Photography, keeping peace
With Remembrance Day recently, with bloody conflict in Gaza raging, and with other violent conflicts ongoing around the world my thoughts have been returning to the concept (and state) of peace. In particular, I've been reconsidering the role (if any) photography can play in building and bolstering peace. Far from the only one who has contemplated this, I have been leaning much on the ideas and works of people such as Frank Möller, Ariella Azoulay and Edward Karpov]. Over the course of the next few posts I focus on their work and its influence on my thinking with and making of photographs. From the vantage point of this period in time and my considerable distance away from actual fighting, I diverge from their focus on photography in the midst or in the aftermath of violence conflict. Instead I've been thinking about what role photography can play in keeping the peace in a world where these seems to be increasingly more fragile.
Motivated by Möller's twin questions--"how can photography represent peace and how can such representations contribute to peace?"--the additional question that has occupied my mind is, "how can photography support the maintenance of peace when threats to it begin to emerge?" With tensions mounting in the Middle East and in places much closer to home, is there a way photography can keep peace in the forefront of peoples' minds, build solidarity instead of divisions, and deescalate (and redirect) anger, frustration, hate? Thinking conceptually, I wonder if content is most important in this respect, or if it has more to do with the photographer's vantage point/aims, or with the viewer's ability/willingness to engage.
Beginning in the early days of the medium, the camera was present in battles and the photographs shared with those physically removed from the fighting challenged notions of the heroism of war and the justification of putting loved ones in harms way. It only makes sense that once people began to see the impact of combat on the human body, on recognizable/identifiable bodies, that there would be pushback against the necessity of war. But no one would consider photographs made by Roger Fenton in 1850's Crimea or Mathew Brady (and co's) in the American Civil War to be peace photographs, or even necessarily anti-war photographs. Indeed, they are referenced as 'war photographs' and the creators as early war photographers. If photographs that get people to think differently about warfare are not 'peace photography', then could there be such a thing? What would it look like and how would it operate?
As a visual theorist, Frank Möller has spent well over a decade exploring the idea of peace photography, asking why—if there is war photography and professional war photographers—is there no peace photography and peace photographers? Maybe a look at definitions of peace can help answer these questions. Peace described as the absence of war is referred to as 'negative peace'. Positive peace, meanwhile, is concerned with addressing systemic issues and structures of power that threaten the sense of security the erosion of which can lead to violence. Or put simply, positive peace works towards establishing peace. Considering negative and positive definitions of peace suggests there can be different types of peace photography as well.
Möller proposes several different types of peace photography. For instance, photography focusing on uncovering crimes against humanity or violation of international humanitarian law. It draws attention to a need for peace by clearly taking a side. Works by Susan Meiselas are among his examples. Similarly, photographs that draw attention to the horrors of war in all its complex, messy and unheroic dimensions can be considered peace photography. Atrocity photography of this sort can ignite people to think critically; shock people to think differently about war. Work by Gilles Peress, Larry Towell, James Nachtwey fit here. Note, that Nachtwey has identified himself as an anti-war photographer. Such photographs, however, are also criticized for further harming war victims by portraying them at their most vulnerable/suffering. There's also the risk that such images play into peoples' morbid curiosities or preconceptions/biases that see violence as more endemic to certain groups of people. To counteract or pre-empt that possibility, some photographers attempt to depict peoples' multiple dimensions so as to foreground the violations done to them while still upholding their agency and dignity. Then there are photographs that show the material impact of warfare, be it with a focus on damaged infrastructure or scars (visible or not) on landscapes. (See Beautiful Suffering and Spectral Evidence).
These ideas and styles of peace photography, are compelling: they are a means of foregrounding peace as an alternative to combat. Being able to identify a state of being that is contrary to warfare and combat is a fundamental aspect of attaining peace. In the realm of peace and humanitarian studies, ceasefires and humanitarian spaces have been described as having similar potential: reminders of what peace or what life in more peaceful times is like with a hope that this will encourage belligerents to collectively reestablish peace (https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/13533312.2021.1926236). These photographic examples, however, are more likely characterized as 'negative peace'. They are aimed at ending violence and combat rather than necessarily working towards reconciliation and peaceful coexistence in a positive way.
Photography and positive peace is something that Möller and colleagues have also considered. His more recent work has been focused on seeing ways in which the medium can restore relations and reestablish peace. His attention to positive peace photography has influenced by own photographic practice (see chapter 12). One question in particular that he and his colleague Rafiki Ubaldo asked back in 2013 shaped a series of image I created in 2014 about ongoing trauma and restorative justice in the long aftermath following the 1994 Rwandan genocide. The question, or challenge they posed was, "What forms of photography might enrich the lives of ordinary people in Rwanda?" (2013: 131). By asking this question, the emphasis shifts away from shocking images of atrocities inherent in violent conflict. Instead the focus is on looking at creating conditions that can support space for individuals and community to thrive and flourish. Communities made up of diverse individuals with different experiences and positions in that violent event, but that are committed to reconciliation in order to get on with living. It's important to note that peace does not mean that everyone agrees with each other or that conflict is non-existent, but rather it is about collectively agreeing that these differences don't have to infringe on any one's existence. This photography, however, is still situated in conflict or the aftermath of conflict. What about peace photography in a time where tensions are apparently rising and current peace is being threatened?
Is it a matter of making and sharing photographs that remind us of what makes peace a preferred state of being? Maybe it's a matter of sharing more archival images or Palestinians and Israeli Jews working and living together in the late 1940s, like the ones Azoulay does in her 2013 article (figures 12-15 in particular). The past can show what the future can be by making 'more real' different possible ways of being. As Azoulay invites, looking at the 'potential histories' of such pictures reminds us that human decisions were made that led to where we are now, and that other decisions can be made now that can lead to more peaceful outcomes.
How about pictures of more mundane activities like grocery shopping and sitting on a beach (without worries of food shortages or missiles being fired)? Regardless the content, photographs such as these (the archival ones reproduced by Azoulay or daily life pictures that fill our phones), which have been in circulation with or without explicit intent on maintaining (building) peace, won't necessarily be interpreted for their positive impact on peace. For most of us living in the privileged position of long-standing peace, images like these are taken for granted. Peace, as an explicit 'thing', being one of the farthest things from the mind. I myself have only recently been looking at photographs of everyday life in peaceful society with a different lens.
Is this what psychologists would consider catastrophizing? Thinking that the worst is going to happen when it really might not? When world leaders meet with an explicit aim to deescalate tensions, it feels more like catastrophizing may be just preparing for worst, but hoping for the best. I'm not sure what peace photography might (or does) look like from the vantage point of trying to maintain (a possibly fragile--time will tell) peace. Those pictures cluttering our phones may look very different should greater conflict develop in our midst. At the moment, as I contemplate this peace photography I see it as an opportunity to consider the benefits of peace, even if it means we don't all agree or get along, knowing that the alternative (bloody, violent conflict) is far worse that learning to live with people with different values. It might even lead to mutual learning and growth if we deliberately work to avoid conflict and 'choose peace' through curiosity and interest in diversity. We have far greater things to collectively focus on--the environment, the planet, our shared home--that should motivate us to collaborate together.
All of these emerging feelings of discomfort around growing animosity, polarization and tensions have led me to think more explicitly about peace. It has also impacted my photography practice. Recently, I have turned to so-called alternative photography processes and slow photography as a means to be more conscious and deliberate in my engagement with the planet and its inhabitants (plant, animal, etc.). This has led me to think of my physical imprint on the earth while also being able to connect with people around me through process and images. Most recently, I created two works for a group exhibition entitled "My Favourite Things" hosted by the Women's Art Association of Hamilton. The pieces are photo-transfers on wood. The process is a rather slow and methodical one requiring a level of patience to peel off just the right amount of backing paper. My impatience or overzealousness would sometimes damage the underlying image. The pace of making these images is relaxing, meditative and distracting from the world moving around me. It is definitely an art form for those in places of peaceful privilege, which was not lost on me while making the pieces. I know this is a great expectation, but as my tiny contribution to peace photography, the process/images are to be a reminder of the beauty of peace and the intentional (and often frustrating) work to build it. I realize my intervention is minuscule compared to all the photographers and scholars mentioned here, but small steps are better than none.
This post has been more about questions than answers, ones that I hope resonate with some of you. In my next post, I plan on exploring the role of imagination in photography and peace.