“…they carried these shameful secrets hidden in the folds of their skirts for fifty years” (Cho, p.121).

If the women of the Korean diaspora must remain silent about their pasts in order to “assimilate” into American culture, can there be true healing of their trauma? What happens when there is no safe space for one to tell one’s story? Did the imperative to tell haunt them?

“Like the stories of untold numbers of others before her, my mother’s personal history no doubt remained in silence and shadow because she was a commoner and because she was a woman. But I think she complied with the erasure because she did not want to unveil herself and her mother as “bad women”… I like to think that she was motivated by a wish to protect me from the legacy by not letting me know that I come from a long line of “bad women” (exp: Elaine Kim, “Bad Women,” quoted in Cho, p. 145).

What did it mean for these women to comply with the erasure? Did they compartmentalize, shut out the trauma? Refuse to look back? What about the trauma of the “American Dream;” of assimilation? Can we ever truly shut out trauma? “This is a history she cannot speak, and the unspoken is passed down from flesh to flesh, the unspoken already lining the inside of the womb” (Cho, p.121). It would seem from Cho’s book that even if we try- if we never speak of it- it still finds ways to manifest in our lives and the lives of those around us.

I found the distinction between “comfort women” and “camptown women” disturbing. Is there actually any agency in sex for survival? Does one truly shift from “sex slave” to “willing whore” (Cho, p.122)? “She was not forced by human hands or imperial guns, but walked with her own two feet to meet her destiny. She walked willingly from the labor camp to the camptown…” (Cho, p.121). I think, similar to prostitution everywhere, it’s not so much an issue of choice, as it is a lack of choices. I don’t think she would have “willingly” walked to this destiny if there had been any viable alternatives for her survival. And yet, she never seemed to have permission- not from herself or others- to frame her experience in this way. I think the inability to compose a narrative of trauma could easily have stolen any notions of agency she may have felt.

Even within the camptowns when GI’s proposed to these women, was it really a choice to marry them? When the only alternative to a “choice” is death- is there actually agency in that? Cho writes, “Does this trajectory of marriage and migration indeed represent a way out of the camptown, and if so, to what escape does it lead” (p.133). Research has shown that military sex workers view marriage to an American as the primary means out of the camptown, ““an escape from prostitution and its stigma.” The fictional and autobiographical work about camptown life tells of another way out—death. This alternative to marriage suggests that these avenues are not disarticulated from one another…” (Cho, p.133).

How then, to heal? “To awaken is thus to bear the imperative to survive…as the one who must tell what it means to not see.” (Cathy Caruth, quoted by Cho, p.168). Is the imperative to survive not realized if we do not “awaken”? Can one “awaken” in silence? Was there choice and agency in deciding to remain silent? Can one find healing in silence?

I am in love with this book.  Not only does it provide an important dimension to critical trauma studies, but Regarding the Pain of Others has much relevance to my Applied Project and my ideas about the power of photography for social change. I have always believed that photography can act as a universal language. It can stand on its own, without need for translation; the image can be a common meeting place, a platform, for people to come examine and dialogue about an issue. Sontag highlights this concept writing, “In contrast to a written account—which, depending on its complexity of thought, reference, and vocabulary, is pitched at a larger or smaller readership- a photograph has one language and is destined potentially for all” (emphasis mine; Sontag, p.20). I love that images can have mass appeal. It seems in modern society, it is often images that “go viral” on the internet- there is a characteristic inherent in them that allows diverse groups of people to experience a connection to an image. “In an era of information overload, a photograph provides a quick way of apprehending something and a compact form for memorizing it. The photograph is like a quotation, or a maxim or proverb” (Sontag, p.22).

Sontag seems to struggle with the universality photographs throughout the text- raising issues of objectivity, witnessing, survival and responsibility. She quickly reveals photos to be imperfect historical “documents,” writing, “It is always the image that someone chose; to photograph is to frame, and to frame is to exclude” (Sontag, p.46). But in recognizing that photos cannot be evidence of a pure truth, not unlike most historical “evidence,” she still argues that they are valuable and relevant (Sontag, p.57). In one of my favorite passages she writes: “To set aside the sympathy we extend to others beset by war and murderous politics for a reflection on how our privileges are located on the same map of their suffering, and may—in ways we might prefer not to imagine—be linked to their suffering, as the wealth of some may imply the destitution of others, is a task for which the painful, stirring images supply only an initial spark” (Sontag, p.102-103). I love the notion that imagery can inspire an “initial spark” in someone, that can lead to increased awareness and (hopefully) action. Imagery as impetus for change is a beautiful concept to me.

It doesn’t matter if the photographs are ugly or beautiful; whether we engage with them in the privacy of our homes, in museums or galleries, or fleetingly while scrolling through a facebook newsfeed—what matters is the fact that the images exist. I don’t think the goal is to present some “objective” truth—the fact that this is unattainable shouldn’t undermine their inherent value.  Sontag writes, “Let the atrocious images haunt us. Even if they are only tokens, and cannot possibly encompass most of the reality to which they refer, they still perform a vital function. The images say: This is what human beings are capable of doing—may volunteer to do, enthusiastically, self-righteously. Don’t forget” (Sontag, p.115).

The photographs remind us. And the photographers that bear witness to these atrocities create them so that “we” will not forget; with the hope, I would argue, that we will be stirred to action. “It is not a defect that we are not seared, that we do not suffer enough, when we see these images. Neither is the photograph supposed to repair our ignorance about the history and causes of suffering it picks out and frames. Such images cannot be more than an invitation to pay attention, to reflect, to learn, to examine the rationalizations for mass suffering offered by established powers” (Sontag, p.117).

Hope essentially lies within these “documents;” death and suffering are not the only themes depicted. “Photographs of the suffering and martyrdom of a people are more than reminders of death, of failure, of victimization. They invoke the miracle of survival” (Sontag, p.87).