A Shot That Got Me a Police Beating: The Tense Atmosphere in La Paz
It was 1993 when I took the shot that would land me in trouble with the authorities – a photograph of people queuing up to file claims with their papers in hand, all while surrounded by an air of tension and apprehension. This picture was taken during a tumultuous time in Bolivia, where Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada's presidency had just begun, and rumors were circulating about unregistered land being seized.
The atmosphere at the time was palpable – there were soldiers and police everywhere, casting a watchful eye on the crowd. I knew I couldn't be discreet with my camera; it was loud and obtrusive, and people would often glance right at me as they went about their day. The image itself is one of ambiguity, with figures in a chain-like formation leading up to an open doorway guarded by a soldier.
What struck me most when I took this picture was the sense of unease that permeated every aspect of life in La Paz. These people were not just queueing for a document; they were doing so under duress, their claims hanging precariously in the balance. The image is a reflection of that tension – it's not a happy occasion or a celebratory moment; rather, it's a snapshot of a world on edge.
The aftermath was swift and brutal. I was approached by plainclothes police who bundled me into a car and took me to the local station for questioning. They wanted to know what I was doing there and why I was taking pictures – not an unusual inquiry, perhaps, but one that would land me in hot water nonetheless.
It turned out that my camera was seen as a threat, a potential tool for gathering information or spreading dissent. The police officers were unforgiving, and their response to my presence was swift and violent. I managed to fob them off with some unexposed film rolls, but the warning was clear: I would be watched and followed.
Looking back on that experience has taught me a valuable lesson – the power of photography lies not in its ability to tell a story or convey a message, but in its capacity to evoke questions. This image is part of my "Still Films" series, which explores the interplay between cinema and photography. It's an exercise in subtlety, one that seeks to capture the essence of a moment without spelling it out.
As I reflect on this picture, I'm reminded of the importance of approaching subjects with humility and curiosity – not as an outsider seeking to impose my own narrative, but rather as someone who is willing to listen and observe. That's the key to creating photographs that transcend the frame, ones that linger long after the image itself has faded from view.
It was 1993 when I took the shot that would land me in trouble with the authorities – a photograph of people queuing up to file claims with their papers in hand, all while surrounded by an air of tension and apprehension. This picture was taken during a tumultuous time in Bolivia, where Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada's presidency had just begun, and rumors were circulating about unregistered land being seized.
The atmosphere at the time was palpable – there were soldiers and police everywhere, casting a watchful eye on the crowd. I knew I couldn't be discreet with my camera; it was loud and obtrusive, and people would often glance right at me as they went about their day. The image itself is one of ambiguity, with figures in a chain-like formation leading up to an open doorway guarded by a soldier.
What struck me most when I took this picture was the sense of unease that permeated every aspect of life in La Paz. These people were not just queueing for a document; they were doing so under duress, their claims hanging precariously in the balance. The image is a reflection of that tension – it's not a happy occasion or a celebratory moment; rather, it's a snapshot of a world on edge.
The aftermath was swift and brutal. I was approached by plainclothes police who bundled me into a car and took me to the local station for questioning. They wanted to know what I was doing there and why I was taking pictures – not an unusual inquiry, perhaps, but one that would land me in hot water nonetheless.
It turned out that my camera was seen as a threat, a potential tool for gathering information or spreading dissent. The police officers were unforgiving, and their response to my presence was swift and violent. I managed to fob them off with some unexposed film rolls, but the warning was clear: I would be watched and followed.
Looking back on that experience has taught me a valuable lesson – the power of photography lies not in its ability to tell a story or convey a message, but in its capacity to evoke questions. This image is part of my "Still Films" series, which explores the interplay between cinema and photography. It's an exercise in subtlety, one that seeks to capture the essence of a moment without spelling it out.
As I reflect on this picture, I'm reminded of the importance of approaching subjects with humility and curiosity – not as an outsider seeking to impose my own narrative, but rather as someone who is willing to listen and observe. That's the key to creating photographs that transcend the frame, ones that linger long after the image itself has faded from view.
interesting how a single shot can capture so much tension and unease in a scene... Like I was looking at the people waiting for documents, they seem pretty anxious, right? 
The way they're all lined up like that, it's like they're waiting for something bad to happen. And that soldier guarding the doorway, what's he doing there? 
It just seems like a really intense atmosphere...
just saw this article about a photographer in La Paz being beaten by cops for taking pics of people queuing up to file claims 
. i'm not buying it tho... seems like an easy excuse for authorities to silence someone who's asking questions 
. where's the proof that the photographer was doing anything wrong? didn't they just want to capture a moment in time? 
shouldn't we be celebrating the power of photography to reveal truths and spark conversations, not using it as a justification for violence 
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and it's crazy how a shot can spark such a reaction from authorities, i think it's a reminder to be mindful of your surroundings when capturing moments like these, don't wanna get caught in the crossfire 
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i love how he reflects on his approach and how important it is to be humble and curious as a photographer... still makes me think about the power of images 
. It's crazy how one shot can land someone in trouble with the law 
. The atmosphere in La Paz back then must've been super oppressive, and it's no wonder people were on edge 
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. We just gotta be mindful of our surroundings and the impact our work can have 
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. As a creator, you've got to think about how your work might be perceived by others and use that awareness to make a positive impact 
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THEY MUST HAVE BEEN GOING THROUGH SUCH A TOUGH TIME, JUST TRYING TO GET THEIR DOCUMENTS AND DEAL WITH ALL THE TENSION IN THE AIR. IT'S CRAZY HOW ONE PHOTO CAN CAPTURE THE ATMOSPHERE OF A PLACE LIKE THAT. I MEAN, WHO NEEDS THAT MUCH SECURITY? 
The air quality was so bad, it's a wonder anyone could even breathe. Anyway, I dug up some stats on photojournalism... did you know that 75% of photographers who work in conflict zones experience PTSD? 
You're right, it's not a happy occasion – it's more like a snapshot of a world on edge. Here's a chart showing the rise of photojournalism as a primary source of news in recent years: 
. gotta respect the power of photography, it can make ppl uncomfortable 
. what do u think is the most important thing for photographers to remember when taking pics in sensitive situations? 
2025 already feeling like the worst year for our planet 
. I mean, can you imagine showing up with a camera during an uncertain time like that? It's no wonder the police were suspicious 
.
. It's like, photography has power, but it also comes with responsibility 
. You gotta be mindful of who you're capturing and why you're doing it. This guy wasn't trying to stir up trouble; he was just documenting reality 
. Photographers have a role to play in amplifying marginalized voices, but they also need to be aware of the impact their work can have on those communities 
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it's like u're inviting us to ask questions without giving away all the answers 