“British Press Photographer of the Year: Edmond Terakopian” Special to Horizon magazine, December 2006

 

The commuter looks resolutely in the eyes of the camera. His head is wrapped in a white bandage, as is his neck. There is blood on his face and shirt. Even the morning newspaper he is still clutching under his arm is splattered with blood. He is one of the walking wounded, injured in the aftermath of the 2005 London bombings. But he is composed, almost as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

It was this iconic photo that captured both the anguish and the will of the British people in the aftermath of London’s transit system bombings that made headlines around the world.

It is also this photo that won photographer Edmond Terakopian, 37, third prize in the spot news category of the prestigious 2006 World Press Photo Awards.

Iran-born Terakopian, of Armenian origin, moved to the United Kingdom with his family in 1978. The London-based freelance press photographer, whose clients have included The Guardian, The Times, Time Out magazine, The Evening Standard and the Daily Mirror, has been making headlines not only with his intense photographs but for his growing list of internationally esteemed awards.

In 2006 alone, not only was Terakopian named "Photographer of the Year" in the British Press Awards, he also picked up the Prize of Prague, whose winner is chosen from the winning entries of the World Press Photo awards.

Terakopian’s passion turned into a career when he began freelancing as a press photographer for the Ealing Gazette in 1988.

 

During his twelve years as senior staff photographer for the Harrow and Wembley Observers, he built a strong reputation covering not only domestic and national assignments but projects that took him abroad.

 

A photo journalist who has covered everything from celebrities swanning about on red carpets to local demonstrations, his photographic ventures have also taken him to Armenia, where he captured on film the plight of the people in Karabagh and the survivors of the devastating 1988 earthquake.

In a telephone interview from London, Terakopian revealed to journalist Mary Nersessian what drives him as a photographer and what keeps his flame of Armenian identity alive.

Mary Nersessian: Can you tell me a bit about your history as a photographer?

Edmond Terakopian: It started out as a hobby. I always liked taking pictures -- I vaguely recall at the age of eight or nine taking the family’s tiny little compact camera and taking pictures of everything. When I reached 16, I saved enough money to get myself a proper camera. I certainly never realized this could be work, it was the most joyous thing I could do in my free time.

M.N.: As a youth, you originally hoped to pursue a career in medicine. When did you realize you wanted to become a photographer??

E.T.: There were two things that happened very close together. In a photography magazine I read about some photographer who had been commissioned to take photographs for a fashion house or something or other. Until that point, I didn’t realize people got paid money to take pictures. For some reason I’d never realized that this was actually a craft, a job, a career. The other thing was I saw two completely separate photographs by two different photographers. One was from one Sebastian Salgado, who took amazing pictures in an open gold mine in Brazil. They were very biblical, very grand in scale; it amazed me that you could make a picture from a camera that looked like that. Another was a sports photographer who had taken a picture of a table tennis match. To me it’s the most boring thing you could look at. That was the turning point. The seed was sown, and as every day passed, I was more and more interested.

M.N.: How did you develop this craft? Did you go on to study photography?

E.T.: Never. Never.

M.N.: So you’re self-taught?

E.T.: Firstly I’d go to the library every two weeks or so and get as many books as I could find on photography and try and learn. I was also a member of Homenetmen scouts, through which I started photography classes for about one hour every week. Another one of the aspects that helped tremendously was my best friend’s older brother. He was a keen photographer who took me under his wing. But no, I have never formally been taught.

M.N.: Tell me about the day you took the photographs of the four co-ordinated bombs that targeted London’s transit system.

E.T.: What made it even stranger, even harder to comprehend, was the day before the London bombings the city had become the winning host of the 2012 Olympics, so the whole city and most of the country were rejoicing and celebrating. The mood was up, everybody was happy, everyone was buzzing.

I had already been assigned my two assignments that day. At the first one, I was to photograph a diamond exhibition at the Natural History Museum. I was just waiting to see this big uncut diamond, when the phone rang. It was the office, they told me there had been an explosion in one of (subway) stations, at Aldgate East tube station. The report was that something wrong with the electricity, there was an electricity spike or something and people might be hurt. I was told to drop everything and go.

En route I got another call saying there’s been another explosion closer to where I was, at Edgware Road tube station. I was just completely reminded me of 9/11 -- of switching on the news and seeing one of the towers burning -- and then when the second plane came into frame. Something in my gut just automatically said ‘This is no accident, this is terrorism.’

It was exactly the same feeling, so I just made my way towards that with a very strange feeling in my gut, a feeling of sorrow and sadness and also not knowing what to expect.

There was no news even at that point -- authorities were saying it was an electricity problem. When I finally got there, it was one of the most surreal things I had ever seen. There were hundreds of policemen and firemen, cordon tape all over the place, lots of running around -- but it was completely silent. There were no sirens, no shouting of orders, it was totally quiet.

The road I was on is always really busy, but still there was no noise at all, it was a very eerie silence. Shortly after, hundreds of passengers started coming out of the station, all looking completely fine and unhurt, all on their cellphones, trying to call home.

It all seemed very normal up until that stage, and all of a sudden this woman appeared being helped by this guy, who had this white face mask down, and blood running down her legs. In that split second, it brought it all home. It was that image that presented itself that made me realize this was something really bad, and that people had been hurt.

The silence still carried on, more and more injured came out, but everyone was really calm and really quiet, There was no running, no screaming, even the most distraught people with tears were not crying out uncontrollably. Everyone was so calm and matter of act about it. In the next five minutes all I saw was hurt people, people covered in blood and soot, in bandages.

M.N.: Describe to me the moment that you took the photograph of the man which won you third place at the World Press Photo awards.

E.T.: In this crowd of people coming to us, I spotted this guy very far down the road this guy with a blazer and newspaper. But there were too many things in the way and he was too small in the viewfinder. There was just something about him that completely grasped me, this sort of British stereotypical stiff upper lip,  -- no matter rain or shine, you must carry on -- that sort of bravado, that sort of outlook on things. He was very calm and still with his newspaper like nothing had happened. I just ignored everything else and all I did was kept my eye on this guy. I waited until he came closer, hoped I could make a strong frame from him and that there would be no one in the way. Then luckily I managed to take three pictures when I got close enough, one of which got published and won the several awards.

I just knew there something very special about this guy. As you look into the picture, the first thing that strikes you is his calmness and his stiff upper lip, and he’s still got his paper -- he is going to carry on with his day, and do whatever he set out to achieve. When you start looking into his face and his eyes you realize there is a lot of torment going on in there as well, this was what drew me to him.

The second I took his picture, I knew this was a special image, an image that spoke volumes about what had happened, and also on the flip side the mentality of the British.

M.N.: Did you ever find out who he was?

E.T.: No, I’ve spent months trying to find out who he was. Half of the Press Association spent weeks looking for him. But no one seems to know. There have been other victims I’ve since met, but he has never come forward. He’s kept low and somehow no one can track him down.

M.N.: You’ve taken several photographs of Armenian subjects, what compelled you to do so?

E.T.: The first time was in 1994 when I went to Karabagh, the thing that drew me was a very strong, proud nationalistic connection. I wanted to see what was going on, I knew there were a lot of brave young men holding frontlines and I wanted to see it with my own eyes. It wasn’t an assignment for me. It was something more passionate than that.

I felt like I had to somehow convey the message to these soldiers that ‘You’re not on your own. We’re all thinking of you guys.’ This was the ongoing conversation I had with practically every soldier I met in every trench in every front.

Then in early 1998, I went to Armenia to cover a project I was passionate about, the 10^th anniversary of the earthquake. When it had happened, here as well as everywhere else around the world, there was a massive drive to help to collect food, blankets and medical equipment. I knew I had heard that things hadn’t changed drastically, I just wanted to go and see how bad or how good things were.

M.N.: How did your identity as an Armenian undergo a transformation after you visited?

E.T.: Something very strange happened to me. The first time I went to Yerevan in 1994, I felt terrible. I almost lost my feeling of national pride because at that time things were still really very difficult, life was very, very hard and you had basically the poor and the ultra-mega rich and there was nothing in between. I remember crystal clear seeing this old grandmother of skin and bones standing by a little tiny table on one of the (main) streets. On that table she was selling a bar of soap, a candle, and an apple. That’s all she had. It looked like she hadn’t eaten for weeks.

Just as I turned my head around I saw the latest model Mercedes Benz long stretch limo, darkened windows, it was a model I hadn’t even seen in England. It disgusted me, and I wondered ‘How can my proud people live like this?’ I lost so much faith when I saw that, but luckily the second I got to Karabagh it all changed. I met the Armenians that I knew and that I am proud of -- if you like -- the real Armenians.

M.N.: Do you find it hard to keep your identity as an Armenian alive in London?

E.T.: It’s easier to assimilate and forget than it is to keep alive. It is much easier to listen to MTV and go to the cinema and just get on with all things English. I’m very happy to live in this country, I really do love London, it is my home, and I enjoy it immensely. But at the same time, I am blessed because I am Armenian.

It’s something that you keep inside you. It’s the pride in knowing that you belong to a culture that is so beautiful. It’s a culture that has such a lovely history and at the same time is so sad. Yet it’s so strong that it survives everything. That just gives you a sense of belonging, a sense of pride, this is something that just burns inside you.

For more information on Terakopian, visit his website at http://www.pix.org.uk/