Throughout 2025, The Washington Post’s staff and contract photographers traveled the country and the world, reporting from the front lines of the war in Ukraine to the immigrations raids that have rocked cities such as Los Angeles and Chicago. As the year comes to an end, three of these photographers reflect on their experiences covering the stories that defined 2025.
Carolyn Van Houten in Somalia
In early 2025, staff photographer Carolyn Van Houten traveled to Somalia with her colleague Katharine Houreld to document the Puntland Defense Forces’ fight against the Islamic State, which has regrouped and operates its central financial hub from Somalia.
“The sound of a grenade exploding outside the guesthouse before dawn told me it was time to get up. Hours later, as we moved across the arid desert of Puntland toward the front line against Islamic State militants, we saw the wreckage of a recent suicide attack, bodies bloated and rotting in the sun, and other warning signs of the conflict ahead. My flak jacket chaffed as we jolted across the rock-hewn sand, driving 150 kilometers an hour. Fast enough, we were told, that if you hit an [improvised explosive device], you are less likely to be catastrophically injured. Through the golden dust kicked up by our convoy, the mountainous landscape slipped past in shades of rust and sage, hiding not only ISIS but also al-Shabab.
“Days earlier, Puntland forces cleared Islamic State fighters from caves in the Cal Miskaad mountains, and we were taken to see where they had been living — fortified shelters carved into rock and stocked with supplies, evidence of a long and determined presence. Back in Bosaso, the cost of that fight became unmistakable. I watched General Fu’ad Xanaano of the Puntland Defense Forces, who was wounded in battle, be greeted by the region’s president before being loaded onto a small plane bound for treatment in Ethiopia. Puntland had only a single two-person helicopter for medical evacuations. Many wounded soldiers endured hours-long journeys by vehicle across rocky, IED-riddled terrain. ‘We are fighting a global war alone,’ President Said Abdullahi Deni said as injured soldiers were sent abroad for medical care.
“Much coverage of war focuses on frontline action, but I wanted to show the humanity that fills the quiet spaces between the explosions: soldiers waiting in caves, supporting one another on their journey to battle, and risking their lives not only for their homeland, but for global security, with limited support and little attention.”
Heidi Levine in the West Bank
For most of 2025, contract photographer Heidi Levine has been visiting the West Bank, where tensions between Israeli settlers and Palestinian communities have become increasingly deadly.
“Raja Abu Hassan, 10, grabbed my arm and cautiously led me over mounds of dirt and debris the Israeli army had piled to block residents from returning to their homes. He stopped every few steps to listen for the rumble of military vehicles. His uncle joined us, hoping to retrieve belongings from the home he had been forced to flee. A few others darted across tank tracks, some clutching bags filled with clothes and what little they had managed to save. Hassan paused, absentmindedly playing with a dangling electrical cable. Then, in a soft voice, he began to sing in Arabic. Standing amid the rubble, the sound felt both horrifying and heartbreakingly beautiful. He pointed toward his home in the distance, inside the Jenin refugee camp in the northern West Bank. I did not ask him to take me there. Just a month earlier, the camp had been densely crowded; now, it resembled scenes of devastation more commonly associated with Gaza.
“Since the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas-led attacks, Israeli forces have killed nearly 1,000 Palestinians in the West Bank, according to the United Nations, a figure that does not distinguish between civilians and combatants. Gun battles between Palestinian Authority forces and militants inside the impoverished refugee camps have further compounded the destruction and bloodshed.
“Assaults by Jewish settlers against Palestinian residents have also surged since the start of the Gaza war and escalated sharply in recent months. Local and foreign journalists have increasingly been targeted. Marking our vehicles with ‘Press’ now feels unsafe. Weaving in and out of both sides of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has become part of my routine, but there is a profound sense of despair in watching patterns repeat and intensify.”
Jahi Chikwendiu in Utah
Across several weeks, former staff photographer Jahi Chikwendiu documented the lives of Tanner and Shay Martin as they navigated Tanner’s terminal colon cancer diagnosis and Shay’s pregnancy.
“My first hug with Tanner felt like a deep communion. As I approached him, I thought of how I might hug my mother, remembering how her cancerous body experienced pain in the last months of her life. Tanner was only 30 years old and already in his fifth year of fighting colon cancer. He was draped in a thick burgundy robe that softened his broken body. Cloaking my arms and body over Tanner, I imagined squeezing tightly against an invisible force field that surrounded him. Tensing myself around him this way allowed him to feel the intensity of my hug around him without it being painful hug into him. I purred as I squeezed, and he purred in return. The exchange, for me, was the dual signing of a contract that I make with all the people who allow me so deeply into their lives. In my heart, the contracts always read that my rent for documentary access is that I agree to carry, even if subconsciously, parts of the emotional weight they share with me. Their bravery. Their suffering. Their senses of humor. Their love. It changes me.
“A thing that will forever stand out to me about documenting Tanner’s life was the timing. When we first started covering his story in February of 2025 — hanging with him and his pregnant wife through the birth of their daughter, all while he suffered through all that comes with living and dying from a devastating disease — I had no idea my absolute final assignment with The Washington Post would be his funeral. At the service for him, I sat in a daze in black jeans and a black T-shirt, having rushed to Utah for his funeral. My tears tasted different. I had been hoping and praying to my version of the heavens that Tanner would outlive my career. In the weeks before, I had decided to retire after almost a quarter of a century with the company. I knew Tanner and the young cancer stories would be the last of my work there.
“My memories turn again and again to the speeches his friends gave at this memorial. One mentioned how Tanner helped carry him through depression. Another described how Tanner was his best friend. A young woman summed up their friendship by saying, ‘Tanner made space. … He was intentional about looking for the good and holding space for joy amid the hard.’ She mentioned telling Tanner she felt silly about complaining to him about her life’s woes as cancer robbed him of his life. His response to her is what struck me the deepest, tears overwhelming my eyelids. ‘We don’t need to compare our hearts,’ Tanner had told her.
“Meeting and knowing Tanner, even briefly, helps me mold my steps forward through the world. He left behind a model for how to live — by noticing others even as his time ran out.”
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