Photographs, Memory, and Justice
In the digital age, the mode by which we capture photographs has changed– becoming much more convenient with the advent of the smartphone camera and camera rolls waiting to be filled to the brim with screenshots and selfies, “0.5”s and “flicks.” As much as the digital world has altered our relationship to the photograph, photos still retain an important function as “memory tools” (Van Dijck 58). José Van Dijck observes that “memories are created just as much as they are recalled from photographs; our recollections never remain the same, even if the photograph appears to represent a fixed image of the past” (63). As memory is created, so is history. Just as photographs are “memory tools,” monuments like Stumbling Stones in Germany can become “ambassadors of memory” (27). How we store memories, whether in a picture or a monument, thus becomes an important question in terms of apology, commemoration, and forgiveness– ultimately showcasing the importance of memory in justice.
In this collaborative something new, I sought out my classmates’ treasured photographs, and their memories associated with them. Ultimately, I created a photo album– a familiar form of personal memory archive for many American families. Respondents were prompted to submit “a photograph that captures any memory you find special (it may or may not include you or others in it).” Next to each photograph, there is a description of the memory in the words of the individual who submitted the photograph, answering the prompt, “share your memories of what was happening when that photograph was taken. Does the photograph reflect that memory or in some way contradict it?”
Most often, respondents observed how photographs failed to capture the real memory of the moment. These instances were shared amongst all the responses, and are highlighted in the photo album. This is exemplified in the photograph taken while hiking in the Grand Canyon, where the respondent shared that she “received a medical diagnosis that came with a strict ban on exercise, and I was certain I would have to cancel my flight to Colorado. Getting permission from my doctor to make the trip, then successfully climbing out of the canyon at the end of the day, were recovery milestones much more important to me and my family than our smiles show.” Another respondent laments that a photograph of a community bonding experience “leaves out much of what made that moment special: the sound of us singing together in unison, the specific faces of a friend I had met just a day before and felt instantly close with, and my own beaming smile in that moment.” Another observes that in a beautiful picture from the summit of a hike, “there are no signs anywhere in the picture that would indicate to me (if I were an outsider) that [my Dad and I] both wanted to turn around right then and there and go back down.” Still others share background of unshown emotions, circumstances, and celebrations happening unbeknownst to an outside viewer.
The inability for a photograph to completely capture a memory connects to the idea that while photographs serve an important function in the creation and recollection memory to the person who took them, to “an outsider,” the true memory may be obscured behind what the photograph does or doesn’t show. This becomes relevant in our discussions about justice and archives– what is literally depicted in the archive, is what can be accessed by “the outsider,” leading to the omission of important parts of the story behind an image, which may change the meaning entirely. Amy Lonetree troubles with this fact in her criticism of the National Museum of the American Indian, which she argues, missed an opportunity to truly educate the American public about the untold history of Native American peoples by assuming a shared understanding of history in the audience while “implicitly” attempting to make a point,” in some cases leading to the re-inscription of the stereotypes it purported to work against (317). What we expect an audience to know when engaging with an artifact, becomes an important part of seeking justice through curation. The impetus extends beyond the museum– Jorell Melendez Badillo, whose lecture I attended for my first campus commentary, discusses the erasure of history in the “street archive” in Puerto Rico, in favor of a national history written by “the people at the top of the working class.” Memory, as it is created through archive, can impact the act of justice. This is evidenced in Shachar Pinsker’s observation that “memory is something that we choose, too; it requires construction and cultivation.” When we interpret images on the basis of history, memory, and archive, and utilize these tools to act towards justice, it is important to keep in mind the extent of what we don’t know, and of what has been lost.
Bibliography
Dijck, José van. “Digital Photography: Communication, Identity, Memory.” Visual Communication 7, no. 1 (February 2008): 57–76.
Lonetree, Amy. “‘Acknowledging the Truth of History’ Missed Opportunities at the National Museum of the American Indian.” The National Museum of the American Indian: Critical Conversations, University of Nebraska Press, 2008.
Melendez-Badillo, Jorell. “Lunch and Learn with Jorell Melendez-Badillo.” 4 October 2024, Davidson College.
Pinsker, Shachar. “On Jewish Revenge.” Aeon, 17 May 2024, aeon.co/essays/what-role-for-revenge-in-jewish-life-literature-and-culture.
Smith, Clint. “Monuments to the Unthinkable.” The Atlantic, Nov. 2022, pp. 25–41.
