Category Archives: Articles

These Breasts are Getting Some Attention

So, my piece about Femen, the Ukranian ‘topless’ protest group, has been up for a couple of months now. And you know what, hits on my blog have shot up. This strikes me as an interesting parallel to Femen’s own method of presentation and protest: using their bodies to draw attention to injustice and gender inequality. When I wrote my piece, and put Herbaut’s portrait of activist, Alexandra Shevchenko, at the top of the page, I was trying to make a useful analysis of the image, reflecting on whether the exposure of the female body can help or hinder a cause. Strangely enough, I wasn’t thinking about internet search hits – but that’s what I got. Loads of them over the last Quarter – along the lines of:

  • naked amazons (38)
  • naked women protesters (7)
  • naked woman breasts (4)
  • playing breasts (4) [Not sure what playing breasts would look like? I’m imagining one breast throwing a ball to the other… no?]
  • femen girls (3) [Something about the term ‘girls’ makes this search particularly creepy and makes me think the searcher(s) missed out on what Femen stand for – womanhood, strength.]
  • real women undressing game (3)
  • super hot naked women showing exposed tits (3) [I quite like the tautology of this one.]
  • female breasts are bigger than ever (2) [Are they indeed?]
  • woman stripped naked and bound (2) 
  • photo of nude breasts on body of young female (2) [Particularly strange – ‘young female’? – almost as if women are a different species. Also like that the breasts are specifically ‘on the body’, you know, just in case you get pics of ones that have fallen off…?]
  • man grabbing woman’s breast (4)
  • beach voyeur woman naked (2)
  • arab woman covered naked (2)
  • egypt girls naked breast (2)
  • half exposed breast clothes (2)
  • female dominant breasts (2)
  • exquisite breasts (2)
  • erotic women body (2)
  • naked tribal women (2)
  • tattooed female bodies naked (2)
  • breasts photography (2)

Well, you get the idea, they go on for ages… many many more, all orientated around the words ‘naked’ and ‘breasts’ and some of them mentioning race or the term ‘tribal’. Although each of these terms aren’t representing that many visits, it’s the sheer number of variations – each one constituting about a couple of hits – that surprised me. Obviously, I have been naive about the power of breasts on the internet.

So, to all those people (and here I’m gonna go with mostly heterosexaul men – shoot me down if you seriously think I’m wrong) – to all those guys who just typed in ‘breast’ and ‘exposed’ and whatever racial / physical profile you fancied taking an ogle at today I want to say a big: HELLO THERE! And to let you know, there are some thoughts about breasts, bodies and women on this blog so please have a read. Unfortunately for you, I have to also tell you, that this is not a porn site.

I’m not someone who believes pornography should be censored – I don’t think it’s intrinsically ‘wrong’. I think there’s some pretty bad imbalances of power within the dominant industry and I find it altogether unappealing and some of it thoroughly disturbing. Culturally; I have big problems, morally; no. But that is for another time, I just want to point out that I find it kind of sad and amusing that these are the hits landing up on the shores of my blog.

All those guys who just rocked up here with a couple of breasts in mind, I would like to ask you, do you read anything on here? Do you just get to the picture of Schevchenko and stop scrolling? I ask because I think it might be an interesting test. As Femen hope to make people aware of injustice and the discrimination women face by exposing their torsos – and indeed they have received a lot of coverage for it – I want to know if their picture on my site communicated any greater message than ‘breasts!’ (or as one searcher quaintly put it, ‘naked boobies’) ? It strikes me as a parallel and related case to Femen’s own position. It also strikes me that images are so much beyond any given person’s control that it seems unlikely that Herbaut’s portrait has reliably conveyed Femen’s message to the world. I’m sure it exists, well detached from context, in many corners of the internet. Even with the context I have provided, it seems that plenty of people are discovering the image without the desire to discover what it might be about.

I don’t claim to have answers to this problem. I would just like to say, that the exposure of the female body is a knife-edge that cuts between power and submission. I don’t know if anyone, at this cultural moment, can fully reverse the symbolism that surrounds the female body and names its exposure as vulnerable, weak and obscene. I expect that very few of the people looking for breasts on my blog scrolled down the page and read anything about Femen and what they stand for and why I think they are subversive. I still think it’s important to try to reverse this limiting symbolism though. I still think that maybe one odd person might have read a little bit about something they weren’t looking for after they hit ‘boobs’ into the search bar. Call me a dreamer, but I don’t see that we’ll get a chance at reshaping images around sex, femaleness and power if we give up on trying to start a conversation with the average male, heterosexual porn consumer.

So, I look forward to welcoming more of them onto my site now that I’ve got all the key search terms up on the front page.

Image Search Hit for ‘non-topless woman’.

Naked Courage: WPP and The New Amazons [Cross-post]


This photo is bound to grab attention, as breasts often do, and FEMEN protesters are clearly playing to that dynamic. However, this photo provides more of a complex presentation of the exposed female torso and one that proves interesting when considering the wider politics of the relentless sexualisation of female bodies whether they be veiled, exposed or neither.

When female breasts are so commonly fetishised in public imagery in ways that seek out the titillation of exposure – in Britain for example, tabloid paper, The Sun, prints a topless woman on page 3 every day- can any one act of protest actually hope to subvert the misogyny and objectification inherent in such an ‘exposure’?

Here’s how Shevchenko and by proxy, Herbaut, attempt to do so:

  • The Stance:  Shevchenko’s pose, with the raised fist, speaks of her mission to teach women to be more assertive.  Shevchenko’s pose, with the raised fist, speaks of her mission to teach women to be more assertive. The figure of the ‘Amazonian’ is a central reference FEMEN utilizes. If the identification is to the “other,” suggesting the marginalization these women feel, it also points to ‘Amazonians,’ in the cultural imagination, as a matriarchal tribe made up of fearsome and fearless women. On the other hand, is it a case of gender politics being careless with racial stereotypes and identification?
  • The Tattoo:  The garland of roses tattooed onto Shevchenko’s side, which depict the headdress she is wearing, act as the perfect sign for the paradox that this act of nudity as protest embodies. The tattoo is both a sign of bodily harm – being an inked in scar – and of strength, or resistance to pain. It shows the way in which her cause is so essential to her it is mapped onto her body and also the way in which her body is her cause. It’s an act done by someone with a clear idea that the visual presentation of her own body is key to her message.
  • The Headdress: Of course the headdress is a reference to the tribal and Amazonian identification. It also hints at the theatrical nature of protest, the way in which the protester takes on a special public identity and performs choreographed acts. This garland of roses, and the brightly coloured ribbons, also suggest femininity, something which the group are keen to use and display rather than deny as some feminist groups in the past have done. It’s the turning around of signs – femininity is seen to equal weakness and vulnerability, but here Shevchenko and FEMEN demand that it equal strength. What could be the crown of a beauty queen is willed to equal the headdress of a tribal warrior.
  • The Location: Herbaut’s choice of location does much to illustrate the group’s context. Shevchenko is depicted in open grassland on the edge of what seems to be a cluster of Soviet style apartment blocks. This speaks of marginalisation as well as the groups Ukrainian and urban environment. The grassy field upon which Shevchenko stands is another clever double symbol representing as it does both marginalisation and the open space of pastoral freedom which is also indicated by the flowered headdress. It reveals a dream of an Eden, a renewed innocence directed at and by the female body, which at the same time is drawn out of a full awareness of what that body means to mainstream culture and how it is exploited.

What this portrait tells us is that much of the time image makers and image consumers view the female body as either exposed or hidden and this is a hot topic (I mean, see all the worry over the fact that the woman in the Winning photo is wearing a burkha). Whether veiled or on display, it becomes clear that these two opposites in fact put the female body within the same continuum as something inescapably defined by sexuality in a way that male bodies are not. (It is worth remembering that if a man walked down the street topless he would not get arrested, and neither would he attract much extra attention at a protest). With this doubly innocent and knowing revelation of the female torso, I think Shevchenko is asking us to realise that the female body is also at times neither exposed nor hidden – it is the human form and as such represents identity, physicality and power.

Whether every audience can be sophisticated enough to understand the turning around of signs; the ways in which ‘weak’ is made ‘powerful’, ‘victim’ is made ‘fighter’, is a difficult matter. FEMEN certainly consider it a risk worth taking in order to finally draw attention to the problems women face in their society. This photograph as a photographic object must undergo the same difficult process of interpretation – is it a kind of pornography or a protest item that has raised the awareness of FEMEN’s cause? It is highly reliant on context. But in a world where the female body is so often used by others, especially through visual media, it is a statement that the members of FEMEN demand to be able to use their own bodies as tools of visual representation to further the cause of women’s equality and welfare. A body to protect a body is a courageous act.

This article originally published on BagNews where it was edited and adapted for the site > Here.

Also, regarding this topic it is well worth checking out Karrin  Anderson’s piece for BagNews : Photo of Woman Stripped by Egyptian Military: Not Shamed, Not a Victim 

In Defence of This Year’s World Press Photo: An Image that is Complex and Conflicting.

Already the World Press Photo of the Year 2012 is causing controversy. Critics are upset with the use of the Pietà. Not only are they saying, “Not again”, they are also noting that Christian imagery is being forced upon Arabic & Isalmic content. And so they should.

But I think there’s more to it than that. Of course, the Pietà is there, of course it causes problems, but what about the other narratives and styles the photograph contains? There is something more unusual about the image. It has a different sensibility to the Renaissance style that people are claiming it to have.
                                                                                                                                                                       First of all, the Christian imagery may be a clash with the content, but it doesn’t drag with it the rest of the baggage you would associate with religified images of suffering. The bare style, the off-centred framing of the pair: they stop this suffering becoming glorious or romantic. There’s something loose about it. This makes it stand out against other pieta-based images like this .
                                                                                                                                                                      To add to this contrast, the aesthetic does not strike me as Renaissance. It seems modernist. It has a dreamlike, surreal quality that speaks of an inner psychology rupturing through to the surface. The faces, swallowed by darkness, the strangeness of the white-gloved hands, the muscular shapes of the jaw and arms: all add to an aesthetic that is more current and more interesting. The angles and shadows are almost cubist. It reminds me of a Francis Bacon portrait in it’s twisting expressiveness.
                                                                                                                                                                  So what does the image tell us about the news story to which it pertains – which, at its widest, is the Arab Spring? First of all, this is clearly a personal image for a wider political context. The personal can often be reductive. Critics are anxious about the stereotypical presentation of the ‘Arab Woman’ – burkha clad, offering comfort to the man. The tension of this stereotype is there. This is indeed not a shot of the ways in which women engaged in and drove the revolution on the ground. On the other hand, the woman looks strong, her grip is fierce. She defines the man’s body. He is an exposed body, she is a force. This is an unusual dynamic and one which makes powerful the woman. Her grip conveys much about the bonds that tie people together and must be essential in retaining an identity in the middle of turmoil, trauma and revolution.
                                                                                                                                                                             So is this slice of the personal reductive? I don’t think so. It’s an insight, a gripping and gripped moment. The body is political ground, and I do not think it is distressing or inaccurate to see these bodies as symbols of a wider national struggle. They have not become dislocated in ways that are glorifying or mystifying. These bodies mean something both about a presented moment and a wider movement and they do so in a conflicting and complex way. Not all is resolved about the identities of the figures but much is communicated. For me, this is an image that conjures up the struggles of gender and of the revolution. The caring role appears not as weak or passive: it is vital and powerful, but all is a sinuous strain on a bodily level and a societal level.
                                                                                                                                                                       When we can recognise that the caring role does not have to be the secondary position, we can see that this image says more than the typical.
                                                                                                                                                                       Of course I am not talking here of the politics of Photography Competitions, or what qualifies an images as ‘better’ than all the other images. I would merely like to say that this image has relevance and power, and that although on the first level it could be said to fall into stereotypes and willed Western prejudices, I think there are more subtle levels upon which to view this image.  To see the other side of the argument, you can read this excellent piece . It’s worth considering all sides, and I am still intrigued to learn and think more.
                                                                                                                                                              Update: You can see some of my ideas and some other interesting points in this conversational piece on BagNews.

Images of Sexual Violence (1): Saying Things Kept Silent, Showing Things Kept Hidden.

This article is the first in a series about images of Sexual Violence in photography, photojournalism, documentary and visual art. My own piece, You Did This To Yourself ( figures a response to the issues and examples I raise here.  

Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye is a story about a young black girl in 1960s America who is sexually abused by her father. It’s beautifully written and painful to read – speaking fearlessly about the realities of poverty, race and gender. It unearths the causes of victimhood and the silence which surrounds and supports the on-going occurrence of sexual violence. How to word something that is kept silent? How to show something that is kept hidden? Morrison writes:

“The novelty, I thought, would be in having this story of female violation revealed from the vantage point of the victims or could-be-victims of rape – the persons no one inquired of (certainly not in 1965); the girls themselves. And since the victim does not have the vocabulary to understand the violence or its context, gullible, vulnerable girlfriends, looking back as the knowing adults they pretended to be in the beginning, would have to do that for her, and would have to fill those silences with their own reflective lives. Thus, the opening provides the stroke that announces something more than a secret shared, but a silence broken, a void filled, an unspeakable thing spoken at last.”

Two things strike me as important here and may prove important in regards to other stories of sexual violence in other mediums:

  1. That bringing words and images to the unspoken and unseen event is a kind of healing and overcoming. Morrison says that with the realising of the story of sexual abuse ‘a void is filled’, a need is met. Similarly, the silence appears as a kind of menacing spell, a thing to be ‘broken’. The relief provided by this break is clear in ‘spoken at last’ – this has been something needed and anticipated for a long time.
  2. That the victim herself does not necessarily have the words: ‘the victim does not have the vocabulary to understand the violence or its context’. This is not to say, the victim is incapable of ever having the vocabulary, but rather her position as victim is defined by not having the words or a voice to speak against what is happening to her.

This makes it clear that to fight against the creation of victims of sexual violence, words and images must be given to those victims with which they can begin to address and describe their suffering and those who cause it. As it will become clear, these words and images are hard to provide or develop in a culture which still struggles to see the complex, various and ubiquitous nature of sexual violence.

In light of this, and to draw our attention to photojournalism, Ariella Azoulay’s essay, “Has Anyone Ever Seen a Photograph of Rape?” sets out an argument for the sheer lack of imagery of sexual violence in the canon of iconic photojournalism (1). Azoulay argues, whilst photographers have brought into the public arena images of many kinds of suffering – genocide, mutilation, violent warfare etc. – images of rape, an act which occurs in much the same context as the other atrocities, are largely absent. This labelling of the blind-spot proves to reveal not only that photographers have mostly failed at documenting rape when it occurs amongst other atrocities (typically during wartime), but their techniques of documenting rape during peacetime are also highly restricted and restricting. This blind-spot, in Azoulay’s analysis, goes on to be seen not just as an historical failure to vision, but also an ongoing inability to envision, born of the inadequacy of social discourses which still cannot recognise the reality of rape.

Azoulay’s questions are then, Why is it we cannot ‘show’ rape in the way that we can show other kinds of torture and bodily suffering? Hint: this might say more about the viewer than the actual event itself. And also – In what ways do these lack of images damage those who might need them – i.e. victims, potential victims and the wider society?

These questions will be explored later. As a first example, ‘Project Unbreakable‘ by Grace Brown is an interesting place to start:

It attempts to do the same thing that Morrison does with her novel, to fill ‘the void’ of silence and bring words and imagery to that which has been kept un-worded and hidden. People who have suffered abuse hold up the words of their abusers, words that were used to silence them. It is one simple gesture of resistance, of refuting the silence that has been put upon them. The phrases are short but they provide a small window into the complex world of abuse and sexual violence. That opening image, ‘I love you’, is especially powerful because it marks the importance of context and the complicated nature of abuse. They signal the way in which abuse can be non-violent – something that must be recognised if these cases are going to reach justice. They also indicate what the victim must struggle with: What if abuse is presented as love? What if you don’t know enough about love to be able to say this abuse is not love? That is certainly the case for Pecola, the abused girl in Morrison’s novel.

Perhaps the technique is a familiar one – photographs of people holding up signs with their personal stories or position on has been used in many other contexts and protests – but here is takes on a special resonance because these are words that have been characterised by the fact that they occur in private. Their power has been because of secrecy, because the abuser persuaded the abusee to never tell, because the abuser invoked shame and fear in the abusee. These signs are an act of placing the shame back on the abuser, of making the public witness what goes on in private. It is one simple way to take the words and turn them around.

The images also make clear, in case there could ever be any doubt, that choosing what to show – the very act of representation – is a fiercely political act. The format and style of that act of showing can make or break the message. These truths are especially raw in the context of a little seen and little understood phenomena which needs vision and recognition in order to overcome its occurrence.

This piece now on the Duckrabbit blog here.


You can read more about Brown’s project here:

You can see the ongoing tumblr blog of Brown’s project here:

(1) See : Azoulay, A.  The Civil Contract of Photography, 2008, New York: Zone Books.

Many Images, One View.

Many images, One View – a look at photojournalism and documentary photography inspired by Chimamanda Adichie’s speech ‘The Danger of a Single Story’.                                                                                                                                                           

I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I think there is something rotten at the heart of much contemporary photojournalistic practice. I tried to put this off, I tried to admire those who had been to the toughest places, taken the toughest photos – things I knew I could never do. It was easier to self-criticise rather than raise my objections in the face of those who have shown determination and bravery in difficult situations. That is, until I realised that it wasn’t that I couldn’t do these things, it was that I didn’t think it would help anyone in any significant way if I did. And I think it’s to do with the often privileged photographer who tells the story and the underprivileged subject who must submit to the story. I see image after image produced by these privileged photographers who do not fully realise the great gulf that their privilege creates between them and their subject – no matter the sympathy with which they undertake their work – and despite the fact that there are so many thousands of pictures, I see only one view; only one story.  Of course, critics have written in great depth about the power of the gaze and what it does to its subject, but I do think it’s worth locating this stance within photojournalism once again, and I think Chimamanda Adichie’s beautiful and fierce speech about stories would be a good way to do that – because after all, photojournalism is about stories; telling stories, showing stories (1). Adichie essentially argues this: Stories have the power to persuade and define, and if the same story about someone or some groups of people you don’t know and will never meet is told again and again and again you are going to believe that that is the only story they can ever be a part of; that story becomes their whole identity. (Link to speech at the beginning of this article.)
Adichie describes how she first met the single and repeated story about Africa and about Africans that those in the West are told:
“I left Nigeria to go to university in the United States. I was 19. My American roommate was shocked be me. She asked where I had learned to speak English so well, and was confused when I said that Nigeria happened to have English as its official language. She asked if she could listen to what she called my “tribal music,” and was consequently very disappointed when I produced my tape of Mariah Carey. She assumed that I did not know how to use a stove.What struck me was this: She had felt sorry for me even before she saw me. Her default position towards me, as an African, was a kind of patronizing, well-meaning, pity. My roommate had a single story of Africa. A single story of catastrophe. In this single story there was no possibility of Africans being similar to her, in any way. No possibility of feelings more complex than pity. No possibility of a connection as human equals.”

Adichie’s speech focuses upon literature, which is of course an important vessel for those limited and limiting stories which come to dominate discourse with the Western perspective. However, I’d also like to ask, what role did photojournalism play in Adichie’s roommate’s perception? Where did she get her ideas about Africa as a total and ongoing ‘catastrophe’

Photojournalism is largely responsible for the image that loomed so large in Adichie’s roommate’s mind that she could not conceive of an African as her equal.  As Adichie says, her roommate ‘felt sorry’ for her ‘even before she saw’ her.  One story, one image had obscured her vision of Adichie far beyond Adichie’s power to ever claim her actual image and identity back.Layer upon layer of imagery has depicted Africa (as if it were one country and not a huge continent) as an ongoing catastrophe involving famine, aids, poverty and helplessness. Similarly, we are surrounded by a swarm of images of Indian’s living in slums, drinking polluted water and so on. It is important to maintain a balanced view here: I am not stating that these images should not be sought out and should not be shown. It is vitally important that aid agencies and other charities and NGOs have images to move their supporters and to raise awareness. It is important that injustice is witnessed as this is the first step towards tackling it. However, it is also important that there are other images, not only to show the diversity of existence so that one nation or ethnic group are not repeatedly typecast but also for the very ends of the images of catastrophe – if we are to act against injustice and suffering we must feel there is an alternative for the subjects. The ongoing catastrophe of Africa, the ongoing helplessness of ‘Africans’, makes the Western viewer feel helpless as we see that our efforts mean nothing. Dangerously, we can begin to ascribe essential qualities to these apparently helpless Africans, we begin to read into them the spectre of famine, the lack of resources, the complete dislocation from the modern (read Western) world.  Ultimately, it puts the West in the normative position: we are the modern world, we are informed, we should try to help – and the ‘third world’ other into the deviant position: they are behind, they are uneducated, they can’t do anything to help themselves. The West can then either look to this pathetic cousin with sympathy or choose to turn away, or worse, blame that cousin for its problems. Images that were meant to bring out our common humanity have divided us, and with this overpowering single story remaining so central in our vision it is increasingly difficult to challenge that division.

To take an example, we might regard Tom Stoddart’s widely acclaimed images of famine in Sudan. Now once again, I must stress that I am not criticising these images themselves, but I am asking, ‘Where are the other images?’ and, ‘Is there not something amiss in the fact that a photojournalist’s career is frequently built upon revealing horrror and suffering again and again?’, ‘Doesn’t it become overwhelming?’. Take a look at this image of emaciated people running for air-dropped food supplies: It’s hellish and huge and hopeless, the mass of people obscure the horizon and race to take the whole frame. They are seemingly endless and at such a distance they are multiple and indistinguishable.

Tom Stoddart, Sudan, 1998.

There are of course a variety of structures and frames in Stoddart’s story of the famine, but my argument is that this image is one that not only provides visual information for the local moment depicted, but one that also acts as a metaphor for the emotional and visual impact of the whole series.  As Stoddart says, these pictures are “sad and necessary”, but he also urges the viewer not to feel ‘sorry’ but to feel ‘angry’. This is where I struggle: I want to feel angry but I just feel horrified. I see ongoing, all-subsuming catastrophe, I see a whole world of hopeless suffering entitled ‘Africa’, and I don’t know who has caused it. It seems apocalyptic and Biblical in scale – something handed down from a much higher power than myself and against which I cannot even hope to stand. Stoddart’s own words reveal the troubling enormity and vague identity of the enemy: “mankind’s greed, intolerance, prejudice, inhumanity, lust for political power, and sheer stupidity”(2). Perhaps if there were other images in my vocabulary about Sudan and about other countries in the North-Eastern area of Africa, told by other voices, told from many different perspectives, I would be able to question these images, analyse them and see them for what they were in an appropriate context. Rather than seeing terrible and blasted ‘Africa’ I would have African comparisons with which to understand this tragedy, with which to see that this isn’t the way Africa has to be; that this really is a specific tragedy that deserves specific action and that it is not the massive, ongoing, unstoppable reality of ‘Africa’.
It is also the case that it is not enough to make a one off ‘happy’ image to challenge the images of despair. I’m not suggesting that Stoddart should go out looking for some upbeat images after having shot the horror of the famine. Instead, we need a far-reaching, insightful variety of stories and a way to consistently bring them to a Global audience. Many of the ‘happy’ images of Africa and India and other ‘third world’ countries enter into the same power structures that depict these people as a homogenous mass. By these ‘happy’ pictures I am thinking of the images of poverty which are supposedly meant to subvert our assumptions about the impoverished other – the kind of images that people coo over saying ‘But look at their brightly coloured clothes,’ or ‘Look at how well they dance,’ or ‘Look at how cute that smiling kid is’- as if we should not have expected any of these features to exist in a continent as massive and various as Africa. In both cases, the West patronises and continues with the ongoing infantilising of ‘Africans’ which is rooted in the Colonial narrative and used to justify all kinds of control, interference and dominance. As Adichie reminds us, Rudyard Kipling called the African “half devil, half child” and this dichotomy still defines such imagery and stories today.
The problem is one of scale. Adichie summarises both the importance of recognising the power of the story and how this relates to issues of scale when she talks about the Igbo word, nkali:
“It is impossible to talk about the single story without talking about power. There is a word, an Igbo word, that I think about whenever I think about the power structures of the world, and it is “nkali”. It’s a noun that loosely translates to “to be greater than another.” Like our economic and political worlds, stories too are defined by the principle of nkali. How they are told, who tells them, when they’re told, how many stories are told, are really dependant on power.”
Her definition, ‘to be greater than another’ is key – greater means both better and bigger. It is the scale of the imagery that is damaging – the vast amount of catastrophic images that come to represent ‘Africa’ relative to the tiny pile of alternatives.  It also the scale of coverage, the power and size of the platform for these catastrophic images compared to the minimal platforms offered to other voices. Photojournalists may defend their position as ‘storyteller’ by pointing out that they have the greater access to an audience, they have better skills and better equipment, they have a bigger platform, but all of these things are symptoms of the disease of power inequality rather than the solutions. The photojournalist as the storyteller, even as he/she claims to be merely representing the story of an otherwise unheard other, is asserting him/herself as bigger and better than that other. The photojournalist has access to the platform the story needs and he/she essentially ventriloquizes the voices of vulnerable people in order to tell and retell the same overwhelming story of catastrophe. Perhaps this story would not be told if the photojournalist were not present, but on the other hand, perhaps this story is not fully told because of the photojournalist’s overshadowing presence.
As an example and metaphor we can look at Mike Well’s image, winner or World Press Photo of the Year 1980, which is often referred to as ‘Uganda’.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Mike Wells, Uganda, 1980.

Here the agony of scale is evident – not just in the immediate moment where a starving child’s hand is held by and compared with a fleshy white Missionary’s hand – but also in the grander meaning and resonance of this image. Both sides of the awkward paradox are illustrated: that the photojournalist enables the representation of an injustice and that the photojournalist overshadows the representation of an injustice. This image is tense with comparison: black/white, starved/well-fed, weak/strong, child/adult. The image relies upon comparison and division to make it’s argument – it’s very strategy is about division, and not about togetherness or common humanity, despite the half-attempted holding of hands between black and white that echoes anti-racist symbolism from America. Although the image makes a gesture towards unification, in fact it then reasserts the divide even more powerfully in the painful and totalising contrasts that it presents. These contrasts are made more powerful, and more dangerous, because they are ones that enter into the long-running narratives, discourses and symbols that surround the West’s patronising and narrow view of ‘Africa’: that ‘Africa’ and ‘Africans’ are somehow childish, frail and hellish compared to white Westerners . Once again, I stress, I am not saying this is a ‘bad’ image, what I am saying is its effect is dangerous, as much as it might be powerful, in a context where the Western viewer has few alternative points of reference for the country that is apparently depicted. The commonly used title of the photo, ‘Uganda’, raises this issue in all its totalising inaccuracy. The dislocation of hands from specific bodies – we cannot see a face with which to more specifically identify the two people – further universalises this image. It is an image that in both construction and title claims to speak for a whole nation, a kind of eternal truth, bigger than the two people whose hands are featured. It demands a grand scale in order to present something that is intrinsic, that is beyond the local image, and that ultimately adds to those Colonial narratives which infantilise and belittle Africans. In the absence of other imagery, in the absence of labels and identities through which to view this image as a specific tragedy, it dwarfs a complex idea of Uganda or Africa just as the white hand dwarfs the black. Although the fleshy white hand helps us to understand the suffering of the black hand, it also condemns that black hand to a contrast the photo asserts as universal. In the same way, the photojournalist helps us to understand suffering, but he/she also labels his/her subject as the ‘other’ who eternally suffers when other imagery is absent.

Perhaps an alternative is that the privileged photographers, writers and editors of the West need to pay some penance to this problem of scale. A group of people who recognise the value of stories within their own lives should surely wish to support and facilitate that value within the lives of others. If photojournalists truly wish to help people tell their stories – why don’t they do just that? For every image from which they make money that reaffirms the catastrophe of Africa, or the slum-life of India or the gang warfare of Columbia, perhaps story-telling professionals should donate a little bit of money to organisations that help disadvantaged people to tell their own stories and to move beyond images of helplessness. A storyteller’s equivalent of ‘carbon offsetting’. Like carbon offsetting, there is the argument that what is needed is a fundamental shift in perspective and behaviour, rather than token gestures, but also a bit like carbon offsetting, when opinion and practice is slow to change, some routine recognition of the imbalance is better than nothing and might actually foster that long-term shift in mentality. As these many stories told by many people reach new and bigger audiences with sponsorship and access to the platforms that major photographers and editors hold, perhaps we would see a new multi-view emerge in strength. Adichie’s Farafina Trust is one such an organisation that seeks to enable people to tell stories rather than tell the stories for them:
“My Nigerian publisher and I have just started a non-profit called Farafina Trust. And we have big dreams of building libraries and refurbishing libraries that already exist, and providing books for state schools that don’t have anything in their libraries, also of organising lots and lots of workshops, in reading and writing, for all the people who are eager to tell our many stories.”
She concludes by clarifying the importance of facilitating these many stories:
“Stories matter. Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign. But stories can also be used to empower, and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people. But stories can also repair that broken dignity.”
If storytelling professionals can then use their access to platform and audience – their advantage of greater scale – to disseminate and publicise other people’s stories, then the hugeness of the one image might be broken down into an overture made of many images, many views. In the context of many perspectives, each image can take on its own specific meaning and not have to submit to the larger meanings forced upon it by the photographer who may unwittingly enter it into a condemning, Colonial narrative. 
1) See C.A.Lutz and J.L.Collins, “The Photograph as an Intersection of Gazes”, 1991. And Berger’s Ways of Seeing, 1972. And also P. Phelan who writes, “The combination of psychic hope and political-historical inequality makes the contemporary encounter between self and other a meeting of profound romance and deep violence.” (p.4)  in Unmarked, 1993.
2) From Stoddart’s ‘iWITNESS’ site: