At that moment, in that encounter, what is there for the photographer to do more than respect the space needed for the subject to feel ready… contextualized by their surroundings. appearing authentically self-actualized and comported at the moment their gaze finds the lens and our own gaze (the viewer of the resulting image).
Borana girl with grandmother. Sololo, Kenya
Then we tend to read all kinds of narratives into the image based on prior knowledge. So it’s a lot to ask of someone when that moment occurs, and while it’s often a furtive moment (taken away in silver halide crystals), there are times it pulls at the heartstrings as you wish you could be sure you were conveying the gratitude you felt for the privilege of being allowed to render the fossilized image…
Karimojong family, Uganda
At the same time, they are just “snaps” to the vernacular crowd, which is everyone else, including some in this group portrait…
“Even the most compassionate
photojournalism is under pressure to satisfy simultaneously two sorts of
experiences: those arising from our largely surrealist way of looking at all
photographs, and those created by our belief that some photographs give real
and important information about the world. The photographs that W. Eugene Smith
took in the late 1960s in Minamata … move us because they document a
suffering which arouses our indignation—and distance us because they are superb
photographs of Agony, conforming to surrealist standards of beauty.”
* Susan Sontag
You will be
told we must continuously show these images as a reminder of what must never
happen again! These arguments, I believe, are specious when looked at without
the filter of the mass media. The classic Aristotelian notion of tragedy, which
calls for the dramatic presentation of “
… incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish its catharsis
of such emotions,” seemed prescient in the age of photographic
representation. Yet while such
photographs may arouse pity, fear or anger, it is hard to imagine what
cathartic value the perpetual viewing of, to put things crudely, a dead or dying
body might have, regardless of it’s historical or political significance.
To this end, Sontag
has also written:
“To suffer is one thing; another
thing is living with the photographed images of suffering, which does not
necessarily strengthen conscience and the ability to be compassionate. It can
also corrupt them … after repeated exposure to images it also becomes less
real … The sense of taboo which makes us indignant and sorrowful is not
much sturdier than the sense of taboo that regulates the definition of what is
obscene. The vast photographic catalogue of misery and injustice throughout the
world has given everyone a certain familiarity with atrocity, making the
horrible seem ordinary …”
Outside the
realm of censorship, however exercised, photojournalists, documentarians and defenders of the genre have historically shown little restraint or reflection in the use of more
“important” images. Actions against this deeply ingrained sense of
representational duty are rare, if not blasphemous.
In 1998, pundits
were aghast when Aileen Mioko Smith, the widow of master photo-essayist W.
Eugene Smith, heeded the pleas of the Uemura family to bar all future use of
one of Smith’s most enduring images, “Tomoko is Bathed by Her Mother.” The photograph, a classic example of Smith’s
unabashedly Romantic sensibility, with trademark high-contrast printing to
further enhance the chiaroscurolighting, had been taken
in 1971 as part of an essay on the effects of mercury poisoning in the Japanese
fishing industry. The photographs published in Life magazine, and in the book entitled “Minamata,” came to
symbolize the plight of the families afflicted with birth defects and other
illnesses. Notwithstanding concerns expressed by purists that Smith had engaged in
some decidedly questionable journalistic ethics by staging the image in the
most dramatic light that could be found, the photograph is held up as a shining
example of humanitarian documentary work, nearly as impressive symbolically as
it is narratively.
The Uemura family
eventually prevailed in the first Minamata Disease trial against the Chisso
Corporation, but a few years later Tomoko, only twenty-one years old, passed
away. In an emotional letter written in 1998, Tomoko’s father outlines how the
famous photograph has, over the years since their daughter’s death, become a
crucible, outliving it’s original usefulness:
“ … we were faced with an
increasing number of demands for interviews. Believing that it would aid the
struggle for the eradication of pollution, we agreed … as a result rumors
began to circulate … `They must be making a huge amount of money from all
the publicity’ … I do not think that anybody outside our family can begin
to imagine how unbearable these persistent rumors made our daily lives … in
1977 we were contacted by a French television company who were planning to
produce a program entitled `One Hundred Photographs of the Twentieth Century,’
and they said it was vital for them to use … Eugene Smith’s `Tomoko.’” I
did not want to take part in this program so I turned them down … I wanted
Tomoko to rest in peace and this feeling welled up in me steadily.”4
In response,
Smith, who had worked with her husband on the Minamata project, and had been
intimate with the Uemura family, agreed. In a letter to the media, she wrote:
“Generally, the copyright of a
photograph belongs to the person who took it, but I think that it is important
to respect the subject’s rights and feelings. Therefore, I … promised that
I would not newly exhibit or publish the photo in question. In addition I will
be grateful if any museums who already own or are displaying the work would
take the above into consideration …”5
Aperture magazine, widely respected as among the most excellent
arbiters of important photography, dutifully published a response that brushed
aside copyright concerns. Instead, it served
to chastise Aileen Mioko Smith for giving away what was not hers, violating a
trust rendered sacred forged by an unconditional, long-held sense of protective
ownership. Never! Imagine the precedent!
Aristotle himself might’ve appreciate the manner in which the removal of the
photographs from public view would provide those most personally affected with
the catharsis necessary to complete the dramatization of the tragedy, but it
was not to be…
Eugene and Aileen Smith’s
Photograph of Tomoko and My Family
by Yoshio Uemura
Tomoko was
born on June 13, 1956. A few days after her birth, Tomoko began to exhibit
trembling fits. She cried every day and we were unable to leave her side. We
thought this strange and took her to various hospitals in Minamata City, but
none of them were able to say what was wrong with her. She was later suspected
to be suffering from cerebral palsy. However there was really no treatment for
her but to give injections to her tiny, thin body.
It was not
until November of 1962 that Tomoko was recognized as suffering from congenital
Minamata Disease. At this time she already had three younger sisters. On
December 26th of that year another sister was born and by 1969 she had a total
of six siblings. Despite having so many children, looking after Tomoko took a
lot of our time. A single meal would take about two hours for her to eat and so
just feeding her would occupy more than five or six hours every day.
The first
Minamata Disease lawsuit began in June 1969 and went through forty-nine
hearings before the proceedings were concluded with the final judgment being
handed down on March 20, 1973. During this period, people from all over the
country offered their support and among them were Eugene and Aileen Smith, who
had rented a house near ours in Detsuki from Tadaaki Mizoguchi and were
photographing the families of the victims of the disease.
Among the many
photographs they took, there was one of my wife Yoshiko holding Tomoko in the
bath. Yoshiko told me that Tomoko had let her body lie straight without trying
to curl up. To be honest, we had thought that the photograph would only take a
brief moment so we had agreed to the shoot without giving the matter a second
thought. I was told that Tomoko seemed exhausted when she got out of the bath.
The photograph
went on to become world-famous and as a result we were faced with an increasing
number of demands for interviews. Believing that it would aid the struggle for
the eradication of pollution, we agreed to the interviews and photographs and
the organizations that were working on our behalf used the photograph of Tomoko
frequently in their activities. However, as a result, rumors began to circulate
in the neighborhood and among other people around us. “They must be making
a huge amount of money from all that publicity.” This was untrue. It had
never entered our minds to profit from the photograph of Tomoko. We never dreamt
that a photograph like that could be commercial.
The truth is
that we did not benefit financially at all from the photograph. I do not think
that anybody outside our family can begin to imagine how unbearable these
persistent rumors made our daily lives. Sometimes we had to face the flashes
and hot lights of television interviews, and although she could not speak
herself, I am sure that in her heart Tomoko felt that because of her, we –her
father, mother, sisters, and brother– were having to go through such pain. As
her father, I found the thought that this concern existed in the corner of her
mind extremely unpleasant. Several years before she died, she began going to
the hospital many times and each time she came home she was smaller than when
she went in. She never smiled any more and seemed to become progressively
weaker.
Despite this,
Tomoko still had a strong will to live and she was treasured by everybody in
the family. I regret so much that I could do nothing to soften her pain…the
fevers from colds, the suffering, the only slight relief she could get from the
injections and medication. The treatments probably provided but slight relief
for her. I have now come to believe that the sole thing that sustained Tomoko
was her parents and siblings, her family’s love gave her reason for living, and
perhaps enabled her to survive as long as she did.
I am sure that
it must have pained Tomoko not to be able to express her gratitude to those who
helped her come as far as she did, but I think it was the absolute love and
affection my wife offered her that made her life worth living. The industry as
well as the national and regional government sent us and untold others to the
bottom of hell. And the whole lot of them neglected to save lives but instead
bailed out the company. And the company that caused thousands to fall victim
now survives as though it has never committed any sin.
The court case
was concluded, but victory has no value to the deceased and the seriously ill.
And even if the government were to apologize officially, this would do nothing
in the slightest to relieve the symptoms of the victims. Tomoko died on
December 5, 1977. She was 21 years old. All we could do was to hold vigil
before Tomoko who had departed us in silence. I could not hear the words of those
that paid homage to her in the funeral procession. Their words could not enter
my ears. In blank stupor, Tomoko departed to heaven ahead of her parents,
leaving behind her sisters and brother…
In 1997 we
were contacted by a French television company named CAPA who were planning to
produce a program entitled, “One Hundred Photographs of the Twentieth
Century” and they said that it was vital for them to use “the picture
that captured the environmental problems of Minamata, Eugene Smith’s
‘Tomoko’.”
I did not want
to take part in the program so I turned them down. I know what television
interviews involve and also, many of the organizations that are working on our
behalf are using the photograph in various media, many of them in places we do
not know about. I realize that this is necessary for numerous reasons, but I
wanted Tomoko to rest in peace and this feeling welled up in me steadily.
Hearing the
way I felt, Aileen came all the way from Kyoto to visit me on June 7th last
year and she promised to revert all rights of decision to the picture of Tomoko
to my wife and I. We later received this promise in writing and a copy of it
appears on the following page [below]. I and my family are filled with
gratitude from the bottom of our hearts toward Aileen. I thank her deeply for
this wonderful gift to Tomoko. I feel that Tomoko is now finally resting in
eternal peace. I ask all of you for your support and understanding.
His letter ended:
1. I, Aileen Smith, return the photograph entitled
“Tomoko is Bathed by her Mother” to Mr. and Mrs. Uemura.
2. This means
that the right of decision concerning the use of this photograph reverts to Mr.
and Mrs. Uemura.
3. In the
future, when any requests are made to me concerning this photograph, I will
explain the following (see separate sheet) and refuse use of this photograph.
October 30,
1998
Aileen Mioko
Smith
Regarding the Photograph, “Tomoko is Bathed by her Mother”
by Aileen
Mioko Smith
The photograph
entitled “Tomoko is bathed by her Mother” was taken in December 1971
by Eugene and Aileen Smith. At the time, Tomoko was a plaintiff in the first
Minamata Disease trial and was suing the Chisso Corporation for damages. Her
parents wanted society to know about their daughter and therefore agreed to the
taking and publishing of the photograph.
Since 1972,
this photograph has been published in Life
magazine, a book of photographs entitled “Minamata” (1975 in English,
1980 in Japanese) etc., causing a huge response, and became a symbol of
Minamata Disease.
The plaintiffs
won their case in March of 1973 but sadly, Tomoko died in December 1977 at the
tender age of twenty-one. Despite this, however, the photograph continued to be
used as a symbol of Minamata Disease in books and exhibitions, leaving a strong
impression on a large number of people. I later heard that this resulted in a
certain amount of conflict within the minds of her family, who wanted to see
the end of the kind of pollution that caused the problems, while at the same
time wished to let Tomoko rest in peace.
Generally, the
copyright of a photograph belongs to the person who took it, but the subject
also has rights and I think that it is important to respect the subject’s
rights and feelings. Therefore, I went to see the Uemura family on June 7, 1998
and promised that I would not newly exhibit or publish the photograph in
question.
For the above
reasons, the photograph entitled “Tomoko is bathed by her Mother”
will not be used for any new publications. In addition I will be grateful if
any museums etc. who already own or are displaying the work would take the
above into consideration when exhibiting etc. the photograph in the future.