Barthes’ A.B.C.

ANTHONY READ

Discuss the MT photo (p. 73) in light of Barthes’ a.b.c. Write EITHER on why
EMU thinking is helped by Barthes’ a.b.c. OR why EMU thinking is hindered
by it.
In Roland Barthes’ essay Shock Photos, three points are outlined as to why photos
designed to shock are not successful. Firstly, Barthes says that because “we are
looking at [the photo] from inside our freedom”, it is simply not as powerful as if we
experienced it firsthand (1979: 71). Secondly, he outlines how the photographer
“almost always overconstructed the horror he is proposing” and adds to the
“intentional language of horror” (1979: 71). Lastly, Barthes says the only way we
might gain some feeling of horror from a photo is to respond to the ‘punctum’ within
it: the one part of the photo, probably not the photographer’s focus, that stands out
and “commits us to a violent interrogation” (1979: 73). How do these three facets of
Barthes’ argument stand up when applied to actual photographs?

Barthes’ first point about looking at these photos from “inside our freedom” may
help some people’s EMU thinking. One may feel what Smith calls “just resentment”
and “sympathetic indignation” (Boltanski 1999: 47) at these photos, as they show
atrocities that humankind should not have to tolerate. They make us feel like we
should be there to feel the shock of the blast, the fall of the knife, the blast of the
gun for ourselves. But the issue runs much deeper than this. Our ‘freedom’ is not
really that ‘free’. We live under government rule, indoctrinated by religion, going to
work, five days on, two days off. This type of ‘freedom’ we speak of is merely relative
to the freedom perceived by the people in these photographs. In Extreme Metal
(2007), Kahn-Harris mentions the only way to have true and complete sovereignty
and freedom of oneself is to die, for that is when the rules and practices of the world
cease to exist.

Violence in these photos may be of a physical nature, but violence can also be
mental and emotional. Shawn Nelson stole an Army tank and drove it through the
streets of San Diego in 1995, allegedly in response to a break-up with his wife and
severe financial difficulties (Independent 1995). This ‘domestic terrorism’ was not
caused by righteous indignation at photos of overseas catastrophes, but by social
and political harm caused by his own country. In essence, our judgements on these
photos are purely personal, and can only be that way, since we cannot step out of
the controls we are under. Our relative freedom allows us to judge these photos from
above, but the only real way to true freedom and perfect judgement is through
death. Perhaps the victims of these terrorist acts in these photographs have more
freedom than us, through their close vicinity to their own deaths.

The idea of the freedom in Barthes’ argument then gives way to the assertion that
overconstructed photographs do not allow us to fully moralise with them. The reason
here might be that the potential for us to feel a certain way is there in the photo, but
we cannot reach it due to the fact they are in “an intermediate state between literal
fact and overvalued fact” (1979: 76). The issue with Barthes’ argument here is that
every photo, no matter how accidental, is constructed in some way. Framing occurs
literally, with the actual shot including some details and omitting all others, and also
figuratively, with problems and meanings being transmitted by this selection
(Entman 2002: 61).

Some particular examples illustrate Barthes’ point. Firstly, the photo of a dead
solider, taken after a battle in the American Civil War, represents Barthes’ point
about overconstruction. The photo looks as though it has been fabricated, the
elements moved to be in a V pattern, and the shot taken deliberately. With the
knowledge that this photo may have been set up, the meaning (whatever one takes
from it) disappears, for the feeling of authenticity has disappeared. Another photo
shows burning children running from a napalm attack in the Vietnam war. The
difference here is that there are no dead bodies to set up dramatically. The emotion
and horror comes directly from the children’s faces. Although not as set up as the
soldier’s photo, this one is still wonderfully framed, with elements to the foreground,
background and distance. It has still been framed, but has an air of authenticity
about it. Lastly, the photo of the execution of a Vietcong suspect elicits a whole new
response. The first two photographs address life and death. This photograph
represents both simultaneously. Sontag calls it “the mystery”, which may refer to
the mystery of the moment a body turns from life to death (2004: 54). Yes, this
photo is constructed, but the rarity and purity of the image has much more
resonance than the first two examples. Shots like this, both by the camera and the
gun, pull us from moral judgements into pure curiosity at the moment of death.

Barthes addresses this point in more depth in his work on ‘studium’ and ‘punctum’
within Camera Lucida (1984). He goes into much detail about the effect of studium,
where a photo does not hold any deep meaning beyond the fact that, for the reader,
“simply, it existed” (1984: 123). He then gives many examples of how studium is the
overarching effect of most photographs. The only thing that may make it stand out
to us is the punctum, the “sting, speck, cut, little hole…is that accident which pricks
me” (1984: 127). Barthes also decribes it as the “naturalness” of a photograph, its
unconstructed nature. The punctum is the element of a photograph that (not by the
intention of the photographer) grabs us and “subjects us to a violent interrogation”
(Barthes 1979: 73). But it doesn’t necessarily commit us to a moral standpoint,
either.

Punctum exists solely for the individual. Everyone will take a different punctum from
each photograph (if indeed there is one for them). Take for example, the photograph
of the screaming Vietnamese children. The punctum may be the boy in front,
screaming; for another, the nakedness of the girl in the centre, in a Christ-like pose;
or perhaps it could be the boy towards the back of the group, looking backwards in
horror. The photograph of the Vietcong suspect’s assassination may hold punctum in
the apparent shock of the dead man’s face; another could be the gun in the dead
centre of the frame; and another could be the background view, fading into
obscurity. For Barthes, the punctum from the Nicaragua photo is the “co-presence of
two discontinuous elements”, being the nuns and the soldiers. For another, it could
be the writing on the wall behind them: ‘Viva’. This idea of punctum allows us to
subvert the photographer’s intention for the photograph, to make our own
judgements. But does it mean they will be moral sentiments, or something else
entirely? The punctum may provide a moral ground for one person (who perhaps
sees the burnt children as an anti-War sign), or for another it could just represent the
horrible pain children are sometimes forced to go through. Punctum does submit us
to an interrogation, but not necessarily a violent one, and it certainly does not force
us to moral judgements. If anything, Barthes’ a.b.c. muddies moral situations to the
point of obscurity.

So what does this mean for the photo (Reader 2010: 73) alluded to in the essay
question? The picture of a woman being escorted away from a suicide bombing
scene is, no doubt, arresting in its brutality. It also is well framed, causing little doubt
as to who the viewer is meant to be focusing on. However, the violence of the
photograph is separate to the political and social context in this example. The
caption alerts us to the context being a “suicide bomb blast…in Kabul, Afghanistan”,
yet this is all we know. The time and place is also given to us, but the political motive
behind the bombing is absent. Lacking in context, the photo is turned from a political
and moral text into a study of violence and death.

But what does Barthes’ a.b.c. have to say about this image? His point about judging
from “inside our freedom” rings true, as these acts rarely (if ever) happen in
Australia. Our lack of freedom comes not from overtly violent acts such as this, but a
political and social grip that nonetheless still impacts us. The violence of the photo
alerts us to the lack of physical freedom in Afghanistan, but asks us to ignore our
own lack of freedom here. Secondly, the photo is well set up, but not nearly as well
as the burning Vietnamese children or the Confederate soldier. The two tall men are
framing the woman, with her face the focal point, blood streaming. The desolate
background adds potency, suggesting a lack of civilisation, as if the bomber had
taken it away. Alas, this photo finds a middle ground on the framing issue, as one
can see they are running to get past the camera, not posing for it. The skill of the
photographer was the only factor is gaining such a brutally beautiful shot. Lastly, the
punctum is mixed with the studium here. One may see the punctum as the blood on
the woman’s face, but apart from that, very little presents itself as an alternative.
Studium permeates the entirety of the shot, but the punctum does not add a
different political, social or moral meaning. It simply reinforces the general position
of a study of violence and death. Overall, the photograph contradicts Barthes’
comments, showing a middle ground where moral positions may not be as
worrisome as first thought.
References

Barthes R., 1979. ‘Shock-Photos’, The Eiffel Tower and Other Mythologies. Hill and
Wang: New York, pp. 71-73.

Barthes R., 1984. Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography. Fontana

Paperbacks: London, pp. 123-128.

Boltanski L., 1999. ‘The Moral Spectator’, Distant Suffering. Cambridge University
Press: Melbourne, pp. 46-47.

Entman R., 2002. ‘Of Frames and Framing; How Frames Work’, Framing:
Towards Clarification of a Fractured Paradigm. SAGE: London, pp. 391-393.

Kahn-Harris K., 2007. Extreme Metal: Music and Culture on the Edge. Berg:
New York.

Reeves, P., 1995. San Diego tank ‘joyrider' shot dead by police. The
Independent UK. Available at: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/san-diego-
tank-joyrider-shot-dead-by-police-1620156.html [Accessed April 14, 2010].

Sontag S., 2004. Regarding the Pain of Others. Penguin Books: London.