Pictures of the Day: Syria and Elsewhere

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Photos from Syria, Indonesia, the Philippines and Spain.

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In Real Time, Calling for Anthony Weiner to Step Out of the Mayor’s Race

We’ve all heard of fast-breaking stories but something relatively new in the newspaper world is the fast-breaking editorial.

The Times is doing more of that these days - posting editorials expressing the paper’s institutional opinion in real time rather than waiting until the next day’s paper.

Few instances have been as notable as one on Tuesday, when about three hours after Anthony D. Weiner’s news conference, The Times had written and published an editorial calling for him to remove himself from New York City’s mayoral race.

The editorial began: “At some point, the full story of Anthony Weiner and his sexual relationships and texting habits will finally be told. In the meantime, the serially evasive Mr. Weiner should take his marital troubles and personal compulsions out of the public eye, off the Web and out of the race for mayor of New York City.”

I asked Andrew Rosenthal, the editorial page editor, about this practice, which runs counter to the stereotype of tweedy and bespectacled editorial writers deliberating and arguing for long hours over the news in the morning paper for comment (at earliest) the next day.

He said the editorial board had started, during the 2012 campaign, to put editorials online as soon as they were ready rather than wait for an 11 p.m. deadline as the print edition went to bed.

“We started speeding up,” he said. “We began to put them up when we had them ready.”

The recent, major Supreme Court decisions on the Voting Rights Act and the Defense of Marriage Act were among those news stories to get this kind of immediate comment.

“We just feel like when people are focused on a big story, that’s the time to weigh in,” he said. Editorials, at that moment, “get more attention and have more impact.”

With Tuesday’s development on Mr. Weiner, he said, “we started talking about it earlier in the day” when news sites started to forecast a major development. At that point, writing something for possible use later seemed premature, he said.

But given the news conference and what Mr. Rosenthal saw as Mr. Weiner’s “contemptuous attitude,” he felt that “this had gotten to the point of craziness.”

Making a strong statement “seemed legitimate at that moment.”

This practice requires fast decision-making followed by fast writing, fact-checking and editing. “We compress and speed up the process.” In the case of the Weiner editorial, that also involved checking with the publisher, Arthur Sulzberger Jr., to make sure he was on board. He was.

Once the editorial is posted, the inexorable world of Internet commenting begins, and sometimes outside  reaction means the editorial will be adjusted before going into its final, print form. Last month, the Twitter world was critical of a change in an editorial about President Obama’s credibility on the government’s phone data collection, making much of The Times’s apparent softening of its position.

“That was an instance in which it became clear that people were misreading what we intended to say so we clarified it,” he said. I wrote about that in this blog, suggesting that - given the strength of the original statement and the strong reaction to it - the change should have been explained very briefly to the reader. Mr. Rosenthal disagreed, saying the change was only meant for clarity and didn’t need an explanation.

The real-time posting of editorials is a good development and one that, so far, has served Times readers well.

But what’s next? Will editorials soon be sent out on Twitter in 140-character increments?

“That’s not my intention,” Mr. Rosenthal said. “You have to think about the best way to say something. This is already pretty fast.”

Rugby Rehabilitation in an Argentine Prison

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After finishing an emotionally wrenching project on children with leukemia, Rosario Heer wanted to photograph something lighter. A chance meeting with Diego Claisse, a rugby coach, got her to thinking: Wouldn’t it be nice to spend time taking pictures of rich kids tussling on the field at one of Buenos Aires’s exclusive rugby clubs?

When she asked Mr. Claisse if she could go with him to the club, he agreed. But then he made an offhand comment: he also coached a rugby team composed of convicts.

“I wanted the jail!” Ms. Heer recalled. “I always get attracted to those kinds of stories. Why did he have to say that to me? I knew that if I was photographing the rich kids, I would have been wondering what was going on in the jail.”

So, before she took a single frame, her project went from looking at Argentina’s elites to spending five months with felons serving time at the Unidad Penitenciaría de San Martín, on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. The result is “Try,” a peek at the lives of Los Spartanos, men behind bars who find a measure of release, brotherhood and hope playing a rough-and-tumble sport that is more popular on the other side of the world than in soccer-mad Argentina.

Rosario Heer Santiago, 20, is one of the youngest members of the team. The oldest is 56.

Ms. Heer arrived at the prison last year with Mr. Claisse and Eduardo Oderigo, a lawyer who founded the club three years ago almost on a do-good impulse. She had no idea what she was getting into, though her first steps into open-air sections of the complex didn’t seem so daunting â€" at first.

“I was a bit paralyzed,” she said. “The first part, I felt free, in a sense. But you start to feel trapped because everyone is looking at you, from the guards to the prisoners. And, I’m claustrophobic. It was not a great combination. Well, who told me to go to jail?”

That first day, she had a chance to present her project to the members of the rugby team, who for the last two years have lived in their own cellblock. The unit attracts those who want to play rugby, as well as prisoners who are sent there for good behavior and wind up helping the team. The cellblock has some comforts absent in other parts of the jail, like a television, video games and table tennis.

She said her proposal to photograph the team was received well, since the men wanted to show a different side of prison life. They knew that because of their crimes, the outside world would judge them as undesirable. But they saw in Ms. Heer a chance to humanize themselves and their situation.

Granted, the fact that they played rugby instead of soccer itself gave them a certain reputation among the other inmates.

“Rugby has a lot of contact, and to outsiders it looks like they are killing each other,” Ms. Heer said. “If you know how to play, it’s not as hard as it seems. But from the outside, it looks like they are the rude boys of the jail, so no one gets near them.”

Rosario Heer Carlitos has been part of the team since it started. He wants his child to play rugby in the future.

Though she wanted to get close to the rugby players, Ms. Heer chose not to ask why they were in prison or even how long they were sentenced. She thought that kind of information would alter how she looked at them, or even scare her. If anything, the inmates took pains to be courteous around her, even scolding others who spit or swore.

The team practiced with their coaches, and in front of Ms. Heer, on Tuesday mornings. On Fridays, they practiced without Ms. Heer. Every three months, they played another team, and not always in jail â€" a judge sometimes allowed them to travel to a match.

The first game Ms. Heer photographed was between Los Spartanos and a team of judges and lawyers. No one on either side recognized one another.

“One of Los Spartanos asked if they let the judges win would they get early release,” she said. “It was a fun game. They were afraid of taking the ball away from the judges or lawyers.”

Games like this one were also opportunities to reconnect with friends and family, moments treasured by the prisoners. And as part of the game ritual, they shared snacks and conversation with their opponents afterward.

“The captain of Los Spartanos said it had been a long time since he felt as free as he had that day,” Ms. Heer said.

Another game, inside the walls of another prison, had a different tone. The men complained about unfair calls from referees who favored their opponents. Some were petulant, like unruly children, she said. Their coaches took the opportunity to teach Los Spartanos tolerance and restraint.

“ ‘On the field, you are seeing inmates,’ ” a coach told them, according to Ms. Heer. “ ‘Once you get out, you are going back to your old neighborhood and see the people who put you in here.’ It reminded them they were always going to have these encounters.”

Of the rugby-playing inmates she photographed, Ms. Heer said five had since been released. All five are still free.

“The coaches are doing this not so the prisoners can get out,” she said. “They do it so they won’t come back.”

Rosario Heer Rugby, once considered a game for the elite, is increasingly popular in Argentina. It is the only sport played in the prison.

Ms. Heer’s project came to our attention by way of FotoVisura.

Follow @rochiheer, @dgbxny and @nytimesphoto on Twitter. Lens is also on Facebook.

Rugby Rehabilitation in an Argentine Prison

In order to view this feature, you must download the latest version of flash player here.

#flashHeader{visibility:visible !important;}

After finishing an emotionally wrenching project on children with leukemia, Rosario Heer wanted to photograph something lighter. A chance meeting with Diego Claisse, a rugby coach, got her to thinking: Wouldn’t it be nice to spend time taking pictures of rich kids tussling on the field at one of Buenos Aires’s exclusive rugby clubs?

When she asked Mr. Claisse if she could go with him to the club, he agreed. But then he made an offhand comment: he also coached a rugby team composed of convicts.

“I wanted the jail!” Ms. Heer recalled. “I always get attracted to those kinds of stories. Why did he have to say that to me? I knew that if I was photographing the rich kids, I would have been wondering what was going on in the jail.”

So, before she took a single frame, her project went from looking at Argentina’s elites to spending five months with felons serving time at the Unidad Penitenciaría de San Martín, on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. The result is “Try,” a peek at the lives of Los Spartanos, men behind bars who find a measure of release, brotherhood and hope playing a rough-and-tumble sport that is more popular on the other side of the world than in soccer-mad Argentina.

Rosario Heer Santiago, 20, is one of the youngest members of the team. The oldest is 56.

Ms. Heer arrived at the prison last year with Mr. Claisse and Eduardo Oderigo, a lawyer who founded the club three years ago almost on a do-good impulse. She had no idea what she was getting into, though her first steps into open-air sections of the complex didn’t seem so daunting â€" at first.

“I was a bit paralyzed,” she said. “The first part, I felt free, in a sense. But you start to feel trapped because everyone is looking at you, from the guards to the prisoners. And, I’m claustrophobic. It was not a great combination. Well, who told me to go to jail?”

That first day, she had a chance to present her project to the members of the rugby team, who for the last two years have lived in their own cellblock. The unit attracts those who want to play rugby, as well as prisoners who are sent there for good behavior and wind up helping the team. The cellblock has some comforts absent in other parts of the jail, like a television, video games and table tennis.

She said her proposal to photograph the team was received well, since the men wanted to show a different side of prison life. They knew that because of their crimes, the outside world would judge them as undesirable. But they saw in Ms. Heer a chance to humanize themselves and their situation.

Granted, the fact that they played rugby instead of soccer itself gave them a certain reputation among the other inmates.

“Rugby has a lot of contact, and to outsiders it looks like they are killing each other,” Ms. Heer said. “If you know how to play, it’s not as hard as it seems. But from the outside, it looks like they are the rude boys of the jail, so no one gets near them.”

Rosario Heer Carlitos has been part of the team since it started. He wants his child to play rugby in the future.

Though she wanted to get close to the rugby players, Ms. Heer chose not to ask why they were in prison or even how long they were sentenced. She thought that kind of information would alter how she looked at them, or even scare her. If anything, the inmates took pains to be courteous around her, even scolding others who spit or swore.

The team practiced with their coaches, and in front of Ms. Heer, on Tuesday mornings. On Fridays, they practiced without Ms. Heer. Every three months, they played another team, and not always in jail â€" a judge sometimes allowed them to travel to a match.

The first game Ms. Heer photographed was between Los Spartanos and a team of judges and lawyers. No one on either side recognized one another.

“One of Los Spartanos asked if they let the judges win would they get early release,” she said. “It was a fun game. They were afraid of taking the ball away from the judges or lawyers.”

Games like this one were also opportunities to reconnect with friends and family, moments treasured by the prisoners. And as part of the game ritual, they shared snacks and conversation with their opponents afterward.

“The captain of Los Spartanos said it had been a long time since he felt as free as he had that day,” Ms. Heer said.

Another game, inside the walls of another prison, had a different tone. The men complained about unfair calls from referees who favored their opponents. Some were petulant, like unruly children, she said. Their coaches took the opportunity to teach Los Spartanos tolerance and restraint.

“ ‘On the field, you are seeing inmates,’ ” a coach told them, according to Ms. Heer. “ ‘Once you get out, you are going back to your old neighborhood and see the people who put you in here.’ It reminded them they were always going to have these encounters.”

Of the rugby-playing inmates she photographed, Ms. Heer said five had since been released. All five are still free.

“The coaches are doing this not so the prisoners can get out,” she said. “They do it so they won’t come back.”

Rosario Heer Rugby, once considered a game for the elite, is increasingly popular in Argentina. It is the only sport played in the prison.

Ms. Heer’s project came to our attention by way of FotoVisura.

Follow @rochiheer, @dgbxny and @nytimesphoto on Twitter. Lens is also on Facebook.