In memory of A.K. Kimoto /
A.K. Kimoto, a Japanese photographer born in the U.S. in 1977, passed away unexpectedly in the last week in March while preparing to visit FotoFreo Photo Festival in Australia. The following are eulogies by his closest friends celebrating his life and work, published alongside his images of opium addiction in Badakshan, Afghanistan.
Yesterday, about a week after AK Kimoto left us, I was standing in the rain on a busy Tokyo street corner waiting to cross and one of those thoughts popped into my head that I would have immediately shared with him. We would have laughed or ripped it apart, though I frankly I have already forgot what it was I wanted to share. I stood there kind of dumb struck thinking that there was no one else with whom I could share this insight. There is this new hole now in life. It will never quite be filled but it will always have AK’s stamp on it. I know I am not alone in discovering this new hole. We will all have to re-route around ourselves, carrying on and yet can look upon this void with affection knowing he has forever marked our lives. Be well on the other side, AK. You will visit me often whenever I have such a thought I want to share with you.
The last communiqué I got from AK was just over a week before I wrote this. These were his final sage-like words to me:
I don’t care about being recognized, and I don’t care if I go through life with no fame to show for my efforts. What bothers me is if people don’t take my latest work seriously. Not for my sake, but for the sake of the people who allowed me to photograph their lives. When was the last time you saw a 4 year old sucking down heroin? Is it not a tragedy? If I can’t do anything to bring attention to their plight, and if nobody cares, then what am I doing with my time and in fact, my life? It was never about awards or anything like that. I thought it was about being out in the world, witnessing things that others don’t see, and sharing these stories with a larger audience. I always said that I do what I do because I only have 2 hands.
-
Dear our A.K.,
Your voice still resonates in my mind. I remember the exact tone of your voice. Three years after we met again, you became like my older brother. You kept telling me to “focus!” and “hey, I am worried about you” both in my life and in my photography. You were always the one who reminded me what is important in life and in work as a photographer. You were only 3 years older than I am, but a very mature and open minded person who I always respected and aspired to be like. The personality you had was like a warm, comfortable ocean where I always could dive without any worries. You always welcomed me whenever I wanted to share my experiences. Also you always guided me when I was on the wrong path by always finding the way for me, a childish little brother. In photography, you were the one who really believed in my work even if I was not confident about it. You pushed me a lot to go forward. You always gave me the criticism which guided me in the right direction not only for the quality of pictures but the important attitude as a photographer as well. I believe it reflected your great personality.
When you called me from Afghanistan last year, you were waiting for all the logistics to be prepared for your project. I was worried since I knew you were going get really deep into the mountains of Badakhshan for the opium story you wanted to follow. I had never seen pictures that deep inside a place. I remembered when we were talking about access. If access is more difficult, there tends to be more important a story to be told. After a month, you suddenly called me and showed your face on Skype with really slow connection. Your face was tired but I saw from your face that you did an important story. I asked you how you were going to present this story. Then you told me that you wanted to go to an N.G.O. or to the U.N. to show your story first and, while you were still there, ask them for support for those people whom you had just met in this remote area where no organization was working yet.
A.K., you talked a lot about the kids you met as well who smoked opium to resist the pangs of hunger. You really wanted to care for them, and the pictures you showed me were stunning, really touching and really strong. Some time later, when I visited your home in Bangkok you told me that now some organizations had started working in the area where the people you had photographed lived. I cannot forget the little happy smile you showed me. You said they were not doing much yet, but at least they had started. I really respected your attitude and what you told me really motivated me. Still, you never stop talking about the people you photographed. You were still trying to bring more attention to them. You were truly a photographer who cared deeply about the people in the photographs and a person who never talked about recognition. You were always caring about others, and not much about yourself. I felt your nature was to dedicate yourself to others.
I am writing this in Colombia where I just have finished working on a new project. While I was shooting a story a month ago, we talked about 10 minutes by phone. You were worried, as you always did, when I was shooting stories. Each time I talked, I felt the warm attitude from you. As I am an only child, I always wanted to have a brother, an older brother. You made me feel like I had a real older brother. I was happy to have a brother now in my life and this would last long time until we became 60 or 70 years old, or even older. I was looking forward to how we would become when we were in our 40s and 50s. It was going to be such a beautiful friendship and we would have more and more things to share in our lives.
When I heard the news from several of our friends, that was the day I had just finished everything I had to do here in Colombia this time round. It was just unreal to me since we had just talked 2 weeks ago on the phone when I had returned to Bogota, the capital. I wanted to show you the pictures I had just taken after you come back from Australia where you had a slideshow at Fotofreo. I was also really happy when we talked about how your important work, the people you care about in your photographs, were beginning to get more and more exposure. I know I have to accept one day that you are really gone but still cannot believe it, because your pictures are here and telling me the story as if you were talking to me directly. It is such a strong and important story you have done.
As it was announced that your ceremony will be held today by your parents and sister, I went to a church in Bogota at the same moment. It is nighttime here and not a good time to be walking around outside. I know you are not a Christian but a church is the only place I could be calm and pray for you since I don’t know where there is a Buddhist temple here. All the churches were closed, so I prayed outside of a church and remembered all the things I shared with you. I saw a dangerous-looking man who approached me but when he saw me praying and thinking about you. He didn’t do any harm to me. Instead, he just remained calm.
AK, I learnt so much from you. You cared a lot about your friends. You are such a beloved person. All people who knew you, loved you. I have never seen another person like you who was so loved and deeply respected by so many people. We all love you, AK. and we all know you will always be here with us. As a little brother, I promise you that I will focus on what I need to do in my life, so that you don’t have to be worried about me and can have rest peacefully. As a fellow photographer, I keep trying to tell the stories of people with the power of photography in the way you believed we should.
Kosuke Okahara, Bogota, Colombia. Heading to your home, Japan.
-
Opium Addiction in Badakshan
In the remote North-Eastern province of Badakhshan in Afghanistan, opium and heroin addiction are ravaging isolated mountain communities, and the staggering numbers are only getting worse. In some places, it is said that 70% of the population use drugs in some form, from hashish, to raw opium and refined heroin powder. It is not uncommon to find three generations of a family smoking together behind closed doors.
Traditionally, Opium was used as a cure-all, the magic medicine that could work wonders on anything from back pains to headaches to the nagging cough that every one has during the brutally cold winter months. The residents of Ishkashem, on the Tajikistan border say that it was never a problem before. Now, the situation is changing. In Ishkashem, it is said that at least 50% of the population has a serious drug addiction problem. Other remote villages further down the inaccessible Wakhan Valley are said to have an unbelievable 70-80% addiction rate. Children are born into addiction every day, and thus, the cycle is perpetuated.
RSS
Facebook
Twitter