Iranians welcome their president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, to Beirut in October 2010. (Matthew Cassel)

History was repeating itself. At least that’s what I was beginning to think a few months ago. The US media, like in 2003, was using all its strength to bang the drums of war, although this time in Iran. It was non-stop, every morning I’d wake up to find an article about why Israel and the west had to take action to stop Iran.

Unlike during the lead up to the war with Iraq, this time I was a journalist and not a student activist. I had been planning to go to Iran last month to cover the elections, the effects of sanctions and to gauge feelings about a potential western strike and, of course, to take pictures in that beautiful country. But alas, I was never granted a visa and any visit to the IRI was put on hold.

The below are a couple piece I was able to do from outside Iran. In the first piece I look at a very small yet telling sample of English-language media and how it’s been covering Iran. Fortunately, it seems cooler heads are prevailing and the calls for war, while still very much ongoing, have quieted down somewhat:

Media roundup: An imminent strike on Iran?

In the article I quote Colin Kahl, who responded to claims that Israel’s 1981 of Saddam Hussein’s alleged nuclear sites actually stopped Iran from developing the bomb. Kahl wrote:

“By demonstrating Iraq’s vulnerability, the attack on Osirak actually increased Hussein’s determination to develop a nuclear deterrent and provided Iraq’s scientists an opportunity to better organise the programme. The Iraqi leader devoted significantly more resources toward pursuing nuclear weapons after the Israeli assault.”

In the second piece I had the honor of speaking to Hooman Majd, one of my favorite contemporary writers on Iranian affairs. Majd has written two books on Iran in recent years, both of which I’ve read and highly recommend (one and two).

I remember reading his first one which was published just a year before the contested 2009 elections and subsequent protest movement. Majd captures a certain level of nuance that I previously thought all English-language media had been somehow allergic to.

Here is a quote taken from the interview, Hooman Majd on Iran and sanctions:

“(For) the average Iranian it’s hard to see what comes next if you have these crippling sanctions, if you try everything to destroy the Iranian economy, which is what basically America is set out to do. And President Obama said himself that (Iranians) are going to hurt, and that’s the idea to continue trying to do that. But to what end? To try to get Iran to capitulate on its nuclear programme? Well, like I said before that’s not going to happen.”

It is my own personal feeling that a strike on Iran, a country already sandwiched between two US-occupations, by Israel or the west would immediately spiral into something much bigger that would easily encompass the entire Middle East and other areas. And this region already has enough people dying from the wars and occupations at present, it doesn’t need any more.

When my friends and I finally overdosed on snowballs and snowmen we went up to the road where the men were still hanging out. The guys’ mood was celebratory and they stood next to snow with cigarettes, beers and coffee in hand. Inside the buses a few guys danced to Arabic music playing on full blast. As I walked past I noticed their accents didn’t sound Lebanese. Unlike most Lebanese dialects, they pronounced a hard “G”-sounding “qaaf” and a more guttural “ayn”. I’ve never been to Libya, but their accents sounded like some of the rebels who I remembered hearing in TV interviews over the summer. But it was too unlikely that I’d run into a group of Libyans in Faraya, and I told a friend that maybe they were from eastern Syria.

But that also didn’t seem right. With the uprising in full swing I couldn’t imagine a group of Syrians traveling, drinking and celebrating like these guys were. Khallas, I had to ask one of them, “excuse me, but where are you guys from?”

“We are from Libya!” he said proudly.

Wow. The first group of Libyans I’d met since the fall of Gaddafi. Before I asked anything else, I wondered what their relationship to the uprising was. Gaddafi supporters? Nah. Ordinary Libyan civilians who sat on the sidelines throughout the months of fighting? Maybe, but they didn’t come across as those kinds of guys.

When I asked what brought them to Lebanon, more smiling faces approached and one told me they were on vacation from Libya. With my camera at my side I couldn’t resist. I think I was only able utter the word “mumkin [is it possible ]…” before one of them reached his hand out for mine and shouted, “We are Libyan revolutionaries! Take our picture!” They all cheered fists in the air. I wanted to shoot the group in front of their bus, but the man dragged me and ten comrades surrounding him across the street and into the snow. They readied for the portrait and a guy in the back yelled, “Allahu Akbar,” while a kneeling man drinking a tall can of Efes (a Turkish beer) wobbled in front:

image: Matthew Cassel

Just in case you’re expecting some continuity to this post, don’t. The below picture has absolutely nothing to do with Libya. But like 40 joyous revolutionaries in the snow, the following was also a scene begging to be photographed: Some guy drove his BMW through slippery winding roads to reach the snowy mountains with a propane tank in the trunk just so he can heat the coals for his hookah. The hookah, which you can see next to the propane tank in the picture below, sits conveniently outside the car with its hose snaked through a crack in the door to be enjoyed in the comfort of German engineering:

image: Matthew Cassel

Journalist Ece Temelkuran (image: Sedat Suna)

For the first time in her nearly two-decade-long career, journalist Ece Temelkuran is without a job. The feature reporter and columnist, currently in Tunisia, writes regularly about the plight of Turkey’s ethnic minorities. She was fired from her staff position at the Haberturk daily on Thursday after publishing articles critical of the Turkish government’s handling of the massacre of Kurds on December 28 at Iraq’s border.

Turkey has long been feted by mainstream Western media as a bastion of secular democracy in a wider and largely Muslim region ruled by despots. However, critics argue that this image is allowing the Justice and Development Party (AKP) headed by Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan to become increasingly authoritarian. In recent years, journalists who report on stories not fitting within the government narrative have been targeted.

Ninety-seven media professionals are currently in prison according to the Turkish Union of Journalists. In addition to this, The Economist magazine recently reported that 47 lawyers, more than 500 students and some 3,500 Kurdish activists are in prison. A recent survey by the Associated Press found that more than one-third of the world’s convicted “terrorists” are in Turkey.

Temelkuran has played a leading role on social media (she started the hashtag #freejournalists on Twitter) in defending 11 journalists who are currently on trial in Turkey for supporting illegal “terrorist” organizations.

After beginning her career as a correspondent in 1993, Temelkuran became a feature reporter in 2000 for Turkey’s Milliyet daily. In 2009, she left Milliyet to take a job at the nascent Haberturk, another major daily in Turkey. On Thursday Temelkuran received a phone call while in Tunisia that she had been dismissed from her job at the newspaper.

In addition to covering Turkish affairs at home, Temelkuran has reported extensively from the Middle East and Latin America.

I spoke to Ece Temelkuran on Thursday by phone about her career, her dismissal and the current state of journalism in Turkey.

Matthew Cassel: When you’re not reporting around the world what types of stories do you generally write about inside Turkey?

Ece Temelkuran: The Kurdish issue, Armenian issue, women rights, social issues…Not the most popular subjects, especially the Kurdish and Armenian issues.

MC: Why aren’t they popular issues in Turkey?

ET: Because since the establishment of Turkey [in 1923, after the fall of the Ottoman Empire] Kurds have been treated as second-class citizens and there has always been a lack of political and individual rights for them. There is deep and wide racism against Kurds in Turkey and there is the armed PKK [Kurdistan Workers' Party] movement and anything that goes under Kurdish issues is considered terrorism. So it’s not surprising Turkish media doesn’t cover the issue, and if they do they represent the government’s point of view.

MC: Do you feel that you’ve always been able to write what you want to? Have you ever been censored?

ET: I haven’t been censored, but when I reported from Kurdistan in northern Iraq, even mentioning the name ‘Kurdistan’ was taboo. And when I wrote about tens of Kurdish children being tortured in 2003 people were outraged. There has always been pressure on journalists who write on the Kurdish issue.

But pressure on media has never been like this. Now it’s fear of being imprisoned, and once you’re in prison no one can get you out. [Journalists] Ahmet Sik and Nadim Sener have been in jail for 11 months, they didn’t even know until 6 or 7 months [after their arrest] what the charges [against them] are.

Since there is government propaganda to legitimize these prosecutions, it’s very hard to get around this. The propaganda machine is huge. Not only nationally but internationally.

MC: Did your firing come as a surprise?

ET: Not really because the stand I took about the arrested journalists and the massacre [of 35 Kurdish civilians on Turkey's border with Iraq] was too strong for the mainstream media to handle. Because the prime minister, a few days ago just after the massacre, [threatened] ones who use [the term] ‘massacre,’ and I’ve been using it on twitter and social media.

MC: That sounds like Turkey’s recent warnings to France after its senate voted to recognize the 1915 mass killing of Armenians by Ottoman Turks as a “genocide.” Why is language so important for the Turkish government?

ET: Because terminology creates political and ethical responsibility. Then if you use term ‘massacre,’ the prime minister might have to apologize for the massacre, which he doesn’t want to. Rather he wants to blame media. And that media was silent for about a half day after the incident. None of the networks gave the news until prime minister’s official statement about massacre, but that wasn’t enough. He only wants to see his thoughts [printed in the newspapers].

MC: Why were you fired?

ET: The last two articles I wrote might be perceived as ‘too controversial.’ One was called “Sir, yes Sir!” referring to the prime minister. The article ended “So you give the orders my commander but I’m not listening to you anymore. We are the rest of this country! We are not listening to your orders anymore!”

The last article was about how 19 of those killed were kids between 12 and 15. He made this speech about Uludere [the border town where the attack happened] massacre, which was outrageous, and he blamed journalists. And I wrote an article repeating the number [of dead] ridiculing the prime minister’s cruel attitude in a bitter way.

MC: Are you the only person writing like this in the mainstream media?

ET: There are a few others, and all of them called me today to say that ‘we are coming as well to the land of unemployment, just wait for us.’ They say, ‘we are writing our articles as if we’re writing our last articles.’ Everyone is pessimistic about the coming days.

MC: Why are they targeting veteran journalists like Nadim Sener and Ahmet Sik?

ET: Because they were writing books about the Gulen movement [Islamists believed to have close ties to the AKP] getting organized in police department and intelligence services. They took the manuscript of Ahmet’s book, The Army of the Imam (which has since been published online). Nadim’s book [on how the Gulen movement is organizing in the police and state intelligence] is unpublished.

They were reporting on different things, especially criticizing the government and revealing the bad practices of government.

MC: Who was Hrant Dink?

ET: He was an Armenian journalist and had his own paper. He was a vocal journalist about Armenian rights and oppressed minorities. And he was shot dead in the center of Istanbul in his neck. Nadim has been writing books about him. He wrote about police negligence in the investigation into Hrant’s killing. Hrant was a dear friend as well. Since he wished me to write a book on Armenian issue before his death I dedicated my book Deep Mountain to him. He helped me a lot.

MC: Did Dink’s killing change journalism in Turkey?

ET: Armenian issue was already a taboo for mainstream media but after his death we learned that we shouldn’t talk about Armenian issue more. His funeral was historic though, because 100,000 attended and they all chanted, “We are all Armenians.” Armenians have always been despised by the nationalist Turks, so that funeral was a turning point in modern Turkish history.

MC: Did it create fear among you and your colleagues?

ET: It wasn’t the only [attack on journalists], and it didn’t stop there. After that came the mass arrests, there have been many incidents that created fear among journalists.

This time [the attacks are] done under name of ‘democracy,’ or as AKP supporters call it ‘advanced democracy.’ This time it’s hard to get the things out there and say we’ve been oppressed. When there was a coup and fascist generals in power with their uniforms it was easier to say who were the bad guys. Now it’s more complicated because fascism didn’t show up in uniforms this time. That’s why international media has taken too long to understand what’s really going on in Turkey.

MC: How has Turkey managed to maintain that democratic image to the outside world?

ET: Through international and national propaganda. Mainstream western media is serving their own governments’ foreign policy interests. So they wanted to see this model of Muslim democracy, which looks good from outside and has freedom of people, ‘bon pour l’orient’ (French for “good enough for the orient”). It’s not good enough, neither for people in Turkey or the rest of Middle East.

To the Western world it tries to show democracy, and to the Eastern side it tries to show its Muslim side. Obviously it’s not a democracy anymore. As for the Islam, I am not an expert but such cruelty cannot come from religion.

MC: Do you think Turkey is losing that democratic image?

ET: The image is changing for sure.

Today, I was surprised to see the news on the front page of the New York Times, and I think finally our colleagues around the world are coming to their senses about Turkey. They’re no longer being deceived by these lies of ‘AKP democracy.’

MC: Over the past year, you’ve reported from pro-democracy uprisings in a number of Arab countries. Do you see similarities between the repressive forms of government that people have been rising against and your own government in Turkey?

ET: Now there are rising numbers of people that think Prime Minister Erdogan is acting like Bashar Assad. After the Uludere massacre they’ve been referring to his previous statement about Bashar Assad, “a president who kills his own people is not legitimate anymore.”

MC: Have activists, journalists and others who want change in Turkey been inspired by the Arab uprisings?

ET: They [demand change] already, but when they do they’ve been attacked violently. Every demonstration that happened after elections has been suppressed by tear gas. Especially by Kurdish people, they’ve been violently suppressed and attacked. Now and then they do protest, but the opposition in Turkey has been divided into too many parts, they’re too split to create an alternative [to the AKP].

MC: You’ve already lost your job, are you worried what else can happen to you when you return to Turkey?

ET: I am freaking out, it’s not the imprisonment necessarily, but now I feel like I have this stamp of persona non grata by the government. I am afraid I might be unemployed for a while because no newspaper would employ me because of that stamp. And if they did I’d be really surprised.

LEBANON

One week after Tunisians overthrew Ben Ali and on the same day of the first Egyptian protests, Lebanese supporters of the Sunni Future movement called for a “day of rage” across Lebanon to protest the parliament’s selection of Najib Miqati as the new prime minister. The day remained relatively uneventful as a few hundred took to the streets near Tariq al-Jadide in central Beirut burning tires and threw stones at army and police into the night. The day did highlight the tense political situation that continues in Lebanon between the country’s religious sects.

On May 15, Palestinian refugees inspired by the wave of Arab revolts called for their own revolution. They marched to the border with Israel in south Lebanon and demanded the right to return to the lands they and their descendants were forced to flee in 1948. At the border fence the unarmed demonstrators were met with Israeli sniper fire. Eleven were killed before the Lebanese army intervened by firing in the air and forcing demonstrators to flee the area. When activists tried to return and “occupy” the area they were stopped by Lebanese authorities in the weeks following. (My piece in the Guardian: Palestinians in Lebanon, at the lonely end of the Arab uprisings)

Unfortunately, it’s been nearly impossible for foreign journalists (especially Americans) to enter Syria and cover the uprising there because of the government clampdown. In neighboring Beirut, activists are also finding it difficult to show their solidarity with the protesters in Syria. At a protest outside the Syrian embassy in Beirut in April, solidarity activists were harassed by Syrian and Lebanese authorities and also by pro-Bashar al-Assad Lebanese and Syrians. A few brave activists (pictured here) managed to hold signs for around ten minutes before they left. Weeks later at a similar action outside the embassy, a number of solidarity activists were attacked and many were injured. The events highlight the close relationship between the two nations’ people, either with or against the uprising to topple the regime of Bashar al-Assad.

Palestinian refugees in Lebanon were vocal about the visit by PA president Mahmoud Abbas to Lebanon in August. “Mahmoud Abbas doesn’t represent me as a Palestinian, nor does he care about the struggle and the hardship of the people,” said novelist Mahmoud Hashem, 44, as he prepared fresh orange juice shortly before iftar, the fast-breaking meal during Ramadan. “His visit is pointless. It’s a visit for his [Fatah] party just so he can lift this flag on the embassy. Abbas doesn’t know about suffering and us being deprived of civil rights and the right to work, and Abbas doesn’t care about the living conditions of the people here.” (My photo story for AJE: Refugees in Lebanon react to Abbas visit)

Hizballah head Hassan Nasrallah made a surprise appearance at an Ashura rally in south Beirut in December. The public appearance on the Shia holiday was his first in years. Hizballah is a close ally of Bashar al-Assad in Syria, and Nasrallah offered support to the embattled regime. With the uprising continuing in Syria, in the coming year Hizballah and the governing coalition it’s a part of will face challenges from the Western-backed March 14 alliance, which includes the Future movement. (My photo story on Ashura in Lebanon for AJE: In pictures: Nasrallah attends Ashoura rally)

EGYPT

January 28 was a day I will never forget. After seeing the images from unprecedented protests of tens of thousands in Cairo three days earlier, I knew revolution would happen the following weekend. I arrived on Friday morning to a city cut off from the world. There was no mobile phone service, internet, only state TV and land line telephones were available. I went with Egyptian friends to the working-class Imbaba area of Cairo. None of us had any idea to expect. We waited near a major mosque for protests to begin after prayers. Nothing happened and worshippers walked away. Disappointed, we got in a taxi and left for another more central part of the city where protests were expected. Our taxi become stuck in traffic as we were leaving the area and I looked up ahead. “Let’s go, ” I said as we exited the taxi and joined a group of about 50 people chanting against Mubarak and for people to join them. That number would soon be tens of thousands, and that was only in one area of a city of 20 million.

In Imbaba on 28 January, police fired tear-gas at protesters who responded by throwing stones, some threw Molotov cocktails. The battle went on for hours until the protesters won and made their way to Tahrir Square. Before it ended I was detained by a group of plainclothes officers who demanded my cameras memory cards. Thanks to Egyptian activists who managed to sneak away the cards and fought back against the officers we managed to safely get out the images from this day in Imbaba where I was the only journalist present to document what happened.

A woman from Imbaba withstands tear-gas to document the protests on her mobile phone on 28 January.

This is the brave young activist Mina Daniel being treated for his wounds at a makeshift hospital on January 30. He was injured by police shotgun near Tahrir Square. In October, Daniel was killed by the army at a protest demanding rights for the country’s Christian minority. (See my blog post on Daniel here)

This picture was taken during the battle of Tahrir on February 3, when plainclothes officers and Mubarak supporters tried to attack the ongoing sit-in at Tahrir. Protesters fought back and the battle lasted for two days. Seconds after I took this picture I looked toward the frontline of the pro-Mubarak attackers when a small object appeared in the corner of my vision. The next thing I know I heard a ringing noise and a warm liquid began to cover my face. I was hit with a rock. I started walking away from the frontline before I was grabbed by four or five anti-Mubarak protesters who grabbed me, one shouted “Allahu Akbar!” as they carried me to a medical tent. I received treatment and a big white bandage over my forehead, which afforded me endless amounts of street credit in the revolutionary camp. I still have a scar from the incident on my forehead.

February 10, Mubarak has got to go. That’s what everyone in Tahrir thought, and we came on TV and announced he wouldn’t the crowd exploded with rage. Here a 21-year-old activist watches Mubarak’s speech next to a man in his 60s who was a former political prisoner for almost 20 years under Mubarak for belonging to an Islamist group.

Tahrir Square early in the morning on February 11. By day’s end, Mubarak would no longer rule Egypt.

A protester carries a sign near Tahrir Square minutes after Mubarak stepped down as president of Egypt.

Khaled Said’s mother, (left) uncle and sister react to the news about Mubarak stepping down at an apartment next to Tahrir Square. Said was a young man from Alexandria beaten to death by police in 2010. Activists protested his death and police brutality in general on Police Day, which was a holiday created by the Mubarak regime that was to be first celebrated on January 25 when tens of thousands protested and called for Mubarak’s ouster.

TUNISIA

I was fortunate enough to visit the country where it all started briefly in March, two months after Ben Ali fled Tunisia. This image was taken on the final day of a sit-in at al-Kasbah. The next day all the graffiti that covered the square was removed. I met wonderful people around the country, but the highlight of my trip had to be visiting the hometown of my friend Sami Ben Gharbia. Sami is a blogger/activist who had just returned to Tunisia for the first time since being exiled 13 years before that. (The graffiti in this picture says: “Tunisian people = Muslim + Christian + Jew,” See my post on revolutionary Tunisia)

BAHRAIN

From the moment the uprising in Bahrain started just days after Mubarak’s ouster, I wanted to visit the small Gulf country. I finally was given that opportunity this past fall and I spent more than one month over two visits reporting from Bahrain for Al Jazeera English and others.

Like in Syria now and other countries before that, funerals for people regularly killed by police in Bahrain become political protests with chants against the regime. This image was taken during my second trip in Bahrain in November during the funeral for Ali al-Baddah, a 16 year old who was run over by a police SUV during a protest early in the morning on November 19.

I went to a small pro-regime demonstration in November against the opposition and protesters. During the demonstration I searched desperately for someone who I could joke with about how people were rallying against foreign interference in Iran while many of them waved Saudi Arabian and Emirati flags like the woman pictured here.

One day after the release of a fact-finding commissions report, Bahrainis in A’ali village hold a funeral for a man killed in his car by a speeding police SUV on November 23. (My photo story for AJE: In pictures: Violence follows Bahrain funeral)

After funerals and protests police indiscriminately fire tear-gas in villages across Bahrain. Like in Egypt and other countries, the tear-gas is usually …

… made in the USA (See AJE photo story “Breathing in the dark” and report on “48 hours in Sanabis“)

After tear-gas, rubber bullets, sound bombs and oftentimes shot gun are all fired at demonstrations, protesters and locals take to rooftops to watch police and chant for the downfall of the al-Khalifa regime. January of 2012 will mark ten months of protests in Bahrain, one of the longest uprisings in the Arab world. Despite this, Bahrain is regularly excluded from lists of Arab countries that have seen uprisings in 2011. I blame this on the lack of coverage it’s received, especially in the Arab world, and discrimination by people outside the country who buy the government position that protesters are influenced by Iran without question and inaccurately describe protests for rights as part of a sectarian conflict. Every protester who I spoke to in Bahrain assured me it’s their own desire for freedom that is keeping them in the streets and not any foreign power. As protests continue on a daily basis, let’s see if Bahrain protests will finally get the attention they deserve in the new year.

Most of the graffiti criticizes the government or calls for the downfall of the king of Bahrain, Hamad bin Isa al-Khalifa, and the entire al-Khalifa regime. Much of the graffiti also references Pearl roundabout in the capital Manama, which was the epicenter of the protest movement earlier this year. In March, the roundabout along with its tall white Pearl monument, were destroyed by the government. Since then, protesters have called for a “return” to what they’ve renamed “Martyrs’ square” in honor of the more than 40 people killed since the uprising began in February.

The graffiti is hardly permanent and often changes depending on the political climate at any given time. Most mornings, security forces (many of them non-Bahrainis or recently naturalized citizens, which is why activists refer to them as “mercenaries”) erase as much as they can until activists again paint their messages. It’s a never-ending cycle. As long as the political battle for democracy remains at an impasse, expect Bahrain’s walls to remained covered.

These images taken in recent months, show a selection of some of the graffiti — written in Arabic and English — on walls in villages all over Bahrain.

Bahrain: Revolution on walls – Images by Matthew Cassel

These are pictures I took of Razan in Beirut in 2008:

Anniversary of the end to Israel’s 22-year occupation of Lebanon, anniversary of the 2006 victory against Israel, Ashura, Samir Quntar’s release, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s visit, are just some of the occasions when tens of thousands of Hizballah supporters gather in Dahiyeh. I’ve photographed them all.

For almost five years from when I moved to Lebanon I’ve gone to what must be almost a dozen Hizballah rallies in Dahiyeh, the south suburbs of Beirut. I remember going to the earlier ones thinking, “wow, I’ll get to photograph Hassan Nasrallah himself.” I’d arrange permission with Hizballah’s media office like all journalists have to, go through the check-in process and then wait for hours as the crowds arrived to the blaring music of the muqawama (resistance) and leave unsatisfied with pics of Nasrallah on a massive TV screen and not in person. It became routine.

Yesterday, two things were different. First, I was photographed by one of the media team while picking up my credentials. And second, after walking down a side street on the way from the mosque to the march I saw a man chilling on a street corner with a Kalashnikov. Might not sound surprising to some who are used to reading Dahiyeh described as the [cue scary horror music] “HIZBALLAH STRONGHOLD,” but for me it was. Not even when I was detained for taking pics without permission by eight or so Hizballah agents in Dahiyeh and taken to an empty apartment for interrogation in 2007 (this was less than one year after Israel’s 2006 war on Lebanon and soon after an Israeli journalist reported undercover from Beirut) did I see any of them carrying so much as a handgun.

Still I never thought he’d show up yesterday, I gave up that expectation a long time ago. And after waking up at 5am and intense hours of photographing people mourning and then chasing around a massive march through the streets I didn’t very much feel like sitting through the post-march-after-rally caged in a journalist pigpen for hours. But I wanted to produce a photo story on the day, so I need to get a few shots of the rally to complete it.

I pushed my way through the masses until I reached a belly-high steel barrier marking the boundary of the event. I had to plead with a number of men who all had cords coming out of their ears, some also carried walkie talkies, to let me past. It took some negotiating while a framed picture of Ayatollah Khomeini kept getting jabbed uncomfortably into my lower back. After about 20 minutes I finally made it to the fenced-in area where journalists usually stand and take pictures and by doing so block the vision of many rows of spectators (outside the VIP section in the very front) who came hours ago thinking their super-early arrival would secure them the best seats in the house. I always feel sorry for the first rows behind the press area.

I took only a couple snaps before I was approached by another man with a cord coming out of his ear. He grabbed my press pass for the march (not the rally) pinned to my jacket and said in Arabic, “you can’t take pictures here.” I protested when he tried to usher me out of the area when he called over his superior, also with a cord coming out of his ear. I told him in Arabic that I was being sent in every direction by other people with cords coming out of the ears (I think I actually referred to them as “other guys from the party”) and that I couldn’t be bothered to run around for another 30 minutes. He nodded like he understood and I felt relief that I’d be able to stay.

Then he turned away and motioned for the man who stopped me to take me to get the necessary permission.

There’s something that you come to learn after years in Lebanon, and that is oftentimes when someone in a position of authority says something it doesn’t mean it’s written in stone. Ya’ni, there is always room to maneuver. But that doesn’t really work with the organization that defeated one of the world’s most powerful armies, twice.

And so I went – this time without protest – escorted by a new guy also with a cord coming out of his ear. He was nice despite initial efforts to make me think the contrary. “Can we stop and get a mana’oushe [baked pizza-like snack popular in Lebanon] at this place,” I asked pointing to bakery as we walked along in silence. He shook his head. As we continued for another minute or two through the scattered crowds we passed another bakery and I asked, “what about this place, can we stop and get a mana’oushe at this one?” He smiled, even laughed, but again shook his head.

We reached the press check-in at a school I think it was. My bag and cameras were X-rayed in a white van like normal and returned with a smile. The few of us stragglers still getting our credentials were well behind the other journalists who were already trapped in the cage by then. I wasn’t really stressing over being late, and why should I? The rows of people who are not only unable to see anything because of us, but who we also photograph non-stop since they’re so close, weren’t going anywhere. We walked back in a group and right when we reached the entrance to football field (just on the side of the stage) the pandemonium began.

I wondered what it was. I heard someone say “al-Sayyed!” But no way, I thought. Can’t be. I had only seen Nasrallah in person once before, but then all of us journalists were trapped in our cage some 40 meters away from the stage and unable to escape for a close-up. But this time, if he was in fact there, I was free. As the professional Ashura marchers in the VIP section (who must’ve been given privileged seating for their commitment to the holiday) started to move in, so did the security. I ran as fast as I could in the direction of the stage before being shoved back by a line of ear cords frantically trying to maintain order.

More pushing ensued from the men with ear cords, who faced stiff resistance by the Ashura marchers and a few of us journalists. Muqawama meets muqawama. This went on for 5-10 minutes until I spotted the black turban that signifies a direct relation to the Prophet Mohammed. It was him (watch YouTube video of the dramatic entrance). By this point I was being swallowed by a sea of young Ashura marchers who would give their lives to see Nasrallah, a feeling I may have also shared at that point. My bag strap was strangling my neck, one of my cameras was falling off my shoulder. With the one free hand I lifted the long telephoto lens on top of the heads in front of me which I simultaneously tried to push down with my lens in order to get my shot.

I could barely see through my viewfinder. Minutes earlier when I thought it might be him approaching and I had some more room to move I made sure my camera was manually set for the light on the stage. I thought about switching to manual focus and also setting that ahead of time, but I knew that the focus ring would change when getting knocked around by the crowd. So I just shot, one click after another praying (I had always heard Nasrallah can have this effect) that he would end up in the frame and in focus in at least a few of the shots.

Two minutes later it ended. I left as quickly as I could. Once I got outside the football field and the security area, I waved down a young teen on a scooter for a ride. “I have pictures of the Sayyed,” I shouted! He was not nearly as excited as I expected him to be, but still he gladly took me to the main road where I caught a cab driven by a man who spent more time looking at the pics on my camera’s little screen than he did the road in front of him.

I got home and went through the pics, more than 50 in total. A lot of blurred shots of the bottom of the stage, back of a bunch of heads, the screen above Nasrallah and then finally a perfect in-focus portrait of the Sayyed himself standing next to an intense bodyguard with a hand tucked away inside his jacket. Gotcha!

(See my full photo story of yesterday’s events on Al Jazeera English: “In Pictures: Nasrallah addresses Ashoura rally“)

Hassan Nasrallah addresses Ashura rally in Dahiyeh, 6 December 2011 (image: Matthew Cassel)

Bahrain: One day before Bassiouni – Images by Matthew Cassel

The mood was different today. The hundreds of protesters, both Syrian and Lebanese, were angry and more defiant than normal. Yesterday, the Arab League suspended Syria and called on the regime to stop the violent crackdown against ongoing anti-government protests that began in March. Many protesters in Syria have called for action and solidarity from foreign governments, while the government and its supporters claim the eight months of demonstrations are a “conspiracy” by Western powers.

The weekly protests, that I’ve written about before, happen while Syrian activists seeking refuge in Lebanon say they’re under attack and don’t feel safe. (For more read this report on AJE: Syrian activists’ dangerous haven in Lebanon)

Lebanon: al-Assad in Hamra – Images by Matthew Cassel