Like any project, from building a house, to scaling a mountain, to learning about people's perspectives on a particular issues, it takes a lot of careful planning to see a project through to the end. No matter how good the plans may be, however, the project will also have to have some connection to theory in order to give it a foundation for understanding. To explore the issues of research planning and the incorporation of theory, here I take a look at Creswell's research design guidance.
Creswell has a nice, easy style of approaching research methods, and his description of the way in which theory comes to a researcher's aid is no different. He presents three roles theory may play in qualitative research: as being a framework that may be used to describe that which is being observed; as a lens through which the research material will be viewed; or as something that the research will generate, an end in itself. There is also the case with such approaches as phenomenological research, where there is no explicit theory employed because such approaches are an exploration of experience, more descriptive than analytic (Creswell 2008). As much as these separations appear clean, I still find myself facing subtleties that may blur the boundaries. For instance, let's explore these uses of theory with the pilot project I am focusing on for this course. As a reminder, I am going to look at narratives of photography at end of life. There is not much by way of research done in this area, in fact, to date I have not found any that particularly look at this issue directly. But there is mention of the experience of photographing dying within particular works of photographers, but only tangentially or in passing. For this reason, it might be best to take a phenomenological approach to the topic in order to develop a broad description of the experience of taking photos at end of life. But I don't think I can set aside my bias towards a critical theory perspective. My purpose in looking at this topic is to fundamentally bring attention to the need to respect those who are dying. Thus, originally I had selected a narrative approach as it is similar to phenomenology in that it involves intensive study of a small number of people, but allows for the experiences of those whom I am interviewing to be combined with my experiences and worldview (Ibid., 13). Even within research where theory is being developed, there is a theoretical perspective being interwoven. Perhaps that is what is meant by "the researcher's own experiences", what Stake calls "naturalistic generalizations" which form part of the assertions made as a result of a case study approach (Ibid., 64). The inability to remove a theoretical lens from our researching eyes would be a 'bias' that would need to be declared within the research. In bringing up case study, I am brought back to an earlier question I had: what are the distinguishing characteristics between case study and narrative? Is it in the final writing where there is a narrative structure imposed on the findings thus presenting a story exemplifying the most salient findings? Or is it that with case study, a particularly exemplifying story is used to lead fundamentally to the development of theory? I suspect my confusion is a result of Creswell's book being too simple; there is not enough exploration of the strategies (ethnography, grounded theory, case study, narrative, phenomenology) and how they may overlap. For instance, do not all of these strategies, not just grounded theory, allow us to reach the development of a theory? Perhaps with the exception of phenomenology, that is. So at this point I am still not certain if theory in my pilot study will be taking an advocacy role in terms of it being a lens through which I see and shape my questions/approach, or if it will almost not exist at all as in phenomenological research. I suspect theory will not be developed through this study, it is just to exploratory a study; there is not enough of an understanding of the issue. For that same reason, there is no theory that can be applied as a foundation on which to explore this issue with. There is much by way of reception theory, and media and cultural studies have a long history of theorizing about the development of that which will be received. But not a theory in the area of the experience of visually representing end of life. Perhaps I won't be applying a particular theoretical lens, but it is my philosophical worldview - one that is an advocacy/constructivist view - that is what will shape my narrative strategy. I am still left, however, wondering about my approach, as there are elements in a grounded theory strategy and a discourse analysis strategy that may be of assistance. I suppose it is the constant comparative element of the grounded theory strategy that I am attracted to. And within the discourse analysis strategy, it is the analysis of texts (e.g., dialogue, printed/visual material, discourses, etc.) within the broader social experience that is I can see as helpful. Thus, after all my mental exercise, I see myself employing an advocacy worldview underlying a narrative strategy that will use in-depth interviews and observational approaches (mainly). The use of theory will be limited, in that it will take the shape of my worldview being interwoven with the findings. Now I think I can move onto the checklist that Creswell provides that will be of use in constructing a solid qualitative procedure. The points he lays out are very similar to what is included in a proposal application or a Research Ethics Board application - both of which I have become very familiar with over the course of my work as a research coordinator. At this point I will not enter into much detail .... rather, I would like to turn my attention to Discourse Analysis: The readings from Fairclough made me think about the article I will be critiquing this week more-so than how it might apply to my pilot study. The article is looking at the ethics of photographing, for humanitarian healthcare purposes, people who are suffering. The author takes a dual medical and humanitarian ethics position, and purposely leaves out the photojournalist ethics in his analysis; the former are perspectives he can personally speak from, as they inform his dual professional roles. Without getting into too much detail, his research strategy is one of medical humanitarian ethics (as opposed to one of the five that Creswell focusses on), which is perfectly suitable to his task, but means he cannot comment on the intersection of photojournalism ethics in this matter. If he (or someone else) were to want to explore how the ethics of these three disciplines (medicine, humanitarian, photojournalist) interact, a different strategy - a discourse analysis strategy - may be appropriate. Employing a discourse analysis strategy would not be a complete way of understanding the issue, but one strategy along with an ethics strategy, and/or another, to develop an enriched, thickened description. It may also be able to bring in the perceptions of spectators and photographed subjects as well. For Calain, one of the issues is that photojournalists, medical professionals and humanitarian workers, though sometimes almost indistinguishable in their actions and imperatives, can and do come from different disciplinary backgrounds that can cause tensions with each other and the people they are representing/caring for. With concepts such as intertextuality (the way in which texts get positioned with others), assumptions , genre chains (the way messages are often linked together is a type of structure), the way meaning is mediated, etc. are all ways of going beyond content analysis of, say, medical or media ethics policies, or conversations between actors. With this type of strategy, there is a way of identifying underlying assumptions and expectations within the texts, but there is also a way to identify the way in which the different texts interact, which may help develop, if not consensus at least understanding of where differences are originating. I know I will be returning to Fairclough, not just for the textual analysis of discourse, but for the social analysis as well. There are a lot of terms and concepts that still are being worked out in my mind as to how those abstractions play our in reality.
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Here's the postcard I designed today to help launch the Humanitarian Healthcare Ethics website in November. I have been working as the Research Coordinator on this project since 2009. We have been looking at ethical dilemmas faced by humanitarian healthcare professionals who have worked in extreme poverty and crisis situations. We also began this summer interviewing healthcare professional who have experienced such dilemmas while working with the Canadian Forces in overseas deployments. The event in November is going to bring representatives from several of the larger multinational humanitarian healthcare organizations together to share experiences, best practices, and ideas around training & support, as well as develop consensus guidelines on humanitarian healthcare ethics. It's going to be a tremendously through provoking, and I'm sure with this crew of participants, productive weekend. The website is still in progress at the moment, but it's coming along, and will hopefully be more complete by the end of November. Needless to say my other deadlines for the end of November will have to be worked on in advance… Here is a critique I did. I thought I might as well publish it here the same way I did my essay (see previous post). It makes it easier for me to access, and it may allow more people to hit upon Sue Taits thought provoking perspective.
Art imitating death, and death on the Internet: A Critique of Sue Tait's "Visualising Technologies and the Ethics and Aesthetics of Screening Death" In a comparative exploration of representations of death on the Hollywood screen, versus images of soldiers posing with dead combatants posted on the Internet by coalition peers, Sue Tait (2009) turns the 'trophy'-photos-as-immoral stance on its head, arguing instead that the latter images do in fact enable a particular moral positioning. Here, she presents her perspective that says 'obscene' photos can actually be subversive to the military endeavor, drawing attention to actual human costs of war rather than celebrating victories over the enemy. Tait outlines how fictional films have been able to create a moral space around representations of death through specific cinematic techniques and even ultraviolent renditions coded as 'realistic' (p. 341). Particular coding encourages viewers to be repulsed by rather than attracted to war or violent death. Tait carries this perspective into her analysis of documentary films contain images of dying individuals. Through the curation of images and editorial techniques such as sound, music, and narration, the audience is guided to a particular moral position that has viewers questioning the circumstances that lead to violent deaths. For Tait then, once it is possible to see ultraviolent depictions of death as being ethical in the sense of 'bearing witness' to atrocity, it is no great leap to subsequently interpret 'trophy' photos by coalition soldiers as forming a similar moral stance. Tait sees these types of images as being subversive rather than supportive of the traditional military propaganda or news media reports (p.17). She claims within these images is the ability to question the true costs of war, such as war's "impact on the psyche of the soldier" (p.349). What Tait does not and perhaps cannot do is explain how other spectators might find the same moral point of view in looking at these images. With a large portion of film viewers finding entertainment value in Hollywood deaths (p. 339), it may be hard to overcome the sense of 'false witnessing' (celebrating the death of the enemy) in the soldier's photos if films such as Saving Private Ryan, originally meant to moralize against war (p. 343), are leading to similar celebratory responses (p. 347-348). Certainly new media enables broader access to these images, but in their uncurated, unmediated, raw form, the interpretations can be limitless. It is this openness of visual images, the ease with which they can be repurposed for alternative meanings, that Tait does not explore, but is central to her ability to find an ethical place within these images. Tait's mention that the US military have been rumoured to have bankrolled the removal of a select group of soldiers' trophy photos from the web (p. 349), suggests that she senses the US military recognizes the subversive nature of the images, thus having them removed to reduce peoples' chances to question the actual costs of war. Had Tait situated these images in a larger history of 'trophy' photos, from colonialism, to Native American persecutions, to lynchings, all the way through to the Abu Ghraib scandal, her conclusions about US military perspectives on these images may be different. Images like those from Abu Ghraib only become a scandal once in the international news and held up against the First Protocol of the Geneva Convention which protects the remains of the dead, a protocol that was not ratified by the US Government (p.347); a significance that Tait brings up, but does not use as a clue to explore the historical positioning of these images. It could be that, as Tait hints, the supposed silent bankrolling and removal of the more recent images by the US Military was to prevent the incident from becoming another international embarrassment. Yet the fact that the US social norms included trophy photos in the public realm for so long, including the images of Saddam's dead sons, and the ultimate trophy photo - the images of the dead Osama Bin Ladden - suggest that the US military are likely supportive, or at the very least publicly ambivalent, about them because in the end they support what is necessary for soldiers to kill: the dehumanization of the enemy (p.348). The article provided an excellent foundation in understanding the original intentions behind ultraviolent representations of death, particularly how they ultimately have been read more as entertaining because of the creation of a false witness rather than one who is bearing witness. In her ability to read moral positioning in the fictionalized, and formal documentary representations, Tait is able to carry this view into seeing soldiers' trophy photos as also ethically embodied. An exploration of the way new media can confuse interpretations, as well as open up such possibilities exponentially would be a way of extending her semiotic look at filmic representations into the Internet realm: the fact that images can be repurposed. A historical contextualization of trophy photos within the larger global colonialist and American racialist histories would lead to a more nuanced understanding of why such images proliferate and may be an integral, though morally troubling, part of military culture. Reference Tait, Sue. (2009). Visualising Technologies and the Ethics and Aesthetics of Screening Death. Science as Culture, 18(3), 333-353, September. Marx, Wiliams and Innis on what shapes the capacity for creative thought in capitalist society10/16/2012 It may not be pretty, essays are really simply a 'first draft,' but I'm sharing nonetheless. This was my mid-term paper for a theory course on interdisciplinary foundations of media studies.
Although Marx was never explicit about the capacity for creative thought, his critical analysis of capitalism has allowed others to determine the fundamental ways in which such a system can create the conditions for innovative thinking to flourish or flounder. Using Raymond Williams and Harold Innis' insights, I will explore Marx's conception of class struggle (broadly), as that which in capitalist society fundamentally shapes our capacity for creative thought. For my analysis, I employ Williams' nuanced interpretation of divisions of manual and mental labour within material labour production, and Innis' historical study of communication media. Through the exploration of these concepts we will see that all humans have the capacity for creative thought, but it is - natural forces notwithstanding - the social-economic conditions in which we find ourselves that shape the capacity to do so. Marx only touches upon the question of capacity for creative though breifly and superficially in his writings. On the one hand Marx is clear that capacity for creative thought is what, on a primal level, makes us human: ...what distinguishes the worst architect from the best of bees is this, that the architect raises his structure in imagination before he erects it in reality. At the end of the labour-process, we get a result that already existed in the imagination of the labourer at its commencement. (Marx in Williams 1983, 26) In this way, no matter what we produce or what we do, we are all able to think imaginatively. Williams qualifies this deduction stating that within a given society many people are "reduced from this fully human status by social and economic conditions which practically diminish their humanity" (Williams 1983, 27). What these social and economic conditions are depends on the historical context. Innis, who takes his concept of capacity from an economic tradition, would agree to that there are limits imposed by natural and social pressures, but would add that certain conditions also present the potential for creative thought to be supported and protected. To get a better sense of how we might develop a creative thought, Marx (1978) touches upon this in his seemingly incomplete analysis of ancient Greek art in The Grundrisse. Williams deftly revisits Marx's commentary some 125 years later, in an effort to push for the exploration of 'higher order', 'ends in themselves' types of mental labour, which Marx mentions a few times, but never explores in depth. Williams, through his careful reading of Marx's writings on manual and mental labour, works of art, and judgment of art, concludes that our capacity to think creatively is bound up in: ...a range of human faculties, resources, and potentials - some of the most important based in a relatively unchanged human biological constitution; others in persistent experiences of love and parentage and death, qualified in a physical world - with which certain works connect, in active and powerful ways, often apparently beyond the limited fixed ideas of any particular society and time. (Williams 1983, 48) Here, Williams eloquently explains how a work of art despite its social and material relations of production, can 'speak' to us. By demonstrating that the valuing of art over time changes within each particular social-economic moment, so too our own ability to judge a work of art, to receive it, is bound in our current social and material context. This, along with all the other elements that make up our whole way of life, to use William's conception of culture (Babe 2008, 72), enables a thought - seemingly arising from the art itself and not from our material relations - develops. In that moment, that spark of creative thought, Williams claims, "is the practical expression of actual and possible human development"(1983, 48). In this configuration, it need not be only art that can lead to this type of thinking, arguably any material labour, be it a commodity or not, be it a physical or a social product, can lead us there. Our judgment - as it is bound in these broad social and material relations - is what ignites new ideas. If we take this process at face value, and Innis does not give us any reason to question otherwise, then we can begin to see how this capacity if shaped within capitalist society. Marx, if he would be undertaking this exercise, would have us look at "real active men" in the world of production. So, let's start there, with an example Williams explores within modern capitalist society. In looking at communication organizations, Williams identifies his, and arguably Marx's, main point in all his writing on base and superstructure[1]: divisions of labour are an abstraction of real social relations, they are a social and economic construction, that have real material effects. Divisions of labour are not 'natural' or predetermined in some idealist, metaphysical sense of 'pure' theory (Williams 1983, 36). Marx was aware of this, having come to define these divisions out of determined "variable social and material relations" (ibid.), they are also not determined by forces of production alone (e.g., technology of writing) either. In looking at broadcast and print communication, Williams identifies how broadly mental capacities for creative thought exist even in areas traditionally seen as within the realm of manual labour. Manual labours, having taken over the course of time come to mean 'brainless' work. The ability to act on these thoughts, however, is limited by pressures of those with the control over the medium primarily because they also control the capital. Thus, there is a persistence of this division of labour, not because it is genetic or natural, but because it is supported, perpetuated and redefined in each particular historical time. In Williams' example, material and social relations unique to that time and place are such that ownership and control of media fall to those historically in the 'mental labour' class, those also who have been considered to be authoritative in these matters: matters of media, technology, knowledge. The division is also perpetuated in the media sources themselves that are predominantly uni-directional broadcast mediums. 'Experts' and 'authorities', selected by the few with the means, communicate, reinforce and cajole to an undifferentiated and virtually silenced mass who readily consent. Innis' sophisticated exploration of print and broadcast media in the West, takes this impact of the bias of communication from individual relations to the realm of civilizations. Print media because of its mechanized production and its short-lived physical substrate, makes it a product for immediate consumption. As such, the content in the newspapers, over time moved from being political and philosophical in nature (which it was at its inception leading to the Restoration), to more ephemeral issues. The printing press, though developed on the margins of Western civilization as counterpoint to imperialism in Europe, was also used in the US as a central tool in their own independence. As a result it became instituted in their constitution, and remained their prime communication medium. With no other form of communication media developed within the US to complement or counterbalance it, newspapers increasingly became suffused with public opinion instead of knowledge. "Superficiality became essential to meet demands of larger numbers of people" (Innis 1950, 372), resulting in broadcast media and cinema, filled with entertainment and amusements, developing out of this demand. These "improvements in communication have made understanding more difficult" (Innis in Watson 2006, 311) because the content was biased away from knowledge. The entire social fabric, then, becomes one woven of superficial, ephemeral threads controlled by those with the monopoly of communication. Their continued focus on the present, and on content in the vernacular, secures their control through a simple consent because their audience is captive, attractive to the masses because of its direction to "you the reader" (Williams 1983, 39). On the surface it may appear that Innis is a technological determinist, a common misconception. This is categorically not the case. His body of work in the area of media communication (which he defines broadly to be institutions, technologies or organizations that transmit or produce social knowledge (Comor 1994) demonstrates that technology is not inherently flawed, nor that the technology itself determines the content of the messages (though to a certain degree it will). His historical analysis of communication media from Mesopotamia to the modern era is actually an analysis of the rise and fall of civilizations and the role, or at least the place of, that communication media therein. Fundamental to his theory is that for a civilization to be successful, there needs to be a balanced tensions of particular powers: force, knowledge and wealth. Let's take an example from modern capitalism to illustrate this tension: The university can protect the social scientist in part. Even in countries which have witnessed the most serious disturbances, apparently work in the social sciences can continue without serious disruption, chiefly because the complexity of the subject renders conclusion of little value to those in control of policy, and terminology to become a defense against the inquisitive. (Innis 1935, 437) Here Innis argues the capacity for creative thought is protected through structural forces such as institutions (universities) and laws. Likewise, the social scientists ensure their security in the university by maintaining a monopoly over certain knowledge that is of use to the holders of force, but cannot develop it on their own as they do not have access to the specialized language. Implicit in this arrangement is a sufficient amount of wealth to support the force and knowledge elements. Despite his apparent support then of a pejorative 'Ivory Tower', this is not what he is arguing for. In fact, Innis has been know to rant against the tyranny's of universities, particularly when they allow the knowledge being produced in them to be influenced by business, personal advancement, or other instrumentalist persuasion (Innis 1935). What Innis means with this support of force, is that forces should protect knowledge to allow it to develop independently - unfettered by outside utilitarianism purposiveness. Thus, in this configuration, knowledge is removed from the vernacular but not to hidden in a tower. Rather, knowledge, with its supports from force and wealth, can safely search the horizon from the tower's windows (or elsewhere) to see society in all its glories and ghastliness, from the margins. Coming back to the divisions of labour identified in the broadcast and print media, Marx, Williams and Innis would agree that they are artificial constructions that also have material consequences at personal and societal levels. In one sense they are "at root a form of class division between those who have practically appropriated the general human faculties of consciousness, intention and control"(Williams 1983, 37). But then Innis also sees their having a complementary, dialectically related relationship as well. Under capitalism, the one-directional, vernacular-focused nature of broadcast and commercial print media in the West becomes a way to perpetuate and reinforce these artificial divisions. Struggle between these divisions is fundamental in Marx's politics, while for Innis it may seem to be a contradiction considering he sees these divisions of 'labour' (in balanced tension) as part of a successfully functioning social order. But, when pried open, we see that Innis and Marx are closer than we think in their political positioning. Certainly, Innis was no proletarian revolutionary, but he was vocal in his views against tyranny - as he demonstrates through his historical and modern analyses. Tyranny, in the form of militaristic or ideological force, at a civilization and institutional level was for him what should be struggled against. Marx can also be said to be broadly against tyranny. We can all agree he had no love for Feudalism or slavery. His main concern was the poor and the oppressed, whereas for Innis his politics were to protect the 'knowledge class' that he was fighting for, "to reconcile the continued relevance of the role of the thinking individual with contemporary imperial structures of unprecedented range and centralization" (Watson 2006, 320). By taking a definition of class struggle that is more social as opposed to economic in nature, which is something Marx does at times as well, we can see that these are indeed class struggles. Coming back for a moment to Williams: while he was waxing eloquent about Marx's comments on Greek art, he identified in passing that there is within any particular society an element of unevenness in the "development of various human faculties and practices" (Williams 1983, 46) where certain processes of material production (perhaps also the impact of one's whole way of life) can result in discoveries. Though occurring within a particular social and material context, these 'discoveries' are happening, in a sense, in a marginal way; they are exceptions, not the norm. In a similar sense, Innis sees creative thought relating to unevenness, and most certainly developing more often than not on the margins of society. Unevenness for Innis would be exemplified in the way in which media technologies are not evenly distributed across civilizations, and they are also not used evenly either. For instance, in the case of capitalist Russia, their marginality from the dominating West, physically, socially and economically meant they had an opportunity to turn new technologies, including new communication media, to their advantage. As they were an agricultural economy their attraction to mechanization was not great, so they were slower to bring in new mechanical technologies. This lag, or unevenness, buffered them from the way in which these new modes of production and communication were leading to alienation and fragmentation in Western society, which bear resemblance to how Marx saw the mechanized capitalist world in general. As a result of their economy and their more socialist system the media tended to focus not on commercial goods advertising, but on propaganda. Like the ancient Greeks whom Innis had a great fondness for, Russia was able to use their marginal situation to creatively develop their own use of this new media technology. As the Greeks were able to use their marginal position to develop a flexible, accessible alphabet that revolutionized writing, so too the Russians used print technology to create one of the most sophisticated propaganda industries of the modern era. Despite its socialist ideals imposed by militaristic force, Innis saw virtues in this Russia because it exemplified a stability and continuity that Innis considered as central to a successful social order. He was particularly attracted to this Russia because it acted, in his view, as a counterpoint against American imperialism, something Marx would have joined arms with Innis in opposing. Marx's philosophical musings and marginal comments never explicitly dealt with the capacity for creative thought. However, using insights and theories from Raymond Williams and Harold Innis, I explored, through Marx's conception of class struggle, that which fundamentally shapes our capacity for creative thought in capitalist society. By employing Williams' nuanced interpretation of divisions of labour within material labour production, and Innis' historical study of communication media, the determining influences of social and economic conditions were explored to reveal that the capacity for creative thought is shaped by our nature, our socials-economic environment, and a position on the margins. References Robert Babe, Cultural Studies and Political Economy: Toward a New Integration (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2009), pp. 13-138 Edward Comor, “Harold Innis’s Dialectical Triad” in Journal of Canadian Studies 29:2 (1994), pp. 111-27. Harold Innis, Staples, Markets and Cultural Change (Montreal and Kingston: McGill - Queen’s University Press, 1995), pp. 429-437; 350-355; and 325-49 Karl Marx, “Introduction to a Critique of Political Economy” in The Marx and Engels Reader Second Edition (New York: W.W. Norton, 1978), R.C. Tucker (ed.), pp. 222-250 Alexander Watson, Marginal Man (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), pp. 306-319; 321-329; and 367-393 Raymond Williams, Marxism and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), pp. 75-82 & 83-89 Raymond Williams, “Culture” in Marx: the First 100 Years (London: Fontana, 1983), D. McLellan (ed.), pp. 15-55. [1] I take here Williams' understanding of base and superstructure as a metaphor for division of labour, forces and relations of production and other terms Marx used to speak to these phenomenon, as "the decisive sense that these are not separate 'areas' or 'elements'" (Williams 1977, 80) but rather this is a process of determining limits and pressures that are "the whole specific activities and products of real men" (ibid., 80). As much as grant writing can feel like a chore, it is certainly a good way to feel really close to your research interests, something that is hard to feel when in the throws of coursework. What I was wondering though, while feeling a grant application was an unwanted distraction at this time, was how to integrate what has become a vital component of academic life with the requirements of the degree. The grant-writing process has proven to be quite enlightening and frustrating, and I feel I would have benefited from having had more formal opportunities to discuss, explore and simply focus on the application within a peer and mentor setting.
I found the process enlightening because it helped me work through my project in a concrete manner, at least more concrete than just etherial discussions (though certainly still not concrete in the sense of a complete proposal). The process was also enlightening in its reconfirmation of the commodified and politicized nature of academic work. As much as academics try to maintain freedom, there is certainly a way in which research is 'focused' and 'directed' through economic conditions. The process of completing this grant application was also frustrating because of this knowledge of the constraints and commodification of academia - notably the fact that so few of the applicants will receive this funding support. And frustrating also because the opportunities were slim in terms of being able to really work through my research plan. If the process were included in some way as a degree requirement (a small credit), then there would be the ability to create a formal course (if it's not done this way, it is easy to be 'too busy' to attend), or workshop in which this painful process can be made more collegial and productive. Without such a workshop, and for those who have the time and inclination to make some comments, here is a portion of my SSHRC application: What is a photograph of dying meant to be if not a way to bring us closer to Death? Can photographs accomplish this, and to what ends? For French philosopher Roland Barthes (1980), all photographs are flat Death, reflective of our (the 'modern West's') distanced, sterile experience of death. Once any living or dying being is photographed, they are instantly - at the click of a button - objectified, rendered unceremoniously dead. This, he goes on to explain, is the "asymbolic" way in which death is experienced, more specifically in his time, as an increasingly secular event (Barthes 1980, p.92). Extending this viewpoint, death today is medicalized and/or politicized - removing it even farther from natural or even a mystical eventuality - it is now a problem to be solved. The flatness Barthes envisions, however, does not coincide with the way in which visual representations also engage, raise awareness, engender solidarity, and generate empathy. Also, the experience of death is taking on new meaning as the ageing population increases. In my research, I will explore visual representations of dying as a way of reconciling the flattness of the photograph with the experience of dying, and argue for a more responsive and responsible humanitarian photography. The photograph may be, in Barthes' sense, one-dimensional, while the experience of photography is anything but. By experience I take my meaning from the sociability of photography (Edwards 2011) and the event of photography (Azoullay 2012). These conceptions refer to the implicit and explicit human relations and expectations that are generated, negotiated and contested through the act of creating & recreating (e.g., in the spectator's realm) photographs. Contemporary visual theory conceives the photographed subject as having a powerful political agency enabling their photographed selves, even if not taken with this intent, to become a political actor (Linfield 2010; Azoullay 2008). Despite this view, the positivist legacy of photography remains, resulting in images that still subjugate those photographed at the cost of loosing sight of the political issue (Campbell 2012). Thus, photography has a duality: Barthes' flat Death on the one hand, and a vitality and dynamism - a life of its own - on the other. A main question I seek to answer is the role imagination plays in this duality, and what it means for a humanitarian photography. Photos of death have a history of being understood as replete with political and moral stances. Whether to take action against an atrocity or generate new conceptions of humanity (Sliwinski 2011), there is no lack of imaginative space in such photographs. Despite the political power of these images, critics argue that the individuals in the images become reified forms of the political violence (Calain 2012; Campbell 2011; De Waal 1997). As static representatives of their historical moment, the critics claim, much supposed 'humanitarian' photography denies its subjects’ agency (Kleinman & Kleinman 1996; Campbell 2012). Though the photo may be used to bear witness to atrocity, to human suffering, the people within the images become the corporeal of the political situation rather than the agents of its change. We, the spectators on the other end, are the supposed action-takers. Certainly it is laudable that attention be paid to the political struggle, but at what cost? Certainly also, not all images in humanitarian or political struggles are exploitative and objectifying. Can such images be re-visioned and reimagined? Visual representations of EOL in high-resources countries have become a space of political action by the individuals in the images. Dying with dignity, palliative care, ageing and end of life have become ways of empowering the dying and raising awareness of this fact of life (Green 2008). Images of dying and death here are seen as representing a particular social justice issue: the right of everyone to die with minimal suffering. The individuals in these images are in the act of challenging the status quo. These new discourses are spilling over into the global geopolitical arena with issues like palliative care becoming a large area of focus for global health (Singer and Bowman 2002). To see dying as a global social justice issue repositions the perception of photos of dying in other political and socioeconomic contexts. Dying becomes an issue in itself, not only a referent to something else: herein lies a different imagination. As much as we might want to avoid dealings and responsibilities, especially when they are imposed from outside, and when they are competing with other interests. But it is often in those times when distracted and least expect anything of good to come out of the added tasks, that something truly enlightening emerges.
While doing readings that I thought would be repetitive, and working on a draft grant application (one that I didn't feel at all ready and capable of tackling), I ended up with two ways of interpreting my research topic that really excite me. It may not be that I'll end up using either in my final work, but the fact that I can see my interests in many areas is exciting and pedagogically helpful. For example, Habermas' theory of public spheres can be applied to my interest in visual representations of dying. Particularly in media photographs of dying in contemporary high-resource and highly medicalized countries, the images can be understood as fully part of the public realm despite the fact that they are of experiences that would, by today's cultural norms, be a very private event. Habermas' concept of the public sphere is inherently political - the realm of public opinion. These images I refer to are purely political: normalizing discussions of dying/death; raising awareness of universal palliative care; and bringing attention to the dying with dignity movement. Comparing these images to ones of images of individuals dying in low-resource settings, the sense of the political shifted for me. Certainly, the images of people dying of AIDS, or famine, or even violent deaths, are political, and become part of the public sphere - the realm of public opinion. The difference is that the former images are of photos who (ostensibly) want their deaths to be recorded to raise awareness of a political issue. The latter images on the other hand, more often than not, are of individuals who have not participated in the experience of their photography to any great degree. Certainly, there is the theory that people are so accustomed to photography that they 'implicitly' consent, with the expectation that the photos will be used to support their political ends, but when someone is dying, are they really thinking that? Is this not a great assumption to make when someone is experiencing something so utterly and essentially private as dying? Though the press may be laudably using the photos to draw attention to disparities in global health care or to political issues of famine, but do the ends justify the means? Perhaps my next entry will be about the deontological and utilitarian approaches of these two types of photographs…I also need to develop a better term for these differently purposed types of images. For a later |
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