Holidays in the sun

Observing someone else’s suffering is a tricky business. The use of that last word — "business" — was deliberate. Images of war and poverty have made the careers of many artists — writers, photographers, and filmmakers — and built fortunes for them. But the fact that the bricks-and-mortar upon which these reputations and prestige are built is none other than the blood-and-guts of a defiled human being does seem disconcerting. Being that money is made in the West, it’s not surprising that the demand for media depicting subhuman conditions — particularly in the Third World — is constantly exported over there to institutions and organizations that judge how much your suffering is worth. White man’s burden, indeed.

The recent awardees of the World Press Photo annual awards are currently on exhibit around various shopping malls in Metro Manila. According to their website, World Press Photo was founded in 1955 in the Netherlands to promote documentary photography. A non-profit independent organization, they award cash and equipment to the winners to fund their assignments. Part of their current program is to stage a traveling show around the world of the winners. The curator of the exhibit that just concluded in The Podium was Filipino photographer Richard de Guzman — known more commonly in the community as Bahaghari.

There can be no mistaking the intent behind the exhibit. In the main showcase, the most unremitting, visceral material is on full display. The often-graphic visuals seize attention as soon as one ascends the escalator and reaches the second floor, not giving any warning to shoppers. Although some of the work is somewhat stylized, the ugliness still stares through, unflinching. There is a subversive irony, of course, in placing such material at the very heart of consumer culture. The fact that the piped-in radio of the mall was mostly golden oldie standards like Mr. Lonely, Mr. Sandman and Dreaming just adds to unreality of the whole exhibition. (The latter song was referenced by Lino Brocka in his internationally acclaimed film, Maynila sa Mga Kuko ng Liwanag. At the start of the film, one of the construction workers belts out the ditty — the following scene he dies in an accident.) Clearly, the message was not meant to be subtle.

But looking at the photographs it starts to make sense — and things aren’t so ironic. Let’s not waste time quibbling over the aesthetics of the French or whoever in capturing bare bones, non-romantic, not at all melancholic or poetic — or whatever they have on their side of the world that translates to a f**ked up state of affairs. The First Prize winner on display comes from the US and is supposed to show the dichotomy in Beirut between the disaster area and their fast-livin’ inhabitants. It’s quite clever if you’re an American, I’ll admit, but it is the work of a tourist. If one were to scan the past issues of The Philippine STAR’s front-page, there are literally dozens of pictures in the past few months that are superior. Our photojournalists don’t need to travel to collect material — they live here.

To the best of my knowledge, no Filipino has yet won the distinction. (But really, if white guys can’t jump they’ll take pics of those that fall.)

Look at the photographs and see for yourselves. It’s not a question of brutality (that’s abundant enough) or of stupidity (of course) but, frankly, just of honesty.

No more "cheap holidays in other people’s misery," please.