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King Charles Visits Melanoma Clinic in Sydney and Meets Cancer Survivors

Britain's King Charles III and Queen Camilla pose for pictures in front of the Sydney Opera House in Sydney on October 22, 2024, as the Sydney Harbor Bridge is seen in the background. (AFP)
Britain's King Charles III and Queen Camilla pose for pictures in front of the Sydney Opera House in Sydney on October 22, 2024, as the Sydney Harbor Bridge is seen in the background. (AFP)
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King Charles Visits Melanoma Clinic in Sydney and Meets Cancer Survivors

Britain's King Charles III and Queen Camilla pose for pictures in front of the Sydney Opera House in Sydney on October 22, 2024, as the Sydney Harbor Bridge is seen in the background. (AFP)
Britain's King Charles III and Queen Camilla pose for pictures in front of the Sydney Opera House in Sydney on October 22, 2024, as the Sydney Harbor Bridge is seen in the background. (AFP)

King Charles visited a skin cancer clinic in Sydney on Tuesday where he met cancer survivors and researchers working on cures for the disease.

The visit to the Melanoma Institute Australia was one of the final public appearances Charles made on his 16th official visit to the country, his first major overseas trip since being diagnosed with an unspecified form of cancer.

There was no mention of the King's own diagnosis during the visit, where Charles met melanoma survivor Adam Brown and his family. Brown was given 12 months to live when he was diagnosed in 2015.

Brown, along with wife Kristy, introduced their children as their “two miracles”.

The King offered his congratulations to Brown although jokingly wondered why the children were meeting him during school hours.

Charles also met renowned melanoma researcher and brain cancer survivor Richard Scolyer. Diagnosed with brain cancer last year, Scolyer underwent world-first surgery and his tumor is in remission.

Scolyer was joined on Tuesday by fellow researcher Georgina Long. Both were named Australians of the Year in January for their research into melanomas.

"That was an amazing opportunity for us to tell the king about what we're doing here trying to deal with Australia's national cancer, and to talk about how we're trying to get to zero deaths from melanoma," Scolyer said.

Earlier in the day Charles met Indigenous elders in inner-city Redfern, the home of the urban Aboriginal civil rights movement, and was embraced by elder Michael Welsh

The moment was in sharp contrast to Monday when Charles was heckled at Parliament House in Canberra by independent senator and Indigenous activist Lidia Thorpe who shouted that she did not accept his sovereignty over Australia.

The Royal couple will close the day with a fleet review of the Royal Australian Navy in Sydney Harbor.

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In Beirut, a Photographer's Frozen Moments Slow Down Time and Allow the Contemplation of Destruction

A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
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In Beirut, a Photographer's Frozen Moments Slow Down Time and Allow the Contemplation of Destruction

A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)

We watch video after video, consuming the world on our handheld devices in bites of two minutes, one minute, 30 seconds, 15. We turn to moving pictures — “film” — because it comes the closest to approximating the world that we see and experience. This is, after all, 2024, and video in our pocket — ours, others', everyone's — has become our birthright.
But sometimes — even in this era of live video always rolling, always recording, always capturing — sometimes the frozen moment can enter the eye like nothing else. And in the process, it can tell a larger story that echoes long after the moment was captured. That's what happened this past week in Beirut, through the camera lens of Associated Press photographer Bilal Hussein and the photographs he captured.
When Hussein set up his camera outside an evacuated Beirut apartment building Tuesday after Israel announced it would be targeted as part of military operations against Hezbollah, he had one goal in mind — only one. "All I thought of," he says, “was photographing the missile while it was coming down.”
He found a safe spot. He ensured a good angle. He wasn't stressed, he said; like many photographers who work in such environments, he had been in situations like this one before. He was ready.
When the attack came — a bomb, not a missile in the end — Hussein swung into action. And, unsurprisingly for a professional who has been doing this work for two decades, he did exactly what he set out to do.
Time slowed down
The sequence of images he made bursts with the explosive energy of its subject matter.
In one frame, the bomb hangs there, a weird and obtrusive interloper in the scene. It is not yet noticed by anyone around it, ready to bring its destruction to a building that, in moments, will no longer exist. The building's balconies, a split-second from nonexistence, are devoid of people as the bomb finds its mark.
These are the kind of moments that video, rolling at the speed of life or even in slow motion, cannot capture in the same way. A photo holds us in the scene, stops time, invites a viewer to take the most chaotic of events and break it down, looking around and noticing things in a strangely silent way that actual life could not.
In another frame, one that happened micro moments after the first, the building is in the process of exploding. Let's repeat that for effect, since even as recently as a couple generations ago photographs like this were rare: in the process of exploding.
Pieces of building are shooting out in all directions, in high velocity — in real life. But in the image they are frozen, outward bound, hanging in space awaiting the next seconds of their dissolution — just like the bomb that displaced them was doing milliseconds before. And in that, a contemplation of the destruction — and the people it was visited upon — becomes possible.
Tech gives us new prisms to see the world
The technology to grab so many images in the course of little more than one second — and do it in such clarity and high resolution — is barely a generation old.
So to see these “stills,” as journalists call them, come together to paint a picture of an event is a combination of artistry, intrepidity and technology — an exercise in freezing time, and in giving people the opportunity to contemplate for minutes, even hours, what took place in mere seconds. This holds true for positive things that the camera captures — and for visitations of violence like this one as well.
Photography is random access. We, the viewers of it, choose how to see it, process it, digest it. We go backward and forward in time, at will. We control the pace and the speed at which dizzying images hurtle at us. And in that process, something unusual for this era emerges: a bit of time to think.
That, among many other things, is the enduring power of the still image in a moving-picture world — and the power of what Bilal Hussein captured on that clear, sunny day in Beirut.