Island
Living 40: Privacy in the Public Eye
by A. D.
Coleman |
|
Regular readers
of this column surely know that, generally speaking,
I stand against censorship and in defense of photographers'
inquiries into many aspects of both public and private
life. They also know that I draw some lines, as
in the case of the posthumous publication in 1996
of Diane Arbus's pictures (made circa 1970) of developmentally
disabled people. Though superficially much different,
the two aggressive, thrill-seeking Di-hunts -- one
of Princess Diana, one by Diane Arbus -- have much
in common. Where's the difference between validating
Arbus's impulse to make (or others' desire to see)
images of non-consenting, institutionalized people
who were helpless to prevent her portrayals of them,
and approving the subsequent exhibition and publication
of those pictures, and defending the paparazzi's
production and a broader audience's consumption
of intrusive, non-consensual images of Princess
Diana?
So far as I
can tell, after four years I stand entirely alone
among my colleagues and readers in publicly questioning
the legality and ethicality of publishing those
Arbus photos. So it's interesting to see who rallies
around the paparazzi in this crisis. Some
of those same colleagues and readers who endorsed
the Arbus project have been among their defenders.
But I'm not surprised to find a few who don't hesitate
to condemn the paparazzi's excesses generally,
or those of the Di-chasers in particular, without
realizing that their earlier support for and justification
of Arbus -- and her estate and publishers -- reveals
them as hypocrites.
After all, the
only notable difference between the two instances
is one of mere labeling: tabloid photography remains
uncertified as art, its producers unacknowledged
as artists, while Arbus bears the critical and cultural
stamp of approval. But critics are not authorized
by their readers, or by the culture at large, to
grant special license for anti-social behavior to
those whose work pleases their taste patterns or
meets their definition of art. Artists are not above
the law, though most of those who argued against
my position on the Arbus matter (Janet Malcolm prominent
among them) clearly believe otherwise.
We might also
consider, in this regard, the more recent situation
involving a famous photograph by the late photojournalist
W. Eugene Smith. "Tomoko in her bath"
emerged as an international icon of the human price
of pollution from the ground-breaking report Smith
and his wife Aileen created as documentation of
the effects of industrial mercury poisoning on the
residents of the fishing village of Minamata, Japan.
This dark, powerful image, showing a mother tenderly
bathing her terribly crippled daughter, was made
in the early 1970s and subsequently published hundreds
of times around the world -- in books, magazines,
newspapers, on posters and as postcards -- and shown
on TV and in films, and exhibited frequently in
galleries and museums.
Tomoko Uemura
has since died, but apparently this image's regular
visibility causes her surviving parents great grief
and pain. So they asked for a moratorium on its
use -- though they have no legal rights to demand
that, only a moral right. And, though the decision
has been hotly debated in photography circles, Aileen
Smith and the Smith estate have agreed to desist
from print sales and the licensing of reproduction
rights for an indeterminate period of time. (Published
versions of the image of course exist, and probably
won't be recalled or altered; that would be censorial,
and the family hasn't asked for that. What museums,
galleries, and private collectors will do with exhibition
prints already in circulation remains to be seen.)
So here, exactly
here, is where fruitful debate must start. Photographers
have rights, which must be identified and protected.
They also enjoy privileges that can be withdrawn
at any time by widespread public agreement and legislation.
The subjects of photographs also have rights, which
also must be identified and protected. And some
of those rights of subjects absolutely supercede
the rights of photographers.
Sadly, you will
find few photographers willing to say that last
sentence out loud, whether in private discourse
with their colleagues or in public debate; Ms. Smith
is an all-too-rare exception. For that matter, you'll
find few picture editors and publishers (outside
France, where it's legally incumbent on them) who'll
take and act upon such a stand, and not that many
curators, collectors, gallerists, historians, critics
or teachers of photography who'll do so. They may
know that statement to be true ethically and intellectually,
but in their hearts they want it to be otherwise:
they want the freedom to make -- and to consume,
and to make public -- any photography they feel
the impulse to generate under any circumstances,
and/or any photograph anyone else has made. And,
when push comes to shove, many of them err of the
side of that impulsivity, hoping only that they
won't get caught at it, or that some claim on their
part of creative self-expression or "public
right to know" will override any claims from
the injured or aggrieved subjects.
As I wrote elsewhere
in a summary of the public response to my commentary
on the Arbus project, "I've begun to speculate,
darkly, that perhaps something in the very nature
of the medium [of photography] itself actually attracts
the irresponsible, and feeds that incapacity in
them." That's long been one of the medium's
dirty little secrets. Now it's dirty laundry, airing
in public at long last. If photographers of all
kinds everywhere want to avoid a tarring with the
same brush now stigmatizing the wolf pack that went
wilding after "the people's princess,"
they'd best prepare themselves to stand up and be
counted -- to have the courage of their convictions,
whatever those may be, to muster their strongest
arguments and to go on public record with their
positions.
And they'd best
greet this contentious moment with open arms, recognizing
that unless a significant percentage of them come
down unequivocally on the side that argues for some
legal limits on the permissible in photography of
private life in public places, their profession
-- and their medium itself -- will be despised by
many, and their options for the future quite possibly
circumscribed by over-broad legislation ("Diana's
law," as it were) driven by an emotional public
outcry in the wake of Diana's death. That too would
be unfortunate, but the united front of arrogance
and defensiveness we're now witnessing from this
industry may make it inevitable.
What matters
most here is that, 160 years after the medium's
invention, this issue is finally on the table around
the world. I consider that, without reservation,
a good thing, and endorse this debate wholeheartedly.
A global debate over media rights versus individual
rights would be a legacy the late Diana Spencer
could hardly have expected to leave, but one that
would truly honor her memory.
(Last of
three parts.)
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©
Copyright 2000 by A. D. Coleman. All rights reserved.
By permission of the author and Image/World
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