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).