The Straits Times Blogs - Alphonsus Chern

Gone in 20 seconds

2009-04-13T07:30:00Z

Alphonsus Chern watches, and photographs, a man as he runs for his life.

ALL was quiet in the unmarked van parked outside a multi-storey car park. The engine was running and the air-conditioning was on, but the lights were out.

Officers from the Ministry of Manpower had picked out the targets – two South Asian men who appeared to be washing cars.

"Let's go", was all the officer said, as he slid open the door of the unmarked van waiting outside the multi-storey car park.

The team moved swiftly, and I found myself hurrying to keep up with them, camera in hand. I kept only a pace behind as they squeezed between parked cars, turned a corner, and bounded up a side staircase.

MOM officers move swiftly into the car park.
ST Photo: Alphonsus Chern

We came face-to-face with a dark-skinned man filling two pails with water.

"M-O-M."

Even as the words were uttered, two hefty officers had already cornered the man, his hands raised as if to plead for mercy.

After arresting one man at the landing,
other officers carry on to the second floor.
ST Photo: Alphonsus Chern

Meanwhile, three more officers had moved to the second floor. I fired seven frames at the trio, and hurried up the steps.

A volley of shouts echoed through the car park as I stepped through the door and saw another man clad in a shirt and three-quarters pants emerge from a row of parked cars. He immediately sprinted for the opposite stairwell, shucking his slippers as he ran, narrowly missing a moving car.

The chase across the second floor.
ST Photo: Alphonsus Chern

The shouting got louder as the officers gave chase, and a couple who had just emerged from their parked car stopped to watch the unfolding scene.

Halfway across the floor, one of the officers tripped and took a tumble. He landed on his knees, rolled to his feet, and continued the chase without missing a beat.

By this time, the car-washer had reached the opposite stairwell. He plunged through the door and down the steps, his pursuers only a fraction of a second behind him, but when I got to the bottom of the stairs and emerged into the night, he was gone.

Apparently, he had dashed across the busy road and vanished into the night. A quick sweep of the area confirmed that he had gone.

As I walked back to the van, heart pounding, a group of middle-aged ladies were sitting together and talking about the episode they just witnessed. Men at the coffee shop eyed us warily as we passed them.

A check of the time stamps on my pictures showed that the chase across the car park floor lasted nine seconds, the whole episode, just 20 - hardly surprising as the man had been running for his life.

Had he been caught, a fine may well have wiped out his savings. Barred from future employment, he might never repay the debt owed to agents in his home country to secure himself a job in Singapore.

By this time, the first car-washer had been handcuffed, and was being taken to a waiting car.

The first car-washer, now arrested, stares at the photographer
through the windows of an unmarked car.
ST Photo: Alphonsus Chern

As I took his picture, he looked uncertain, helpless – a man who was, for the moment, no longer in control of his life.

Read the background story on why MOM tracked down and arrested these particular illegal workers in More raids flush out illegal workers.

Update on Tuesday: Joanne Lee blogs about how her sister was treated like an illegal worker in the US. Read it here.

Power to the people

2008-11-07T22:00:00Z

Alphonsus Chern shares his experience of detailing the local energy landscape.

"Hello, I'm calling from the Jurong West police station, may I speak to Mr Chern please?"

A half-hour later, I was showing my first official guests around the energy photo exhibition at the National Library, even though it wasn't yet open.

One of the officers later confided that a private establishment – one that repeatedly refused me access to photograph - had called the cops after receiving my invitation to view the pictures.

After taking a few photos of my photos, they left, and I went back to putting up the rest of the pictures.

This is how it all began.

While studying at the Nanyang Technological University in the West, I lived on campus to save on travelling.

For an advanced photojournalism class, I found that the only time I could make pictures was after I'd finished all my other work, late into the night.

I would wheel out my red bicycle, strap on the tripod, and make long night exposures of the industrial landscape.

The smoke pouring out of the stacks, the shimmering lights, and the haze that perpetually blanketed the refineries was exciting enough that I came back night after night, photographing until dawn.

When it was time to decide on a topic for my graduation project, I chose "energy" as the theme. I thought it would be a wonderful way to show viewers where it came from and how it got to their homes.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find anybody else to join in, which was just as well, since the bicycle wouldn't have seated two plus twice the gear.

It was hard work. Many corporations declined me access due to "business and security reasons". Fortunately, there were still a few who opened their doors, though after much persuasion.

Many long bus rides to the extremities of the island ensued - the first to say "hello", the second to build trust, a third to take photographs, a fourth for better pictures.

I visited some of these places five or more times. Sometimes, the lights wouldn't come on. On another occasion, it would rain. Then it would be too hazy.

For the places that wouldn't grant me direct access, I had to photograph from vantage points: Hills, tanks, rooftops, overhead bridges, double-deck buses, observation platforms. It was no easy task.

Photographing from the top of a water tank somewhere in western Singapore.
Photo: Samuel He

What touched me were some of the people I photographed for the story. They patiently waited while I got the "right shot". They even agreed to a re-shoot, and another, and another.

Getting the "right shots" filled me with a tremendous sense of exhilaration. A photographer's joy that few outside the profession would fully understand.

Finally, all was done. The book was printed, the exhibition a success. I felt a wonderful sense of achievement and thought the chapter closed.

Round Two

I had just started work at the local newspaper when a call came from the Energy Market Authority. They wanted to commission another show to coincide with International Energy Week.

The project was reborn. More shoots were scheduled, more intimate access gained.

Most facilities were protected by fences such as these.
Photo: Alphonsus Chern

Hours, even days, were spent in the deep interiors of buildings which housed vast amounts of machinery.

Danger and dizzying heights were afoot with every step. Helmets and harnesses were the order of the day. For one shoot, I was crouched on a beam of an overhead crane, my head just inches from the rotating drum that coiled the cables.

The view from the top of the overhead crane at a power station.
Photo: Alphonsus Chern

Photographs were checked before leaving each facility. Those deemed too sensitive were embargoed. A thousand pictures were honed down to twenty.

When I finally visited the shop to see the three-foot-wide prints, I was pleasantly surprised. The colours were rich, the scale, breathtaking.

The only way I could have better conveyed the immensity of the places I visited would have been to print the pictures wall-size.

The photographer setting up at the National Library building.
Photo: Sam Kang Li

But for now, I hope the viewer enjoys the photographs as much as I enjoyed making them, and more so, understands what must transpire that his light bulb glows at the touch of a switch.

Read Alphonsus Chern's full story in Saturday's edition of The Straits Times here.

The anti-popcorn squad

2008-09-02T06:52:00Z

Alphonsus Chern catches the men who clear your movie trash in action.

THIS is war.

With the soundtrack from "Star Wars: The Clone Wars" playing ominously in the background, I find myself running up a dimly-lit flight of stairs, my camera primed for action, ten kilos of gear swinging on my shoulder.

I'm trying to photograph the trash left behind by cinema patrons, but the moment I focus on an offending item, I see it plucked out of my viewfinder and tossed into a giant pail.

Efficiency is the name of the cinema-cleaning game, and James Tan, 54, has his team honed to perfection.

The cleaning supervisor at the cinema looks every bit the 1960s Chinese gentleman, with his gold-rimmed glasses and carefully combed hair. With his short-sleeved shirt and pants perfectly creased, he appears more bank clerk than broom-wielder.

In between movie screenings, and in impeccable Mandarin, he tells our team about the unsavoury things he has found left behind in cinemas, from a grubby pair of old shorts to stinking shoe insoles.

What do YOU leave behind?
ST Photo: Alphonsus Chern

He describes how little time he has to clear a cinema hall of trash - ten minutes, tops, from the time the credits fade and the lights come on, to when the next batch of patrons are let in by the ushers to take their seats, popcorn tubs overflowing.

Later, I pop into a theatre to watch the tail-end of a film, and sure enough, I find a beaming James standing outside the cinema when the credits begin to roll.

His team of cleaners are lined up against the wall, looking like Christmas with their green t-shirts and bright red pails.

These young men and women appear casual, even nonchalant, to the passerby, but those who watch them at work will realise that every member of his team is a highly-trained individual.

As the cinema empties, they move in, fast, like an special forces squad, quickly spreading out and taking down the trash aisle by aisle, while James, red pail in hand, directs the action from the centre aisle.

All of a sudden, there are no more cups on the seats, only showers of golden popcorn on the floor. In a flash, James switches from pail to broom.

Valiantly, I hit the ground trying to photograph him in action against Golden Popcorn, but his broom is too swift for my slow shutter in the darkness. I capture a blur of activity; red streaks of broom bristles across my screen.

I pursue him up the steps and across the aisles, trying not to trip up while following him with the camera to my eye, rushing because time is of the essence.

The ten minutes is up. Patrons for the next show begin streaming in, but the cinema is spick and span - there's not a grain of popcorn left for me to capture.

Meanwhile, the big red pails, filled to the brim with soaked tissues, popcorn buckets, cups, papers, and the odd Kentucky Fried Chicken box, are being carted out by his Men in Green.

Well, Men in Blueish-Green, anyway.
ST PHOTO: Alphonsus Chern

I take out my handkerchief and mop my brow; my shirt is soaked despite the Arctic air-conditioning.

James' shirt and pants are still neatly creased, and there isn't even a sheen on his forehead.

He looks at me, still beaming, from a job well done.