Through the Lens: RFE/RL Photographers Showcase Their 2024 Masterpieces

Photograph by Arben Hoti

During our initial effort to reach Borje, a secluded village in northeastern Albania near the Kosovo border, border guards prevented our entry. A day later, we returned with a travel authorization and were finally permitted to pass.

After connecting with a local family in Borje, we embarked on a mission to narrate the difficulties endured by the village’s 900 senior inhabitants, who are predominantly isolated from vital services in Albania during the winter months due to impassable roads. Essential supplies and healthcare can only be found across the border in Dragash, Kosovo.

We observed local resident Shate Palinci exhibit remarkable resilience as she transported her 12-year-old son for a medical examination in Kosovo at dawn and then returned hours later with provisions for her family. She primarily managed her household independently.

This image captures Palinci guiding her mule to a brook in Borje for the animal to drink. To me, this photo emphasizes the daily challenges and strength of those living in such seclusion.

Photograph by Serhiy Nuzhnenko

We had spent our day at the positions of the 25th Separate Airborne Brigade and left at dusk as troops were rotated from the frontline. Several soldiers were monitoring the skies, prepared to take down any Russian FPV drones.

Drones have drastically altered the dynamics of this conflict. Previously, access to frontline positions was relatively straightforward — now it is extremely perilous. Surveillance drones can trace your movements even 10-15 kilometers from the front lines, and as you approach, quadcopters operated through fiberoptic cables can operate with complete freedom from jamming devices.

Three of us were cramped in the rear of a pickup truck, trying to minimize our presence to avoid disturbing the soldiers. I attempted to disregard the Russian positions just a kilometer away and whether their drone operators were observing us.

My role was to capture images, but the dim lighting, dust, and jolts on the road made focusing nearly impossible.

The vehicle sped through the fields at 120 kilometers per hour, passing waving sunflowers that would never be harvested.

Photograph by Mzia Saganelidze

Following Georgian Prime Minister Irakli Kobakhidze’s declaration that his government would halt accession discussions with the European Union until the end of 2028, the street in front of the parliament rapidly filled with demonstrators.

On the first night of these demonstrations, November 28, the authorities forcefully cleared protesters with riot police, which only seemed to incite further indignation among citizens. The subsequent day saw an even greater turnout.

Even amidst a week of brutality and misconduct by law enforcement, this night was particularly notable as a special forces officer used a loudspeaker to belittle and intimidate protesters. He made threats against people’s mothers, uttering unspeakable remarks, and even vowing to visit people’s homes.

This was the most unbelievable thing for me: that some individuals in this nation feel completely unaccountable.

I captured this image at the back entrance of the parliament, where the special forces were located. The predominantly youthful crowd gathered there was launching various projectiles and colored smoke flares at them, demanding responses and reprimanding the police for the violence of the previous night.

Photograph by Viyaleta Sauchyts

That evening, the Evangelical Reformed Church in Vilnius was filled with exiled Belarusians who had marched through the streets of the Lithuanian capital earlier in the day. This image was captured as the choir performed the renowned Belarusian hymn Mahutny Boza (Almighty God). The song has come to symbolize the anti-government demonstrations in Belarus in 2020.

During the performance, I witnessed individuals moved to tears. A woman turned to me and remarked, “I’m feeling chills. This music evokes memories — and hope.”

Before its enforced exile, the Free Choir performed in support of anti-government activists, standing against the violent repression of dissent in Belarus following the contested 2020 presidential election. Numerous choir members were detained on multiple occasions. Today, they perform across European capitals, raising awareness of the plight of Belarusians living under Lukashenka’s rule.

Photograph by Amos Chapple

The Lipovans of Romania are descendants of ethnic Russians who sought refuge at the fringes of the former Russian empire to evade religious oppression during the 17th century. Throughout the Easter celebration, churches situated in Romania’s Lipovan villages welcome anyone interested in ringing the bells.

On the streets, the sound of bells contributes to the enchantment of Easter as Lipovans adorned in traditional attire greet each other with the expression, “Christ has risen,” to which the reply is “Indeed, he has risen.” However, inside the belfries, the volume is extraordinarily loud. When I ascended this belfry, I was met with a scene where local men and boys took turns tying themselves to the array of bells in an effort to create a melody.

The noise was overwhelming but, remarkably, just out of sight in this image, a few village men sat amidst the clamor, observing the bell ringers crafting melodies. Shortly after departing from this church, I temporarily lost hearing in my left ear. That condition subsided after a couple of weeks, but ever since, if I submerge my head underwater, that same ear quickly gets blocked with water, causing a loss of hearing once more.

Photograph by Veselin Borishev

November 7 marks the anniversary of a significant battle in the 19th-century Serbo-Bulgarian War, leading nationalists to deem it disrespectful for Bulgarians to premiere Arms and the Man, a play centered around this conflict, on that evening. Some perceive the play as deriding Bulgarian soldiers.

A number of priests from the Bulgarian Orthodox Church commenced protesting in front of the theater, offering prayers for the souls of fallen soldiers, accompanied by children clad in traditional folk costumes. There was no barrier in place, and police were merely congregating nearby, smoking cigarettes in small groups.

The crowd began to swell in number and volume, then the oldest protester, Yolo Denev, an 84-year-old nationalist and political candidate who attends every demonstration in the city, raised his fist and shouted, “Charge!” The throng then surged toward the theater — directly toward my position at that moment.

The demonstrators yelled, “Shame! Malkovich, go home!” The police eventually intervened in an attempt to halt them, but it was too late. The theater’s director emerged from the building to converse with the protesters, but he was physically assaulted. He was shoved, kicked, spat upon, and tugged by his shirt and tie. You can see his head at the bottom of the image. The police somehow succeeded in getting him back into the theater hall.

The audience was denied entry to the theater, and the play that night was only performed for a small group of journalists.

Photograph by Petr Trotsenko

During the summer, I visited the stunning city of Khujand as part of a photographic project focused on the Syr Darya River. Upon my arrival, my Tajik colleague Farzon Masharipov introduced me to the city’s main attraction: the Panjshanbe market.

The markets in Central Asia are pure delight for photographers. They are consistently vibrant, noisy, and captivating, and generally, people do not mind being photographed, although it is always beneficial to be accompanied by a local so that people understand that I am a photographer and not an undercover agent!

I utilized a compact camera that was hardly noticed. I captured numerous images that day, but the most compelling shot — as is frequently the case — was a fortunate accident.

I stumbled upon a butcher’s stall in the market bathed in a red, almost hellish light that caught my eye. The bright light enhanced the meat’s appeal to customers. A woman was positioned in front of the counter, and I waited for her to leave so I could photograph the seller. I had only a few seconds to compose the shot (which is ample time for a photographer, believe me), and as soon as the woman departed, I clicked a few photos. The butcher spotted me just moments before I captured his image, and almost immediately thereafter, he ducked behind the counter. I managed to get just this one shot.

Photograph by Maryan Kushnir

This unit was positioned in the woods a few hundred meters from Russian forces as the invading army sought to penetrate Ukrainian defenses. The shelter was merely a hollow in the sandy ground, approximately one meter deep. Tree trunks and tarpaulin formed the roof.

Six soldiers occupied what they referred to as a “rabbit hole,” which lacked sufficient space to sleep comfortably. Some soldiers were working to make the shelter more livable; others were attempting to grab a few moments of rest. Every 15 minutes, the Russian Army bombarded the position with heavy artillery. At times, the stress was evident on the soldiers’ faces. The temperature that night plummeted below freezing, with a trench candle serving as the sole source of warmth within the refuge. Anything warmer could expose the position to heat-sensitive surveillance devices.

During daylight hours, it was nearly impossible to venture out into the woods, which were continually shelled. They nicknamed it the Forest of Verdun, referencing the World War I conflict in France. The tree trunks had been shattered into stumps by superheated fragments of artillery shells.

Almost a year later, the Russian Army would breach Ukraine’s defensive lines in the Kharkiv region and seize this position.