On 25 April 2005, I was on the Gallipoli Peninsula to photograph the commemorations marking the 90th anniversary of the Gallipoli campaign. Thousands of people, particularly from Australia and New Zealand, had travelled to the ground where the fighting took place. As I photographed the ceremonies, visitors, cemeteries and memorials, I saw how strongly the memory of these events endured ninety years later.
For Australians and New Zealanders, 25 April marks the anniversary of the 1915 landing of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) at Gallipoli. The campaign caused immense loss of life among Ottoman and Allied forces. Many of those who returned for the anniversary were not only remembering a historical event; they were also seeking a connection with their own family histories.
One detail that particularly struck me was that the area where Anzac visitors sat during the ceremony was itself a war cemetery. Headstones could be seen here and there among the seated crowds, although they were easy to overlook at first. People had gathered among the graves of soldiers who had died on this ground ninety years earlier. Flags, visitors and headstones shared the same frame, giving the ceremony an especially poignant meaning.
Among the monuments I photographed was the Respect for the Mehmetçik Memorial, depicting a Turkish soldier carrying a wounded Anzac officer. The inscription beneath the sculpture includes words attributed to Lord Casey, a former Governor-General of Australia, praising the courage, patriotism and humanity of Turkish soldiers. At a commemoration bringing together descendants of former adversaries, the monument offered a reminder of compassion and mutual respect amid the suffering of war.
Small details in the war cemeteries affected me as deeply as the large ceremonies. One wreath bore the name of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, which cares for Commonwealth war graves, and the words ‘In Remembrance’. Beside it stood a small wooden cross carrying a handwritten personal tribute. The official wreath and the intimate message side by side showed two ways of remembering: collective responsibility for the dead and one person's enduring connection to someone lost.
What I photographed on Gallipoli that day was more than an anniversary ceremony. The crowds beneath the flags, visitors seated among the graves, wreaths, red poppies and memorials all revealed different ways in which the past remains present. Through these photographs I sought to document the commemorations of 25 April 2005, the losses of the Gallipoli campaign and the respect that has grown between peoples once divided by war.