THOMPSON: The photographer who changed how we look at war

Some people – well, probably most of us – bend toward complicated. Our lives aren’t simple. And in a world that demands we pack away life in neat little bundles…our lives rarely fit perfectly.

That’s certainly the case with Al Rockoff…a photojournalist whose work during the Vietnam War and the Khmer Rouge takeover of Phnom Penh changed how photographers and some folks look at war.

Rather than paint war as a glorious and gallant pursuit of righteousness by heroic men…Rockoff chronicled the sheer brutality of war…showing it for what it is…an utter waste of humanity.

His defence for shooting the most grisly aspects of war – not that he ever thought one was needed – was simple: “Maybe if people saw more of it, there will be less of it.” 

Pol Pot, the dictator who ordered the mass genocide of nearly 1.7 million people in Cambodia from 1975 to 1979 no doubt wanted Al Rockoff dead, as well…his photographs showed the world an otherwise unbelievable brutality and cruelty.

I never met Rockoff, but in 1976 I tried to get him to speak to student journalists at the University of Florida during my studies there. He declined the invitation. He was – I believe – less interested in fame than the intrinsic value of his photos.

Rockoff is 77…just two years older than me… but could pass for someone who’s lived a hard 90 years…maybe more. He lives in Fort Lauderdale, FL, in a warehouse storage unit. It has a bathroom…no kitchen…and looks more like a compulsive hoarder’s place…no room for a bed. He sleeps in a lounge chair outside this place he calls home. 

Monthly Social Security and Army Disability payments and the generosity of a couple friends keep Rockoff’s head above water. He suffers from PTSD…Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder…and has taken medication for more than two decades.

Rockoff’s hope that if people saw the horror of wars and genocide…it might end…remains largely unfulfilled. There have been millions more people killed since Cambodia…in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Rwanda, Darfur and Rohingya…among other places.

It’s difficult to diagnose with certainty all the causes of Al Rockoff’s slide down a slippery slope of personal and professional obscurity…and a sad and tragic final chapter to a talent-rich life.

Rockoff joined the U.S. Navy illegally, when he was just 16 in 1964, and transferred to the U.S. Army in 1965 at the legal age of 17. He was a combat photographer until he was honourably discharged in 1973…the same year I left the U.S. Air Force. Then, as a free-lance news photographer, he went to Cambodia to document Pol Pot’s murderous regime, where he barely made it out alive.

Rockoff was portrayed in the Academy Award winning film, “The Killing Fields”…though he didn’t like it because, he said, it was not entirely true. Rockoff never quit being a photojournalist…don’t lie…don’t embellish…just tell the story…truthfully and accurately.

Rockoff escaped Cambodia with rolls of film taped to his legs underneath his trousers…walking for days in inclement weather and terrain.

I’m not a psychiatrist or psychologist, but I cannot imagine the toll on any human who witnessed as many horrible acts of violence as Rockoff. The lens of a Nikon camera does little to insulate and protect you from that much brutality…the atrocities of war…that much terror.

Rockoff was known in Vietnam and Cambodia as a risk-taker by his contemporaries…almost recklessly disregarding danger to get the photos he was driven to take. He smoked weed and hashish…and drank alcohol to excess. Like so many caught up in wars…you do what you have to do to simply get through it…you hope.

Some of Rockoff’s contemporaries admit he was odd…some say he has multiple personalities. Some things don’t change: he was and remains black or white…no shades of grey. If he called you a friend…he’d do anything for you. Less than a friend…you’re on your own.

What happens inside a closed room…only the four walls know. Such is what we are left with when considering Al Rockof’s life. He knows what he’s been through, perhaps, but no one else does…not me…not you…not anyone who ever saw his photos understands or maybe even has a right to know. 

I know I wouldn’t trade places with him. I’m not that brave.

Rockoff talked for decades about one day writing a book…but time is growing short. Where do you begin? A couple of friends did rescue hundreds of negatives once stored in that humid storage warehouse Rockoff calls home.

Those friends talked about a website to sell prints of his photographs…to benefit Rockoff…to move him into a proper home. But like the book…there’s been little progress. Perhaps Rockoff simply doesn’t want to profit in any way off the misery of others.

There’s so much we don’t know about Al Rockoff. I like to believe those who see his photos are almost always changed…for the better. I have a feeling – like others who know his work – of overwhelming sadness over his existence now. 

Here in Florida…surrounded by the luxury and wealth that this peninsula is widely known for…Al Rockoff is living with all he has seen through his eyes and the eye of his camera…in a warehouse storage unit.

Al Rockoff’s life is filled…with measures of bitterness, distrust, good and bad memories, empathy, fear…and hope.

It is complicated.