In the last few weeks, stumbling across a conversation about the ethics of photographing protests has been inevitable. It was largely catalyzed by protesters clamoring for faces to be blurred in photographs out of fear that those photographs could wind up in the hands of law enforcement who would then use them against those very same protesters. Alarm bells went off for countless photojournalists who found the very notion of blurring faces to be a nonstarter. Granted, digital manipulation in a photojournalistic context is verboten. Careers have ended or otherwise been thrown off course because of such transgressions.
A motorist raises his fist through his sun roof in solidarity with a protest against police brutality following the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis, Saturday, May 30, 2020, in New York. Photo by Julius Constantine Motal
Yet, blurring faces is a red herring. There is a deeper, more nuanced conversation to be had surrounding consent and the responsibility we have as photographers in these critical and chaotic contexts. The truth is there are far more avenues for surveillance than there were in previous decades, from the sheer ubiquity of livestreaming and smartphones to CCTV cameras on corners and shops. Look at how news organizations have been able to reconstruct events like the brutal police killing of George Floyd to atrocities in Syria from available video footage.
Legally, at least in the United States, there is no question surrounding our legally protected right to photograph in public, but leaning on the law as a defense is too convenient. I am not of the mindset that we have complete monopoly over someone’s image in the public domain, especially when it comes to vulnerable populations.
In early 2016, I made several reporting trips to Greece to cover the refugee crisis. The massive flow of people had already peaked in 2015, but in 2016, Greece was buckling under the weight of 50,000+ people within its borders seeking safe refuge in countries like Germany. Most of my work was in Idomeni on Greece’s northern border with the Republic of North Macedonia. At its apex, there were nearly 15,000 people in what was, and still is, a farming village of only a few hundred.
A view of the refugee hotspot in Idomeni, Friday, March 11, 2016. Photo by Julius Constantine Motal
It was a media free-for-all as it wasn’t a military-run refugee camp. Rather, it was a hotspot. All you needed to do as a member of the media was show up and start walking around. It was a pivotal moment in my career, as I was a little over a year out of grad school, and it was my first time documenting such a major historical event. It was also a crash course in how to photograph in these situations.
There was a long winding road into the border hotspot, and in early March, as we drove in, groups of refugee families walking with their lives on their backs was a common sight. There was one instance when we got out of the car to photograph that scene. I distinctly remember one instance in which there was a woman walking with her hand over face while a photographer was walking backward with her, his camera a few inches from her face. She very clearly did not want to be photographed. She’d lost everything, and while the photographer may have been legally within his right, it felt ethically dubious to me.
As I walked through Idomeni, I realized that I had to shake off my understanding of what photojournalism was, that my ability to take someone’s picture should not come at the expense of their dignity and safety. There were some situations where I saw the elements of a scene coalescing, and while I did not speak the languages of the people there, all it took was a simple raising of the camera and eye contact to signal that I’d like to take their picture. If they nodded, I went ahead. If they did not want me to, I left them alone. Why push the point? Why make them feel worse?
There was a young man I’d came across there who had a line of scars on both arms. I’d learned through a translator that he’d been tortured in a Syrian prison. I’d asked if I could photograph him while not showing his face. He didn’t agree to that because he felt that the scars would be recognizable to those who tortured him. I didn’t push the point. He’d seen horror. I couldn’t fathom putting him through anything more than what he’d already been through.
Of course, a protest in New York City or anywhere in the United States is not the same thing as photographing people fleeing war and oppression in their countries for safer shores. Yet, there are vulnerable populations here in the United States who are risking their own safety to make there voices heard. I’ve witnessed unfathomable police brutality in the past few weeks against peaceful protesters.
Police arrest a protester in Midtown, Wednesday, June 3, 2020. Photo by Julius Constantine Motal
There have been moments, too, when I was going to take a picture of someone or some people, and I saw them make an effort to obscure their faces. In my view, the photograph isn’t worth it. Intent matters, but impact arguably matters more. It is not always possible to get some sign of consent in breaking news circumstances or in situations like protests where the dynamic can change at a moment’s notice. And while it doesn’t require a written form, having buy-in from the people I’m photographing, where it’s possible, can elevate the image. At the very least, it’s a sign of respect and care.
There is literally no harm in reevaluating our role and responsibility as photojournalists especially at a time of such entrenched polarization and the very real possibility of danger and violence. Of course, protesters do have a responsibility to obscure their faces if they don’t want to be seen as photojournalists are not the only ones with cameras present, and they could take cues from their brethren in Hong Kong. Yet, it is not a one-way street.
Brent Lewis, a photo editor for The New York Times, had this to say on the matter of blurring faces:
““Outside of the slippery slope of journalistic ethics, the idea of taking away the humanity and ability to connect with a Black person and turning them into just a figure with no facial features, no emotions, just another lifeless creature is honestly more damning to the cause. With that filter, they are no longer human. Folks can't connect and see someones loved one, just a figure that gives you anger and frustration which let's all be real for a moment, isn't that what they expect out of a Black body anyways?”
We have a responsibility to the current moment to make powerful photographs that connect with people and convey the emotional gravity of this new civil rights movement. Dovetailing with that, we could always stand to be more mindful when making photographs in the moment. It’s not always possible, but it can make a difference when it counts.