The Girls at the Front | Vanity Fair http://www.vanityfair.com/politics/features/2002/06/female-w...

media June 2002

The Girls at the Front

The handful of female war correspondents whose beat is whatever hellhole leads the
newsChristiane Amanpour, Marie Colvin, Janine di Giovanni, et al.are as tough as any
of the guys. But theres a difference in how they work, the way they love, and the risks they
run.

By Evgenia Peretz

T
hey work in places like Kosovo
and Grozny, but they livemost
of them, at leastin Londons
Notting Hill, a neighborhood
better known for its Victorian-camisole
street fairs than its rocket-propelled-
grenade launchers. The town house of
CNN chief international correspondent
Christiane Amanpour, the worlds most
famous war reporter, is smartly
appointed, with African sculptures and
socially conscious photography books
stacked just so on the coffee table. Even
the vase on the hallway floor worksbut
only after you hear the backstory: its the
155-mm. howitzer shell that landed two
doors down from Amanpour at the
Sarajevo Holiday Inn during the war in
Bosnia. If it had exploded, I and PHOTOGRAPH BY PATRICK GRAHAM.
everyone else in that wing would have THE ROAD TO KABUL On the edge of Pakistan in September 2001,
been killed, says Amanpour, feet on a smuggler shows Guardian correspondent Maggie OKane the way to
Afghanistan.
coffee table, hands behind head.

The daughter of an Iranian father and British mother, Amanpour is part of a small brigade
of women who have trooped, more or less as a group, from misery to misery, from Iraq to
Bosnia to East Timor to Chechnya and, lately, to Afghanistan and Israels West Bank. They
have shared rooms and deep friendships. They have elbowed each other out of the way to
get the story, and gossiped behind one anothers backs. And they all think an article about
female war correspondents is pretty lame. Safari Susans! exclaims Amanpour
facetiously.

Amanpour and her colleagues are reporters, they insist, not women reporters, as rugged
as any man, and theyve got the war stories to prove it. Take Afghanistan alone. Amanpour
discovered what she believes were mini training camps and a trove of documents about
how to make chemical and nuclear weapons. The BBCs newest sensation, a confident and
exuberant 37-year-old Brit, Jacky Rowland, completed her mission of being one of the first
Western correspondents into that country after September 11. We left CNN and their
equipment on the tarmac [in Tajikistan], which was a sheer delight, says Rowland.
During the first few days of the U.S. bombing, The Guardians Maggie OKanea
disheveled human tornado from Ireland who now lives in Edinburghendured a weeklong
trek from Pakistan into Afghanistan, traversing Horse Killer Pass. Janine di Giovanni, an
Italian-American with Jessica Rabbit looks, who writes for the London Times (and is a
contributing editor at this magazine), vigorously dodged al-Qaeda fire while in Tora Bora.
The only member of the group not to have recently visited Afghanistan is the toughest of
them all, Marie Colvin, an American who writes for The Sunday Times of London. Instead,
she was relearning to negotiate stairs after losing sight in one eye to shrapnel. She now
wears a black pirates patch. She also has a beaded, sparkly one that was given to her by
her friend Helen Fielding, who wrote Bridget Joness Diary. Its my party patch, says
Colvin as she brings her shaky match to her Silk Cut cigarette. I never thought in my life
Id be the woman with the patch. But there you are, life changes.

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D
espite toughness to burn, they concede that a woman reporters experience at
war is different from a mans. In traditional societies, where there is the residual
belief that women are ultimately harmless, they may slip past checkpoints
unhassled, or even unnoticed. Among Muslim extremists, such as in
Afghanistan, they are the only conduit to half of the population, while the other half often
views these Western women as different creatures altogethera third sex, as Rowland
puts itto be both avoided and respected. (Perhaps thats why many Northern Alliance
soldiers could only handle calling her Mr. Jack.) There is, some suggest, an intrinsic,
even biological difference between the ways they and their male counterparts look at war.
Boys get fascinated by toys about age two, and that never changes, Colvin says. Thats
not what I think is important about covering a war. I think the story is the people.

Its an uneasy claim to make, and Colvin cringes at the notion that women care about
dying babies and men dont. And, to be sure, the point is often debated among female war
reporters and their male colleagues. Nevertheless, its no coincidence that most members
of the group revere Martha Gellhorn, the grande dame of women war reporters (once
married to Ernest Hemingway), whose accounts of the Spanish Civil War and beyond
reflected an interest not so much in bombs as in what lay beneath themand a devotion to
her own conscience. Patrick Graham, a longtime journalist who has met several of the
women, admits that only someone like Marie Colvin would have hopped out of a car just
because she saw a man sitting on the side of the road. As it happened, he was sitting by the
grave of his young child and wife, who had warned him to leave town because Serbs were
encroaching. It was an incredible story, says Graham. And I think a lot of male
reporters would have been too busy trying to find the next commander.

Other characteristics they possesswhich are inarguably feminine oneshave made it

easier to get the incredible stories, too. A lover of tall, stiletto boots and good restaurants
in her downtime, di Giovanni has the kind of large green eyes that inspire soldiers to
unload their tales of woe. Petite and scrappy, Maggie OKane, 39, has routinely equipped
herself with urgent stories and fake, embarrassingly erotic love letters to make it past
police checkpoints. She has also turned endless jabbering into a professional calling: her
epic grill sessions with her subjectsabout wives, girlfriends, shoes, virtually
anythinghave had fellow journalists storming away, frustrated that they cant get a word
in edgewise, and even falling asleep.

It has also helped that all of them are easy on the eyesa fact that none of them rushes to
admit, especially Janine di Giovanni, she being perhaps the sexiest of the group. Im
always getting called the babe, says di Giovanni of her public image as she luxuriously
goes to work on the shrimp in Notting Hills hip pan-Asian spot E&O. Its so tiresome.
Jacky Rowland, a five-foot-eleven blonde, had been sleeping in a freezing tent when she
ran into her in Afghanistan late last year; di Giovanni suggested that Rowland do what she
herself had done: just ask the French guy from the aid agency for permission to sleep in his
office. I can just imagine Janine ... Oh, its so cold outside. Can I sleep in your office?
says Rowland. He just kind of melted in front of her. She was very kind in giving me that
idea.

Inevitably, there is also competition in this department. In Sarajevo, Maggie OKane

wondered how di Giovanni managed to look so much better than everyone else. There
was a secret shower down in the garage [of the Holiday Inn], which Janine learned and
didnt tell us about, says OKane. But there can be a downside to being pretty, too, as
Rowland discovered when she met a leader of the terrorist group the Popular Front for the
Liberation of Palestine. While other Middle Eastern leaders had refused to shake her hand,
he was more than happy to try to make out with her.

U
ltimately, however, Rowland admits, being an attractive female helped her
career along. The BBC correspondent in Belgrade during the 2000 elections in
Yugoslavia and the fall of Miloevi, Rowland says that the only reason I
survived as long as I did was because I was a woman, and that Yugoslav
information minister Goran Matic developed a bit of a thing for her, repeatedly
summoning her to his office, where hed binge nonstop with his cronies.

A rumor eventually emerged that the two were having an affair, and after doing some
digging, Rowland theorized that Matic must have started the rumor himself. Given the fact
that their affair would remain in the realm of Matics fantasy life, she says its no surprise
that a few months later, in October 2000, he took particular enjoyment announcing her
expulsion from the country for reportingprematurely, he claimedthat Milosevic was
finished. There is now a media war in Yugoslavia, said Matic in a press conference, and
I see in this very room, over there, the correspondent of the BBC, Jacky Rowland, who says
the elections are over and that the opposition has won. Rowland didnt leave the country,

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but went into hiding for five days. She came out to witnessand reportMilosevic
governments literally going up in flames. Two months later she had a chance to speak to
Goran Matic again at the fancy villa serving as party headquarters.

Why did you expel me? she asked.

Jacky, you were just collateral damage, Matic said.

Did you know that Id stayed?

Yes, I knew you stayed.

Did you care?

I didnt care.

M
ale correspondents can be just as love-struck and helpful as post-totalitarian
bureaucrats. Consider the case of Bruno Girodon, a French television
journalist, who fell in love with Janine di Giovanni at first sight, in Sarajevo in
1993; made serious headway in Algeria in 1998; and sealed the deal by Kosovo
in May 1999. Girodon (in Kuks, Albania, at the time) got word that nato was bombing the
Kosovo Liberation Army camp where di Giovanni was staying and that a number of
soldiers had been killed. He decided it was time to act. After a dizzying maze of phone calls
involving French secret-service agents, he finally got through to a Peruvian photographer:
Tell her to get out of there, its very important, shes in great danger! said Girodon before
they lost the connection, hoping the photographer would relay the message to di Giovanni.
Girodons crew moved on, but Girodon stayed behind at Kukss Bar Amerika hotel for two
days, still unsure of di Giovannis whereabouts and going out of his head. After all, just one
month earlier di Giovanni had been detained by drunken Serb soldiers who performed a
mock execution on her and her colleagues. And one day as miracle, she just appeared,
says Girodon, who didnt recognize her at first. And she said, Here I am. I am still alive.
And she was very muddy.

Recalling his words, di Giovanni gets almost misty. He just said, Ill never feel that kind
of joy. As luck would have it, Girodon was staying in the hotels nuptial suitewhich
consisted of nothing more than a dirty mattress and one dinky pink pillow.

When it came to impressing his crush, Patrick Bishop didnt have quite the luck that
Girodon did. It was late 1986, six years into the Iran-Iraq war, and Bishop, a battle-
hardened Sunday Telegraph reporter whod made his name in the Falklands War, was
imparting to Marie Colvin pearls from his bottomless reservoir of military knowledge. She
was the new girl, after all, an American and a Yale grad, just 30 years old, and she
happened to have this amazing, out-ofcontrol mane of brown curly hair.

You dont have to worry about that. Thats all outgoing, said Bishop above the explosions
surrounding them on the Iraqi front line. Youll learn when youve been around like I
have to distinguish between outgoing and incoming.... Thats outgoing, he continued,
and that one is ... incoming! Bishop dived for cover, Colvin remained standing, and the
Iraqi soldiers walked away laughing.

For the rest of my trip, recalls Bishop, I was thinking, How can I redeem myself having
made such an ass of myself? I had these fantasies that the Jeep would be hit and shelled,
and Id be able to drag her from the wreckage and save her life.

Bishop never had the opportunity to save Colvin, but she eventually fell for him anyway,
unaware at this point that falling in love in a war zone often means acquiring an
ex-husband. The marriage lasted two years. By the end, Colvin had decided that he was
the last person I ever want to see, speak to, hear of again. As Colvin looks back on her
marriage to Bishop, a picture emerges of two restless kids too caught up in destruction and
death to concern themselves with anyone elseeven each other. If you have the war, the
conflict, it becomes so important that those details are something you just forget, Colvin
says. You get on a plane and youre off somewhere, and if the phone gets cut off, the
phone gets cut off. Your life is lived in this very ... almost schizophrenic way, and that is
not what relationships are. [Relationships] are about squabbling over who forgot to buy
the milk. Surely Marguerite Higgins, the Pulitzer Prizewinning war correspondent from
the New York Herald Tribune, would have understood: she once said she would not marry
until I find a man whos as exciting as war. Unfortunately, Colvin had to learn her lesson
twice. A few years later, while covering an outbreak of violence in the West Bank, Colvin
met Juan Carlos Gumucio, a reporter for El Pais. They, too, got married; they, too, split up
not long thereafter.

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W
hich brings us to the other problem with meeting husbands in the
war-correspondent trade: once the marriage is over, you may very well run
into them in the next war zone. In Kuks, Albania, around the same time di
Giovanni and Girodon were having their emotional reunion, Marie Colvin
returned to her room, only to find that someone else had moved injudging from the
stuff, a man. I thought, Oh my God, what if that is one of my ex-husbands? recalls
Colvin, who knew they were both covering the story. She did what any grown woman
would do: rummage through his bag. She was relieved to find a Rolling Stones tour
T-shirt. I knew neither of them would wear that.

Relationships arent the only casualty. As a group, these reporters have lost close friends,
such as Kurt Schork and Miguel Gil Moreno, two veteran risktakers who were slaughtered
in Sierra Leone. At least one has lost pregnancies. Maggie OKane speculates that her four
miscarriages may have been due to the fact that Ive kind of knocked myself around a lot.

Also at risk is a healthy head space. Once the gunfire has stopped, normal life can seem
eerily quiet, and disconcertingly shallow. Jacky Rowland, after running through the
burning streets and tear gas in Belgrade on the day Milosevic fellthe day she describes
as one of the best days of my lifefound smart London insufferably boring. I was
incapable of having an ordinary conversation with people about ordinary things, says
Rowland. The experiences of being in a war and being bombed, and being on the run and
being chased by authorities, it just makes it quite difficult to come down and talk
mortgages and the latest fashions at Top Shop. Belgrade was like an epic motion picture
in which time seems to move more slowly; the quality of light, everything, looks
different.

L
ike addicts, they need their fix. Its worth noting, though, that its the former war
journalists, such as exCNN correspondent Siobhan Darrow, author of Flirting
with Danger, who will compare war to drugs. I had the feeling of being a junkie,
says Darrow, who covered Chechnya, the Balkans, and Albania and now refers to
herself as a recovering war reporter. I was so used to being in a constant state of crisis
that that was a comfortable place for me. If I stopped it for any amount of time, I was sort
of left with myself and the void.

Sometimes the void is filled with a nagging sense of guilt that they are war profiteers of a
sort. We are vultures, really, says di Giovanni, whose reports about amputees and child
soldiers in Sierra Leone made great copy and earned her high-profile awards. We are
peeling horrible stories from them. And then we are leaving their lives. Colvin, too,
sometimes feels like a fake because ... I get to go home. But the images rarely dim, a
point brought home in February when Colvins second husband, Gumucio, took his own
lifea brutal reminder, she says, of seeing too much.

What makes it all worth ittheir fundamental passionisnt the romance or the
adrenaline rush. Its the quest for justice. And once, in Bosnia, as a group, they achieved it.
It was, Amanpour has said, my Vietnam. For di Giovanni, Bosnia broke my heart
more than any man could.

A campaign of ethnic cleansing waged by the Serbs against an essentially helpless civilian
population of Muslims, Bosnia, says di Giovanni, was a lot like the Spanish Civil War. You
had a group of very idealistic young reporters who believed that we had to do something.
For her, that meant writing The Quick and the Dead, a wrenching account of the siege of
Sarajevo told entirely from the perspective of the victimsthe children whod lost parents,
the terrified mothers trying to keep it together, the disillusioned soldiersas Europe and
the U.S. stood by and watched. It broke my heart, says di Giovanni, that tens of
thousands of people died that did not have to die.

W
hile di Giovannis approach was that of a sympathetic witness, OKane was a
one-woman war-crime tribunal, as journalist Patrick Graham puts it, and
she made it her duty to doggedly hunt down murderers, such as a disgruntled
bus driver said to have massacred an entire family in Suva Reka. It made a
difference. In 1992, after reporting on the horrors of the Serb detention camp of Trnopolje,
OKane concluded that it was a concentration camp. Three hundred and fifty journalists
promptly raced into the area, among them an Independent Television Network reporter,
Penny Marshall, who was filmed shaking hands with an emaciated man behind barbed
wire. The imageeerily reminiscent of another 20th-century atrocitywas beamed
around the world, and within 20 minutes of its airing on American television, President
George H. W. Bush suddenly decided that the international community cannot allow
innocent children, women, and men to be starved to death, and Prime Minister John
Major recalled his Cabinet from vacation for an emergency meeting.

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That camp was soon closed, the war went on, and the reporters did not let up. Two years
later, CNN sponsored a town-hall forum starring President Clinton, who had promised
during the 1992 campaign to take action in Bosnia but had done very little since taking
office in 1993. Amanpour appeared on satellite television from Sarajevo and asked, Do
you not think that the constant flip-flops of your administration on the issue of Bosnia set
a very dangerous precedent? His feel-your-pain act dissolved. There have been no
constant flip-flops, madam, Clinton replied.

Amanpour soldiered on, relentlessly exposing Bosnias suffering to remind the Western
powers of the tragedy they were letting occur in their backyards. Eventually, the flip-flops
ended and the leaders acted decisively. What we reported in Bosnia made it untenable for
democracies to allow that kind of thing to happen again, Amanpour says. As for the flak
they sometimes received for not being objective, for rushing to hysterical judgment, all
of them roundly dismiss it. I certainly wasnt objective, says di Giovanni, because I
really believed there were very clear sides to be taken. Or, as OKane explains, The truth
isnt objective.

B
osnia helped make their careers, brought them acclaimand, in the case of
Christiane Amanpour, made her an international icon, her own wing of the
United Nations. By 1996, Clinton was introducing Amanpour as the voice of
humanity at White House dinners. He wasnt the only famous politico who
developed a soft spot for Amanpour toward the end of the Bosnian conflict. So did then
State Department spokesman James Rubin, who, before meeting Amanpour, divided the
world between those who thought that Bosnia was a fundamental moral imperative and
people who saw it as another problem in a faraway land. Those who were in the first group
were special. When their courtship began in 1997, one of the jokes Rubin played on her
was to sort of pretend that I didnt really know of her that much, and I didnt watch much
TV. It wasnt long before Rubin had to start taking it all a bit more seriously, as when he
recently worried that Amanpour might meet the fate of the eight journalists killed in
Afghanistan. I bought into this package knowing that this was always part of it, says
Rubin, who married Amanpour in 1998 and has now spent many days and nights alone
with their two-year-old son, Darius. You never like it, but you get used to it, and you
develop devices. We talk an enormous amount on the phone, we see each other on TV.

Now Amanpour has men worldwide deciding that shes a new kind of sexy, and Gwyneth
Paltrow wishing aloud in Harpers Bazaar that she could be her. Even when she receives
nasty barbs in the press, as when the New York Posts Andrea Peyser called her a war
slut, shes left with the upper hand. Post owner Rupert Murdoch wrote Amanpour a
personal letter of apology.

Naturally Amanpour claims, Im not caught up in the celebrity culture, but the words roll
off her tongue so readily that one wonders if the lady doth protest too much. The photo
gallery in her living roombasically limited to her family and various Kennedyssuggests
celebrities arent so horrible. As does her reaction when a friends phone call brings the
news that the actor Aidan Quinn thinks she rocks. Aidan Quinn? Im in love with Aidan
Quinn! she squeals from the other room. She returns to her interview blushing a little
and, shrugging, says, Another fan.

For Maggie OKane, her five-year-old son, Billy, has given her joy and a keener perspective
on her work. The story of the Bosnian woman who saw her four children machine-gunned
down in Suva Reka is, she says, a horror I wouldnt have understood without being a
mother now. But hes also brought her new conflicts. Sitting by the fire in her Georgian
house in Edinburgh on this cold day in November, her little boy and his cat, Sylvia,
cuddled in her arms, OKane says, Im not prepared to miss the next year of his life. But
when the radio brings the news that Mazar-e-Sharif has fallen, she fires up another Silk
Cut and becomes restlessand one wonders whether she wouldnt mind missing, well,
maybe the next month of it. This spring, she was back in Bosnia, on the trail of Radovan
Karadzic, wanted for six years for genocide.

At 37, single and on the up-and-up, Jacky Rowland isnt yet plagued by such matters. Shes
too busy providing testimony to the U.N. war-crimes tribunal about the grisly Serb prison
she visited in Kosovowhich just happened to be bombed by nato forces on the afternoon
she was there. Like Amanpour, shes coping with both the thrill and the awkwardness of
her newly minted celebrity. Her name and picture have recently been popping up in the
U.K. press, and the media have dubbed her the new Kate Adie. Unfortunately, its a title
that doesnt sit well with the old Kate Adie, the 56-year-old doyenne of the BBC, who
covered Libya, Tiananmen Square, and the Gulf War, and was once Rowlands role model.
Last fall, at the Cheltenham Festival of Literature, Adie launched her own Scud missile at
Rowland and her ilk, saying BBC bosses were now looking for reporters with cute faces

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and cute bottoms and nothing else in between. Rowland took it as a direct affront. To see
that the person who inspired me as a teenager is making bitchy comments about the young
women who are following in her footsteps, I just dont think that does justice to a proud
tradition, says Rowland. She did establish women as war correspondents and time
ticks on.

F
ueled by Bosnia, Janine di Giovanni has continued the good fight. One of a
handful of reporters willing to risk getting kidnapped, di Giovanni, in 2000,
sneaked into Chechnya, where she witnessedand was first to callthe fall of
Grozny. Just as she had done in Bosnia, di Giovanni waited it out with the victims
as they were bombarded, this time by Russian planes and tanks. The sightsfrom the dogs
eating dead bodies, to the house filled with hungry, blind Chechens waiting in vain for help
to comewere every bit as grim as those she saw in Bosnia. But this time the Western
world did not intervene to stop the violence. After she tried without success to send help
back from London to the blind Chechens, a bitter reality of being a war reporter hit her. I
felt so defeated, says di Giovanni. That sentiment deepened in April when she returned to
the site of her first story in 1989, the West Bank. I see people who 12 years ago were
throwing stones, she says from the battle of Jenin. Now theyre gunmen. Finding
comfort with Bruno Girodon isnt easy. Based in Abidjan, Ivory Coast, he says, Im not
thinking about the future. She wish I could think about the future, but Im not living like
that. To which di Giovanni can only sigh, saying, You choose to fall in love with a gypsy,
what do you get?

Colvin, too, has continued the questat times triumphantly. In East Timor in 1999, after
machete-wielding militiamen went on a rampage, the U.N. staff and the journalists
decided to evacuate, but Colvin stayed behind to act as a kind of human shield for 1,500
Timorese women and children, among them mothers who were so desperate they were
throwing their babies over the barbed-wire fence surrounding the U.N. compound.
Embarrassed by Colvins reports, the U.N. reversed its decision to leave the innocent
behind, and the civilians were taken to safety in Australia.

And last April, Colvin took a 30-mile journey on foot through the jungle into the northern,
Tamil-controlled area of Sri Lanka, a corner of the world truly forsaken by the West.
Journalists were banned, and a humanitarian crisis, in which government forces had
besieged 500,000 civilians, denying them food and medical aid, remained hidden from the
world. Colvin filed her story, exposing the horror, and during her nighttime exodus she
was caught in a fiery ambush; shrapnel from a grenade landed deep in her left eye. Despite
her protestsDont shoot! American! Journalist!she was pummeled by the
government soldiers, who believed she was with the enemy Tamil Tigers. She was grilled
by soldiers before being flown to Colombo, then to London, and then to New York. A
doctor was able to save her eyebut not the ability to see out of it.

Colvin isnt pitying herself, nor does she think shes a hero for having nearly died for her
cause. I feel that I am very lucky, she says. These people you are leaving behind are
much braver. If they want to live, they have to be brave every single day of their lives. One
such person was a Catholic priest she had met in Sri Lanka, who told her, icily, No
journalists have come, no one cares about us, so why should I talk to you? After hearing
of her injury, he had a letter smuggled out of Tamil Sri Lanka, where theres no postal
system, and had it sent from Colombo. The letter read, I am very sorry to hear of your
injuries. You are remembered here as a brave and honest person. It was just two lines,
Colvin says, and it was so ... it made me feel good.

After her injury, there was someone else who made her feel good, too, who treated her
swollen eye with endless drops of steroids and antibiotics and ate meat loaf with her. In
Kuks, Albania, three years ago, the night Colvin feared one of her two ex-husbands had
become her roommate, ex-husband No. 1, Patrick Bishop, was actually just down the street
and after 13 years apparently still held onto the hope that he might get to rescue her. He
believed her to be in Bajram Curri, an area on the Albania-Kosovo border so dangerous he
needed to get her out immediately. Desperately trying to find an armed escort for the
mission, he asked a fellow reporter if he knew any reliable men: Well, why dont you go
and ask Marie Colvin, shes a great expert. Shes in the bar down the road. I went in
there, says Bishop, and she was surrounded by young male acolytes who were listening
to her every word. They were all dismissed as I sat down, and we started talking and that
was that. Weve been together ever since.

T
hough they have figured each other out a little better this time around, Colvin and
Bishop continue to butt heads. Two days before Colvin was injured, Bishop had a
nightmare that she was killed. But knowing Marie, there was no point in telling
her. And as of March, she was back, eye patch and all, in another war zone

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banned to journalistsRamallahbraving the crossfire and stun grenades lobbed her way.
There are no plans for marriage. In fact, Colvin wears her two wedding rings to remind
myself never to get married again, and the Patrick Bishop problem seems to have found a
workable solution. He lives in Paris, says Colvin from her garden flat in Notting Hill,
which is perfect.

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