Susan Sontag’s works have been called many things, from sophisticated to cantankerous, but they are at the very least, controversial and thought-provoking. “On Photography”, “Regarding the Pain of Others”, and “Freak Show” have all been lauded and disparaged by critics and casual readers alike for their avant-garde stances on the relationship between photography and people that some deem radical while others speak fundamental truths. In her scholarly criticism, she made a radical break with the traditional postwar style by “advocating an aesthetic approach to the study of culture, championing style over content.” (NY Times). This approach, coupled with her desire to “arrive at the proper balance between the moral and the aesthetic” (NY Times) has caused her to produce highly polarizing opinions. Despite their divisiveness, they still sparked extremely lively debates, even to today because “she showed you things you hadn’t seen before” (NY Times) and had an uncanny ability to reopen once-settled questions. One such controversial opinion is her stance that photography has a significant dark side, something many do not fully comprehend or appreciate. This theme permeates her work, From “Freak Show,” in which she talks about Arbus’ photos in terms of shock value to In Plato’s Cave, where she describes photography in terms of murder and sex, to her culminating works, her commentary on the 9/11 attacks and Regarding the Pain of Others, where she engages with images and other representations that involve death and Murder.
In her essay “Freak Show”, Sontag explores the work of Diane Arbus, “photographs that suggest a world in which everybody is an alien – hopelessly isolated, immobilized in mechanical, crippled identities and relationships (221).” A common theme across Arbus’ works are that the subjects of her photos are highly unusual in some way, or “freaks” as Sontag puts it. Some are of people who dramatically differ physically, such as the photo of a giant man, stooped over, in comparison to his shorter parents. Others do not appear unusual at first glance until some context is given, such as “a boy waiting to march in a pro-war parade, wearing his straw boater and his “Bomb Hanoi” button (222)”. Without knowing the appropriate context, this photo would appear to be the typical “hawk.” According to Sontag, Arbus’ photos “concentrat[e] on victims, the disposed – but without the compassionate purpose that such a project is expected to serve (221).” While critics praise these for their candor, such photos demonstrate an “aggressiveness towards the public. (221)” As a result, Sontag leads the reader to believe that Arbus took such photos to satisfy voyeuristic tendencies. After mentioning Arbus’ suicide, however, Sontag concludes that Arbus’ work is “sincere and compassionate”. However, such photos are not the happy, rainbow, and unicorn filled fantasylands. Instead, they are the unadulterated images of reality, that are potentially disturbing. Sontag generalizes Arbus’ shocking photographs as part of a larger trend at the time for shocking images without cringing away from them. Ironically, while these images were difficult for many to stomach initially, over time, many felt “a sense of ” In other words, people became desensitized to such images. Sontag concludes that the ultimate purpose of such shocking images were to pop the bubble of the typical American with “the shock of immersion in experiences that cannot be beautified, the encounter with what is taboo, perverse, [and] evil(224).”These beg the questions of what are the criteria that photos are judged shocking and why some are more shocking than others or retain shock value over time.
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This image appeared on the front page of the New York Post on December 4, 2012, of a man named Ki Suk Han, who was pushed into the path of an oncoming train by Naeem Davis, a mentally ill homeless man. Moments after the photo was taken, Han died. The freelance photographer, R. Umar Abbasi, received heavy flak for photographing this incident instead of attempting to help. The photographer countered the backlash by claiming that he was too far away to help and that others, who were closer, did not try to intervene. Lastly, he claimed that he wasn’t trying to photograph anything at all. Instead, he was using the camera flash to alert the train conductor. In the aftermath that ensued, the Post was accused by many who saw the front page of exploiting this tragedy for shock value and boosting sales.
The photograph does not conform to the standards described in Sontag’s Freak Show. Arbus photographed “freaks.” The man, at least the way we see him with his back to the camera, does not appear to have any sort of physical deformity or anything odd about him that would classify him as a “freak.” The only thing that might be odd about this photo, after completely ignoring all the surrounding context is that the man is much smaller than the train and the two would form some sort of pairing or “couple” but one Arbus might not photograph because neither falls into the category of “freaks.” Yet, the photo generated controversy for a while after it was taken and published begs the question of where does it derive its shock value from?
Upon seeing this photo, Susan Sontag would immediately classify it as a form of “soft murder” from her essay, “In Plato’s Cave.” Quite literally, Han was murdered—pushed into the path of a train, but the “soft murder” that follows is the fact that he is portrayed as nothing more than an image “that can be symbolically possessed.” (Sontag) Copies of the newspaper were distributed throughout the city, inviting all to take part in this man’s grisly last moments. Certainly this was not how Mr. Han wanted to see himself, nor would his widowed wife or daughter. This photo exemplifies Sontag’s claim that the act of photographing a person is a form of sublimated murder—that is, we reduce the subject to an image, one in which they have no say in how they are portrayed. The reason why this image ignited such public backlash was for the same reason Sontag mentions in her essay. Ordinary people realized that the New York Post had violated this man in some way, one that went beyond his death, but how?
One of the main controversies surrounding the photo is the fact that it appeared the photographer, R. Umar Abbasi, prioritized taking these photos over attempting to save the life of Mr. Han. Both he and the New York Post were vilified on social media for this reason, especially since a police source claimed Mr. Han was stuck on the tracks for more than a minute, possibly as much time as 90 seconds (Collins, Bates, Boyle, Miller, Stebner). According to Sontag, “part of the horror comes from how plausible it has become… in situations where the photographer has the choice between the photograph and a life, to choose the photograph.” The outrage on social and news media that erupted following the publishing of this photograph reflects this claim, with criticisms that the publishing of the photo was “classless” and “completely void of all integrity.” (Khouri)
The idea of the camera as a weapon, “automated as possible and ready to spring,” (Sontag) may also hold the answer. Sontag says that companies advertise their cameras as “all-knowing” and “as simple as turning the ignition key or pulling the trigger.” (Sontag) It appears that in the case of this photo, it was easier for Abbasi, or he found it more logical, to photograph Han rather than attempt to save him. To accuse Abbasi of contributing to Han’s death might be a stretch, but to say the act of photographing him killed him a second time is reasonable in Sontag’s context of “soft murder.” In Abbasi’s words, “I didn’t even know what I was shooting.” (Post Staff Report) Yet, he did it anyway, because that is the nature of photography, according to Sontag– simple, fast, lethal. Berger makes a similar claim that “…opportunism turns everything—nature, history, suffering, other people, catastrophes, sports, sex, politics—into spectacle. And the implement used to do this—until the act becomes so habitual… is the camera.” (Berger) According to these two authors, photography has become dangerously instinctive, perhaps more instinctive than intervention, and in this lies the horror we experience as an audience viewing it.
Sontag also mentions that “the shock of photographed atrocities wears off with repeated viewings.” Although this may be the case with the examples she used, such as pornography, the public outrage that ensued following the publishing of this photo says otherwise. In the world of digital media, innumerable amounts of disturbing and shocking photographs are readily available, yet this image, devoid of any blood or gore, nonetheless garnered disgust and horror from many who saw it. This shows that humans are still capable of being shocked by certain images and will not so readily shrug them off as they have done with pornography, to use Sontag’s example. While it is true that we are constantly bombarded with images of death and violence, what makes this photo so powerful lies in who the audience of the photo is– and in this case, it is predominantly working-class New Yorkers. Sontag writes, “A photograph that brings news of some unsuspected zone of misery cannot make a dent in public opinion unless there is an appropriate context of feeling and attitude.”
Sontag’s “Regarding the Pain of Others” allows us to explore this quote in much greater detail in terms of war photographs. “In Plato’s Cave,” Sontag provides the example of photos of Japanese in internment camps during World war II and in “Regarding the Pain of Others”, she discusses the images of Israeli and Palestinian children killed. The one thing they share is that they are war photos, but what is interesting to note is that people on both sides of each incident feel the exact same feelings: hatred towards the foe. Arguably to outsiders who do not have anything at stake or those who are ambivalent about the issues at hand, these images of war arouse a sense of pity and compassion but to those on either side of the conflict, these photos generate outrage on the victim’s end and grim or even sadistic pleasure on the perpetrator’s end. These two strong emotions do not provide an “appropriate context of feeling and attitude” Sontag describes because such feelings endorse violence, explicitly or implicitly because outrage on the victim’s end usually sublimates to desire for revenge on the enemy, which represses the disgust and revulsion such images are supposed to generate. She sums this sentiment best when she states, “To the militant, identity is everything (229).”
A good case to examine the points raised in this and the previous paragraph are the images related to the 9/11 attacks, from the Twin Towers burning down to the images of first responders on scene. While these images will forever stir a respectable amount of emotion in Americans, the intensity of the feelings have subsided greatly since the first few years after the attacks. Since they were widely circulated, quite a few have been engraved into history. With this rise in status, however, they illustrate Sontag’s point that “the shock of photographed atrocities wear off.” On a similar note, these photos were widely circulated to stir fury towards terrorists. Whatever feelings of pity for the victims is almost immediately sublimated into anger, if anger wasn’t the first feeling because the viewers see the victims as one of them, rather than mere spectacles.
However, this audience of New Yorkers is no stranger to waiting on the platform for a train, and there is no doubt that the fear, however fleeting, of being caught in the path of an oncoming subway has crossed their minds at least once. They are wholly familiar with the context of the photo, and the red “Q” that is visible on the front of the train makes it all the more real. The difference between this photo and one that we have become desensitized to, say, a war photo, is the familiarity of the setting and context—the audience can nearly picture themselves standing on the platform beside the victim. The audience itself was able to relate to the victim and recognize the setting, forcing them to take notice rather than categorize it as just another war photo taken in a far-off land. As a result, photographs cannot severely alter the predisposed mindset of its audience, or as Sontag says, “photographs cannot create a moral position, but they can reinforce one.” While a photograph may have an effect on the audience in a profound way, this effect is nonetheless measured by how the audience itself interprets the photo. This same photograph may not have such a jarring effect on those unfamiliar with public transportation or those who live in different settings.
In his response to Sontag’s essay, Berger wrote “Uses of Photography,” and brings up more intriguing new claims. One of these such claims is the fact of what photographs can’t do, which is narrate, and in the case of public photographs, are but “a seized set of appearances.” This is certainly true in the case of this photograph, which captures only a few seconds of a larger tragedy. By looking at this photograph, we cannot tell how the subject ended up on the train tracks, the reaction of anyone who witnessed the event, the subject’s occupation, social status, or even his name. He is reduced to colored pixels on the front page of a newspaper for all of New York City, if not the world, to see. He has literally become a seized set of appearances– his last moments, something which should be private and restricted to his family and loved ones, was seized by the mere act of a clicking shutter. All else about the incident is lost, the perpetrator’s name and motive, the moments preceding it, are part of a narration that we cannot glean from this single photograph. What we as viewers do get is a feeling of being shocked and disturbed, pitying the victim and his family. Berger is correct– this photograph on its own narrates nothing. But its power comes from the fact that this audience is familiar enough with the setting to create their own narration, to almost cathartically channel their own fears into this photo of Mr. Han.
Both Sontag and Berger agree on the commonality and popularity of photography. Sontag characterizes it as a “widely practiced an amusement as sex and dancing” and Berger notes that its uses encompass “police filing, war reporting, military reconnaissance, pornography…family albums… sentimental moralizing… aesthetic effects, news reporting, and formal portraiture.” Naturally, the popularity of photography lends itself to the popularity of sharing and viewing photographs on a large scale. This photo, with such a conspicuous display on the front page of the New York Post, clearly exemplifies this shared sentiment. However, Sontag cites the reason for the popularity of photography as a “tool of social power.” Berger, on the other hand, cites its “central applicability to capitalism.” In this case of this photograph, both possibilities can be explored.
Sontag’s reasoning that photography serves as a “tool of social power” can be used to explain why Abbasi took the photograph or why the New York Post chose to publish it. While Abbasi claims that his intent was not to photograph anything at all, the assumption can still be made by his critics that he wanted to capture this horrific scene to fulfill a twisted sense of ownership– being able to document the last moments of a stranger’s life could indeed make someone feel omnipresent and powerful. He refutes claims that he “sold” the photographs to the New York Post, referring to it instead as “licensing to use it” (Collins, Bates, Boyle, Miller, Stebner) The Post, on the other hand, wanted to own Han’s last moments for nearly the same reason, which was to have the power to display this man’s death as a public spectacle. Berger’s claim that the popularity of photography derives from its applicability to capitalism could also be correct in describing the intrigue and circulation of this photo. The reasoning for this is much simpler– the more conversation and controversy a photo draws, the more papers the Post will sell. This was another criticism that arose from the publishing of this photo, the fact that the newspaper traded the privacy and dignity of Mr. Han and his family for monetary gain and publicity. The same could also be said about Mr. Abbasi, who provided the New York Post with the photos in exchange for financial compensation. In either case, the publishing of this photo shows how easily atrocities can be capitalized upon, and our public disdain for monetary greed.
The controversy that this photo of Mr. Han caused clearly exemplifies what photos can and cannot do to an audience. Its ability to appall and shock viewers speaks volumes about the impact a photo can have– but this ability comes with limitations. For example, much of this ability is based on the fact that it was presented to the right audience, exposed to the right context. However, this familiarity then has the power to force the audience to contend with the non-intervention of the photographer—that is, how would we feel as Mr. Han, knowing that nobody would save us? Berger points out another weakness of a photograph, which is that it fails to narrate. However, the most powerful photos tend to narrate themselves and incite reactions from the viewers, who fabricate their own narrations. This jarring photo of Mr. Han’s last moments draw its impact not from blood or violence– but rather, it was exploited at the right place, New York City, and the right time– in a context that feels frighteningly relatable.