Co-creating Humanitarian Aid Photography: In conversation with Giorgio Faedo

Jul 5

written by Sakshi Pandey

The relationship between documentarian and subject is often fraught with imbalances, power struggles, and elements of voyeurism. In recent years, the discourse surrounding "trauma porn" and long-standing issues within fields adjacent to the Anthropocene has become mainstream, capturing widespread attention and prompting us to confront the realities of these curated accounts of life in crisis. While there is undeniable impact and importance in documenting life on the edge or in the periphery, what happens when that urgency becomes static?

Giorgio Faedo, an alumnus of the Transdisciplinary Design program at Parsons School of Design, has explored these challenges and dynamics in his pursuit of a form of humanitarian photography that centers agency. Collaborating with colleagues and diverse communities across Africa, Faedo surveyed various ways in which documentarians and their subjects can work collaboratively. Humanitarian aid photography involves a range of people, roles, and functions, necessitating participation and co-creation. Faedo approached this complexity with a transdisciplinary mindset.

By considering photography as a medium for subjects to authentically represent themselves and for viewers to empathetically connect with them, Faedo formulated five frameworks. He explored different roles of subjects, photographers, and external objects like cameras and tripods, along with the viewers of the photographs. His transdisciplinary approach and diverse participation helped create just images that translate justice through imagery.

Below is an excerpt from a conversation between Giorgio Faedo (GF), MFA TD Class of 2023 and Project Director for the International Rescue Committee; John Bruce (JB), Co-Director MFA TD; and Sakshi Pandey (SP), MFA TD Class of 2025, discussing notions of translation, representation, and performance.

SP

Giorgio, what struck me in your thesis was the idea of “silence as a material”. You mentioned the importance of balancing silence and violence to facilitate collective dialogues in humanitarian photography. I'm curious about how the presence of violence and the strategic use of silence in such photographs can effectively convey the urgency of humanitarian aid. Can you elaborate on it?

GF

When I first met John, my journey began with exploring the notion of a dark room and pondering its implications. Later, as I delved into my thesis, I grappled with how to incorporate all the knowledge and experiences gained from working in the field and collaborating with colleagues into my research work. It was like trying to piece together a complex puzzle.

I think the idea came from the question, what if we don't have the images? What if the image is completely different?

The idea of silence emerged from watching the film Foyer by Ismaïl Bahri. I think that was my starting point, but then it evolved in a different direction. I think the idea came from the question, what if we don't have the images? What if the image is completely different? What if you take an image from the backside of a person rather than always have to show the person’s face. Another question is what can we convey if the image is blurry. If the image is not very clear? Why aren’t we used to these types of images that are very powerful in many ways?

In humanitarian photography, the visual representation of sensitive and often distressing subject matter demands a nuanced approach. The concept of balancing silence and violence refers to the delicate equilibrium between capturing the harsh realities of humanitarian crises (violence) while also allowing for moments of quiet reflection (silence) within the imagery. Constant exposure to violent imagery can desensitize viewers, leading to a numbing effect rather than meaningful engagement. Balancing silence with moments of violence helps prevent this desensitization by allowing viewers to process the information in manageable doses. It encourages reflection rather than shock, making the images more impactful in the long run. Balancing silence and violence ensures that the portrayal remains dignified, honoring the humanity of the subjects even amidst adversity. Reflecting on Gaza, Reuters' Mohammed Salem's 2024 World Press Photo of the Year, featuring a Palestinian woman cradling her five-year-old niece's body, prompts contemplation on the power of visual narratives in conflict zones. It's a poignant reminder of the countless heart-wrenching images that have emerged from the region, each evoking a unique response. Yet, Salem's photograph has sparked a divergence of emotions.

For some, it resonates as a beautiful and potent portrayal, encapsulating the essence of loss and resilience without overtly depicting violence. Conversely, critics argue that its pristine presentation, devoid of faces and overt destruction, fails to capture the raw brutality of war. They lament the absence of visible anguish and perceive it as an oversimplified portrayal that sanitizes the harsh reality faced by the people of Gaza.

The photograph's interpretation lies at the nexus of a delicate balance between representation and perception. It raises questions about the ethical and aesthetic considerations inherent in documenting human suffering. As a photographer, navigating this terrain entails grappling with the tension between personal vision and audience reception.

Indeed, the essence of my research lies within this liminal space—a constant negotiation between what is desired to be shown and what can be effectively communicated. It's a nuanced dance, fraught with challenges, as I seek to capture the essence of human experience amidst the chaos of conflict.

The notion of the dark room, like you mentioned, is indeed a rich metaphor and can mean multiple things. It can represent the cinema, where immersion in darkness allows for focused attention on the screen. Similarly, in analog photography, the dark room is where images develop, emerging gradually from darkness. This emergence into legibility is mysterious and multi-layered, offering different levels of understanding rather than just clarity. I believe your work explores the importance of this expanded notion of clarity, where information is conveyed through layers and stages rather than in a hyper-legible or overly determined manner.

In relation to Ismaïl Bahri’s film Foyer, the concept of withdrawal is intriguing. It raises questions about what is withheld or withdrawn from the object and how this impacts the information conveyed. It suggests that the object itself has agency in what it reveals or conceals, leading to the production of alternative forms of knowledge. This idea of withdrawal adds depth to our understanding of images and their potential to convey nuanced meanings beyond what is immediately visible.

I'm intrigued by the expanded notion of the dark room that we discussed earlier. Traditionally, the dark room is seen as an intimate or individual space for photographers. However, I became interested in the idea of opening up this space to others, turning it into a collaborative environment for ethical practices.

In my work, I often found myself immersed in contexts where the language spoken was unfamiliar to me. As a result, I leaned heavily on my colleagues for support throughout various stages—from filming and interpretation to the editing of images. Reflecting on this collaborative process, I believe that language translation served as a catalyst, enriching our approach and fostering the emergence of new insights.

Much like the development process in a darkroom, our collaborative efforts unfolded in layers, each contributing to the creation of a richer narrative. With every translation and exchange, new dimensions were revealed, akin to the gradual emergence of an image taking shape. This iterative process not only facilitated communication but also deepened our understanding of the subject matter, ultimately leading to the discovery of fresh perspectives and knowledge

Since I was not able to travel to some places, I shared these ideas with my colleagues. Instead of giving strict instructions, I provided guidelines for them to follow. One example is when my young colleague was working on a project with Zita (a woman from the community where the organization operates, as shown in the blue veil in the photos) and used the tripod for help. Introducing this object – the tripod – sparked curiosity and attracted people to participate. As they look at the picture – the viewfinder and the scene itself – they contribute to its creation, similar to how interactions unfolded in the Bahri film Foyer where people stopped and conversations began. This helped the rhythm of image co-creation - making a shift from being directed to involving the community, with everyone becoming active agents in the process of creating and producing images. It was fascinating to observe how this collaborative approach allowed for a dynamic evolution of the project.

Understanding the value chain–the impetus behind image production– and the collective effort involved in creating images are critical considerations in regard to ethics and aesthetic affect. I recall a moment when you were conducting research and expressed frustration about not being able to travel due to safety restrictions. We discussed the need to find alternative methods for conducting critical research and experiments on image-making, which led us to the idea of providing guidelines rather than strict instructions. What bubbles up for me is the notion of translation. How are we translating acts of visualization and I think this requires transdisciplinary capacity and activity to move across these different roles and positions, whether it's the humanitarian aid worker, the photographer, the field, agent, worker, the community member, etc. all of these are stakeholders in this value chain of image creation. And visualizing is an interesting term as visualizing goes beyond making something visible; it involves imagining what could be seen and creating the conditions for it to happen. So, engaging in this act of visualizing and participating in a value chain where you're attempting to translate and interpret those visualizations is important.

It's interesting to reflect on the comparisons between photos taken by different individuals of the same person. For instance, I noticed differences between photos I took the year before and those taken by my colleagues of the same person. For my photo, my colleague felt the individual was at ease and I interpreted their body language completely differently. I felt they were not comfortable because I hadn't communicated with them about the photo. And once I stopped looking from behind the camera, the picture looked very different. Like my colleagues, even I felt the individual had agency. I think this difference in interpretation highlights the subjective nature of photography and how our personal perspectives influence our understanding of a situation.

It was fascinating to observe the differences in perspective between myself and my colleague while being in the same situation. While I perceived things one way, my colleague perceived them differently. This discrepancy underscores the intriguing concept of subjectivity in photography, which I found compelling to explore further. Once I stepped back and relinquished control, my colleagues took over, and I no longer had a direct influence on the process. Although there was a desire for guidance, I couldn't predict how they would interpret and execute it. Our conversations about guidance and interpretation were emotionally charged and left a lasting impression on me.

I felt navigating how to convey subtle guidance and translate interpretations into visuals was a complex process. There was a lot happening in the space between giving instructions and understanding how they were interpreted and translated visually. This intermediary space, similar to the metaphorical "dark room," really fascinated me and highlighted the complex dynamics at play in the creation and interpretation of visual content.

This concept of subjectivity and the emotional charge in interpreting photography, as you mentioned Giorgio, reminds me of Eve Tuck's notion of damage and desire-centric narratives. I think Eve Tuck's argument in “Suspending Damage: A Letter to Communities” resonates strongly in your thesis. Humanitarian narratives often emphasize violence and trauma and perpetuates stereotypes that dehumanize and objectify individuals. This dehumanization is particularly troubling when these images are used by NGOs for fundraising and reduces humans to mere monetary entities.

I believe it is essential to explore ways to empower the subjects of these images and ensure their agency is respected and preserved, like argued in your thesis. I'm curious about potential strategies to address these power dynamics in humanitarian photography. How can we shift from objectifying bodies to portraying individuals as subjects and active participants in the photograph?

One thing I've noticed in humanitarian work is this protocol we often follow for taking photos. It's like a set of instructions telling you how the picture should be framed - landscape or portrait, where the light should come from, all these technical details. It's kind of rigid but important to convey something specific.

It's funny how most of the pictures in humanitarian work tend to feature women and children, with fewer men. But what struck me was when I started giving the subjects more control over how their photos were taken. I was curious to see how they'd choose to represent themselves - whether they'd want to include their whole family or just themselves. There was this one instance where a woman decided to show me her daily routine, like fetching water from the village. It really expanded my understanding of their lives through these visual stories. It was like getting a glimpse into their personal world, seeing beyond just the surface. By giving subjects the agency to choose how and where they want to be photographed, we can capture a broader range of experiences and narratives which can offer insights into their lives which are beyond predefined stereotypes.

This shift in approach was evident in my cases where subjects chose to showcase aspects of their daily lives, such as fetching water or engaging in household activities, rather than conforming to traditional expectations of what a photograph should portray. Subjects also had preferences regarding their positioning and backgrounds, reflecting their desire to control the narrative and present themselves authentically.

This brings another important aspect of photography, Framing. Framing determines what should be included and excluded from the image. When I started asking subjects how they wanted to be photographed, even my colleagues were surprised. Normally, we just snap a picture and move on to the next spot. But by allowing them to have a say in how to capture their images, changed things. For instance, there was a couple who preferred to stand together for the photo, which was uncommon because typically, the “wife” sits during such photo sessions. They were particular about the details, like wanting to own their background. And then there was this lady who didn't want goats in her picture, so we had to adjust the frame. It made me realize how important framing is - deciding what to include and what to leave out. I had a chat with another photojournalist about how framing influences the narrative conveyed by the photograph and how important it is to consider what to include in the frame to accurately represent the subject's experiences and perspectives. The frame tells the story.

I recall a piece we discussed in Cinematic Tropes (an elective course taught by JB) called "Ghost Image" by Herve Guibert. The essay depicts a teenaged Guibert preparing to photograph his mother by rearranging the living room, altering items within it. This process reflects a relational dynamic in determining the final image. While the essay may appear somewhat one-sided, its aim is to expose the imbalance of agency. Typically, there exists a distance between individuals like photographers, filmmakers, researchers, or humanitarian aid workers, and their subjects. However, when the subject is as close as one's mother, this gap diminishes. This aspect raises intriguing questions about agency.

Yeah, the concept of agency and control is truly fascinating. It's similar to when we take pictures of ourselves, carefully curating what we want others to see. Similarly, in the context of my work, participants often deliberate over what they wish to include or exclude from the frame, much like how we prepare ourselves for a photo. This became evident during one of the recent experiments where participants spent time with women being photographed. Initially, they composed themselves, but then sought spontaneity or authenticity in the moment captured, demonstrating their desire to control the narrative of the image.

Then again, you were actively translating an invitation for them to deeply contemplate the mise-en-scène and engage in the image-making process. This isn't an instantaneous occurrence, right? It necessitates facilitation, guidance, trust-building, and iterative interactions to invite them into this level of agency.

And I believe it also reflects on the disorientation experienced when an external element is introduced into their environment, something unfamiliar or unexpected. Whether it's a tripod, myself, or any other external factor, it can induce a sense of disorientation, challenging their comfort zone. Initially, it may act as a barrier, but with time and familiarity, they gradually adapt and become more at ease with the situation. Eventually, this discomfort transforms into a sense of emergence and something meaningful unfolds.

Moving forward, Giorgio, I've been delving into the concept of pluriversality lately, exploring the idea of transitioning towards a pluriversal perspective. Your thesis and the work you've done beautifully exemplify this transition, especially in the realm of photography. It's evident how photography serves as a nexus for participants, photographers, and viewers, facilitating the exchange of situated knowledge and fostering transitions.

I'm particularly intrigued by your approach to performance in photography and would love to know more about it. How did you cultivate an environment that encouraged emotional engagement and brought out pluriversal perspectives among participants, yourself, and for the viewers?

Yes, one aspect that you touched upon is the dynamic between the photographer, the subject, and the audience, initially envisioned as a triangle. I think there is a fluidity in this dynamic where control shifts at different points. The photographer captures the image, but once it's out, they lose control over how it's interpreted by the audience. It's fascinating to observe how power dynamics evolve among these three entities, shifting from one direction to another. Once the image is out, the photographer relinquishes control over its reception and interpretation.

Performance emerged spontaneously during my journey. While initially I was interested in exploring performance and later it became apparent that the moments of performance were unplanned and spontaneous. They arose as a result of the conditions we created during the collaborative process. For example, the relaxed atmosphere among a group of women sitting on couches in a small corner of a house became a space for both relaxation and work and fostered a sense of camaraderie and productivity among the participants over the course of five days. This setting allowed for natural interactions and expressions, leading to authentic moments captured in the photographs. The performance aspect thus evolved organically from the collaborative environment, rather than being deliberately staged or directed.

You're employing the term "performance," and I find it intriguing because it challenges the often negative connotations associated with performativity, as if it's inherently false or disingenuous. However, it's important to recognize that all our social interactions involve some level of performance; indeed, they are how we express ourselves.

So this notion of having agency, and I think this goes back to the point Sakshi was making, when she brought up Eve Tuck and desire-based frameworks of inquiry, not only inquiry, but also expression. I think inquiry includes expression. It's not only about asking questions or extracting or collecting information. It's also about sharing information, right? Sharing in ways of inviting a translation of myself. How do I invite a translation of myself through expression? Yes, in what ways do I have agency to express myself? What is a performance? Yes, this notion of what it means to embody our true selves.

And I think this ties back to the construction of our images and the way we participate in them, having agency but also recognizing that it's occurring within collective settings, navigating other people, other positionalities, these things, this house that you mentioned where the light is. So again, we're back to these elements of mise-en-scène, and also to multiple perspectives. Again, this is similar to Donna Haraway's notion of situated knowledges, exploring how technology takes us out of our bodies and how we can re-ground ourselves. How is that coordinated? Going back to the term Sakshi used, In what ways is this actually supporting the conditions of pluriversality?

The environment we established that week, nestled in that corner of the house, played a significant role. Additionally, the supportive presence of friends or companions aiding with translation while I recorded individuals greatly impacted their expressions and demeanor before the camera. I couldn't help but ponder how different the outcome might have been if the conditions and setting had varied. For instance, had we conducted the recordings in a public, more exposed space rather than indoors, how might behavior and expression have shifted? What new aspects might have emerged under altered circumstances?

Two ideas that emerged from my own work, the film and research project End of Life, which Giorgio and I have extensively discussed, were these notions of proximity and duration. The five-day project that Giorgio mentioned also explored durational and proximal aspects, engaging with conditions and expressions of performance, as well as the agency of participating as both subject and object. Questions regarding how we might maintain proximal and durational engagements invites collective fabulation. Say, if we went into the village, we would aim to see what opportunities unfolded there. Another question that arises for me concerns the affordances of such proximal and durational engagements. There are many elements. Trust is critical. This allows us to take one step after another, together.

Indeed, that's precisely what unfolded during the experiments, whether it was my colleagues accompanying Zita or another colleague visiting a remote village in Burkina Faso where they shared a common language. Trust and closeness were pivotal in these encounters, as they devoted an entire day to engaging with the community and they were part of the same community. In these instances, language served as a conduit to foster intimacy and connection.

Considering your extensive work with vulnerable communities, I have one last question for you, Giorgio, coming from my personal experience. I have been grappling with ethical dilemmas regarding our obligations for these communities. In what ways can we uphold mutual trust while fulfilling our duties to them? What, in your opinion, are/should be our obligations as a third party working with and for vulnerable communities?

Yes, I concluded my thesis with the same questions. The fact that their signed consent form supposedly grants me unrestricted freedom to use the picture in any form doesn't sit right with me. It leads me back to the notion of translation again. How do they comprehend the concept of consent? How is it understood that there are expectations behind what I believe is happening? So, the experiment aims to facilitate a back-and-forth dialogue with them, which I previously didn't handle well. Typically, I would take the picture, include it in a report, and move on. Rarely did I engage them in a discussion about the images and solicit their opinions

Showing them my work was particularly intriguing for me because it sparked a reflection on how they responded. Some were fine with it, while others expressed discomfort, like, "I don't smile," or "I don't feel like I'm in good shape." It underscores a certain agency, the ability to decide whether to proceed to the next step, to share, or to withhold. Yet, it circles back to the concept of mutual trust. Showing them the picture and inviting their feedback is crucial. I recall concluding last year's thesis with a poignant anecdote about a journalist- photographer who later reconnected with their family. It's a testament to the enduring connections built over time. Even in the face of tragedy, those bonds endure, and something meaningful is forged.

John Bruce

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