Twenty years after the Windhoek Declaration on press freedom

Tribute to a committed
photojournalist
By Kevin Ritchie
Kevin Ritchie is managing editor of
<strong>the</strong> Saturday Star.
The news when it came was like a
punch to <strong>the</strong> solar plexus. “Anton’s
been taken prisoner in Libya.”
It was late at night, but <strong>the</strong> social
networks were abuzz shortly <strong>after</strong>wards,
closely followed by <strong>the</strong> wire
services and <strong>the</strong>n <strong>the</strong> newspapers.
And <strong>the</strong>n <strong>the</strong> wait began.
For 46 days, Anton’s family, friends
and former colleagues gave one
ano<strong>the</strong>r succour, held vigils in Cape
Town, Johannesburg and London
and pushed <strong>the</strong> South African
government to act to get him freed.
Posters were brandished, T-shirts
pulled over work shirts and talk
show hosts inundated on radio and
TV.
The not-knowing was <strong>the</strong> worst. The
snippets that everyone seized would
turn out to be half-truths, sinister
pointers towards <strong>the</strong> real story that
everyone feared, but didn’t want to
hear — Anton had been killed <strong>the</strong>
day <strong>the</strong> three o<strong>the</strong>r journalists who
he was with outside Brega were
captured.
The four of <strong>the</strong>m, all freelancers, had
been with rebel soldiers when <strong>the</strong>
government troops crested <strong>the</strong> hill.
Section 1: Freedom
The troops crested it, and opened
fire wildly.
The rebels, whom Anton and <strong>the</strong> four
had been documenting, scattered.
Anton lay, mortally wounded, as his
three companions screamed at <strong>the</strong>
troops to cease fire.
The soldiers knew <strong>the</strong>y’d made a
mistake — Anton’s colleagues have
no doubt about that. In <strong>the</strong> heat of
war, young and scared <strong>the</strong>y’d fired
first — with devastating consequences.
The three surviving journalists made
a pact, <strong>the</strong>y could not tell <strong>the</strong> world
about Anton’s death because <strong>the</strong>y
knew <strong>the</strong>y had witnessed a war
crime. If <strong>the</strong>y spoke out, <strong>the</strong>y might
jeopardise <strong>the</strong>ir own lives and never
live to tell <strong>the</strong> truth about what
happened to Anton.
“Anton was a
committed journalist
to <strong>the</strong> very end. He
was fearless, though
never foolhardy,
and he never lost
<strong>the</strong> quintessential
integrity of his craft
as a photojournalist.”
Anton Hammerl was a newspaperman,
a hardcore news photographer,
an artist, a fa<strong>the</strong>r, a husband and a
friend.
Johannesburg-born and bred to
Austrian parents, he enrolled at
<strong>the</strong> renowned Pretoria Technikon’s
photographic school, but left before
qualifying to follow his dream of
becoming a news photographer.
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