Pics or it Didn’t Happen
“Pics or it didn’t happen,” a simplified translation of the modern belief that without pictorial proof, the moment might as well not have existed. Our current awareness of the world, whether it be the events taking place in foreign countries or the happenings of our own lives and the lives of those around us, thrives off the sensational, the everyday bombarding of images that appease our hungry eyes and simply give us something to talk about, even if we don’t quite know what it is that we are talking about.
Thanks to the establishment of social media platforms like Instagram and Facebook, sensationalized documentation of the political and the personal is easily accessible, ensuring that every individual has the opportunity to represent both what they see and how they want to be seen, to a public that is eager to follow along.
Now “pics or it didn’t happen” is not necessarily a new concept that only emerged as soon as everyone had a mini camera in their back pocket. Since the beginning of historical documentation, absence of coverage of any kind allowed for an absence of awareness, and consequently the ability to ignore and further marginalize underrepresented groups who did not have an outlet to promote their own versions of “what’s going on.”
This is why the emergence of a more readily portable camera was essential for the progression of the Civil Rights movement (Raiford). It was a means to create a physical lasting manifestation of injustice, an undeniable form of proof that could be used as a peaceful weapon against the prevailing ignorance of America.
With the new accessibility of the camera, the African American community finally had a way to create their own version of representation, a self-representation that stood apart from the stereotyping and sensationalizing of black people by the mainstream white media. They were able to present to the American public the hidden histories taking place- the underrepresented truth of their situation, as well as a more truthful representation of themselves.
One important photo-journalist through which the African American community was able to project its proper voice was James Karales (Berger). Karales was concerned with debunking the racist myth of fundamental dissimilarity based on the color of one’s skin.
Rather than focusing on photographing dramatic speeches and popular demonstrations, Karales documented the personal: the everyday life of African Americans. His images of everyday routine, while paralleling the normality of white life, also presented the complex emotions embedded within the lives of black people- the discriminatory struggle that they faced and the fighting hope that they had for equality.
Karales was able to single out the individual from the crowd (Berger). With highly intimate photos he offered to the public a perspective of the black community, not as a mass of resentful rioters, but as individuals with deep multifaceted emotions, like the young man in the photo, with his black skin shining through the lettering inscribed on his white-painted face, longing for rightful participation in a nation that is trying to suppress his voice.
Such emotional images forced the average American viewer to recognize the reality of these oppressed individuals, and question their own role in allowing such injustices to take place. They forced the American viewer to question their own humanity in the face of a beaten young black boy, to recognize that “here is the pic, this did happen, what now.”
While photo documentation remains an integral source of informational proof, it is questionable whether this form of proof still holds the same weight on the American public. For the African American community during the Civil Rights movement, photo documentation was a way to present to the public a truthful representation of the self.
Yet nowadays, personal media outlets are more so a means of representing to the public how we want it to see us, which usually means a slight (or heavy) degree of insincerity. We have shifted to an era of mass falsified identity, and an equally prevalent mass interest in consuming falsified representations and images. We are no longer confined to the world of “pics or it didn’t happen”, but opened to the possibility of “pics even if it didn’t happen.” With this mass consumption of images and the desire to constantly barrage ourselves with sensational information comes an increase in disinterest, or at least shortened interest.
With so much information readily available at our fingertips, it has become easier to pick and choose what we want to sympathize with, and for how long. An image of a starving homeless man in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina no longer questions our humanity, but evokes an intense fifteen seconds of pity until our eyes stumble upon an image of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie’s divorce and how tragic it must be. Should we at times feel the altruistic drive to fight a certain injustice or promote the awareness of a certain tragedy, we can help empower targeted groups by captioning our photos with their hashtags, or changing the colors of our Facebook profile.
While the photo still maintains its power as an influential wake-up call, the sound of its alarm has softened. Things are quicker to be seen and easier to forget. But I guess that’s what #throwbackthursdays are for.
References:
Raiford, Leigh “Civil Rights Movement Photography and Its Legacies.” California Countercultures, 15 February 2017, Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive, Berkeley.
Berger, Maurice. “Civil Rights, One Person and One Photo at a Time.” The New York Times. The New York Times, 22 Apr. 2013. Web. 01 May 2017.
