This is the tale of two ancient cities and the trees that determined their destinies.
In 3,000 BC Uruk was more densely populated than modern day New York City.
This crowded capital had to continually expand their irrigation system to feed its growing population.
2,500 years later in Sri Lanka, the city of Anuradhapura had a similar problem.
They were also growing constantly, and like Uruk, their city relied heavily on an elaborate irrigation system.
As Uruk grew, its farmers began chopping down trees to make space for more crops.
In Anuradhapura, however, trees were sacred.
Their city housed an offshoot of the Bodhi tree under which Buddha himself was said to have attained enlightenment.
Religious reverence slowed farmer’s axes and even led the city to plant additional trees in urban parks.
Initially, Uruk’s expansion worked well.
But without trees to filter their water supply, Uruk’s irrigation system became contaminated.
Evaporating water left mineral deposits, which rendered the soil too salty for agriculture.
Conversely, Anuradhapura’s irrigation system was designed to work in concert with the surrounding forest.
Their city eventually grew to more than twice Uruk’s population, and today, Anuradhapura still cares for a tree planted over 2,000 years ago.
We may think of nature as being unconnected to our urban spaces, but trees have always been an essential part of successful cities.
Trees act like a natural sponge, absorbing storm water runoff before releasing it back into the atmosphere.
The webs of their roots protect against mudslides while allowing soil to retain water and filter out toxins.
Roots help prevent floods, while reducing the need for storm drains and water treatment plants.
Their porous leaves purify the air by trapping carbon and other pollutants, making them essential in the fight against climate change.
Humanity has been uncovering these arboreal benefits for centuries.
But trees aren’t just crucial to the health of a city’s infrastructure; they play a vital role in the health of its citizens as well.
In the 1870’s, Manhattan had few trees outside the island’s parks.
Without trees to provide shade, buildings absorbed up to nine times more solar radiation during deadly summer heat waves.
Combined with the period’s poor sanitation standards, the oppressive heat made the city a breeding ground for bacteria like cholera.
In modern day Hong Kong, tall skyscrapers and underground infrastructure make it difficult for trees to grow.
This contributes to the city’s dangerously poor air quality, which can cause bronchitis and diminished lung function.
Trees affect our mental health as well.
Research indicates that the presence of green foliage increases attention spans and decreases stress levels.
It’s even been shown that hospital patients with views of brick walls recover more slowly than those with views of trees.
Fortunately, many cities are full of views like this— and that’s no accident.
As early as the 18th century, city planners began to embrace the importance of urban trees.
In 1733, Colonel James Oglethorpe planned the city of Savannah, Georgia to ensure that no neighborhood was more than a 2-minute walk from a park.
After World War II, Copenhagen directed all new development along five arteries— each sandwiched between a park.
This layout increased the city’s resilience to pollution and natural disasters.
And urban trees don’t just benefit people.
Portland’s Forest Park preserves the region’s natural biodiversity, making the city home to various local plants, 112 bird species, and 62 species of mammals.
No city is more committed to trees than Singapore.
Since 1967, Singapore’s government has planted over 1.2 million trees, including those within 50-meter tall vertical gardens called supertrees.
These structures sustain themselves and nearby conservatories with solar energy and collected rainwater.
Trees and vegetation currently cover over 50% of Singapore’s landmass, reducing the need for air conditioning and encouraging low-pollution transportation.
By 2050, it’s estimated that over 65% of the world will be living in cities.
City planners can lay an eco-friendly foundation, but it’s up to the people who live in these urban forests to make them homes for more than humans.
My name is Ryan Lobo, and I've been involved in the documentary filmmaking business all over the world for the last 10 years.
During the process of making these films I found myself taking photographs, often much to the annoyance of the video cameramen.
I found this photography of mine almost compulsive.
And at the end of a shoot, I would sometimes feel that I had photographs that told a better story than a sometimes-sensational documentary.
I felt, when I had my photographs, that I was holding on to something true, regardless of agendas or politics.
In 2007, I traveled to three war zones.
I traveled to Iraq, Afghanistan and Liberia.
And over there I experienced other people's suffering, up close and personal, immersed myself in some rather intense and emotional stories, and at times I experienced great fear for my own life.
As always, I would return to Bangalore, and often to animated discussions at friend's homes, where we would discuss various issues while they complained bitterly about the new pub timings, where a drink often cost more than what they'd paid their 14-year-old maid.
I would feel very isolated during these discussions.
But at the same time, I questioned myself and my own integrity and purpose in storytelling.
And I decided that I had compromised, just like my friends in those discussions, where we told stories in contexts we made excuses for, rather than taking responsibility for.
I won't go into details about what led to a decision I made, but let's just say it involved alcohol, cigarettes, other substances and a woman.
(Laughter) I basically decided that it was I, not the camera or the network, or anything that lay outside myself, that was the only instrument in storytelling truly worth tuning.
In my life, when I tried to achieve things like success or recognition, they eluded me.
Paradoxically, when I let go of these objectives, and worked from a place of compassion and purpose, looking for excellence, rather than the results of it, everything arrived on its own, including fulfillment.
Photography transcended culture, including my own.
And it is, for me, a language which expressed the intangible, and gives voice to people and stories without.
I invite you into three recent stories of mine, which are about this way of looking, if you will, which I believe exemplify the tenets of what I like to call compassion in storytelling.
In 2007 I went to Liberia, where a group of my friends and I did an independent, self-funded film, still in progress, on a very legendary and brutal war-lord named General Butt Naked.
His real name is Joshua, and he's pictured here in a cell where he once used to torture and murder people, including children.
Joshua claims to have personally killed more than 10,000 people during Liberia's civil war.
He got his name from fighting stark naked.
And he is probably the most prolific mass murderer alive on Earth today.
This woman witnessed the General murdering her brother.
Joshua commanded his child-soldiers to commit unspeakable crimes, and enforced his command with great brutality.
Today many of these children are addicted to drugs like heroin, and they are destitute, like these young men in the image.
How do you live with yourself if you know you've committed horrific crimes?
Today the General is a baptized Christian evangelist.
And he's on a mission.
We accompanied Joshua, as he walked the Earth, visiting villages where he had once killed and raped.
He seeked forgiveness, and he claims to endeavor to improve the lives of his child-soldiers.
During this expedition I expected him to be killed outright, and us as well.
But what I saw opened my eyes to an idea of forgiveness which I never thought possible.
In the midst of incredible poverty and loss, people who had nothing absolved a man who had taken everything from them.
He begs for forgiveness, and receives it from the same woman whose brother he murdered.
Senegalese, the young man seated on the wheelchair here, was once a child soldier, under the General's command, until he disobeyed orders, and the General shot off both his legs.
He forgives the General in this image.
He risked his life as he walked up to people whose families he'd murdered.
In this photograph a hostile crowd in a slum surrounds him.
And Joshua remains silent as they vented their rage against him.
This image, to me, is almost like from a Shakespearean play, with a man, surrounded by various influences, desperate to hold on to something true within himself, in a context of great suffering that he has created himself.
I was intensely moved during all this.
But the question is, does forgiveness and redemption replace justice?
Joshua, in his own words, says that he does not mind standing trial for his crimes, and speaks about them from soapboxes across Monrovia, to an audience that often includes his victims.
A very unlikely spokesperson for the idea of separation of church and state.
The second story I'm going to tell you about is about a group of very special fighting women with rather unique peace-keeping skills.
Liberia has been devastated by one of Africa's bloodiest civil wars, which has left more than 200,000 people dead, thousands of women scarred by rape and crime on a spectacular scale.
Liberia is now home to an all-woman United Nations contingent of Indian peacekeepers.
These women, many from small towns in India, help keep the peace, far away from home and family.
They use negotiation and tolerance more often than an armed response.
The commander told me that a woman could gauge a potentially violent situation much better than men.
And that they were definitely capable of diffusing it non-aggressively.
This man was very drunk, and he was very interested in my camera, until he noticed the women, who handled him with smiles, and AK-47s at the ready, of course.
(Laughter) This contingent seems to be quite lucky, and it has not sustained any casualties, even though dozens of peacekeepers have been killed in Liberia.
And yes, all of those people killed were male.
Many of the women are married with children, and they say the hardest part of their deployment was being kept away from their children.
I accompanied these women on their patrols, and watched as they walked past men, many who passed very lewd comments incessantly.
And when I asked one of the women about the shock and awe response, she said, "Don't worry, same thing back home.
We know how to deal with these fellows," and ignored them.
In a country ravaged by violence against women, Indian peacekeepers have inspired many local women to join the police force.
Sometimes, when the war is over and all the film crews have left, the most inspiring stories are the ones that float just beneath the radar.
I came back to India and nobody was interested in buying the story.
And one editor told me that she wasn't interested in doing what she called "manual labor stories."
In 2007 and 2009 I did stories on the Delhi Fire Service, the DFS, which, during the summer, is probably the world's most active fire department.
They answer more than 5,000 calls in just two months.
And all this against incredible logistical odds, like heat and traffic jams.
Something amazing happened during this shoot.
Due to a traffic jam, we were late in getting to a slum, a large slum, which had caught fire.
As we neared, angry crowds attacked our trucks and stoned them, by hundreds of people all over the place.
These men were terrified, as the mob attacked our vehicle.
But nonetheless, despite the hostility, firefighters left the vehicle and successfully fought the fire.
Running the gauntlet through hostile crowds, and some wearing motorbike helmets to prevent injury.
Some of the local people forcibly took away the hoses from the firemen to put out the fire in their homes.
Now, hundreds of homes were destroyed.
But the question that lingered in my mind was, what causes people to destroy fire trucks headed to their own homes?
Where does such rage come from?
And how are we responsible for this?
45 percent of the 14 million people who live in Delhi live in unauthorized slums, which are chronically overcrowded.
They lack even the most basic amenities.
And this is something that is common to all our big cities.
Back to the DFS.
A huge chemical depot caught fire, thousands of drums filled with petrochemicals were blazing away and exploding all around us.
The heat was so intense, that hoses were used to cool down firefighters fighting extremely close to the fire, and with no protective clothing.
In India we often love to complain about our government bodies.
But over here, the heads of the DFS, Mr. R.C. Sharman, Mr. A.K. Sharman, led the firefight with their men.
Something wonderful in a country where manual labor is often looked down upon.
(Applause) Over the years, my faith in the power of storytelling has been tested.
And I've had very serious doubt about its efficacy, and my own faith in humanity.
However, a film we shot still airs on the National Geographic channel.
And when it airs I get calls from all the guys I was with and they tell me that they receive hundreds of calls congratulating them.
Some of the firemen told me that they were also inspired to do better because they were so pleased to get thank-yous rather than brick bats.
It seems that this story helped change perceptions about the DFS, at least in the minds of an audience in part on televisions, read magazines and whose huts aren't on fire.
Sometimes, focusing on what's heroic, beautiful and dignified, regardless of the context, can help magnify these intangibles three ways, in the protagonist of the story, in the audience, and also in the storyteller.
And that's the power of storytelling.
Focus on what's dignified, courageous and beautiful, and it grows.
Thank you.
(Applause)