a regime sniper nest in Qwaleesh, my ultra agile driver roared our Hi-Lux back to a friendly rebel checkpoint hoisting Qatari and Tunisian flags. That era is the thing of the past as Libya has no single internal enemy to rally around and Libyans have turned their many guns on one another. ©2011 Derek Henry Flood

For what I suppose is part of the make up of my personality every single trip I have ever done has been alone. I meet other journos in war zones but almost always by sheer happenstance. No one has ever bought me a plane ticket to go anywhere ever. No big name outlet has ever called me up out of the blue and thrown an assignment at me. Everything I’ve ever done has essentially been as an autodidactic hustler.

I’ve worked in conflicts since 9/11 yet have never been written up as a ‘veteran’ while loads of people from the class of Libya 2011 have quickly surpassed me at least in terms twitter/instagram fame and so forth. Hell, one random guy with an iphone who spoke zero Arabic wound up with a spot in the world’s most prestigious photo agency and with a documentary then being made about his exploits by a big name Hollywood director. Suddenly people were getting famous for not dying after others did. Coming to NYC and winning big awards in the aftermath. The ‘Arab Spring’ morphed into a major turning point for journalism itself. It became a veritable free-for-all environment for those just getting started.  Safety norms were either not heeded in many instances or simply went out the window of the technical fighting truck.

My fixer driving us into outskirts of Kirkuk last year. He is plenty busy now. ©2013 Derek Henry Flood

My fantastic fixer driving us into outskirts of Kirkuk last year. He is plenty busy now, one can be sure. ©2013 Derek Henry Flood

To my knowledge another photojournalist has never shot my photo while I’m working along a front line. If I went missing in one of these places there wouldn’t be a flurry of action shots of me to raise awareness. I’ve also never worn or had access to a bullet proof vest. Perhaps I simply don’t do enough socializing when I’m in these places. To add to that I also occasionally like to cover events before they’ve been totally blown out in the mainstream. In Iraq last August I didn’t encounter a single other war correspondent. Iraq was considered a dormant conflict to many and was definitely not ‘hot’ story-wise what with Syria going on next door.

I’m currently debating whether its worth doing any more wars from here on out. Perhaps a couple more. There is only so much that can been gleaned from hiking up a mined hillside or facing off a guy with a Dragnov rifle when you only have a long camera lens to shoot back with. Of course to truly understand the human dynamics you have to actually go to these places. There is a middle ground between an adrenalin rush and an armchair twitter warrior also where you can go to Kiev or Erbil and be mostly safe without venturing toward Donbas or Mosul for example.  This is the modus of the more reserved journos or more actionable wonks.

There’s a whole crew of millennial wunderkinds making their names in prominent think tanks or King’s College War Studies Department or Princeton’s Near Eastern Studies Department by analyzing trends in salafi social media and venturing into the ummah’s safer nodes like Casablanca, Tunis or even Sana’a on a good week without ever really putting their lives at risk.  But I don’t fit into that category either. A senior analyst in DC once told me on the sidelines of a conference that as far as he was concerned a true subject matter expert concentrates on one, possibly two, but no more than three countries (his were Morocco and Algeria and sometimes Tunisia). That gave me insight into just how competitive the think tank set is.

Rather than befriend gatekeepers who prove difficult, I just move in another direction until a more friendly door opens. Things have a way of falling into place if you let them it seems.

A few weeks ago I went partying with some friends atop a dilapidated bunker from the civil war here where people now congregate for sunset gahterings with a spectacular view of the city below. That bitter war between Franco’s Nationalists and the floundering Republicans is firmly in the ash bin of history, its legacy is relegated to anti-fascist graffiti slogans and sparse ruins from the era. Every war, no matter how long or brutal, eventually ends.  Even in dark, peace can and will be found in light of war.

A bunker from the Spanish Civil War has now become an underground party place for people here. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

A bunker from the Spanish Civil War has now become an underground party place for people here. The Catalan reads: “The Bunkers are of the neighborhood.” I think whoever wrote this was trying implore either for outsiders to respect the area or maybe a ‘locals only’ vibe. There is some old adage about every war zone eventually becomes a tourist destination. That could not be more true with this city. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

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August 30th, 2014 at 3:34 pm

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Pakistan Triptychs in Barcelona

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From left to right: Mughal cupola Peshawar, Pakistani Army vehicles in the slim shadows of the Derawar Fort in southern Punjab, and the exterior of a cinema in Peshawar, Pakistan circa 2000, ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

From left to right: Mughal cupola Peshawar, Pakistani Army vehicles in the slim shadows of the Derawar Fort in southern Punjab, and the exterior of a cinema in Peshawar, Pakistan circa 2000. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

Barcelona- I installed two triptychs here in Barcelona the other day from when I was conducting my senior thesis in Peshawar, Pakistan back in the autumn of 2000. The one above was on an abandoned storefront in El Clot while the one below was on the side of the Mercat de Poblenou while it was quietly closed on a Sunday. This was a component of my original concept before 9/11 to put up imagery on both sides of the Atlantic in order to educate a viewing public by employing the style of street art phenomenology that was so prevalent in southern California at the time.

Little did I know that while I was in Peshawar trying to persuade the Taliban to grant me entry to photograph the countryside and monuments of the land the controlled most of, Mohammed Atta, Ziad jarrah and others had already recorded martyrdom videos outside Kandahar 10 months previously.

So now 13 years on, I’m still doing my idea. The world has ostensibly changed in the interim but that can’t always negate a vision.

From top to bottom: Punjabi dhol drummers in Peshawar, a minaret at the Shah Faisal masjid in Islamabad, and a boy with a ferret in Uch Sharif, Pakistan circa 2000. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

From top to bottom: Punjabi dhol drummers in Peshawar, a minaret at the Shah Faisal masjid in Islamabad, and a boy with a ferret in Uch Sharif, Pakistan circa 2000. ©2014 Derek Henry Flood

Written by derekhenryflood

August 5th, 2014 at 7:47 am

Posted in Uncategorized