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A Desperate Trek Toward Misery and Resignation: Capturing the Plight of the Rohingya A Desperate Trek Toward Misery and Resignation: Capturing the Plight of the Rohingya
(12 days later)
Times Insider delivers behind-the-scenes insights from The New York Times. In this piece, Adam Dean and Tomas Munita, two photographers whose work appears regularly in The Times, describe their coverage of the Rohingya crisis in Myanmar and Bangladesh.Times Insider delivers behind-the-scenes insights from The New York Times. In this piece, Adam Dean and Tomas Munita, two photographers whose work appears regularly in The Times, describe their coverage of the Rohingya crisis in Myanmar and Bangladesh.
I reached the border between Myanmar and Bangladesh in late August, just days after a series of violent clashes — and the Myanmar army’s brutal response. Tens of thousands of Rohingya were already beginning to arrive in Bangladesh. They had spent days trekking from their villages.I reached the border between Myanmar and Bangladesh in late August, just days after a series of violent clashes — and the Myanmar army’s brutal response. Tens of thousands of Rohingya were already beginning to arrive in Bangladesh. They had spent days trekking from their villages.
I was one of the first photographers to cover the story. We already had begun to realize that this was unfolding into a significant crisis, but it wasn’t until I arrived to the hills the Rohingya were crossing that I got a sense of the scale of the exodus.I was one of the first photographers to cover the story. We already had begun to realize that this was unfolding into a significant crisis, but it wasn’t until I arrived to the hills the Rohingya were crossing that I got a sense of the scale of the exodus.
The day I arrived, I approached a few families resting in a clearing. They were covered in mud and had few possessions. Many of them were barefoot. They all looked exhausted from walking for days through the monsoon rains, in extreme heat and humidity, and with little food or water.The day I arrived, I approached a few families resting in a clearing. They were covered in mud and had few possessions. Many of them were barefoot. They all looked exhausted from walking for days through the monsoon rains, in extreme heat and humidity, and with little food or water.
I set out against the flow of humanity, traveling for miles over mountains, through streams and across flooded paddy fields. Every traumatized face I passed had a look of numb exhaustion.I set out against the flow of humanity, traveling for miles over mountains, through streams and across flooded paddy fields. Every traumatized face I passed had a look of numb exhaustion.
For weeks after that, the number of people — each with their own stories of surviving unimaginable pain and suffering — increased. And the arduous routes they risked to cross into Bangladesh hinted at the depth of the brutality they were escaping back home.For weeks after that, the number of people — each with their own stories of surviving unimaginable pain and suffering — increased. And the arduous routes they risked to cross into Bangladesh hinted at the depth of the brutality they were escaping back home.
Early on, I met and photographed Hafej Ahmad, 35, as he crawled through muddy puddles of monsoon rain in the overflow area of Balukhali refugee camp. Because of a birth defect, he was unable to walk. He wore worn-out flip-flops on his hands, dragging himself through the mud while he searched for a space on the hillside to build a shelter for his wife and four children — out of bamboo poles and plastic sheeting that he had purchased from a nearby market.Early on, I met and photographed Hafej Ahmad, 35, as he crawled through muddy puddles of monsoon rain in the overflow area of Balukhali refugee camp. Because of a birth defect, he was unable to walk. He wore worn-out flip-flops on his hands, dragging himself through the mud while he searched for a space on the hillside to build a shelter for his wife and four children — out of bamboo poles and plastic sheeting that he had purchased from a nearby market.
He had arrived the night before, after eight days crawling from his village in Myanmar to cross into Bangladesh with his family.He had arrived the night before, after eight days crawling from his village in Myanmar to cross into Bangladesh with his family.
On an island near the southern tip of Bangladesh, refugees began arriving by fishing boats; they crossed the mouth of the Naf River where it flowed into the Bay of Bengal. The boats were crammed with people, all of them racing to make the crossing in the monsoon swells before their boats were intercepted by patrolling coast guards.On an island near the southern tip of Bangladesh, refugees began arriving by fishing boats; they crossed the mouth of the Naf River where it flowed into the Bay of Bengal. The boats were crammed with people, all of them racing to make the crossing in the monsoon swells before their boats were intercepted by patrolling coast guards.
Many of these boats sank, and hundreds of refugees drowned. I witnessed the panic as they struggled to reach safety on the beach, with waves crashing around them.Many of these boats sank, and hundreds of refugees drowned. I witnessed the panic as they struggled to reach safety on the beach, with waves crashing around them.
I was awed at the danger the Rohingya were willing to face to reach the uncertainty — but relative safety — of life in the camps.I was awed at the danger the Rohingya were willing to face to reach the uncertainty — but relative safety — of life in the camps.
Even in the camps, though, there was little relief. And some of the hardest things to witness were the cruelty and desperation at the haphazard aid distributions.Even in the camps, though, there was little relief. And some of the hardest things to witness were the cruelty and desperation at the haphazard aid distributions.
A large proportion of the refugees were women and children. Everyone was hungry, but not everyone was guaranteed food. Even months after the crisis started, daily food handouts were chaotic. At one of the food distribution sites, thousands of children would turn up for a free hot meal each day. Often, half of them went home hungry after waiting for hours under the hot sun. Bangladeshi soldiers and Rohingya volunteers with bamboo canes would whip and beat the crowds of kids as they surged forward. Smaller children were trampled in the chaos, or sent to the back of the lines with tears running down their faces.A large proportion of the refugees were women and children. Everyone was hungry, but not everyone was guaranteed food. Even months after the crisis started, daily food handouts were chaotic. At one of the food distribution sites, thousands of children would turn up for a free hot meal each day. Often, half of them went home hungry after waiting for hours under the hot sun. Bangladeshi soldiers and Rohingya volunteers with bamboo canes would whip and beat the crowds of kids as they surged forward. Smaller children were trampled in the chaos, or sent to the back of the lines with tears running down their faces.
I had never covered a refugee migration before and was overwhelmed by the strength and dignity of the people I met — and by the hardships they endured.I had never covered a refugee migration before and was overwhelmed by the strength and dignity of the people I met — and by the hardships they endured.
Muted sounds: That was my first impression when I walked off the chaotic Teknaf Road in southwest Bangladesh into the massive, overcrowded makeshift camp. So many people, and yet it was almost silent. Muted sounds: That was my first impression when I walked off the chaotic Teknaf Road in southeast Bangladesh into the massive, overcrowded makeshift camp. So many people, and yet it was almost silent.
The sounds I did hear were faint: babies crying, people coughing, footsteps through the mud.The sounds I did hear were faint: babies crying, people coughing, footsteps through the mud.
Children don’t play here; they take care of their younger siblings. Neighbors don’t know each other. Families — or what is left of families — try to prepare the little area where they have just arrived to stay for months or years.Children don’t play here; they take care of their younger siblings. Neighbors don’t know each other. Families — or what is left of families — try to prepare the little area where they have just arrived to stay for months or years.
The people here carry memories of unspeakable violence. Many of the women begging on the road tell similar stories: that their husbands had their throats slit in front of the family, that they lost everything and had to walk for several days, sometimes under heavy rain; that they hid in the jungle, eating leaves.The people here carry memories of unspeakable violence. Many of the women begging on the road tell similar stories: that their husbands had their throats slit in front of the family, that they lost everything and had to walk for several days, sometimes under heavy rain; that they hid in the jungle, eating leaves.
Their lives were taken away by armed men who shouted, “This is not your land, go to Bangladesh.” These men burned houses, killed people, cut down trees, slaughtered animals, raped women and broke the bones of young children.Their lives were taken away by armed men who shouted, “This is not your land, go to Bangladesh.” These men burned houses, killed people, cut down trees, slaughtered animals, raped women and broke the bones of young children.
Elders have an emptiness in their eyes. In others, the mothers especially, I see desperation. In the children I see resignation.Elders have an emptiness in their eyes. In others, the mothers especially, I see desperation. In the children I see resignation.
These are people torn from their lives and their livelihoods, and there is no bridge to anywhere better. They are in a shock so terrible that it’s shocking to witness, and difficult to describe.These are people torn from their lives and their livelihoods, and there is no bridge to anywhere better. They are in a shock so terrible that it’s shocking to witness, and difficult to describe.
They are farmers condemned to beg and live in misery. They have to struggle among each other for a little bag of rice. They have to endure the suffocating heat under makeshift houses made of plastic.They are farmers condemned to beg and live in misery. They have to struggle among each other for a little bag of rice. They have to endure the suffocating heat under makeshift houses made of plastic.
They have lost any sense of privacy. The children have become caretakers and beggars.They have lost any sense of privacy. The children have become caretakers and beggars.