The shot the police hit me with: Best photo by Rod Morris | Photography

IIn 1993, a photo I took of a bus driver in Luxor, Egypt won a contest. The prize was a sum of money, a camera, and a return ticket to anywhere in the world. You chose Chile. The camera was a model bells and whistles: I sold it to a taxi driver at three in the morning. I have always preferred to work with light 35mm cameras.

After three months in Chile, I took a train up the Bolivian Altiplano plateau, which left me with a headache that could only be relieved by some coca tea. I had an open commission from the Financial Times to provide photographs from the financial districts of the South American cities I went to, so while my main goal was to walk around and photograph the interesting things I encountered, I also made sure to head to the financial district and government headquarters in La Paz, where this photo was taken.

This was the year in which Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada was elected President of Bolivia, and my visit coincided with his election campaign. As the election approached, there was a real sense of fear in the city. There were a large number of soldiers and police around; There were rumors that any unregistered land would be confiscated by the new government, and I think that’s why the people in this photo were lined up with their papers.

There was no way to be discreet when you took it. My camera was very high and you could see someone looking directly at me. People’s amazement at being photographed while they’re alive is something I’ve encountered often. This was not a wedding photo or a happy occasion: I think the claims had to be submitted before the deadline which was probably very close. But I wasn’t quite sure when I took the photo what was going on, just that it was important to these people and there was a very tense atmosphere. This is the feeling I wanted to capture.

Then some plainclothes police officers approached me, put me in the back of the car and took me to the local station, where I was interrogated for a long time about why I was there and what I was doing. I told them I was a tourist taking pictures of myself but they still tried to take my film. Fortunately, I was able to get rid of them with some loose rolls. On my way out, I had to walk through a line of policemen who took turns punching and kicking me to the door. This was my warning, but they also told me that I would be followed and monitored. I didn’t hang around.

This image is one of many that were unpublished at the time but now form part of a series I call Still Films, which draws on my background in both photojournalism and filmmaking. I’ve always been drawn to cinematic black and white images and the scenes I find look like they’ve been set up. The series delves into the interplay between cinema and photography: still images that conjure a story that goes beyond the frame.

There are so many photos I took in La Paz that I love, but as soon as I saw this photo on the contact paper I realized that film-like quality. There is tension in the composition, as the characters form a chain leading to the open doorway guarded by a soldier, but there is also a degree of ambiguity. I think this is something all my favorite photos have in common, both my own and those taken by others. I don’t like my images to be too static or too immediate, I want them to be imbued with the same sense of excitement and wonder I felt when I pressed the shutter.

Photography is personal, and I was always hesitant to go somewhere and try to tell a story as an outsider. I arrived in Bolivia with no prior knowledge or judgment, and what was happening at the time had nothing to do with the photo. I believe that the best photos provide more questions than answers.

Biography of Rod Morris