Tim Hetherington, who died in Misurata, Libya, today, was not only a very brave and good man, but an endearingly sensitive and honest person. Hetherington’s life, his hopes, doubts, and aspirations, were all an open book; he shared them with an enthusiasm and a generosity that made him special. Tim and I had worked on assignment for The New Yorker together in Liberia, in 2006, a country he and I had both lived in at different times and shared a special affection for, and then again in 2009, in Guinea. He was just beginning to earn real acclaim professionally and was excitedly discussing new creative ideas with friends and colleagues. After publishing two very original books—one about American soldiers in Afghanistan and the other about people he had come to know in Liberia—and directing the award-winning film “Restrepo,” Tim was looking to dig deeper into the theme of what happens to men who are at war.
With Tim Hetherington in Misurata were fellow photographers Chris Hondros, who was critically wounded and whose own survival is uncertain (update: Hondros died within a few hours); Guy Martin, who was also badly injured; and Michael Christopher Brown, who has shrapnel wounds. (Brown had been wounded previously, in Ras Lanuf.) They are not alone; many hundreds of people, civilians as well as rebel fighters, have been killed in Misurata, which has been under a sustained onslaught from Muammar Qaddafi’s forces for weeks.
Tim and I had recently spent time together on the eastern front of the war, near Benghazi. Then, ten days ago, as I left Libya and Tim returned there after a brief trip back to New York, we met up in Cairo. He spoke excitedly, and at length, about returning to the field and getting going on his new project. Two days ago, he sent me an upbeat e-mail from Libya: “Hey man, am in Misrata—it’s a crazy scene. First day in and saw a lot of stuff already and planning to spend a week maybe 2…. Fighters here definitely have had war exposure, that weird state that people who have seen a lot enter into.”
I think it’s safe for me to say that what Tim was trying to do by going to war was to look into the souls of men, whose truths are perhaps more exposed in that environment than in any other—and to show the rest of us what he saw. He gave us a legacy in the important work he left behind, and, for those of us who had the honor to know Tim as a friend, a cherished memory of a man whose own soul was very intact.
View a slide show of Hetherington’s photographs.
Photograph: Hetherington (in white shirt) and Anderson (in black) with Guinean President Moussa Dadis Camara (seated), 2009.
