The other day, I found out which of my six submitted images was selected for Paper Tigers, an anthology of Australian photojournalism that Head On head honcho Moshe Rosenzweig and Cairns-based photojournalist Brian Cassey have put together. It will kick off on the first of May at Paddington Town Hall. I’m looking forward to see which other works of the other 59 featured photographers will have in the show. I know quite a few of these photographers personally, otherwise I’m generally familiar with their work.
The image of mine that was selected for the exhibition was shot during a ten day assignment for Stern in the Philippines. Since I’m showing the photo here, it’s my responsibility to give the back story. The man in the casket is Rommel Lelis, 34. That’s his mother Siony weeping over his body. Rommel and his brother Ronaldo Jr, 29 were killed by police in Manila on September 4, 2016 in what police claimed was a shoot out. The Philippine Daily Enquirer newspaper reported that the men showed injuries consistent with torture and that the car police claimed they were killed in did not sustain any damage from gun shots. The brothers’ names had appeared on a drugs watch list compiled by the captain of the barangay (basically a village within the city). In many instances ending up on a drug watch list is a death sentence. Those named were often killed in what were euphemistically called ‘police operations’ or by vigilante killers on motor scooters. The brothers’ deaths were in the early part of Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte’s war on drugs, which has now killed more than 12,000 people according to human rights groups and new organisations. Around half a million people have surrendered to authorities and volunteered to enter drug rehabilitation programs. Duterte’s stance on crime had helped him win the Philippines national election about three months earlier. He had promised to make the fish in Manila Bay fat on the corpses of drug users.
Three days before the funeral, Stern Asia correspondent Janis Vougioukis and I had attended a wake for the brothers in Paco, Metro Manila. Such events can last for more than a week as family and friends of the deceased pay their respects while a marathon card game takes place. The deceased are only buried once enough money has been won to pay for a funeral.
I had spent time photographing Rommel’s eldest son, Rusty, who was keeping vigil on his father and uncle who were both lying dressed in white silk tunics in a one-room community centre the glass lid of their coffins I could see small scars on the hand of Ronaldo Jr.’s hand in which the mortician had been unable to hide. A stack of silver coins were clasped in the brother’s fingers. Packets of Marlboro cigarettes and bottles of water were left as offerings.
The family welcomed the presence of foreign journalists. Although the brother’s death had been reported in a national newspaper, no local reporters had visited. In the days after the report in the Philippine Enquirer, there would have been dozens more such deaths. Janis and I had already been at the scene of two such killings the previous night.
After spending an hour or so in the community centre, it was time to go. I had not spoken much with Rusty. What do you say to someone who’s just had his father and uncle apparently executed by the police? I felt in the pocket of my jacket and remember that I’d picked up a packet of three Filipino cigars from the duty free shop at Ninoy Aquino International Airport there days earlier. I hadn’t opened them and the price tag was still on them. I asked Rusty if he smoked and handed them to him. I was taken aback by the intensity with which he looked me in the eye as he quickly said, “Thank you.” Rusty said he was 18, but he looked a few years younger than that.
The brothers’ funeral took place on a clear, bright day. Janis and I watched as the two white coffins with shiny brass fittings were let to a pimped out white 4WD hearse with an extended front end, made to look like a hot rod. A few hundred people joined the procession to the church. Most of them wore white t-shirts emblazoned with the faces of the brothers. Inside the church, the family grieved over the body, seemingly oblivious to me photographing them. I remember the men’s father being drunk (who could blame him for that really) and repeatedly saying that he had voted for Duterte. I saw that one of the cigars had been placed inside each of the coffins.
This was an extravagant funeral for such a poor area. When I had fact-checked information on my captions with Janis, I had learnt that Rommel Lelis’ wife, Ellamel, earned around the cost of those cigars each day by operating a small stall.
After the church, the procession moved to the cemetery. It was there that people crowded around the coffins, mostly around Rommel, the eldest son. I mostly just held up my camera with arms extended and shot the scene with a wide angle lens, making my compositions off the screen on the back of the camera. It is from theses moments that I photographed Rommel’s mother, Siony crying over her son. Once a wooden lid was placed over the glass pane of the coffin, people passed infants over the coffins so that they would not be haunted by ghosts. The coffins were then lowered into deep, narrow concrete holes in the ground and we left.
https://www.davetacon.com/philippines-stern-magazine/
