From our special correspondent in Bayeux (Calvados)
Before the war, Vlada and Konstantyn Liberov photographed weddings in the Odessa region of western Ukraine. But the Russian invasion in February 2022 changed everything for them: their job, their vision of photography, their relationship with information. Until November 12, a selection of their work is presented in Bayeux in the exhibition “Ukraine: Front Lines”. During the War Correspondents Festival in mid-October, the “Libkos”as they are called, told 20 minutes their extraordinary journey. In 2022, their photos were among the best according to TimeAssociated Press and the BBC.
Behind his dark glasses, Konstantyn Liberov looks welcoming, always with a slight smile; Vlada Liberov seems more distant, her light blue eyes wander, as if a part of her remained in the war. The word also comes up several times like a ghost in place of others during our discussions. But it is she who speaks up to tell about their work in the face of disinformation.
It began at the start of the war, when they faced the Russian side’s denial of an invasion. As they posted articles or photos about the war, Russian acquaintances wrote to them on social media to tell them that it was false and that they were lying. “Our first instinct was to go and see what was happening ourselves,” recalls Vlada Liberov. Two weeks after the start of the invasion, they went to Mikolaiv, then to the Kharkiv region, cities which were then heavily bombed.
The “naive” hope of ending the war
“We naively thought that by showing people, at least our followers in Russia, what was happening in Ukraine, they would go and demonstrate, they would want the war to stop, because it’s cruel, people are dying. But that’s not what happened,” she regrets with a sigh. Meeting people, soldiers, being on the front, documenting: photographing war is like “a duty” for them. “Before, we were wedding photographers and we were sure that other colleagues would also change fields,” she continues. We never thought it was anything special to become war photographers. It was absolutely natural, it was what we had to do. »
In a small room in the former disused police hotel in Bayeux, which has partially reopened for the exhibition, photos are striking in their look. “It’s a very tough room for us,” breathes Vlada Liberov. She tells the tragic destinies behind the photos, as with this portrait of a young soldier, 19 years old, smiling in the Donetsk region. Two weeks after the photo, he was killed; a tanker, with a haunted look after a fight, has also since died. “We didn’t know it, but it’s easy to become friends in times of war, people get closer easily,” she says. It’s always hard to receive this kind of news. »
“We were completely shocked” in Boutcha
The Boutcha massacre is another trauma for them and an important step in their journey as photojournalists. At the beginning of April 2022, the town located on the outskirts of kyiv was liberated, with the departure of Russian troops. Several hundred corpses of civilians were found in the streets. In the first month of the war, the couple photographed with the idea of giving hope, they did not want to take pictures of the dead.
“And we went to Bucha,” Vlada Liberov begins, before stopping. “We were completely shocked by all these people who died,” adds her husband, Konstantyn. “We didn’t take photos because we couldn’t press the button, we couldn’t do it,” she continues, explaining that they wanted to show the people who had survived.
Russian propaganda quickly used their images “as a weapon” to assert that there were no deaths, that nothing happened. “We understood then that our photos are not intended to give hope or support people,” says Vlada Liberov, “but that they must show the truth. And if we know that what we show is completely true, then we are protected from those who use our photos in other ways because the truth exists and everyone will see and understand it one day. » This quest for truthfulness, they have ingrained it into their skin, by tattooing the word truth in Ukrainian on their wrist.
“We know that what we show is the truth”
“Now the way we take photos has completely changed,” emphasizes Konstantyn Liberov. The couple wants to make people feel the pain and violence of war. This does not prevent their photos from being distorted and used by Russian military propaganda. “This happens to us all the time,” says the photographer. When we show the town of Bakhmut destroyed, soldiers wounded, the Russians use these images to scare, to say look what happens when you resist the largest army in the world… We can’t do anything about it, but we know that what we show is the truth. »
For Enric Marti, exhibition curator, making known the work of Ukrainian photographers who cover their country, such as the Libkos or that of Evgeniy Maroletka, was important. “We chose them because we know them and we know they are good,” emphasizes the man who is also a photojournalist. We wanted to show powerful images from the front line. »
Accessing the front line and information remains complicated, regrets Vlada Liberov, who recounts the mountain of letters to be written in order to be able to go to the field, convince people of the usefulness of their work and the fact that they are not going to not reveal the position of the soldiers. “Many of the photos we took have not yet been published,” she explains, “we will leave them for history. » The search for truth always guides them. “If we witness abuses committed by the Ukrainian army, we will take photos, because it is important from a historical point of view,” asserts Vlada Liberov forcefully. Our job is to be witnesses, to document, to show what we see. » To be war photographers.