Homestay with Adrian and Rosalea in Amaru, Peru

The study of visual representation is the study of power.  Through the investigation of how photographs are produced, interpreted, circulated, appropriated, displayed, and reproduced, acts of agency and decision-making are revealed.   In this post, I’d like to describe a situation of image production I encountered during a homestay visit in the Amaru community, located outside of Pisaq, Perú, in the Sacred Valley just beyond the city of Cusco.  This scene is a clear example of the complicated nature of context when trying to understand the production of images.  While a single physical photograph may be the recording of a fraction of a second of light bouncing off of subjects before a lens, the production of the photograph may have spanned a much longer length of time.  More people than just the subjects and the photographer may have experienced the production of the image, and may have acted or influenced this process.  This is exactly what occurred during a photographic experience in Amaru.

I first discovered the possibility of visiting Amaru while passing by a restaurant on the plaza in Pisaq.  A pamphlet was posted on the wall, which detailed–in English–the homestay program in Amaru.  At the time I was living in Cusco, attending Quechua classes in the mornings, and investigating uses of photography in various quotidian circumstances in and around Cusco.  The homestay program attracted me because, as I learned from the pamphlet, the host families in Amaru were Quechua-speakers.  I noted a webpage advertised on the brochure, which sits on the Peru Treks tourism company website.  Both Peru Treks and Adrian–president of the Amaru homestay group–told me that the program is a community initiative, and that the tourism company receives no fiscal benefit for the promoting it does for the group.  Peru Treks served as a mediator, and helped me organize a homestay visit for a friend and me.

The photograph included at the beginning of this post was taken in the courtyard of Adrian and Rosalea’s house the morning before we left.  While I had been taking photos throughout my stay, as well as sharing my small point-and-shoot digital camera to Adrian and his kids, this photographic experience proved different from the others. The production of the image involved four people, each with different language capabilities: Adrian, Quechua and Spanish; Rosalea, his wife, Quechua; my friend, English; and myself, Quechua, Spanish and English.  We had said goodbye to our hosts and were preparing to leave the community with Adrian and his daughter when Adrian made it clear he wanted one more photographic session.  This began with his asking his wife to go change her clothes.  While she had already been wearing the woven clothing many women in the area wear, Rosalea changed into a skirt with more detail, a pristine white ruffled shirt, and a bright red jacket.  She brought with her an armful of weavings which she and Adrian had made, and hung them over a railing.  Although my friend could not comprehend the verbal instructions Adrian offered to his wife, he understood that the preparations were intended for a photograph and stood ready with the camera.  Adrian explained to me his idea for the image, and kindly asked if my friend could take a photograph of me acting as if I were buying weavings from Rosalea.  I translated Adrian’s plan to my friend who took a few photographs accordingly.

Each of the four participants exercised some amount of power in the production process, negotiating our actions in relation to our own ideas as well as according to the requests of others.  Each of us experienced the process from our own perspective, incorporating conscious and unconscious, premeditated and spontaneous behaviors into the interaction.  We also each had our own hopes for and feelings about the images, many of which I do not and could not know, but which may have affected the photographs produced.  Of particular note is the role that Adrian played in the production of the images taken during that session.  Although he was neither a subject in the photograph nor the photographer, it seemed to me that he had the strongest influence over how the image was constructed.  The photograph has the potential to serve multiple purposes for Adrian, but he voiced two of them to me.  First, not only was this photograph (posted above) the only photograph for which Adrian gave me permission to publish on the internet, but he specifically asked me to do so.  Well after we had taken the image, Adrian asked me if I would consider writing about my stay with his family on the internet, with the hope that it might bring more business to the homestay project.  Second, Adrian could add this photograph to his family’s photographic collection, where the family kept various images of their guests, friends and family members.  Adrian and I had already agreed earlier in my stay that I would leave him a disc at the tourist office in Cusco which would include of all of the photos I had taken during my visit.  While it doesn’t seem to have been updated in awhile, there is a website being built about homestays in the area called My Peru; there is the potential for this site to become another use for some of Adrian’s photographs.

Although he didn’t personally use the internet at the time that I stayed with him, Adrian knew that it was an important tool for his community’s program.  But he also knew that he was part of a larger tourism initiative in Peru that connects tourists interested in a more personal, familial travel experience with rural, indigenous families.  Adrian wanted to show me a particular image of not only his family, but also of his community.  He knew that the photographs that I took would be connected to a narrative, and that he had the power to influence both the narratives and the images they accompanied.  Several times throughout my stay, he spoke against specific stereotypes against indigenous people, offering me alternative visual and aural information.  It was rewarding to be able to participate in the Quechua conversations that involved parents and kids alike, and I wonder how effective Adrian’s messages might be to tourists who speak only English.  Regardless, in this instance, Adrian told me specific information, and requested that I publish it on the internet for the international online community.

Placing photographs at the center of a historical research project and at the core of an anthropological study are ideas that are still gaining legitimacy in academia.  There is much debate about how to analyze photographs, how to distinguish them into categories or genres, how to uncover the layers of meaning ascribed to them, and how to decipher the kinds of effects that photographs have.  Scholars have attempted a variety of investigatory approaches.  In relation to the production of images, some studies have privileged the photographer, attributing a photograph’s qualities to decisions that the photographer made (or supposedly made).  These studies may take into account the placement of the camera, the framing of the image, even the positioning of the subject.  Other scholars have focused more on the subject, trying to show agency, and emphasizing ways that the subject might have been actively complicit in the production of the image as such or showing signs of resistance either in their facial expressions or body language.    As made evident through this brief encounter with the production of a photograph, the question of context is exceedingly complicated, especially in the case of the analysis of historical photographs when perhaps none the participants of the photographic experience are present.  In light of these thoughts, it appears prudent to leave space for the the activity existing beyond the frame of the photograph, and to avoid analyzing a photograph from a perspective that gives excessive weight to the actions of the photographer or the subjects.  It might make more sense to support work that recognizes or tries to discover a wider sense of experience of the production of an image while also leaving room for the many influences that we could never know.

Madres de la Plaza de Mayo, Argentina, marching with photos of their disappeared

Although repression and systematic violence had already begun in the years preceding, 1976 marks the official beginning of Argentina’s Dirty War.  While a truth commission has estimated that about 10,000 civilians were “disappeared” by the government, others — like the Madres de Plaza de Mayo / Mothers of  Plaza de May0 — say that more like 30,000 people were killed or disappeared due to state-sponsored violence.  It is estimated that about 500 children were also kidnapped in the process.  The military dictatorship held power until 1983, but it is only recently that those responsible are beginning to be held accountable.

Photos of the Disappeared / los Desaparecidos

Mothers of those taken by the government began marching once a week in front of the presidential palace in Buenos Aires, which sits on the Plaza de Mayo.  They held photographs–many were posters made from id photos–of their loved ones who had disappeared, and demanded that the government answer to where they had been taken.  Over the years the movement has gone through changes, such as a split across ideological lines, but mothers (and grandmothers) still march in the plaza and ask, Dónde están?  Many women have dedicated their lives to not only continuing to search for the identities of their children which have seemed to dissolved into the air, but also to educate others of past human rights abuses.  On the Asociación de Madres de Plaza de Mayo’s website, you can see the diverse and active efforts they are making to raise awareness to what has happened.  The society is far from healed, and photographs continue to play a integral role in political and social struggles.

In 1985, a film was made about a kidnapped child who was adopted by a military family.  Watch a clip from The Official Story / La Historia Oficial.

If you are interested, here are declassified documents showing that the US supported this Dirty War; you can also read these more recently released State Department Files regarding the war, all of which are found on the National Security Archive‘s website.

Relevant Info:
Website of the Asociación Madres de Plaza de Mayo
Website of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo
Website of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo, english version
Prisoner without a Name, Cell without a Number, by Jacobo Timerman

AjA Project’s stated mission asserts that “youth affected by war, migration and displacement have – by their choices, their actions and expressions – a unique opportunity to raise global awareness and to break the cycle of violence.  In response to this, the AjA Project provides innovative photography-based educational programs that empower youth to explore cultural identity and develop communication and leadership skills, for the purpose of fostering self-sufficiency, both for the individual and their community.”

For more information and to see images from the programs, visit the AjA Project website.

Here is the trailer to the incredible film La Ciudad de los Fotógrafos (the city of photographers), directed by Sebastián Moreno.   The film centers around photographers attempting to capture what was happening in Santiago de Chile after the violent military coup in 1973 and the long and destructive regime that followed.

But these kinds of projects did not begin with Born into Brothels, and certainly do not all have the same intentions or consequences. Interestingly, many projects claim that they are “empowering” people by giving them access to a camera and teaching them about being a photographer.  Is this idealistic?  Is this an oversimplification?  Or is this a just reflection of what happens? Or, rather, part of what could happen?

Interestingly, the USC Annenberg School for Communication and Venice Arts (non-profit organization) have co-founded the Institute for Photographic Empowerment (IPE).  The stated mission is “to support the study and practice of participant–produced documentary projects in photography, film, and digital media.”  In doing so, it aims to provide “new opportunities for the traditionally disenfranchised to use their own images to communicate directly with policymakers about the social issues that profoundly affect their lives: HIV/AIDS, poverty, environmental degradation.”  The IPE is a point of encounter for photography projects from around the world, where students, teachers, researchers, practitioners and the public can discuss pertinent topics and share information.  It seems that the ultimate goal for most projects referenced on the site, in the broadest sense, is social change.

While this sounds exciting and hopeful, the politics of representation are complex and oftentimes tricky.  This is not to say that they should not be confronted, but that care and diligence need be used as these politics are unfolded and interrogated.  The word “empowerment” itself is incredibly loaded, and carries layers of meanings leftover from previous uses. For some, it may imply that a subject initially did not have power, and thus could be the recipient of empowerment.  For others it might be a more personal, self-confidence instilling kind of empowerment.  Still others might be be excited by the idea of political empowerment, which might intersect with recently emerging discussions about the concept of “visual citizenship.”

To be sure, there is a lot of power that has been ascribed to the photographic technology.  But I do not believe that the medium inherently or always functions the same way, as many scholars have pointed out (see Pinney, Poole, Lydon, Edwards).  Similar to other technologies like cellphones, computers and fax machines, photography is a tool that can be used for different purposes and with varying ramifications.  It is a technology in which many modalities of power exist: the power inscribed in access to technology and technological knowledge, the power to hold the camera and create a visual representation, the power to set up or construct an image, the power to distribute or display a photograph, the power to title, caption, or frame a photograph, the power to view an image, interpret its meaning and construct a narrative about it.  Given these modalities, there are many ways to “empower” oneself by using photography, and many ways for that “empowerment” to be drowned out by a subsequent set of actions.  A person may not necessarily have to pick up a camera themselves to be empowered, but also, even if she is able to take a picture, it is possible that she may not become or feel empowered.

As a previous practitioner in a social photography project, I do believe that there are great benefits and positive opportunities that may come from photography workshops.  But I also believe that the concept of empowerment should be never assumed but constantly questioned, for it is in that dialogue that we may achieve clarity in how, if possible, it may be fostered.

Over the course of the film, we are shown many kinds of contexts in which photographs take on a variety of meanings and different kinds of value.  From family photo albums to studio portraiture, posed tourist shots and street photography, a body of photography emerges that is a product of India, but also shares qualities with the photography produced in many other places.

Writing about photography is one way of attempting to understand the medium, but creating a film about the technology is not common.  By filming scenes of photographic production as well as interviews with subjects and photographers, the MacDougalls have been able to approach photographic production, consumption and circulation in a holistic and thought-provoking way.

Read this interview with David MacDougall about Photo Wallahs.

Newly-discovered Guatemalan police records fill dozens of rooms in five buildings on an active police compound in Zone 6, downtown Guatemala City. (Photo - © Daniel Hernández-Salazar)

In 1996, Guatemala’s 36-year civil war may have come to an official end, but the country turned to face a new set of problems.  It has been estimated that about 200,000 people had died or disappeared over the course of the war, most of whom were civilians. The war itself has origins that stretch far back into history, and even though the fighting is understood to have been between the Guatemalan government and “insurgents,” each side involved a series of participants who had their own motivations and desired outcomes.  The Guatemalan military played an influential and key role before and throughout the civil war, asserting its visions within the government either through pressure or blatant control.  The US government and the CIA also supported the Guatemalan government and the military forces in both overt and covert ways.  At different moments during the war, the insurgents included different groups, including middle-class intellectuals and military personnel in disagreement with the Guatemalan military.  By the end of the war, the insurgency was largely pushed by the guerrilla movement known as the Guatemalan National Revolutionary Unity (URNG), which was primarily made up of highland indigenous peasants.

Dozens of logbooks and ledgers have been found, containing the names and photos of countless detainees. This one is dated July 24, 1967. (Photo by National Security Archive)

On December 29, 1996, the UN helped negotiate the signing of the Peace Accords.  A truth commission was initiated as a way to help heal the division between the two sides.  But while victims and witnesses began to describe countless killings, abuses and forced disappearances committed by state forces, the government denied accountability.  The military was uncooperative, and officials insisted that no records had been kept.

This was proven to be false in 2005, when members from Guatemala’s human-rights prosecutor’s office stumbled upon an enormous archive of the Guatemala’s former National Police (which had been dissolved in 1997) being stored at a local police base in Guatemala City.  The information that has been—and is still being—revealed confirms the involvement of the government in innumerous massacres, disappearances and other human-rights abuses.

In December, 2007, Kate Doyle published The Atrocity Files: Deciphering the archives of Guatemala’s dirty war in Harper’s magazine.  Doyle is currently a senior analyst at The National Security Archive, in charge of both the Guatemala Documentation Project as well as The Mexico Project.  In the article, Doyle explains how police officials inserted id photos into log books to keep track of prisoners.

"There are thousands of photographs of the living and the dead." (Photo - © Daniel Hernández-Salazar)

Thousands of loose photographs were found among the decaying records, along with hundreds of rolls of film which are now being developed.  It is estimated that 75 million pages of material are included in the immense archive.  In this instance, it appears that photography’s indexicality, or the technology’s perceived ability to faithfully capture a reproduction of that which was once in front of the camera, will be relied upon to make serious deductions about the government’s actions during the war.  Keep in touch with the project to see what kinds of photographs are revealed as the film is developed and the archive—what seems to be the most expansive found from any of Latin America’s dirty wars—is explored.

Guatemala Booklist:
Shattered Hope: the Guatemalan revolution and the United States, 1944-1954, By Piero Gleijeses
The Blood of Guatemala: a history of race and nation, By Greg Grandin
Secret History: The CIA’s Classified Account of Its Operations in Guatemala, 1952-1954, By Nick Cullather