Comments on "Images of Suffering Can Bring About Change--But Are They Ethical?", in The Conversation

What follows is my commentary on an excellent article, "Images of Suffering Can Bring About Change--But Are They Ethical?", in The Conversation, by Dr. Alison Dundes Renteln of USC.  

https://theconversation.com/images-of-suffering-can-bring-about-change-but-are-they-ethical-100809

Kudos to Dr. Dundes Renteln for an informative and thought provoking article. I particularly appreciated the discussion of the Dorothea Lange photo of Florence Owens Thompson, which has haunted me for years, but which I did not realize had been taken and used under such questionable conditions.

I would also like to offer some observations and alternate viewpoints to those made by many of the individuals quoted in the article. The tendency for "armchair philosophes" and keyboard warriors to make snap criticisms of those who have accomplished much is a powerful impulse. It is easy to criticize in the luxury of aftermath, especially in the comfort of a thriving industrialized Western society. While Thompson may not have benefited directly from the photograph, it indeed helped mobilize people to address the issues surrounding her poverty and that of those like her. Regarding Kevin Carter's photograph of the Sudanese girl beset by the vulture, it is far too easy for critics to state what they would have done in these circumstances; it has long been the quandary of journalists whether to use their camera as a weapon against injustice or to pick up a gun and fight the rebels directly, or to pick up a bowl and feed the hungry--thereby missing the critical photo that could change the world. It is the rare Hemingway who was able to do both--with his pen and his "sword". In the end, it occurs to me that Arthur and Ruth Kleinman, and those like them, may have bullied Carter to his death, seeking to cut down a giant who had done more than most people have ever done. Now, who is the predator?

As noted in the essay's section on David Campbell, photographs are critical in mobilizing our sympathies before it is too late. I would add that we are simultaneously a very visual society, and are very easily touched by the plight of fellow human beings. We are, by nature, compassionate, and we react to perceived suffering. But we are also inundated with images of suffering, and the rare photo that is able to stir our hearts amidst our own suffering, and to devote our meager funds to helping bring about equity in the world, is perhaps worth the questions raised about equity for the subjects of the photos themselves. In journalism, there is often no time to deliberate, as scholars are wont to do, about the course of one's actions. Imagine the absurdity of expecting photographer Richard Drew, who took the iconic photo of the man falling to his death as he jumped from the burning Twin Towers on 9/11, opting not to take the photo, since he was unable to receive a ready answer from the man as to how he wanted to be positioned in the composition to best highlight his dignity as he died. Once again, it is far too easy for established and powerful organizations--like Amnesty International and Save the Children--to unilaterally institute this or that set of guidelines or best practices of how to be a journalist and how to focus on the dignity of their subjects, while the world is becoming more and more callous to the murder and tragedy around us. It is crucial that our eyes every now and then be assaulted by photos of the truly suffering, to move us to collective action, and to distract us from our preoccupation with the beautiful and the wealthy, like the Kardashians and Trump, who are smokescreens and decoys from the inequity and destruction pervasive and waxing in our world.

I take issue with only one aspect of Dr. Dundes Renteln's conclusion to an otherwise excellent article. She opts to focus on the offensive nature of "voyeuristic interpretation of distant suffering", when it is my preference to mitigate this with the recognition that what is truly at stake here is the need to tell someone's tale, and to preserve their suffering for posterity and to elicit sympathy from those with control over society's purse strings. I cannot imagine the Rohingya of Myanmar opting not to have their story told, due to insufficient control of the composition and usage of the subject matter, thereby allowing their villages to burn unnoticed by the world. I think that both sides of the equation need to be considered--both urgency and immediacy of the need for action, as well as preserving the dignity of those whose tales are being told. It is too easy to focus on one over the other in the comfort of our homes and offices.