Unembedded bears witness to the enduring power of independent journalism. In their unflinching look at war-ravaged Iraq, four freelance photojournalists show that life there is brutal yet poignant; that compassion co-exists with anger, hatred and fear. By gaining the confidence of Iraqi civilians and insurgents, these photojournalists have brought back images of life in wartime, from beauty parlours and joyful wedding scenes to the carnage of civilian casualties, the heartbroken faces of grieving parents, and the glassy-eyed shock of parentless children. Working outside the US military's official eembedding' programme, the authors bring us face-to-face with the people of Iraq. They combine photographs and essays with excerpts from two years of personal letters, journal entries, and feature stories to take us across front lines and cultural barriers into the lives of a nation in crisis. Theirs is a path to understanding the cost of war From Unembedded : Four Photos, Four Photojournalists These photos appear in Unembedded: Four Independent Journalists on the War in Iraq . Unembedded bears witness to the enduring power of independent journalism. In their unflinching look at war-ravaged Iraq, four freelance photojournalists show that life there is brutal yet poignant; that compassion co-exists with anger, hatred, and fear. Photo by Kael Alford August 21, 2004 Najaf, Iraq During the battle between U.S. forces and the Mahdi Army militia for control of the holy city of Najaf, civilians were once again caught in the crossfire between U.S. forces and Iraqi insurgents. While many families fled the city at the start of the fighting, others stayed and found themselves trapped as the cordon of U.S. trips tightened around the old city. At the heart of the ancient city among the twisting alleyways was the shrine of Imam Ali, the holiest site in Shia Islam, which the Mahdi Army was claiming to defend. With heavy bombardments during the night and small arms fire and lighter bombing during the day, those civilians left stranded in the city lived in constant fear. During a lull in the gunfire, this man decided to risk an 11th-hour escape. He raised one arm toward sniper positions and held his screaming child in the other, walking across the front lines on a main avenue to escape the final hours of the battle. Born in Middletown, NY, 1971. Kael Alford is a freelance photojournalist who has spent more than eight months of the last year and a half in Iraq. She was based in Baghdad during the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003. Her recent work from Iraq focuses on the growing culture of resistance, conservative religion, and the grass roots movements developing since the invasion of Iraq. Kael has worked extensively covering culture, politics and conflict in Southeast Europe and the Middle East for many major US and European magazines and newspapers. She is based in Amsterdam and New York and is represented by Panos Pictures in London. Photo by Ghaith Abdul-Ahad September 12, 2004 Baghdad, Iraq When I arrived at Haifa Street I was told that an American vehicle had been attacked earlier in the day. The American soldiers had been evacuated, but a crowd had gathered around their burning armored vehicle. Suddenly, there were two big explosions from an American helicopter attack and people started running toward me in waves as I ran up to the burning vehicle. A dozen men formed a circle around five injured people lying in the street, all of whom were screaming and wailing. I had been standing there taking pictures for two or three minutes when we heard the helicopters coming back. Everyone started running, and I didn't look back to see what was happening to the injured men. I had just reached the corner of a concrete cigarette stall when I heard two more explosions. I felt hot air blast my face and something burning on my head. Six of us squeezed into a space behind the stall less than seven feet wide. Blood started dripping on my camera and all that I could think about was how to keep the lens clean. A man in his forties next to me was crying. He wasn't injured, he was just crying. The helicopters wheeled overhead, and I realized that they were firing directly at us. I wanted to be invisible; I wanted to hide under the others. Born in Baghdad, Iraq, 1975. Ghaith Abdul-Ahad studied architecture at Baghdad University. A deserter from Saddam Hussein's Iraqi army, Ghaith lived underground in Baghdad for six years. He began making street photography in 2001 and determined to document conditions in Baghdad during the war. The day after the fall of Baghdad, Ghaith satisfied an aching curiosity by walking into one of Saddam's palaces, talking his way past American guards by claiming to be a foreign journalist. Soon after, Ghaith began writing for The Guardian and The Washington Post . His photographs began to appear in The New York Times , The Times (London), and others. Ghaith was wounded by shrapnel to his head when U.S. heli