In childhood I became fascinated by the images of a world that
was very different from mine. I heard of conflicts in distant
places; I heard of warlords, rebels, and military interventions. In
turn I learned of the innocent casualties these conflicts left
behind. My first contact with images from that other world were in
the international sections of the newspapers that my father read
everyday. The events illustrated in the stories that were
covered felt so unreal that it was difficult for me to accept them
as a reality of which I was a part.
The images and the stories they documented felt like fiction, not
different than the way history class felt like fiction to me as a
kid. History taught me about the Vietnam War, Nicaragua, the spread
of communism and other conflicts. It took time for me to understand
the magnitude of what had happened during World War II and the
holocaust. Everything I learned sounded so distant, like a tale -
so far away from the safe world that I knew.
My friend’s father was a holocaust survivor. When I learned this
the Holocaust immediately became more concrete. At the same time my
friend’s father instantly seemed more abstract, a character from
one of my history lessons. He was a real man made of flesh and
blood with a real life and past. But he had been a number, one
amongst millions of hard to imagine prisoners in concentration
camps - the proof of this still tattooed on his arm. This mark on
his arm stripped away his identity and history, leaving him as
nothing more than a number. But when does my reality become
connected to the reality of others?
As we grow up that which protects us from awareness of the world
around us gradually leaves us.
These are 7,000,000 Bodies is about crimes against
humanity and genocide (official or unofficial) and about our
failure to prevent these horrors. The exhibition addresses
atrocities being committed right now, and during a recent past that
feels like yesterday - a day that for that those who were affected
still feels like today. Thousands are still dying in areas of
conflict; rape is a weapon of terror used everyday in places like
Congo. More people have been displaced and are now living in
refugee camps today than ever before in history. Children lose
their innocence as they are forced to hold guns in their hands and
kill a neighbor.
The images gathered here attempt to prevent these events from
becoming history before we could connect and concretize them as
part of our own reality; to evoke empathy that could spark concern
and ignite a lasting change.
The three photographers in this exhibition share their work in the
belief that awareness and education can help prevent and promote
action for change. Ron Haviv created some of the most iconic images
of the Balkan War (1991-1995) where an estimated 200,000 people
died. Marcus Bleasdale photographed the internal conflicts of the
Democratic Republic of Congo, which has the biggest death toll
since WWII currently estimated at 5.4 million. Both Bleasdale and
Haviv have photographed the ongoing conflict in Darfur. Jonathan
Torgovnik’s series, Intended Consequences confronts us
with some of the most compelling portraits and interviews ever done
of victims of genocide. The images have given identity and voice to
the women victims of rape and their children born as a result of
these brutal transgressions during the Rwanda genocide in
1994.
The works of these photographers are both a hope and a curse. Once
we have seen them we know a truth larger than ours, and this
knowledge carries the yoke of responsibility.
Prof. Alex Morel
Curator
Department of Fine Arts
St. John’s University