When I first heard about the attack, I was out of the city. My wife called me from work—her voice urgent. “Do you know? Do you know?” she asked. I rushed to the television and saw that one of the towers was on fire. A short while later, the second tower was hit. At that moment, I knew this wasn’t an accident. A massive explosion followed, and it was clear the world would be changed forever.
My goal at that point was to get downtown and see what was going on, get to what became known as Ground Zero. What I immediately discovered, as well as the rest of the press, was that we were going to be denied access to the site. Mayor Giuliani had decided no one was going to get in. He was arresting the press, confiscating cameras, confiscating equipment and press passes. Several of my colleagues ended up in jail for several days. This, to me, was a great assault on freedom of the press, particularly to an issue and an event of such magnitude and importance.
That night, I took advantage of the darkness and chaos and snuck in. I wanted to see the actual destruction and what activities were going on. This gave me a great sense of where I needed to be, particularly when the light came back up and I could photograph again. As a photojournalist, I felt an overwhelming need to see and document what was happening.
For me, photographs serve as documents. They bear witness to the times. And at this moment in our history where the news is vilified, when fake news is spreading and promoted, and when people are desperately seeking information but struggling to discern what is real and what is not, the role of journalism has never been more vital. Without truthful, factual reporting, how can we make informed decisions? How can we participate meaningfully in our democracy, protect our communities, or hold those in power accountable? In a world flooded with noise, facts are not just important — they are essential. In many respects, a photograph serves as a catalyst. It provides the vehicle which starts
the action which leads to the future. That’s the power of visual storytelling.
I spent the next five days photographing throughout the area, but by Friday, I was just too exhausted I needed to get out. I decided to leave and go back home. I returned to the city the next day. At that point, I had heard that the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine was doing a special service, and I decided to go up and see what was going on. When I arrived at the cathedral, people were very, very quiet. They were staying to themselves. The mood was extremely somber. Everyone was very much lost in their own thoughts. There was a malaise that fell upon everything. You could feel it. It was something you could touch.
When the ceremony started, the altar boys began walking down the aisle with incense and the smoke coming up from the burners. In that moment I froze. I thought, “Smoke. Smoke. No more smoke.” We had been living in smoke for the last couple of days. At the end of a day, my clothes were covered in ash. The wretched smell of dust and smoke was embedded in my nostrils. It just reinforced the terrible feelings that I found and felt when I was at Ground Zero. But at that very same moment, the choir burst into sound. Their voices seemed to rise above the smoke and into the vault of the cathedral. In an instant,
something shifted. I could see it in the eyes of the people around me. I felt it myself. It gave us strength. We realized that within this moment of tragedy, this moment of negation and despair, that there is a way forward. I think it gave a lot of the people a sense of hope. It created a small light at a dark time.
This was never just another assignment for me. As a New Yorker, it was deeply personal. I had to document it. I’ve always believed that photography and journalism are the first drafts of history.
I did not want to simply photograph the horror of this event. My goal is to show that no matter how difficult the task or how evil the moment, there are also individuals who will rush toward adversity and reach out their hearts and hands to help others rise above the ashes.
