Are acts of political violence perpetrated for the purpose of being photographed? If so, what are the ethical implications of viewing such photographs?

“Photographs shock insofar as they show something novel. Unfortunately, the ante keeps

getting raised—partly through the very proliferation of such images of horror.” – Susan Sontag

Through the examination of existing literature on photography and atrocity

photographs, this essay seeks to explore the context in which such photographs are taken,

and whether acts of violence are perpetrated for the purpose of being captured in the form

of the image. In the current digital age where the world is becoming increasingly

interconnected and globalized, the spread of information and photographs is happening

faster than ever before, and Sontag’s argument above is both relevant to and important

for the understanding of how photographs of atrocity are interpreted. If acts of political

violence are, indeed, committed for the purpose of being photographed, this widespread

dissemination and viewing of atrocity photos may have serious implications for the ways

in which such violence is executed and how members of the public choose to respond. It

is, perhaps, possible to resolve the ethical and political dilemmas associated with viewing

such photographs by reflecting via artwork inspired by the same events. The essay will

begin by exploring the nature of the photographic medium and how the widespread

circulation of horrific images may result in the desensitization of viewers. This will be

followed by a second section examining two iconic events of atrocity which were,

arguably, carried out for the purpose of being photographed: the September 11, 2001

attacks on the World Trade Center in New York City (hereafter referred to as September

11 or 9/11), and the torture of prisoners at Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq. The context in

which both events occurred will be discussed, as well as the ways in which the images

were disseminated, and the ethical and political implications of viewing both the

photographs. The third section will examine artwork inspired by the same events. Finally,

the paper will finish with a discussion on why art is crucial in resolving the ethical and

political dilemmas associated with viewing acts of atrocity, in particular those perpetrated

for the production of images.

In 1840, the poet Edgar Allan Poe declared that photography was “the most

important and perhaps the most extraordinary triumph of modern science.” (Poe quoted

in Kriebel 2007: 6) Unlike other means of documentation and communication, the

photograph is unique in its ability to “frame, freeze and fix its objects”. (Lury 1998: 77)

John Berger notes that a photograph is the result of a decision to document a specific

event. “At its simplest,” he writes, “the message, decoded, means: I have decided that

seeing this is worth recording.” (Berger 1968: 25) The sliver of time captured by the

camera allows the photograph to serve as an important vehicle of memory, informing the

memories of not only those present at a particular event, but also those who were absent

and seeking to grasp what Marianne Hirsch describes as “ghostly revenants from an

irretrievably lost past world.” (Hirsch 2012: 36) Furthermore, the ability of the

photograph to seize a single moment grants it evidential value, a testament to its veracity.

Without photographic evidence, it is doubtful that the horror of certain events, such as the

September 11 attacks and the tortures at Abu Ghraib, would have been as impactful or

believable. Susie Linfield states, “There is no doubt… that photography has, more than

any other twentieth century medium, exposed violence—made violence visible—to

millions of people all over the globe.” (Linfield 2012: 33) Linfield’s faith in photography

rests on her belief that photography forces the viewer to see cruelty and “the reality of

physical suffering with a literalness and an irrefutability that neither literature nor

painting can claim.” (Linfield 2012: 39) This realistic depiction of events, or what Roland

Barthes refers to as analogical perfection, is the defining feature of the photograph and

allows for the punctum, “a noncoded detail in a photograph that unexpectedly pricks or

wounds the viewers,” to occur. (Barthes 1981; Kriebel 2007: 20) With the above in

consideration, photography is, arguably, an important means of shaping public

consciousness and informing the ways in which individuals choose to remember and bear

witness. For reasons of desensitization, however, numerous authors including Sontag

have argued that atrocity photographs are incapable of rallying a sufficient ethical and

emotional response.

In her oft-cited book On Photography, Sontag debates the impact of atrocity

photographs on the human psyche. Recalling her first encounter with Holocaust images,

she states that she “felt irrevocably grieved, wounded,” and it seemed possible to divide

her life into before and after she saw the photographs. (Sontag 1979: 20) Although

Sontag clearly recognizes the shock value of photographs, she argues that this shock

eventually recedes after individuals are overexposed to such images. She writes, “To

suffer is one thing; another thing is living with the photographed images of suffering,

which does not necessarily strengthen conscience and the ability to be compassionate…

Once one has seen such images, one has started down the road of seeing more—and

more. Images transfix, images anesthetize.” (Sontag 1979: 20) Sontag’s argument is

especially relevant and true today: in a globalized era marked by the emergence and

increasingly popular use of mass media and the Internet, a colossal number of images

exist online, each vying for the attention of individuals and media outlets. (Ritchin 2014)

Ritchin notes that, consequently, professional photographers “often are unsure not only

how to reach audiences through the media haze, but also how to get their viewers to

engage with the often extraordinarily important situations they witness and chronicle.”

(Ritchin 2013) The anesthetization of viewers to photographs of human suffering

becomes even more consequential if and when acts of violence are, indeed, committed in

order to create an image. According to Möller, the inability to respond adequately to

photographs of atrocity is extremely problematic: in becoming desensitized to

photographs depicting acts of political violence, viewers may fail to recognize their

potential role in contributing to the ongoing cycle of harm. (Möller 2009) This is

applicable to both 9/11 and Abu Ghraib, albeit in slightly different ways: whereas the

dissemination of September 11 photographs is a furthering of the cause of terrorism, the

circulation of Abu Ghraib photographs can be said to have prolonged the humiliation and

suffering of the individuals within the images.

On September 11, 2001, the United States experienced a series of terrorist attacks

perpetrated by the Islamic terrorist group Al-Qaeda.1 Although the attacks were

comprised of four hijacked flights, one of which crashed into the Pentagon and another

into a field in Pennsylvania, it is arguable that the other two flights resulting in the

destruction of both the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center have defined much of the

September 11 narrative, and is an event that has shaped American public consciousness.

“Images of 9/11,” writes Vogel, “are embedded in our visual memory: the airplanes                                                                                                                1 Although the definition of terrorism is contentious, the definition of the term within this paper is as

flying into the twin towers; the towers crumbling; the fleeting people; the stark

Manhattan skyline when it was over.” (Vogel 2011) Following the attacks on the World

Trade Center, images of the towers prior to, during, and after their collapse were widely

shown on news channels and newspapers. The Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) believes

that the September 11 attacks are “among the most pictured disasters in history,” and

David Levi Strauss claims that, on the day of 9/11, more photographs of the event were

clicked on and viewed than pornography “for the first (and only) time in the history of the

internet.” (MoMA 2011; Strauss in Redfield 2007: 66) Although no photograph can be

singled out as the iconic photograph, the image of the towers ablaze has become iconic

because of the numerous and overwhelming number of times it has been circulated on

television, newspapers, and online. (Fig. 1)

The decision to attack the World Trade Center, a landmark “so saturated with

camera coverage” and considered “the financial hub of the country, and even, some

would argue, the world,” resulted in the inevitable and colossal number of images and

video footage of the event as it unfolded. (Redfield 2007: 65; Trivedi 2001) One

YouTube video of the attacks alone has nearly 30 millions views. Terrorism, which

thrives and depends on what Margaret Thatcher famously declared “the oxygen of

publicity,” relies on the constant viewing and dissemination of images that serve to bring

attention to their cause. (Thatcher 1985) Consequently, the continued consumption of and

possible development of desensitization to 9/11 photographs may have serious

implications for the ways in which acts of political violence are executed and understood.

As the cause of terrorism is facilitated by attention from both the media and members of

the public, the prolonged viewing and spreading of such photographs in and of itself

achieves the goal of the act. Although Abu Ghraib was not an act of terrorism, the torture

and humiliation of Iraqi prisoners was, similarly, an act of political violence committed

for the purpose of being photographed and intimately linked to the narrative of the ‘war

on terror’ largely inspired by the 9/11 attacks.

Figure  1:  'Moment  of  Impact.'  Photographed  by  Spencer  Platt.  (National  Geographic  2012)

In November 2003, a report published by the Associated Press detailed the

inhumane treatment of detainees within Abu Ghraib, which included abuses that include

but were not limited to beatings or sleep and water deprivation. (Hanley 2003) Despite

accounts from former detainees describing the terrible conditions and treatment prisoners

were forced to endure within the American detention camp, the extent to which detainees

were abused only came to light after photographs depicting the torture and humiliation of

Abu Ghraib prisoners were broadcast on 60 Minutes II in April 2004. This was quickly

followed by an article on The New Yorker’s website describing the dehumanizing acts of

violence within the photographs, a select number of which accompanied the written

piece. (Hersh 2004) In February 2006, online magazine Salon acquired files, comprised

of “more than 1,000 photographs, videos and supporting documents” from the Army’s

Criminal Investigation Command (CID). (Benjamin 2006) 279 images and 19 videos

from the files have since been compiled in an online archive for public viewing. (Salon

2006) Within the photos, American soldiers are shown posing, smiling, and even offering

a thumbs up as naked Iraqi prisoners are forced into human pyramids or led along by a

leash. The detainees were, furthermore, sexually humiliated through forced masturbation

and oral sex. (Amann 2005; Benjamin 2006; Tétrault 2006) “Such dehumanization,”

Hersh observes, “is unacceptable in any culture, but it is especially so in the Arab world.

Homosexual acts are against the Islamic law and it is humiliating for men to be naked in

front of other men”. (Hersh 2004)

Although it is likely that such dehumanizing acts of torture took place on

occasions when the camera was not present, the decision to capture such sadistic and

degrading acts of violence suggests, as Reinhardt does, that the cameras “were

instruments used to abuse and humiliate prisoners.” (Reinhardt 2007: 16) Similarly to

9/11, the Abu Ghraib images were widely distributed and seen by many. According to

Annan, the photos “appeared and reappeared in newspapers and magazines, on television,

and on websites throughout the world,” drawing public outcry. (Annan 2005: 2091)

Similarly, Eisenman argues that the Abu Ghraib photographs “are among the most

searing and disturbing to have appeared since… the U.S. war against Iraq. They have

been reproduced in newspapers and magazines all over the world, and seen by nearly

everyone with access to television and the internet.” (Eisenman 2007: 7) Without

photographic proof, it is highly unlikely that the earlier reported atrocities taking place

within Abu Ghraib would have ever been revealed and taken seriously. As noted by

Prosser, “it took [the Abu Ghraib] images for us to really believe what went on, even

when we already had the words.” (Prosser 2012: 7) While it is good and important that

the atrocities taking place at Abu Ghraib have come to light, it is unfortunate that such

dehumanizing acts had to take place at all. Furthermore, the extensive sharing and

viewing of the photographs involved in bringing the horrific events to light has

contributed to the cycle of harm described above by Frank Möller through its prolonging

the suffering and humiliation of the individuals photographed. More importantly,

however, individuals and the international community should care about the issue at hand

regardless of whether photographs exist. Rather than dismiss claims that the violation of

human rights is occurring, such reports should be investigated and taken seriously.

While the photograph is a sufficient means of providing evidence, the widespread

dissemination of photographs within the current digital age has desensitized many to acts

of political violence. The discovery of 55,000 images of 11,000 detainees executed by the

Syrian military in January 2014, for example, has yet to meet condemnation or receive

appropriate attention from the international community. “While the existence of 55,000

photographs showing such barbarity would have previously been more than enough to

strike a profound chord in the public conversation,” Ritchin writes, “perhaps viewers and

governments alike are becoming habituated to such horror on a mass scale.” (Ritchin

2014) The desensitization of viewers to photographs, especially those capturing atrocities

that were carried out for the purpose of being photographed, may have a significant

impact on not only the ways in which acts of political violence are perpetrated, but also

the manner in which viewers choose to understand and engage with the subject matter at

hand.

Figure  2:  The  Hooded  Man.  (Salon  Magazine  2006)

Often, the wide dissemination of atrocity photographs is met with inadequate

responses that, rather than encourage viewers to bear witness, result in their contribution

to a continuing cycle of violence. As Bredekamp states, the deliberate decision to “watch

an image of crime is…an act of complicity if the crime had been committed in the first

place in order to produce images of it.” (Möller 2009: 781) Even more relevant for the

case of Abu Ghraib is Bredekamp’s assertion, “if victims are humiliated and tortured in

front of a camera for the purpose of the production of images then the viewer, simply by

watching these images, becomes an accomplice of the perpetrators.” (Möller 2009: 781)

Thus, the wide dissemination of atrocity photographs acts as a double movement,

simultaneously enhancing the effectiveness of terror attacks and the humiliation of torture

victims by implicating the viewer in those acts, while also diminishing the ethical

response from the viewer through a desensitization of the viewer to the content of the

photo. I believe that this dilemma can only be resolved by, firstly, recognizing the role of

viewers within the sequence of violence, and secondly, attempting to minimize this role

by making an active effort in bearing witness and reflecting through art. Although some,

such as Bleiker, argue that beauty distracts from the message within photographs, it is

perhaps this demonization of beauty that has prevented him and other scholars from

acknowledging that beauty can, and does, engage viewers. (Bleiker 2009) It is this

differing relationship of the viewer to the image, rather than the specificity of its content,

which I believe has the power to transcend the uroboric process of viewing atrocity

photographs.23

                                                                                                               2 Defined by the Oxford Dictionary, the uroboros is “a circular symbol depicting a snake, or less commonly a dragon, swallowing its tail, as an emblem of wholeness or infinity.” (Oxford Dictionary)

In his essay The Author As Producer, Walter Benjamin discusses the ability of the

photograph in beautifying everything it captures. Benjamin observes, “photography is

unable to convey anything about a power station or a cable factory other than, ‘What a

beautiful world!’” The photograph, he declares, “has succeeded in transforming even

abject poverty—by apprehending it in a fashionably perfected manner—into an object of

enjoyment.” (Benjamin 1934: 775) Although the photograph’s tendency to aestheticize

grants viewers pleasure in looking at the image, Sontag argues that it is precisely this

pleasure, particularly in looking at atrocity photographs, that allows for passivity and a

lack of engagement with the subject matter at hand. (Sontag 1979) Photographer Simon

Norfolk, however, disagrees. He states, “The beauty of these things is only ever

tactical… the reason why I’m here is not to make beautiful pictures… the reason I’m here

is to articulate the anger of my politics about what’s happening in this war.” (Norfolk

quoted in Möller 2013: 36) For Norfolk, beauty is a useful, and even tactical, tool in

encouraging the viewers of his photographs to reflect on the political message he is

attempting to communicate. Bleiker claims, “Aesthetic beauty could lead us astray, so to

speak, seductively promoting and at the same time disguising a vision of the world that is

inherently dangerous, perhaps even evil.” (Bleiker 2009: 10) Similarly to Norfolk,

however, I believe that it is possible for beauty, especially within art inspired by acts of

political violence, to draw both artists and viewers into a deeper reflection of and

engagement with the political message at hand. As illustrated by the artwork below, art

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         3  This  relational  concept  is  essentially  reffering  to  the  zizekian  concept  of  ideology,  which  holds  power  over  the  subject  through  its  relation  rather  than  content  (cf.  Marx).  Additionally,  it  is  not  a  negative  concept  of  ideology  but  rather  a  concept  that  is  necessary  in  the  production  of  subjectivity.  subjectivity  and  political  action.  (Edkins,  1999)    

and the aesthetically gripping can prevent desensitization and, in the words of Edkins,

“provide a site for critical engagement with the reality of trauma”. (Edkins 2002: 243)

Since the September 11 attacks in 2001, a significant number of artwork inspired

by the event has emerged: September by Gerhard Richter (2005), Plane 1 by Robert

Selwyn (2001), and 911 (2001), also by Selwyn, are only a few among many. The most

profound art piece inspired by the September 11 attacks I have encountered, however, is

Steve Reich’s musical piece WTC 9/11 (2011), which Reich composed for the Kronos

Quartet. At the time of the September 11 attacks, Reich and his family resided only four

blocks away from Ground Zero. Recalling the events of 9/11, Reich reveals, “On 9/11 we

were in Vermont, but our son, granddaughter, and daughter-in-law were all in our

apartment. Our phone connection stayed open for six hours and our next-door neighbors

were finally able to drive north out of the city with their family and ours. For us, 9/11 was

not a media event.” (Reich in Nonesuch)

Similarly to Different Trains, Reich’s piece commemorating Holocaust trauma,

the repetition and layering of the violins, cello, and vague voices are eerie and unsettling.

The dissonance of violin chords mimicking the sound of the phone off the hook at the

beginning of the piece is anxious, a reminder of the urgency and uncertainty of the

situation and the inability of onlookers in helping as voices report the off-course journey

of the planes as they head towards the twin towers. The use of fragmented voices, which

are comprised of his neighbors, and publicly accessed voice recordings of air-traffic

controllers from the North American Aerospace Defense Command and firefighters from

the New York City Fire Department, is claustrophobic and even paralyzing. ‘WTC’ is

often used as a common abbreviation for the World Trade Center; however, the ‘WTC’ in

WTC 9/11 also stands for ‘World to Come’. (Kronos Quartet) Although the first two

movements are powerful and effective, it is the use of slow, mellow tones and “the voices

of a neighborhood resident, two volunteers who took shifts sitting near the bodies” in the

practice of Shmira within the third movement that proves to be the most touching.4

(Kronos Quartet) No closure or comfort is offered to the listeners, however, as the piece

ends abruptly, accompanied by the statement: “And there’s the world right here.” (Walls

2011)

While the piece itself is disturbing, Reich’s approach and use of different sounds

has created a work of art that is beautiful and profound, and does not fail in its ability to

call upon listeners to remember the trauma of the September 11 attacks. The release of

what was intended to be the cover art of his album, however, was controversial. The

                                                                                                               4 According to the Kronos Quartet’s website, the Jewish practice of Shmira is the “obligation to guard the body from the time of death until burial” and “consists of sitting near the body and reciting Psalms or Biblical passages.” (Kronos Quartet)

Figure  3.  The  cover  originally  intended  for  WTC  9/11.  (Rastogi  2011)

cover, a sepia-toned version of Masatomo Kuriya’s photograph of the World Trade

Center on September 11, 2001, captures smoke billowing from the North Tower and the

second hijacked plane mere moments before its collision with the South Tower.5 (Fig. 3

and Fig. 4) Critics of the image believed that “the commercial repurposing of such an

image was insensitive and inappropriate,” and some argued that the photo served to

distract listeners from the piece. (Rastogi: 2011) While the image in itself does not

change the content and meaning of the music, the distraction of listeners from the subject

matter is a disruption to the relationship between the listener and the audio, and thus the

effectiveness of the piece. In response to the controversy, Reich issued the following

statement:

“As a composer I want people to listen to my music without something

distracting them. The present cover of WTC 9/11 will, for many, act as a

distraction from listening… When WTC 9/11 was performed by the Kronos

Quartet… the reaction of the public and press was extremely thoughtful and

moving. To have this reaction to the music usurped by the album cover

seemed completely wrong.” (Reich 2011)

Consequently, the artwork was changed and the album was released with what

appears to be the plume of smoke from the Twin Towers. (Fig. 5) Without the distraction

of a widely disseminated image that reduced the trauma of the September 11 attacks to a

single day, the new album cover allowed viewers to reflect on the musical piece and to

think about 9/11 not as a media event, but as an ongoing trauma. Similarly to 9/11, the

events of Abu Ghraib have prompted a multitude of artistic responses. Among the many                                                                                                                

Abu Ghraib photographs that were disseminated, however, it is the image of the Hooded

Man, nicknamed Gilligan by prison staff, which has become iconic. “The photograph of

the Hooded Man,” notes Mitchell, “is not a masterpiece but a master image” that has

been reflected in numerous works of art, such as Star Gazing by Hans Haacke. (Mitchell

2011: 137) (Fig. 6.)

Figure  4.  The  original  photograph  by  Kuriya.  (Kuriya  2001)

Figure  5.  The  second  album  cover  of  WTC  9/11.  (Nonesuch)

Star Gazing mimics the infamous photo of the Hooded Man from Abu Ghraib.

The man, however, does not appear to be resistant, and is hooded in what seems to be a

part of the American flag. With the exception of the image’s straightforward and obvious

reference to the torture photographs of Abu Ghraib, the photograph itself is difficult to

decipher: a good starting point for analysis is perhaps the American flag, a symbol of

American patriotism. The flag covers the man’s face, and more importantly, his eyes. Is

patriotism blinding Americans from recognizing their role in the abuses at Abu Ghraib?

Or is patriotism a mask behind which to hide the shame of such abuses? What is most

intriguing about the photograph is the “curious mirroring of the torturer and the victim.”

(Mitchell 2011: 109) Mitchell contemplates:

“On the one hand, the star spangled hood stages this figure… as the passive,

suffering trophy of American power. On the other hand, the man’s white skin and

relaxed arms (no ‘stress positions’ here) and the title of Star Gazing hint that this

man has pulled the hood over his head all by himself.” (Mitchell 2011: 109-110)

Furthermore, as a symbol of the American nation, the use of the flag in hooding

the man may suggest that the soldiers involved in the Abu Ghraib photo scandal should

not be the only ones seen as the “bad apples.” (Danchev 2008) As Sontag notes, “to

photograph is to frame, and to frame is to exclude.” (Sontag 2004a: 46) Although the

images present the soldiers as the sole perpetrators of torture and violence, what the

photographs fail to show is the role of the American government in allowing such acts of

violence to happen in the first place. According to Hooks and Mosher, the abuses seen at

Abu Ghraib and other military prisons “did not occur because the chain of command

failed. On the contrary, these abuses occurred because a highly rationalized system of

interrogation is in place,” a system which “places a higher value on information

extraction than it does on human rights.” (Hooks and Mosher 2005: 1628) To recognize

that torture is regularly used in American prisons, however, would greatly change the

perception of America and what the nation has strived to convince others of: its

determination and commitment to, in the words of George W. Bush, “help freedom

spread.” (Sontag 2004b; Bush 2005)

Most importantly, Star Gazing forces its viewers to confront the reality of the

situation: we have seen the photographs of Abu Ghraib explicitly detailing the

dehumanizing acts of torture that occurred under the guise of promoting the American

ideals of freedom and democracy. The artist is clearly referencing a specific torture

Figure  6.  Star  Gazing.  Photographed  by  Hans  Haacke.  (Loerzel  2011)

photograph in his piece about the self-imposed ignorance of the American people. It is

not merely the act of torture itself that the artist is demonstrating vis-à-vis such ignorance,

but the photograph itself, as something that is seen all the time yet no longer truly

appreciated. Bearing witness to such acts becomes impossible from merely looking at an

image that has become, more than anything else, entertainment. The artist is confronting

the process of desensitization to atrocity photography directly in his work. The man under

the hood, in a sense, could be anyone.

If acts of political violence are, indeed, perpetrated for the purpose of being

photographed, then we, as viewers, must recognize the political and ethical implications

that come with choosing to view these images. In the current digital age, where the world

is becoming increasingly interconnected and globalized, the wide dissemination of

photographs through mass media results in a sensory overload that desensitizes its

viewers to atrocities that continue to take place in the present as a result of their viewing:

the consequential double movement of contributing to the violence while also

desensitizing oneself to the ethical implications of one’s viewing. This dilemma,

however, can be resolved by reflecting through pieces of art that have been inspired by

the acts of political violence. As Sontag observes, “The problem is not that people

remember through photographs, but that they remember only the photographs. This

remembering through photographs eclipses other forms of understanding, and

remembering.” (Sontag 2004: 89) In addition, highlighting the relational importance of

art to the viewer’s development of a subjective and appropriate ethical response to acts of

atrocity can contribute to our understanding of an event captured in a photograph. It

appears that, contrary to what Linfield stresses in the importance of the literalness of the

photograph in its impact on the viewer, the role of art is crucial, and perhaps necessary, in

helping individuals engage with meaning of the acts of violence.

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