Ami Vitale: I had set down this path to become a war photographer without meaning to. And I didn't wanna follow the pack, so I found these stories that weren't really being told. What would happen if we chose to illuminate the things that unite us as human beings rather than just the things that divide us.

I was working in New York City as a photo editor sitting at my computer all day looking at stories coming in. And I always dreamed of becoming a foreign correspondent. And I got the courage to quit my job and move to the Czech Republic, where I got a job working for a small business paper. And in that time, in that next year the war in Kosovo was starting, it was in my backyard. And suddenly went from being a relatively amateur photographer working at a business newspaper to overnight becoming a war photographer. And as I dove into my career, I did the classic thing, I think a lot of photographers do. We want to make a difference, we want to tell powerful stories. So, you know, what do you do? You go the most dangerous, difficult, toughest places on the planet, and I did that. And I was 26 when I started, and I went to conflict zones all over the world, because I wanted to make a difference. And I think we're automatically taught to believe that those powerful stories are the ones that are driven in angst and death and suffering. And I don't ever want to minimize the importance of telling those stories. But I had set down this path to become a war photographer without meaning to. And I didn't want to follow the pack, so I found these stories that weren't really being told.

One of them was in Angola, already in its 26th year of a brutal civil war. And I went to all these editors I knew and pitched this story, and they all said the same thing, “No, we don't”-- you know, their eyes would kinda glaze over “Nobody cares, Ami, don't go.” And, I couldn't accept that. So, I took everything that I had made and went anyway. And this is a boy outside of an orphanage that had just been rampaged the night before by hungry soldiers. And he was just trying to make sense of what had happened. Several of the people there had died. And four million people at that point, four million people were displaced. It was this unimaginable humanitarian crisis and nobody cared. And it was this story that people were numb to and I knew I had to find a hook. I had to find a way to get this story in the press. And I did. I found these children who were learning how to surf. They had taken this driftwood and carved it into surf boards, because they had seen these surfers and wanted to do that. And so I found my little hook, and managed to get this story, the much larger story through this smaller story.

And next, I was sent to Gaza. And this was when the second Intifada was unfolding. And it began as kids throwing rocks and quickly escalated into people dying. And there were plenty of stories all around us, but we were asked to focus on the violence. Obviously, that's what sells in newspapers. And this is a scene, and literally there are at least half a dozen photographers next to me, we were all photographing exactly the same thing. And this was a profound moment in my life, when I started asking myself all these questions, because one day I was walking back to my hotel and I heard this music on the street. So, I wandered in and I found this hotel and this couple getting married. And this beautiful scene, scene of love, you know, in the middle of all of this chaos just captivated me, and I thought, “Wow! Why aren't we telling these stories as well?” Because they're just as important, they help us relate to one another and help me understand these people as human beings just like you and me. And so, I think that, you know, we've become attuned to thinking that, you know, the positive, the good, the beautiful stories are just banal, they're boring. You know, they don't really deserve to be published. What would happen if we chose to illuminate the things that unite us as human beings, rather than just the things that divide us.

So, I packed my bags and went to India. This is a place of 300 million gods and just as many stories. I was in search of Gandhi and yoga. With all my romantic notions I arrived in India. This was shortly after I arrived and these riots broke out. Little did I know that the scars of partition in 1947, when the British left, they had not healed, and at that time the subcontinent was divided into India and Pakistan. And horrible rioting broke out then and I was about to relive it again. And so, I got on the last plane to Gujarat and as I was landing all I could see was smoke. And there was nobody else on the plane except for a few soldiers. And when I got there, of course there's no taxis. So, I hitched a ride with the soldiers. And, they took me to a hotel across from a police station and the city was burning. Thousands of machete-wielding men were just rampaging. And the police seemed incapable of controlling the mobs. People were painting religious symbols on their houses so that the mobs knew where to go. And, um, it was really just one of the most horrific experiences. I can still barely talk about it even today. This is one of the young survivors, who narrowly escaped. Her house was firebombed. And these were the darkest three days of my career. No one knows exactly how many people were killed. And at that point I just wanted to run away and quit being a photographer, and just be normal. And I was filled with rage and fear but what kept me there were scenes like this. And outcomes like this. These were girls who were protected during the violence. And images like this were shown around the world and the government sent in troops and they stopped the violence. And I realized the power of photography and that it is in these moments that you don't turn around and run home.

So then, my heart was captured by this place called Kashmir, which is in the Himalayas. It is one of the most beautiful places on the planet and it's also mentioned in the Guinness Book of World Records as being the most militarized place on the planet and the longest pending conflict. This place was poetry to me, it is so beautiful but yet... These are-- These are boats that are made for honeymooners, you can see the little hearts painted on it and these are soldiers who are out patrolling Dal Lake. And Hindus and Muslims who once shared neighborhoods and schools and friendships, the conflict just destroyed that relationship, and so, the Hindus were chased out and now they are scattered across India, in the dusty plains living in tents, even today. And I wanted to focus on the people, because I had read a lot about Kashmir and it was always defined in geo-political terms. And so, these are villagers who have been outside for three days as the military is going from house to house trying to flush out militants who are holed up in one of the houses. And the people were really caught in the middle of it. But very little was said about them. And this is a man named Mr. Wonderful, that's what he called himself. He really was, he would bring me flowers every morning on my houseboat, I stayed on a houseboat while I was there. And, you know, I decided to focus on the people, but especially the women, because actually quite a lot of doors were closed to me as a woman in a very conservative culture. But I discovered something incredible. When those doors close to you it just means that there's open doors somewhere else. So, I found that the open doors were in the women's world. And they had an important story to tell. So, I focused on that. Outside it was a war zone, but inside it was beautiful. And this is a woman getting married and she's getting henna put on her hands before the marriage. So, people always found ways to celebrate life. But there were also really dark times. When I was living there, any woman that didn't wear a burqa was-- We were threatened to have acid thrown on our faces. And you have to imagine, wearing a burqa in Kashmir was as foreign to them as it is to you and me. They didn't wear burqas. And so, I thought how do I illustrate that story. So, I went into a tailor shop. And as I was photographing this woman who was buying material, she leaned over and she whispers to me in English and says, “You know, I think the tailors made it up so they could sell more material.” And I couldn't believe, really, in the darkest moment, I mean, terrifying moment, she's making a joke. And that was the Kashmiri spirit. They are so resilient, you know, it's just this beautiful, beautiful culture and I wanted to show that in my stories.