Through a different lens

Culture Matters

DARA E HEALY

IN 1994, photographer Kevin Carter earned a Pulitzer Prize when he captured the image of an emaciated Sudanese child bent over on the ground, against the backdrop of a dirty, desolate environment. Behind the child, ribs visible through the skin, stood one vulture, patiently waiting for the toddler to die.

In 1972, the image of five children, one of them completely naked, running in terror from an accidental napalm attack in South Vietnam, came to symbolise the horrors of that war. “Historians believe that images, particularly this one, had a huge impact at home (United States), resulting in violent anti-war protests, a world-wide campaign for peace, and even contributing to the end of the war.”

During the Great Depression in the 1930s, photographer Dorothea Lange took a photo of a woman with deep lines in her face, staring into the distance, while two children pressed their faces into her shoulder. The black and white image brought home the depth of the economic crisis that gripped the United States.

The woman was Florence Owens Thompson, a migrant farm worker with seven children who worked with her in the fields. The photograph came to be known as “Migrant Mother,” an iconic image of those desperate times.

Lange recalls, “I did not ask her name or her history. She told me her age, that she was 32. She said that [she and her children] had been living on frozen vegetables from the surrounding fields, and birds that the children killed. She had just sold the tires from her car to buy food.”

In TT, as I looked at images of illegal immigrants, dead bodies and missing teenage girls, I thought about those iconic photographs and wondered about the thin line between photojournalism and voyeurism.

Photojournalism is defined as “journalism in which news stories or features are presented mainly through photographs.” On the other hand, voyeurism is recognised as “the practice of taking pleasure in observing something private, sordid, or scandalous.”

With the prevalence of gruesome photographs in our newspapers and social media, I also questioned whether such images caused us to think and act differently, or did they play a role in making us desensitised to crime, displacement, grief and loss?

There are numerous issues plaguing our nation that may be addressed through the eye of a trained photographer or by people civic-minded enough to document our times.

That is because a still image allows the person looking at the picture an opportunity to analyse and become immersed in the narrative. In 1968, when African American athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos raised their fists while standing on the winner’s podium, they knew they were taking a risk.

Carlos later wrote, “As the anthem began and the crowd saw us raise our fists, the stadium became eerily quiet ... There’s something awful about hearing 50,000 people go silent, like being in the eye of a hurricane.”

The effects of that photograph reverberated around the world, bringing into sharp focus even today, the struggle for civil rights by African Americans.

We have our own iconic imagery – Kwame Ture, born Stokely Carmichael, walking with Martin Luther King (yes, the Belmont boy did that), Penny winning the Miss Universe competition, Allyson Hennessy playing mas, Dr Eric Williams with his dark glasses and hearing aid, Daisy Voisin holding the mike while performing, Ian Ali smiling into the camera, Mighty Sparrow on the cover of his album standing with his legs spread apart holding his guitar, Brian Lara raising his bat and helmet in triumph ...

These images are an important part of who we are. They tell the stories of the people and events that have shaped our lives, creating the unique people that we are.

As we recall the photographs that have changed the world, it is timely to interrogate how powerful images can help our own society to evolve. Cameras are everywhere in the 21st century – people capture, post and share everything from the intimate to the mundane and gruesome. As a developing nation, how do we inculcate national pride using imagery as a vehicle for transformation?

The photographs of refugees, human trafficking and injustice no longer just feature faces from distant lands such as Syria, Pakistan or Louisiana. Increasingly, the faces in the photos are starting to look like ours. So, what will the photographs of our times depict? It is a question not easily answered, but if we must determine our narrative, it is one that should stay in focus.

Dara Healy is a performance artist and founder of the NGO, the Indigenous Creative Arts Network – ICAN