HEADER IMAGE: "THE COVERED PORTRAIT" (2018), BETWEEN THESE FOLDED WALLS, UTOPIA BY COOPER & GORFER

“Pictures can do harm to our internal image. They can affect our embodied relationship to the world–impairing our ‘corporeal schema’ in Fanon’s terms – which in turn disrupts our larger sense of wellbeing.”

“The Right to an Image” in Visualising Human Rights, Sharon Sliwinski

What does one see when they Google “photographs of refugees”? What about “photographs by refugees”? See Figures A and B for a cross-comparison:

In Figure A, we see the common trope used when talking about migratory persons—masses, huddled together, usually on a boat of some sort. The vast majority of the images are in black-and-white, with the few images in color being blue-washed or saturated to emphasize the bright orange of the safety vests being worn. Each person whose face we see is unsmiling, in anguish, terrified. In Figure B, on the other hand, the photography has more color. There are even photographs of people smiling, expressing an emotion other than the grave faces of the lost and disturbed. Why is there such a dissonance between these two forms of photograph, seemingly of the same group of people? How is it that the perceived "refugee gaze" and the gaze of actual refugees differ so much? The answer lies in the photographers’ relationship with both the spectator and the subject.

THE GLOBAL REFUGEE CRISIS

To begin, here is some data regarding the current number of migratory persons that exist in the world as of 2022. Note that this data does not reflect any refugees caused by the Israel/Hamas conflict, which began in October of this year and has produced many more forcibly displaced persons. That being said, according to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), 108.4 million people worldwide are forcibly displaced. Of the total amount of refugees worldwide, 52% are from only three countries: Syria, Ukraine, and Afghanistan. As of 2022, the number of forcibly displaced persons grew by 21% compared to the previous years’ data. 

I would like to articulate that the term refugee is a legal status, given to a person who has sought asylum after crossing an international border and was granted certain benefits that other migratory persons—asylum-seekers, internally displaced persons, economic migrants—are not granted. For the sake of this paper, any person who migrated for fear of their lives (politically, socially, economically) will be categorized under the umbrella term “refugee,” even if they were not granted legal status. This is not a perfect solution, but the limits of language regarding migratory persons make it so. Note, too that the benefits granted to refugees come from nation-states. 

A major gap in the human rights system is the lack of protection for stateless persons. Advocacy groups like Refugees International are working towards protecting the rights outlined by United Nations human rights treaties like The Convention Relating to the State of Refugees (1951) and its 1967 Protocol. Unfortunately, these these treaties do not benefit refugees who have not crossed an international border (also known as internally displaced persons). When this Convention was written, the main concern was displaced persons in the wake of World War II. Today, the idea of the "refugee" has taken on a different meaning, especially in a world that is technically speaking, post-colonial. Even more, this treaty is only binding for the nation-states that ratify it. The 1951 Convention has 146 states party (with 19 signatory states that are not, technically, bound to the treat), and the 1967 Protocol has 147. Overall, the protections for refugees are one of the greatest deficits in the human rights realm. This is one of the key reasons the portrayal of refugees––especially refugee women who face even more challenges from their gendered and/or racialized identities––must be analyzed and critiqued. Therefore, the "refugee gaze" is the results of a process of gender and story being interconnected and constructed by women refugees through self-directed/co-directed photography forms. This “refugee gaze,” I will argue, is often appropriated by photojournalists aiming to create an “artistic” shot of female refugee's sufferings. However the dissonance present in most refugee photography (that does not authentically present the "refugee gaze") emerges because of the taking of story and a process of photographically Othering.

TAKING VOICE BY PRESCRIBING NARRATIVES

The vast majority of photography categorized as “refugee photography” is in black in white. There's a theory that Civil Rights Movement photography is often shown in black and white, despite the advent of color photography, because it makes it seem further away in time than it was. While this seems to be a conspiracy theory at best, this same idea could be applied to refugee photography. However, I would argue that it, overall, is an artistic choice. Consider Figure C. Photographer Michael Freeman, author of Black & White Photography Field Guide (2013), writes in the caption that the "bright colors favored by all Sudanese women detract from the severity of the situation" (43).

In other words, this (notably, unnamed) Sudanese woman mourning her husband while a camera is put in her face, has been put into black and white. For Freeman, it is not enough that she is grieving the death of her partner. Instead, he wants to create an aesthetic of melancholy or, as he puts it, take away from the "subjective and emotional responses" that people have to color because "we tend simply to like or dislike in varying degrees the way a certain color looks, or a combination of colors" (Freeman 43). However, he also claims that "black-and-white photography is traditionally more strongly associated with art than color photography" (Freeman 9). The viewer may feel an uneasiness towards this, perhaps much in the same way Susan Sontag feels when regarding war photography that is too artfully crafted.

In Freeman’s case, he is intentionally looking at this photograph of a woman as an art piece, yet he lacks the artistry to convey her story. This "art" will be more powerful to a spectator if it is in black-and-white because, aesthetically, one could think the original colors clash. Consider the absurdity of this. In the text Visualising Human Rights (2016), Jane Lydon states that "showing suffering...leads to a “distancing and diminishing” of the subject’s humanity, without the guarantee that empathy felt for the subject will lead to any action taken (Lydon 10). Even more, the subject of this photo, the unnamed Sudanese woman, is not a part of the narrative. The child actively moving in the corner shows that this is not a posed image. Instead, it is a photographer invading a space of mourning in hopes of getting a publishable shot. Freeman accuses photographers of considering color to be the only way the photograph is  "faithful to the original scene" (Freeman). While I disagree with the fact that lack of color breeds inauthenticity, I question Freeman's actual intentions in making this specific photo black and white. I would argue this is a process of Othering. The black-and-white enables distance to be put between her, the subject, and us, the viewer. It makes this woman's sadness into an artistic piece instead of the reality of it being an invasion by a photojournalist. According to Photography as Activism (2012) by Michelle Bogre, Susan Meiselas received backlash when she “switched to color for her work in Nicaragua, because what she was seeing–the people, the clothes, the houses—felt as though it should be in color” (52). However, I believe Meiselas to be innovative in this choice. She was not prescribing a narrative for the people she captured in her images. She did not force the viewer to feel as though an image must feel melancholy or sad because of its coloring. Instead, she left the narrative to be told by those within the photograph.

DE-INDIVIDUALIZATION OF MIGRATORY PERSONS

Consider this photo from Anna Szörény’s The Images Speak for Themselves?: Reading Refugee Coffee-Table Books. As Szörény pertains, refugee photography is a definitive divide between “us"–the viewer of the stylized (black-and-white!) refugee photography meant to invoke sympathy–and “Them,” the subject of the photograph (38). Notice the faceless mass of people. She comments on this by stating that refugee photography “provides visual ‘evidence’ of the very ideas I identify as problematic –for example, the suggestion that the state of ‘refugeeness’ consists of a passive, speechless and anonymous visual availability” (Szörény 26). Lydon (2016) echos this, conveying that visual rhetoric makes refugees into passive, mute victims throughout her scholarship.

One may ask, why are these photographs taken in the first place? I would argue it is because they support narratives driven by newsmedia to either (a) write a story pitying the migratory people (note that this image pity does not normally work if there is no drive behind it ((see Susan Sontag's Regarding the Pain of Others (2003)))), or (b) create a narrative that the amount of migratory persons is far too many. David Shariatmadari of The Guardian wrote an article entitled "Swarms, Floods, and Marauders: The Toxic Metaphors of the Migration Debate" which states that oftentimes, metaphors claiming that migrants are "insects," a massive wave, a wall of people, etc. are meant to mislead the pubic into believing that a specific group of people endangers their lives and resources. It creates a false dilemma of "us" or "them." The photography of these "masses," in turn, further skews the impact people have when migrating. Further adding to Shariatmadari's point, I would argue it renders migratory persons into one, great mass instead of individuals that are all migrating for very personal reasons. They are made into passive, leaching victims that move forward as one, victims of circumstance that wish to burden others. This passivity becomes more stylized and pronounced when the subject of the photo, instead of “migrating masses” is an of a woman (most likely with a small child in a Madonna-esque pose).

"BENEVOLENT" SEXISM

In “The Ambivalent Sexism Inventory: Differentiating Hostile and Benevolent Sexism” by Peter Glick and Susan T. Fiske, the idea of “benevolent sexism” is defined. Rather than the traditional idea of “hostile sexism,” benevolent sexism leads to “positive” sexism that emerged as a form of protection, based upon the idea that women are weaker, passive, and inferior and therefore need the protection of the patriarchy (492). Glick and Fiske, it should be stated, are critiquing this phenomenon. ​​ They state “benevolent sexism is not necessarily experienced as benevolent by the recipient. For example, a man's comment to a female coworker on how "cute" she looks, however well-intentioned, may undermine her feelings of being taken seriously as a professional” (Glick and Fiske 491). This phenomenon is clear is most refugee photography. If a photo of a refugee is not one of the “migratory masses,” then it often shows women in a moment of weakness to convey the idea that refugee women need the protection of a higher power, like the patriarchy, to survive. This is a neo-colonial viewpoint, built on patriarchal ideas of the West being a protector of the “less-developed” countries of Others (which are only “less-developed” due to the actions of Western, colonizing nations). Certain human writes photographers engage in this benevolent sexism, regardless of their gender identity themselves. 

Consider this image by Sebastião Salgado, a photographer famous for taking photographs of human rights abuses. Note that Salgado only works in black and white, making aesthetically beautiful images of human rights issues which he has been criticized for extensively by some, but praised by others (Bogre 64). But what is the point of Salgado’s photographs? It is certainly not to begin to know the subjects. This image is sold at the Peter Fetterman Gallery in Santa Monica, CA. As Susan Sontag (2003) states, “it seems exploitative to look at harrowing photographs of other people's pain in an art gallery...When Capa's falling soldier appeared in Life opposite the Vitalis ad, there was a huge, unbridgeable difference in look between the two kinds of photographs, ‘editorial’ and ‘advertising.’ Now there is not” (93-94). This photograph is an art piece waiting to be bought for several thousand dollars. Will this unnamed mother see the profits of this art installation? Has her story been told? Or is she a voiceless, passive victim Salgado superciliously believes he can “save” by taking a photograph of her?

Bogre states in Photography as Activism (2012) that “ Salgado never reduces any of the people he photographs into types or issues because, in part, he sees himself as an insider” (64). I would argue that herein lies the problem. Salagdo is not an insider. The recognition of this is critical, for he does not know the best way to represent his subjects. He is assuming, in saying that he is an insider, that he can dictate how a refugee woman and her baby can feel. He makes them look beautiful but does not learn their story or names. Therefore, Salgado is patriarchal in his arrogant belief that he can create the refugee gaze by assuming he understands the subject’s thought process without actually taking the time to ask about it. He is demeaning in his artistic style, without the benefits of his “benevolence” felt by the subjects he has exploited. Ultimately, he participates in what Ariella Azoulay deems "paper clipping" (10). He believes he is capturing the "refugee gaze"; however, in negating to consider the actual narratives of refugees, he has created a subjective "mask" that he is treating as objective. Salagdo "masks"––in Azoulay's language––the true gaze of the refugee in order to present a narrative of pity and Othering. Ultimately, he has overtaken not this woman's narrative, but "paper clips" her so that she becomes a generalization for what the figure of the "refugee photograph" looks like (aghast, sullen, suffering) and represents (a dehumanized Other, a passive victim).

REPRESENTING ONESELF

In the realm of photojournalism, it is fairly common to snap a photo and move forward. Get the shot, edit the shot, and submit the shot to be published with tomorrow’s paper. It is that simple. Photojournalist Myrto Papadopoulos has broken this mold during her career and, in doing so, has captured the refugee gaze. As stated in an interview Shayna Plaut for the text Messy Ethics in Human Rights Works (2023), Papadopoulos uses “participatory methodology,” a process by which “the participant becomes a co-director” who builds trust and a rapport with the photographer over a period of time (173). Her goal is to show that just because a woman is a victim, she does not always have to be portrayed as a victim. She is not the result of her greatest trauma, but it is a part of her. Papadopoulos believes in showing victims and telling their stories collaboratively without reducing them to the victimized Other.

Papadopoulos describes the moment her work shifted in the interview with Plaut. Before, she was guilty of photographing women's faces, capturing their suffering, and prescribing her own narratives. While talking to a sex worker in Cyprus, Papadopoulos asked if she could take her photograph. The sex worker, in turn, gave her a firm answer: “No.” The woman then went on to explain, “If I let you take a picture of me, this is how you will portray me. You will create an identity of me, which I don’t want to be a part of…I really don’t want to do this. Fuck. I really don’t want to do this shit. I have a young boy. I’m here alone, but I just have to do this” (Plaut). Papdopoulos thought that, by taking this woman’s photograph, she would be giving her voice. However, the woman believed it would have the opposite effect and reduce her to her “struggles or circumstances,” not her personhood (Plaut). She realized that as a photojournalist, not all her subjects who share their pain with her want to share it with the world. 

Myrto Papadopoulos's project Breaking Waters is an example of her work which uses participatory methodology. The project’s title has a double meaning; the subjects of her photographs are women who are seeking refuge by way of the sea and are new mothers. Consider this photograph of ​​Rim al Saleh with her young baby. In her story captioning the photograph, we find out that al Saleh is terrified of the sea. On a small blowup boat, with her newborn baby in her arms, al Saleh traveled to Greece from Turkey (Papdopoulos) Now, she says, she is no longer afraid of the sea. It seems as though she became so scared that her capacity to fear had become overrun.

The first thing to notice about this photograph is that it is taken in color. Too, Al Saleh is dressed in a lovely blouse, nice slacks, and tidy Mary Janes. Her baby is in his finest clothes. They are not desolate or dirty, as photographers are so fond of showing the figure of the “refugee.” Al Saleh looks directly into the camera with her firm, fixed gaze. She is not a scared, passive victim. She is a woman who has survived a difficult journey and now knows she is safe. She is changed, yes, but she is not a perpetual victim. Al Saleh stands in a “sea” of green grass, which I would argue is an intentional allusion to the water that she was once so afraid of.

A final method of refugee photography that literally captures the gaze of the refugee is taken by a refugee photographer. Mary Tomsic, in the article “Sharing a Personal Past: #iwasarefguee #iamarefguee on Instagram” writes:

 “Visual self-representations of refugees and displaced people in the public sphere, like this one [referencing a photograph on the page], are unusual. Refugees have had little influence over the public circulation of their own images, rather images have mostly been controlled by institutions and groups, such as governments, the media and humanitarian organisations. Dominant visual stereotypes exist within these representations, constructing displaced people as different and ‘other.’” 

Sontag (2003) in Regarding the Pain of Others argued that too much artistry can turn people away from photographs of atrocity because it seems in poor taste. Her point, essentially, was there there can be artistry, but it needs to be subtle enough so that it seems accidental. I believe her to be right when it comes to photography like Salgado's, which I have analyzed above. However, when photographers take the time to reveal a narrative, placing women as storytellers for their own store, these images are a collaborative story. This is the case for Between These Folded Walls, Utopia (2021) by Sarah Cooper and Nina Gorger. These pieces are art, yes, but they are activist art that forces one to think of the experience of movement as a horror, a shift in one’s life, a gift, a punishment, and/or a part of one’s journey through womanhood. They photographed women are beautiful, and they give permission to the voyeur to look at them. They welcome a glimpse into their experiences, made into art. We, as viewers, are not peaking over their shoulders. We are not viewing an image, captured when they were at their worst. Any one of these women, given the fact that they were all forced migratory persons of some sort, could be Salgado's "refugee woman." They could be an aghast, grieving woman, pushed to a catatonic state because of sheer grief and terror, forever reduced to this moment by a photographer who “got the shot.” Instead, they are representing themselves how they want to represented: not a perpetual victims, but women who have faced hardship and survived.

The ultimate goal of Between These Folded Walls, Utopia (2021)  is “contemplative work and interviews”   that create a “visual and narrative toolbox to empower these young women" (Cooper and Gorger 8). Before seeing any visuals of the women photographed, the viewer must read their names, their ages, and their stories. Only then may they see the subjects. Even more, the subjects tell a visual story with the clothing they wear and the objects that surround them. They are not the image of “the refugee” that keeps them detached from the viewer. The photographs do not allow the voyeur to Other them, place them at a distance. Instead, we are forced to confront their stories.

Consider the photograph of Yohanna with her arms bound. Yohanna said in her story that she never wanted to leave home but had to, to gain freedom. She therefore was going to be bound one way or another: she would be working without pay and a life-long sentence in the military (in Eritrea) or she would be bound to Sweden, where she fled to, without her family or culture. Yohanna also states the importance of her faith in finding solace in her unfamiliar, new home. This is represented in the photograph by Mother Mary peaking out above her bound arms. While colorful and fascinating to look at, this photograph also tells who Yohanna is and what her experiences were like. 

CONCLUSION

The aesthetized “refugee photo,” typical of photojournalists, strips the refugee of her story. She simply becomes a passive victim, with her life’s defining moment being this traumatic forced movement. She has been stripped of who she is. The gendered refugee gaze, then, emerges when the camera is a tool to facilitate a conversation between the subject and the spectator. The woman refugee is, first and foremost, a woman. She is a person, who has become a refugee. This is not to discount the trauma of being one who had to seek asylum but to understand the whole of a person, not just one aspect that becomes their defining characteristic.
This project presents a new way of thinking. It is certainly not easier and calls into question the “norms” of photography that have been and continue to be accepted. However, it is worth remembering that something that is “normal” does not make it right. Women throughout history have been at the forefront of social and cultural movements, making the world do better even though (in most cases) their leadership and push have gone unrecognized and, sometimes, unremembered.  I present, then, a project pulling together a group of such women who are doing the work. They are paving the way through a more “treacherous” metaphorical path, which requires sacrifice from all parties involved instead of just the subject. The subject still sacrifices a part of them, they allow a certain vulnerability. However, the interaction no longer stops there. The photographer sacrifices the ‘easy” path to refugee photographer. In capturing the real refugee gaze, they listen to their subjects. They understand as many components as they are permitted to know, not just one horrific moment. Most of all, both the spectator and the photographer give up that shocking and sadistically captivating photograph of a woman suffering. For me, this sacrifice is simple. In my lifetime, I have already seen my full share of female suffering being commodified for the gain of others. But this is a call to all––especially those who wish to do the good work of human rights activism via photography––to give up easy shots for worthwhile ones.

Works Cited
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“Sebastião Salgado Brazil, B. 1944.” Peter Fetterman Gallery, https://www.peterfetterman.com/artists/171-sebastiao-salgado/works/19663-sebastiao-salgado-children-s-ward-in-the-korem-refugee-camp-ethiopia-1984/.
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