Global Journalist

Remembering a fearless journalist

By Lyn, As told by Oliver Zayzay Gray Posted Thu, Oct 19 2006

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Martin Adler, an award-winning Swedish photojournalist, was shot through the heart on June 23 witnessing a peaceful demonstration in Somalia. Although he was a random target chosen that day by a lone gunman, there had been times when he skirted the edge of danger to provide all perspectives to a story.

I worked beside him during the 2003 attack of LURD (Liberians United for Reconciliation and Democracy) rebels against Liberian President Charles Taylor in the capital, Monrovia. I never thought I would work with a journalist, but after I met Martin, I did several things I never thought I would do.

When I finished high school in 1996, the Liberian civil war was in its sixth year. I lost one job because the business closed and another because LURD rebels arrived, looting, burning, and pushing everyone out. I headed to the capital, moved in with a relative and hoped for the best.

Between May and July 2003, LURD launched three attacks. The day they reached the bridge connecting downtown Monrovia to Bushrod Island, I was downtown and cut off from home. I ran to an eastern suburb where a friend lived. He owned a rental car and needed a driver the next day. He said the customer was a foreign journalist whose driver had just quit out of fear. It only took a minute with Martin the next morning to see why.

Martin didn't know fear. My first task was driving him toward the government's frontline to interview the commander. A rocket dropped right in front of us, and everyone started running. I had never been this close to the fighting, but Martin told me to park, and we continued on foot. Everyone was running the other way – a woman screaming, people pushing a wounded man in a wheelbarrow – and telling us to go back. Finally the sight of another journalist coming back convinced Martin to turn around.

Next we heard that a rocket had hit Greystone, an evacuated U.S. Embassy compound being used as a refuge. Eighteen people were killed, and a crowd had carried their bodies to the gate of the Embassy where the Americans would see them. Because of its history, Liberia feels a special kinship with the U.S. Unfortunately, pleas for U.S. intervention had received little response, and the mob was angry. As Martin began taking pictures, some people redirected their rage toward him and grabbed for his camera.

“No, he's trying to help us,” I shouted. “You came here so Americans could see this. Let him take pictures.” The crowd let him continue, and his pictures were seen around the world. Soon America was pushing for Taylor's departure, and I learned why Martin was so determined to get the full story.

At night the journalists' drivers slept in their cars at the hotel because of the uncertainty of getting back and forth from their homes. That first night I couldn't sleep. I had no idea how my family was, and I was scared. Yet for the first time there was something I could do other than hopelessly watch the country be torn apart, so I decided to try one more day. It turned into two months.

We moved all over the city, taking risks everywhere. To get a good vantage point, we went to the top of the once majestic Ducor Hotel at the highest point in the city. Taylor's forces guarded the bottom, but we got through by giving the commanding officer a few dollars. We climbed 10 flights to the roof because the elevators no longer worked. Martin and other journalists filmed LURD movements with their zoom lenses and even picked out the commanders. Suddenly a stray bullet zipped between Martin and another journalist. Martin stayed a few more minutes, and I was relieved when he was ready to go. As we left the building, we passed two government soldiers fighting because one had killed the other's friend for taking his sandals. They were struggling over a gun that fired and almost hit me. I ran back inside to the stairway for cover. Although Martin also took cover, he didn't seem shaken.

My role soon evolved beyond driving to fixing meetings and interpreting. To get an interview with Taylor's Special Security Service boss, Benjamin Yeaten, I arranged to meet a go-between nicknamed “Qaddafi” at the E.J. Roye building. The soldiers guarding the entrance were speaking Krio, the language of neighboring Sierra Leone, whose civil war had been fueled by Taylor in exchange for diamonds. These soldiers were confirmation that Taylor had brought in rebel troops from that war to reinforce his troops.

The Sierra Leoneans led us to the roof, where we found Qaddafi with Yeaten, who was sporting a headset and firing a machine gun. Qaddafi wanted to discuss a price for the interview, but Martin argued that it would not be considered objective if money crossed hands. Once convinced there would be no money, Qaddafi agreed to a free interview. Yeaten, who had kept silently busy with his shooting, asked us to come back the next morning.

In the morning one of the Sierra Leonean soldiers, a teenage girl, took us to the roof where we found Yeaten once again “on the gun.” During the interview he expressed confidence that LURD would never oust Taylor. More arms and ammunition were coming, and the government forces would drive LURD out. The reference to more weapons was important given the UN arms embargo on Liberia, reports in the Washington Post that Taylor was financing arms purchases by selling Sierra Leonean diamonds to Al Qaeda and the presence of Krio-speaking soldiers.

Our inability to talk to LURD representatives became a serious challenge. We often drove to Waterside, the government's frontline at the bridge, hoping the rebels would invite us across. The first time we went, I was handed a flak jacket and helmet and found myself walking across the bridge. The rebels responded immediately with heavy fire, and I was relieved to see I wasn't the only one racing back to a safer spot.

Another time at Waterside, we saw more fighting among government soldiers. While bullets and mortar came in from the rebels, these soldiers went after one another with knives and cutlasses. When Martin started to take pictures, a general threatened to kill him, and soldiers chased us for a block before letting us go.
Every day we witnessed more killing and maiming of civilians. Once three people were killed on the spot where we had just been standing. Another day I saw two women and a child killed by a rocket. To capture this needless horror on film, Martin sometimes had to dodge rocks thrown by onlookers. Once, citizens venting their rage threw a severed leg onto the hotel grounds, shouting that if journalists wanted pictures, here was one. Every night I had to deal with what I had seen, but I believed helping Martin was helping Liberia.

At last, the cease-fire came. Sixty journalists formed a convoy with their vehicles and strategized about how to get the rebels' permission to cross the bridge. I offered to go across, and Martin offered to go with me. I thought a Liberian should go first. He agreed, and Liberian journalist Jimmy Mango joined me.

We set off with a white banner draped across the car. When we were within shouting distance, the rebels halted us. “You are Taylor spies,” one shouted. Practicing how I had witnessed Martin argue with sources many times, I said international journalists wanted to show the world how well people were treated on their side. One soldier asked whether BBC reporter Jonathan Paye-layleh was there because he would like to cook his heart for his soup. Paye-layleh, a Liberian, had reported on LURD atrocities. Eventually a commander agreed for the reporters to come. As we drove back, Jimmy phoned Paye-layleh to warn him not to come. The convoy crossed with our car in the lead. That night our car was on CNN, and for a brief minute, Martin Adler was in front of the camera instead of behind it.

We spent several hours on the LURD side that first day, seeing an unreal mixture of images. Bloated bodies – some naked and bound – clogging storm drains. Civilians insisted the rebels only hurt those that they caught looting, and we saw an officer shoot civilians removing a battery from a car. Officers gave us rice and fuel to carry back.

While we were there, a rocket came in from the E.J. Roye building. Afraid the rebels would think we were involved, I rushed to the commander, who was already speed dialing Yeaten on his cell phone. If they didn't stop right away, he said, LURD would attack again. He and Yeaten were from the same town, he explained, and knew each other well. No more rockets came in. In his remaining days in Liberia, Martin interviewed all the key LURD commanders.

During our last two days, I began to see the softer side of Martin. He brought out photos of his wife and two daughters. When he left, he gave me his designer sunglasses and said to let him know if I ever needed anything. For three years we were in touch by email. He would write about where he was traveling and about the historic Liberian elections. Sometimes when he traveled I wouldn't hear from him for weeks, but I knew when he got home he would write again. I have all our emails, and I go through them now to remember all the things he told me.

Martin referred other journalists and friends to me, and they have been very thoughtful. Juliana Ruhfus, who was working with me the week he died, was on her way back to Sweden when she heard the news. She stopped to phone me before boarding her flight.

Marita Osterbourg, who once brought me a note and a gift from Martin, called regularly to inform me of funeral plans. Swedish members of the UN Peacekeeping Mission in Liberia took me out to commiserate.

Martin was planning another trip to Liberia in 2006, and for months we had talked about it in our emails. It's still hard to accept that he's dead, and that I'm not going to see him again.

Martin had a busy life and knew a lot of people. For him to show such personal interest in a young person like me was very special. He certainly influenced me. With his lessons and contacts as a start, I have worked for organizations like Al Jazeera and Global Witness. But I doubt I can duplicate what made him famous – the drive and courage to be in front of the story. Other journalists told me that before you could get there, Martin was already there – “always in the hot spot.” I think of him ducking bullets at Waterside and agree.

Martin Adler was an award winning freelance photo and video journalist. He was on assignment for the Swedish newspaper Aftonbladet when he was shot and killed in Mogadishu. Among his awards are the 2001 Amnesty International Media Award for his story about human trafficking in China and the 2004 Rory Peck award for “On patrol with Charlie Company,” a video he shot, voiced and edited while embedded with American troops in Iraq.

To see “On patrol with Charlie Company, go to
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/middle_east/jan-june04/iraq_01-02.html#

To read what British journalist Paul Mason, who worked with Alder, had to say about his death, go to
http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/newsnight/2006/06/martin_adler_superb_brave_journalist_realist.html

To read a Frontline tribute to Martin Alder, go to
http://www.frontlineclub.com/words-and-pictures/articles/from-the-frontline/a-tribute-to-martin-adler.html

To read an English translation of the last story Martin Adler wrote, go to
http://www.comebackalive.com/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=191298&sid=4797bfc80452fe730fef4d53f9dba710