Photography and History in Latin America

PHOTOGRAPHY AND HISTORY IN LATIN AMERICA

Content coordination: John Mraz and Ana Maria Mauad

Fernando Aguayo, Magdalena Broquetas, Alberto del Castillo, Cora Gamarnik, Ana Maria Mauad, John Mraz, Mariana Muaze, Marcos Felipe de Brum Lopes

PHOTOGRAPHY AND HISTORY IN LATIN AMERICA

PHOTOGRAPHY AND HISTORY IN LATIN AMERICA

Content coordination: John Mraz and Ana Maria Mauad

Authors: Fernando Aguayo, Magdalena Broquetas, Alberto del Castillo, Cora Gamarnik, Ana Maria Mauad, Mariana Muaze, John Mraz, Marcos Felipe de Brum Lopes

INTRODUCTION

VARIETIES OF PHOTOHISTORY

We are very pleased to see this book appear in English. The lengthy, frustrating, and at times bewildering, process we went through gave us the chance to experience first-hand the current chaotic state of photographic studies. Scholars from a wide variety of disciplines have increasingly begun analyzing photography and visual culture. As is to be expected, they bring their specific training to the task, be it Art History, Women’s Studies, Literary Studies and Comparative Literature, Art Education, Sociology, Anthropology, Philosophy, Communications, International Relations, Political Science, Television, Film, and Media Studies or, as in the case of this book, History.1 While such heterogeneity will no doubt eventually lead to the creation of a rich interdisciplinary loam in which to cultivate the study of the most important medium of our time, the experience of trying to bring it to fruition in this work left us with a strong sense of the mutual incomprehension that reigns among photography scholars. This project had its beginnings around the middle of 2012, when Luke Gartlan, the editor of History of Photography, invited John Mraz to be the Guest Editor of an issue about Latin American photography. John accepted but specified that the title would be “Photography and History in Latin America”. That was where the misunderstandings began… John invited Ana María Mauad to join him in this endeavor to incorporate her vast experience in the area of South American photography, and

1 See AZOULAY, Ariella, Civil Imagination: A Political Ontology of Photography, tr. Louise Bethlehem, London, Verso, 2012, p. 83, and ELKINS, James, Visual Studies: A Skeptical Introduction, New York, Routledge, 2003, p. 8.

to widen the spectrum of possible contributors. Moreover, John’s participation in Fotografía e Historia-CdF Jornadas 8 in Montevideo in 2012 was crucial because it was there that he first met Magdalena Broquetas and Cora Gamarnik. As the issue began to take shape, we went through multiple translations, collaborations that were rejected, the honing of arguments, and corrections of style. The texts were probably sent in around the end of 2013 and appeared to have fallen into a black hole. Some two or three years later, we finally received a negative review, an overall rejection of the issue. Fortunately, at the same time, the texts in Spanish were published by the Centro de Fotografía de Montevideo as a book, Fotografía e historia en América Latina. 2

We believe that Gartlan’s decision reflects a problem common to studies of photography: whether or not a methodology is acceptable, and/or the information produced useful, depends upon one’s disciplinary framework. Because the study of photography is relatively recent, and its students few, disciplines tend to overlap, thus leading to what might be termed, in part, a “disciplinary misunderstanding”. Gartlan’s perspective is that of an art historian, whereas together with our collaborators, we are trying to determine how to incorporate photography into History. Art History methodologies are useful to analyze art photography, but they are largely irrelevant to the study of vernacular photography, that is, non-artistic photographs. Vernacular images account for probably about 95% of all photography, and it is among these documents that photohistorians usually work.3

It may be useful to compare the perspective of Gartlan to previous editors of History of Photography. Over the 10-year period (1991-2000) of their editorship, Mike Weaver and Annie Hammond transformed the journal from what was an “antiquarian/hobbyist” publication into a dynamic journal that opened its pages to a wide range of vernacular imagery, and incorporating production from areas beyond Europe and the U.S. There were few, if any, articles that did not directly engage in historicizing photographs. Nor were there publications that employed postmodern literary theory, despite, or because, Weaver, who came from American Studies, was well ac-

2 MRAZ, John and MAUAD, Ana María, eds., Fotografía e historia en América Latina, Montevideo, Centro de Fotografía de Montevideo, 2015.

3 For a discussion of vernacular imagery, and a definition of photohistory and photohistorians, see MRAZ, John, History and Modern Media: A Personal Journey, Nashville, Vanderbilt University Press, 2021.

quainted with it. However, it is certainly a different publication under Luke Gartlan. Hammond, an art historian, noted recently that the journal had “become entrenched” in theoretical approaches to the detriment of both art and photographic history.4

The lack of explicit theorization in our work may have been another shortcoming in Gartlan’s eyes. Immersed in postmodern literary theory, U.S. and British academics seem to believe that it is obligatory to demonstratively address that line of thought in analyzing photographs. The impression that this influence has come to dominate the study of photos is confirmed by a quick look through our own bookshelves, where at least half of the works in English on photography are by literary scholars. This has not been the case in Mexico and Brazil, however, where most of the relevant studies have largely ignored the trend. Rather than wallow in theoretical mire, we explore the photos we are looking at using methods largely drawn from the visual materials themselves. This may also result from the fact that historians have come to the fore of photographic study in Mexico and Brazil, with a different relation to theory, using theory to open new questions and research possibilities that can then be explored, rather than being some sort of an end in itself. Theory is a scaffolding, useful when constructing a work; once it is complete, it should be removed to better appreciate the result. To apply theory as if it were a grid to be directly referred to is an example of what philosopher Vilém Flusser called “textolatry” – idolatry of the text.5 As film historian Bill Nichols so succinctly put it in writing about documentary film, “My goal is not to import a theory… Films do not answer to theory, but theory must answer to film – if it is to be more than idle speculation”.6

In considering the value of a text, photohistorians expect to learn from expertise knowledge of the subject which they might build on and open new research areas, rather than disentangle a theoretical exegesis. Too often the latter produces work that is over-theorized and under-researched. We can find this problem in even the greatest reflection on photography written by a postmodern literary theorist in Camera Lucida; we also find hints of the

4 Annie Hammond, communication, August 2019.

5 FLUSSER, Vilém, Towards a Philosophy of Photography, ed. Derek Bennett, Göttingen, European Photography, 1984, pp. 9, 12.

6 NICHOLS, Bill, Representing Reality: Issues and Concepts in Documentary. Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1991, pp. XII, XIV.

typical disregard for Latin America in a European thinker. While glancing through an illustrated magazine, Roland Barthes stumbled upon a photo that made him pause: “Nothing very extraordinary: The (photographic) banality of a rebellion in Nicaragua: a ruined street, two helmeted soldiers on patrol; behind them, two nuns”.7 Neither the Sandinista Revolution, at that moment an international beacon for progressive movements, nor the image itself interested Barthes, but the picture did provide fuel for a theoretical meditation “I understood at once that its existence (its ‘adventure’) derived from the co-presence of two discontinuous elements, heterogeneous in that they did not belong to the same world…: the soldiers and the nuns”.

Camera Lucida has made an enormous contribution to photographic studies and formed thousands of minds in their approaches to this medium. However, it is hard not to find a certain willful ignorance, perhaps an imperial disdain, on the part of Barthes in his thoughts on the Nicaraguan photo. On the one hand, had he read even the most basic information on the Central American rebellions, he would have discovered that Christian grassroots communities were the backbone of the struggles. He might have learned that this was an exceptional situation because the Catholic church is and has generally been a pillar of right-wing rule in Latin America. On the other hand, the theorist could also have considered whether the person who took the photograph had chosen to capture that precise juxtaposition because –far from being heterogeneous or discontinuous elements– the nuns and soldiers were integral elements in the wars. The image was no lucky accident in which Barthes “discovered” how photographic “(‘adventure’) derived from the copresence of two discontinuous elements”; it certainly can, and does, but not in this case. Rather, the image reflects the years Dutch photojournalist Koen Wessing had spent in Latin America, documenting the overthrow of Salvador Allende, the repression in El Salvador, and the Sandinista Revolution. This is one of the most widely reproduced of Wessing’s images today and was surely meant as a commentary on the integration of the church and politics at that particular moment in this part of the world.

There is no doubt that we are living in an age that requires new ways of thinking. Frederic Jameson has identified one of the most important is-

7 BARTHES, Roland, Camera Lucida; Reflections on Photography, tr. Richard Howard, NewYork, Hill & Wang, 1981, p. 23.

sues, arguing that a main feature of postmodernity is “the transformation of reality into images”.8 Every discipline must train its specialists in modern media, and every colleague approach a job from the perspective of their education and on-going training. We feel that the generalized “postmodern orthodoxy” imposed by the “commissars of contemporary cultural discourse” has had particular, and negative, repercussions in the study of photography, largely in the US and Great Britain.9 And, furthermore, we are not convinced of the methodological advantage in applying literary analysis to photographs, for the simplest of many reasons: they are two completely different media. In our experience, the predominance of this academic trend has become a boulder in the path of photographic study in the US and Europe. The concentration on theory seems to lead away from research, and into an unintelligible swamp of jargon. Literary scholar Terry Eagleton’s take on this fad is hilarious:

To write in this way as a literary academic, someone who is actually paid for having among other things a certain flair and feel for language, is rather like being a myopic optician or a grossly obese ballet dancer… You can be difficult without being obscure. Difficulty is a matter of content, whereas obscurity is a question of how to present that content… There is something particularly scandalous about radical cultural theory being so willfully obscure.10

As historians, we recognize that the social practices of photography and its offspring –cinema, television, digital imagery, the Internet and the social networks– have redefined the interchange of information and the ways in which we understand the world we live in. They reflect our thinking, and they shape the structures through which we see. Technical images, which apparently offer windows onto reality, are fundamental in teaching people to understand their situation in particular ways.11 Nevertheless, in spite of their centrality in modern knowing –something the sciences rec-

8 JAMESON, Frederic, The Cultural Turn: Selected Writings on the Postmodern, 1983-1998, London: Verso, 1998, p. 20.

9 EAGLETON, Terry, Materialism, New Haven, Yale University Press, 2016, IIX.

10 EAGLETON, Terry, After Theory, New York: Basic Books, 2003, p. 77.

11 Vilém Flusser is one of the theoreticians who has most successfully explored the new world of technical images. See FLUSSER, Towards a Philosophy of Photography, op.cit., and FLUSSER, Vilém, Into the Universe of Technical Images, translated by Nancy Ann Roth, Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 2011.

ognize unreservedly– photography is largely perceived by scholars from the humanities and social sciences as an esoteric expression situated on the outer limits of the marginal, rather than a tool to more profoundly comprehend our current situation of hyper-audiovisuality. First come the serious areas: politics, economics, society, energy, health, ecology. Culture is inevitably placed at the end of books, magazines, journals, and media of general interest, while photography, –if mentioned at all– is inserted in the margin of the arts (or employed as illustrations). In fact, photography should be conceived as one of the fundamental elements for our understanding of the past and the present, and one of the elements shaping our perception as the future flows towards us. Photographs are the basic unit of information in the new social media, and over the past 180 years they have increasingly come to be positioned at the very center of the act of weaving our webs of meaning. In the year 2000, 85 billion chemical photographs were taken.12 Cellphones appeared that year, and by 2017, some 1.2 trillion digital photographs were being taken, and 1.2 billion were uploaded to Google every day. Its centrality in modern life notwithstanding, photography’s marginality within academia is reflected in the scarcity of institutions and programs dedicated to its study, outside of the dominant paradigm of art history (where it is also marginalized). Fortunately, places such as the Centro de Fotografía de Montevideo and the Centro de la Imagen in Mexico City have opened spaces for the analysis, exhibition, and preservation of documentary photography. Academia has begun to wake up to the hyperaudiovisual world and some universities –for example in Brazil and Mexico– have developed undergraduate and postgraduate programs in History departments to study photographs and include them as instruments of analysis. We believe that every discipline must recognize the “visual turn” and incorporate photography rigorously. As historians, we feel that our discipline could well offer a crucial key to the study of these documents that, more than 180 years after the invention of photography, still cannot be easily analyzed with words. We hope that this book will provide some new methods of photohistory: to analyze contextualization, itinerancy and the iconization of photographs, and note the importance of imagining (and liberating) little-known archives.

12 SANDWEISS, Martha, “Seeing History: Thinking About and With Photographs”, The Western Historical Quarterly 51 (29020), p. 23.

Fernando Aguayo’s text, “The Mexican ‘Catalogue’ of Gove and North, 1883-1885”, is based on the results of an interdisciplinary research project using methodologies from historical and social sciences, documentation, curatorship, and heritage conservation for the reconstruction of a hypothetical catalogue compiled by American photographers Otis M. Gove and F.E. North in Mexico between 1883 and 1885. The purpose of the research is to recover the professional practices of this firm, and to contextualize photographic documents so that they can be reliably used in the study of various social processes of the time.

“Photographic Practices in Modern Brazil: The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries”, by Ana María Mauad, Mariana Muaze and Marcos Felipe de Brum Lopes, analyzes the history of photographic practices, and the role of photography, in Brazilian visual culture. During the nineteenth century, the production of portrait and landscape photography was highly valued; in the twentieth century, the focus shifted to public photography, mainly press photography, but also onto photographs taken by state agencies and those created in the art worlds. The argument draws on an encyclopedic framework including both original research and the historiographical literature on issues central to the debates on photography in modern Brazil.

The chapter by John Mraz, “Photohistories of the Mexican Revolution”, was not included in the 2015 Spanish book.13 Here, he argues that the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) is probably the most photographed, almost certainly that of which more photographs have been preserved, and without doubt that of which the photographic imagery has been most studied, of any such social upheaval in the world. The focus is largely on the books produced in relation to the celebration of the Centennial of the Mexican Revolution (2010). It begins by considering the photographic albums produced during the armed struggle, and the picture histories that came out afterwards. It then analyzes the development of scholarly research in this media since 1980, culminating in the photohistories published around the Centennial, in which the most important advances are identified, and new areas of research are indicated.

In her chapter, “From Icons to Documents: Photographs of the 1973 General Strike in Uruguay”, Magdalena Broquetas explores the documen-

13 An updated version of Mraz’s chapter in the 2015 book was published as “Seeing Photographs Historically: A View from Mexico”, in MRAZ, History and Modern Media, op.cit., pp. 61-116.

tary value of the photographs produced by the Communist newspaper, El Popular, during the general strike that took place in Uruguay in response to the 1973 coup d’état. Considering its emblematic quality as an icon of civil society’s active resistance during the military dictatorship, the photographic series on the strike is studied in its specificity, considering the context in which the photographs were produced and distributed, and the characteristics of the photojournalistic project of the first leftist newspaper to give a privileged space to photography. This chapter is a contribution to the history of documentary photography in Latin America and includes a methodological reflection on the use of images as documents in the construction of social and political history.

Alberto del Castillo analyzes two photographs that have played a significant role in the continent’s recent history in his chapter, “Between Embrace and Confrontation: A Dialogue Between Two Iconic End-of-Century Images in Latin America”. A photograph taken by Marcelo Ranea documented the supposed “embrace” of a Madre de la Plaza de Mayo and a soldier towards the end of the Argentine dictatorship in 1983. The other image was taken by Pedro Valtierra in 1998, capturing the indigenous women of X´oyep, Chiapas, Mexico, as they push back against the army’s invasion of their lands. Both pictures were awarded the International Prize “Rey de España”, and became relevant political icons whose impact influenced the political transition in both countries and were variously used by all political forces.

In “Photojournalism and the Malvinas War: A Symbolic Battle”, Cora Gamarnik presents a historical reconstruction of some of the photographs taken on 2 April 1982, the day the Argentine troops disembarked on the Falkland (Malvinas) Islands. She examines the ways in which history, politics, and photography –in particular, photojournalism– intersected within the context of a conventional war initiated by the military dictatorship then ruling in Argentina. Gamarnik reconstructs the context in which the pictures were taken, how they were taken, by whom, and how they circulated in the media, where they played a key role in the development of events. The rather circuitous path this work has taken gave us the opportunity to reflect on how multi-varied the different approaches are when studying photographs today. It is heartening to see the intellectual and academic worlds finally beginning to understand that the new technologies are the very thor-

oughfares of communication. And that the unit at the core of those technologies is the photograph. How this medium is studied will depend upon the discipline the scholar brings to that analysis. But our experiences with English-language studies of photography have left us concerned that postmodern literary theory has acquired a significance such that its orthodoxy is stifling alternative approaches. The study of photography is a fledging field with few established figures, and the questions are many and crucial: whose publications will be accepted (or not), whose reviews will be positive (or negative), whose conference panels proposals will be accepted (or not), what scholars will be invited to those panels (or not), what colleagues will be judged by peers who understand the particular disciplinary perspective from where they approach photography (or not).

If historians fail to engage with our hyper-visual world, we are concerned that photographic study will be defined, in the Humanities, by work in Art History or postmodern literary theory, the two fields that threaten to dominate the area today. Every discipline must incorporate image analysis; it is a sine qua non in today’s universities. Nonetheless, the methods of art historians, literary scholars, and historians are so different from one another that it is important each area develop its own ways to include this medium. If the only models offered for constructing histories with photos are those provided by colleagues from art or literature, we fear historians will be discouraged because they will find that most art history approaches are largely irrelevant to exploring vernacular photography, and that they are little prepared for the speculative morass of literature studies. The varieties of photohistory we offer here explore the manifold ways in which the past can be analyzed through and with photographs, and how photographs make history in different ways.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Azoulay, Ariella, Civil Imagination: A Political Ontology of Photography, tr. Louise Bethlehem, London, Verso, 2012.

Barthes, Roland, Camera Lucida; Reflections on Photography, tr. Richard Howard, New York, Hill & Wang, 1981.

Eagleton, Terry, After Theory, New York, Basic Books, 2003.

Eagleton, Terry, Materialism, New Haven, Yale University Press, 2016.

Elkins, James, Visual Studies: A Skeptical Introduction, New York, Routledge, 2003.

Flusser, Vilém, Into the Universe of Technical Images, tr. Nancy Ann Roth, Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 2011.

Flusser, Vilém, Towards a Philosophy of Photography, ed. Derek Bennett. Göttingen, European Photography, 1984.

Jameson, Frederic, The Cultural Turn: Selected Writings on the Postmodern, 1983-1998, London, Verso, 1998.

Nichols, Bill, Representing Reality: Issues and Concepts in Documentary, Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1991.

Sandweiss, Martha, “Seeing History: Thinking About and With Photographs,” The Western Historical Quarterly 51 (2020): 1-28.

1. PHOTOHISTORIES OF THE MEXICAN REVOLUTION

Instituto de Ciencias Sociales y Humanidades “Alfonso Vélez Pliego”

Benemérita Universidad Autónoma de Puebla

The awakening of the dead in those revolutions served to glorify new struggles rather than old ones, to magnify the present task in the imagination rather than flee from achieving it in reality, to rediscover the spirit of revolution, not to make its ghost walk about again.

The Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) is probably the most photographed, almost certainly that of which more photographs have been preserved, and without doubt that of which the photographic imagery of any such social upheaval has been most studied in the world. There have been few revolutions, and those covered extensively by photography are even fewer; it could well be that we would find no more than the Mexican, the Soviet, the Chinese, the Vietnamese, the Cuban, and the Nicaraguan revolutions. Moreover, the photography of these conflicts has rarely been analyzed in terms of authors and their allegiances or the circulation of the images; and the discussions regarding the content of the images are often uninformative and/or erroneous.2

1 MARX, Karl, “The Eighteen Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte,” in MARX, K., ENGELS, F., LENIN, V., On Historical Materialism, Moscow, Progress Publishers, 1972, p. 121.

2 I have briefly discussed the photography of other revolutions in MRAZ, John, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, Austin, University of Texas Press, 2012, p. 259.

The Centennial of the Mexican Revolution, 2010

If any doubts existed about the primacy of the Mexican contribution to the photography of revolutions, they were definitively erased by the activities surrounding the 2010 Centennial. During the period from around 2008 to 2017, a great number of books and articles were commissioned and/ or published, congresses were organized, photographic exhibits were commissioned and mounted, and Internet sites were established, relating to the armed struggle. This affluence of activities offers what we might call a “visual socio-economy”, a microcosm of how photographic studies are stimulated by Mexican institutions, many of which participated by providing opportunities to publish works, to create exhibitions, and to fund congresses.3

It is interesting that, even under the reactionary PAN (Partido de Acción Nacional) government –which showed more interest in the celebration of the 1810 Bicentennial independence movement–, the ambience created by such opportunities led many researchers, writers, and curators to concentrate their efforts on the event, knowing that they would find an audience for their work. Mexico appears to be the most productive Latin America country regarding photographic studies, and the extraordinary output produced during the Centennial consolidated its position.4 When I undertook the task of providing an overview of the works published around the Centennial at the invitation of photohistorian Ernesto Peñaloza, I discovered that the pile of books reached a height of about a meter!5

My intention in this chapter is to attempt to determine where we Mexican photo historians began prior to the Centennial, and how the research generated by this celebration has developed our knowledge of the

3 I am appropriating the useful term, visual economy, introduced in POOLE, Deborah, Vision, Race, and Modernity: A Visual Economy of the Andean Image World, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1997. I have added the “socio” because in Mexico the social connections one has are of great importance in receiving invitations to curate exhibits and publish books.

4 See the comments by José Antonio Navarrete and Andrea Noble on the “unusually numerous community” of photohistorians, in MRAZ, John, History and Modern Media: A Personal Journey, Nashville, Vanderbilt University Press, 2021, pp. 75-79.

5 I was invited to give the keynote address at the conference, Fotohistoria de la Revolución Mexicana, UNAM, 2017. To have included all the magazine issues that were dedicated to the revolution’s photography would have created another couple of meter-high piles.

imagery produced around the revolution, as well as advancing the general study of photography.6 I have also included some later works that build upon studies directly funded by the Centennial. Moreover, I hope to identify some of the areas in which we can fruitfully continue to expand the historical study of Mexican imagery. One aspect of particular interest is the participation of regional studio photographers.

Picture histories

The photographic albums that were published during the revolution itself are one aspect that was brought to light by investigations stimulated by the Centennial. The earliest of these appears to have been Revolución Evolucionista de México, which photohistorian Samuel Villela, the indefatigable investigator of the revolution in Guerrero State, has identified as “The first visual history album of the Mexican Revolution”.7 The author asserts that the idea to publish this work originated with William MacCann Hudson, the U.S. director of an import-export firm, Hudson & Billings, which produced and sold postcards, as well as other merchandise. The postcards are credited to Emilia Billings, Hudson’s partner, but they were probably made by the photographers José Pintos and John Curd, who had established themselves in Acapulco, along with several other postcard producers, in the port. While the number of photographic studios indicated the importance this business would acquire as the port became a tourist attraction, the imagemakers themselves must have lived a precarious existence at that time, because Hudson’s daughter described Curd as “an American resident in Acapulco… He occasionally attended a limited clientele, providing services

6 I am employing the concept, “photohistorian”, to describe historians who engage rigorously with the medium. Whether they doing histories with or of photographs, there is often so much overlap between these tasks in the actual investigations that it makes sense to describe the discipline as photohistory. See MRAZ, History and Modern Media, op.cit., p. 5-6.

7 VILLELA, Samuel, “Los álbumes fotográficos de la revolución mexicana”, Dimensión Antropológica 24:69 (2017): p. 153. See Villela’s analysis of Revolución Evolucionista de México in this article, as well as four photographs, including one of “descamisados”, the shirtless insurgents mentioned below. The facsimile copy of this album, with my introduction, is now in press with the INAH.

as simple as pulling teeth, but he was a professional photographer and had a studio in his house”.8

Edited by the firm of Hudson & Billings, Revolución Evolucionista was produced in Hamburg, Germany, by the printers Theiner & Janowitzer. The photographs in the book present the two sides in conflict, largely through images of their leaders. For example, a photograph each of General Ambrosio Figueroa, chief of the Maderista troops, and Coronel Emilio Gallardo, Military Commandant of Acapulco, share the first page. Although the work criticizes the “Oaxaquen satrap,” it does so without naming Porfirio Díaz. In one of the few photographs of interest, the underclasses are represented by the rebel “descamisados” who pose shirtless with lever-action 30 caliber rifles. However, in general, the work appears to attempt to straddle the fence between the Maderistas and the Porfirian troops; for example, it affirms that “All the federal officers had very democratic ideas and were in agreement with the reforms proclaimed by the revolution”.9

The title itself refers to a “revolución evolucionista,” and the book’s political ambivalence no doubt derives from the promulgation of evolutionism as an official philosophy of the Porfiriato in response to the characterization of many 19th century Spanish American republics as lands of revolutionary upheaval.10 Hence, the word “revolution” had to be avoided, given its violent connotations.11 One expression of what might be considered to be an alternative to the social uprisings called for by Marxists in this period can be found in the immensely popular and internationally circulated book of 1907, Creative Evolution, by the French philosopher, Henri Bergson. There,

8 Concha Hudson Batani, cited in VILLELA, Samuel, unpublished manuscript, “Revolución Evolucionista de México”, p. 26.

9 HUDSON, William MacCann, Revolución Evolucionista de México, Hamburg, Theiner & Janowitzer, 1911, p. 12.

10 See, LOMNITZ, Claudio, Death and the Idea of Mexico, Brooklyn, Zone Books, 2005. p. 393. Note the constant reference to México’s evolution in the works of Justo Sierra, the most important of Porfirian intellectuals, who founded the UNAM and served as the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

11 VILLELA, “Los álbumes fotográficos de la revolución mexicana”, op.cit., p. 153. Miguel Ángel Berumen noted that Agustín Víctor Casasola’s first project, in 1918, for an album on the revolution was to be titled, “Evolución nacional. Álbum Histórico Gráfico”. BERUMAN, Miguel Ángel, ed., México: fotografía y revolución, Mexico City, Fundación Televisa and Lunwerg, 2009, p. 297.

“the new is ever upspringing,” as if social transformations were a result of nature’s “élan vital” rather than class conflict.12 Revolución Evolucionista is almost certainly the first book to evidence a process that marks the photography of the Mexican Revolution: the mutation of studio imagemakers into street photographers and, in some cases, into photojournalists. It also testifies to the importance of regional photographers in documenting this civil war. A book with many photographs was published that same year by a Spanish journalist, Gonzalo G. Rivero, Hacia la verdad: Episodios de la revolución. 13 This work is essentially an illustrated chronical of the period immediately after the defeat of the Porfirian forces up until the arrival of Madero in Mexico City. It contains 111 uncredited photographs, although it would appear that the majority were taken by the photojournalist Samuel Tinoco, according to Miguel Ángel Berumen.14 Rivero only mentions Tinoco once in the text, but he celebrates Jimmy Hare, “one of the most recognized professionals of this genre in the entire world”.15 The images are of political and military leaders, crowds in the streets, soldiers on both sides, scenes of the destruction of Ciudad Juárez, and political meetings. One interesting commentary is that which identifies Madero as “A sworn enemy of photography and, above all, of the pose”.16 The book serves principally for photohistorians to date images from the Casasola Archive and, in my case, to become aware of the dangers of decontextualized speculation. In Photographing the Mexican Revolution, I identified an image of Maderista troops as “Villistas in front of a train, ca. 1915”. [FIGURE 1] I related the fact that the man in the foreground had turned his back to the camera to what I described as evidence of “a fundamental change in the revolution’s imagery,” that of abandoning the posed photo for the spontaneous shot.17 Once again, we see that our primary task as photohistorians is that of contextualizing images.

12 BERGSON, Henri, Creative Evolution, tr. Arthur Mitchell, New York, Henry Holt, 1911, p. 180. This position is in line with the Maderista rebellion, as can be seen in the Partido Popular Evolucionista’s support for him.

13 RIVERO, Gonzalo G., Hacia la verdad: Episodios de la revolución, Mexico City, Editora Nacional, 1911.

14 Ibid., 60. BERUMEN, México: fotografía y revolución, op. cit., p. 386.

15 RIVERO, Ibid., p. 15.

16 Ibid., p. 22.

17 MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit., pp. 170-171.

The Decena Trágica (9-18 February 1913) was the event of the revolution most photographed by Mexicans, and a number of important studies have recently been compiled by Rebeca Monroy Nasr and Samuel Villela.18 The ten days were documented extensively by imagemakers, from experienced photojournalists and postcard producers to amateurs. Among the projects to produce albums on the bloody coup are those of Manuel Ramos and Sabino Osuna.19 Ramos was one of the most established and conservative photojournalists, and Acacia Maldonado argued in 2005 that he had maintained a distance from the fighting, an assertion that I repeated in my book on the revolution’s photography.20 However, later research by photohistorian Alfonso Morales about this photographer uncovered an album in the library of Southern Methodist University of 43 photos that Ramos evidently planned to publish under the title of “A Fire in Mexico City”.21 Further, Villela argues that the relatively broad coverage of Ramos “makes evident the photographer’s ubiquity, as his earliest photos were taken just hours after the conflict began, on a Sunday morning”.22 Despite the fact that Ramos was a devout Guadalupano (a worshipper of the Virgen of Guadalupe), he spent that Sunday covering the raging battle, as he evidently would for the next nine days in order to construct a narrative for his planned album. We still know little about Sabino Osuna, but one thing is clear: he planned to publish an album of photographs on the Decena Trágica, for which he made at least two covers. One cover was titled “The Eternal Winner,” and is composed of a photomontage with a background composed with a drawing of a ghostly skeleton on horseback, draped in a shroud and holding a scythe, while in the foreground, photographed soldiers man a

18 MONROY NASR, Rebeca and VILLELA, Samuel, eds., La imagen cruenta: Centenario de la Decena Trágica, Mexico City, INAH, 2017.

19 A yet-unstudied project is that titled, “Decena Trágica. Álbum”, which is made up of 16 photos, some signed by Heliodoro J. Gutiérrez. See ESCORZA RODRÍGUEZ, Daniel, Agustín Víctor Casasola. El fotógrafo y su agencia, Mexico City, INAH, 2014, 151.

20 MALDONADO VALERA, Acacia Ligia, “Manuel Ramos en la prensa ilustrada capitalina de principios de siglo, 1897-1913”, Licenciatura Thesis, Historia, UNAM, 2005, pp. 194-195; MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit., p. 133.

21 MORALES, Alfonso, Manuel Ramos: Fervores y epifanías en el México moderno, Mexico City, CONACULTA/Planeta, 2012, p. 72.

22 VILLELA, “Los álbumes fotográficos de la revolución mexicana”, op.cit., p. 157.

cannon.23 The other cover is also a photomontage: a wild-eyed runaway riderless horse flees from the Palacio Nacional, and the corpses in front of it.

[FIGURE 2] The horse may be an allusion to that ridden by General Bernardo Reyes, a leader of the coup, who was killed when he led the attack on the National Palace. Reyes attempted to make his horse charge Maderista General Lauro Villar, which caused Villar’s soldiers to shoot Reyes, who fell dead off his horse. This horse was later a centerpiece in the parade and celebrations of the coup on Sunday 23 February, held in the Zócalo “In Honor of the National Army”, an augury of the militarism that Huerta would impose on Mexican society.24 It would appear that Osuna began documenting

23 CHILCOTE, Ronald, ed., Mexico at the Hour of Combat: Sabino Osuna’s Photographs of the Mexican Revolution, Laguna Beach, Laguna Wilderness Press, 2012, p. 28.

24 MONROY NASR, Rebeca, “Victoriano Huerta: Las imágenes del dictador”, in La imagen cruenta: Centenario de la Decena Trágica, eds. MONROY NASR and VILLELA, op.cit., p. 294; MONROY NASR, Rebeca, Ezequiel Carrasco: Entre los nitratos de plata y las balas de bronce,

the Tragic Ten Days with the president’s march to retake the National Palace on the morning of 9 February. He photographed the insurgents from within the Ciudadela as well as the loyal soldiers outside, shooting with their rifles, and at rest; he took pictures in streets full of dead humans and animals, and the inside of destroyed buildings. Finally, he made a portrait of the coup leaders after their victory, as a way of capping off his planned narrative. We have begun to piece together information about Osuna. One U.S. historian, Ronald Chilcote, asserts that he was a studio portraitist in Mexico City, located in a camera store, “La Violeta”, which was near the Cathedral and the National Palace.25 Photohistorian Arturo Guevara Escobar also mentions “La Violeta”, and provides a wide perspective of Osuna’s varied activities, stating that he “was an agent of cinema companies, a promoter of opera and ballet artists and a prolific postcard editor”.26 “He probably worked with a large-format View camera popular among his guild, although he may have also employed the more portable single-lens reflex Graflex in covering street scenes. Monroy Nasr affirms that this studio photographer and postcard producer “was one of the photographers who most amply covered the events, making some 300 plates… In all his images, Osuna’s experience is evident, and particularly so in the portraits of the rebel soldiers and leaders, for the posed attitudes –the influence of studio photography–that these people present to the camera”.27 Osuna’s “extraordinary technical quality” was praised by Miguel Ángel Berumen, who asserted that “He made perhaps some of the best graphic testimonies of the revolution”.28 Respected photohistorian Ignacio Gutiérrez Ruvalcaba offers a provocative assertion, stating that Sabino Osuna “Served with Francisco Villa’s troops, and later with the Constitutionalist army”.29 According to photographic Mexico City, INAH, 2011, p. 106; see a photomontage of the horse and the crowd in La Semana Ilustrada, 4 March 1913.

25 CHILCOTE, ed., Mexico at the Hour of Combat, op.cit., p. 8.

26 GUEVARA ESCOBAR, Arturo, “H.J. Gutiérrez: Anuncios de ocasión, se venden postales”, in La imagen cruenta: Centenario de la Decena Trágica, ed. MONROY NASR and VILLELA, op.cit., p. 214.

27 MONROY NASR, Rebeca, “El tripié y la cámara como galardón”, in La Ciudadela de Fuego: A ochenta años de la Decena Trágica, 47-52, Mexico City, Conaculta/Archivo General de la Nación/INAH/INEHRM, 1993, p. 48.

28 BERUMEN, ed., México: fotografía y revolución, op. cit., p. 384.

29 GUTIÉRREZ RUVALCABA, Ignacio, Prensa y fotografía durante la Revolución Mexicana, Mexico City, Biblioteca Miguel Lerdo de Tejada, 2010, p. 17.

3. Photographer unknown (Gerónimo Hernández or Sabino Osuna?). (No title). Cadet of the Colegio Militar defending the National Palace. Mexico City, 9 February 1913. © Inv. # 687591, Fondo Casasola, SINAFO-Fototeca Nacional del INAH, Secretaría de Cultura.

conservationist, Peter Briscoe, “Osuna’s own photos are fine-grained, and print sharply in a full-range of black-and-white tones”.30

Curator Tyler Stallings points to what he describes as the “Neoclassical triangle composition” in several of Osuna’s images, among them the photo of a nurse giving water to a wounded man in the street, which he asserts is a “classic Pietá image”, that employs the sharp black and white contrast to represent her as “a kind of intermediary between the forces of light and dark”.31 Another photo that has been credited to Osuna also seems to have a triangular composition, and could be one of the most dramatic images

30 BRISCOE, Peter, “The Sabino Osuna Photographs on the Mexican Revolution: The Story of an Acquisition”, in Mexico at the Hour of Combat, ed. CHILCOTE, op.cit. pp. 93-94.

31 STALLINGS, Tyler, “The Osuna Collection: A New Chapter in War Photography”, in Mexico at the Hour of Combat, in CHILCOTE, ed., ibid. p. 58; see the photo of the nurse in MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit., p. 136.

of the Mexican Revolution.32 [FIGURE 3] The picture is of a Cadet of the Colegio Militar, presumably a member of the “escort of honor” that was formed at their base in Chapultepec Castle, the presidential residence.33 They accompanied Madero when he went to the National Palace to take control of the situation. The photo would appear to be taken in the midst of combat – the Cadet seems to be sliding into a position that will enable him kneel, and to lower the rifle butt down to the street so it would serve to resist the rifle’s recoil when the grenade is launched; one leg is pushed straight out in front, the other bending to get his knee on the ground (or he could be in the act of standing up from a kneeling position after having decided not to use his grenade yet). However, but by the time the Colegio Militar forces arrived, the Palace had already been taken back from the students in the Escuela de Aspirantes, the other military school in Mexico, who were allied with the coup leaders.

There are very few combat images by Mexicans during the revolution, and this may well have been “directed” by the photographer on that day, perhaps as a tribute to the Colegio Militar Cadets, who remained loyal to Madero.34 It could also have been taken during the nine days of combat that would ensue. Villela encountered another photo credited to Osuna in which the cadet is posing in the middle of 10 soldiers who kneel and point their rifles down a street, pretending to be shooting.35 In this photo, the cadet plays to the camera, and several of the soldiers either look and/or smile at the lens. This may indicate that the cadet’s ocular appeal was “discovered” by the photographer, who then took him around to pose in different situations. He is a lithe, tallish, handsome, light-skinned mestizo, quite dapper in his cadet uniform, especially compared to the dark skins, squat bodies, and filthy clothing of the loyalist soldiers around him. However, whether it

32 Villela identifies it as being by Osuna, because it is so catalogued in the Fototeca Nacional. VILLELA, Samuel, “Las fotos y los fotógrafos del ‘cuartelazo’”, in La imagen cruenta: Centenario de la Decena Trágica, eds. MONROY NASR and VILLELA, op.cit., p. 191.

33 GILLY, Adolfo, Cada quien morirá por su lado: Una historia militar de la Decena Trágica, Mexico City, Era, 2013, p. 77.

34 On directed photojournalism, see MRAZ, John, “What’s Documentary about Photography? From Directed to Digital Photojournalism,” Zonezero Magazine, 2002, www.zonezero.com”.

35 I am grateful to Samuel for sharing this information with me, and our subsequent conversations about these two photos. The photo is in the Fondo Casasola, Fototeca Nacional, inventory Nº 451469.

was made in the midst of combat or not, it is a very advanced style of action shot. I can think of no equivalents in the Mexican Revolution, and only the very best of the Spanish Civil War images that attempt to reconstruct combat photography, are not obviously posed photographs.

Capa’s classical picture of the militiaman at his moment of death marks the high point of Spanish Civil War images created by the photographer’s intervention in the scene. In the case of Capa, it would appear that the militiaman was posing for the photographer when he was killed by a Fascist sniper.36 Many of that war’s most recognized photographers made unconvincing attempts at imaging war, as can be seen in pictures of soldiers photographed heroically from a low angle, face-on –as if the photographer had placed himself in the direct line of enemy fire– gritting their teeth and intense faces while they raise up one hand and hold their arm straight back with the grenade they are about to throw. In this case, I am describing a photograph by Agustí Centelles, but one can find other examples among imagemakers such as David Seymour, Hans Namuth and Georg Reisner.37 Moreover, I have seen these images in books where they are carefully selected out of large archives, and published in terms of what we today find important about documentary photography, which would exclude blatant posing. In my research into a newspaper that appeared during the Civil War, Solidaridad Obrera, a visually poor publication in general, I discovered that the photography that professed to be combat photography was composed exclusively of the most obvious staging. I remain somewhat uncertain about Figure 3, which is an indication of its powerful realism. However, despite the similarity of the triangular composition, I have my doubts about it being an Osuna photo and am tempted to credit it to the photojournalist for the Maderista newspaper, Nueva Era, Gerónimo Hernández, who I discuss below.38

36 This conclusion was arrived at in a discussion that included John G. Morris, the famous photoeditor, Robert Whelan, Capa’s biographer, and myself; see MRAZ, John, “From Robert Capa’s ‘Dying Republican Soldier’ to Political Scandal in Contemporary Mexico: Reflections on Digitalization and Credibility”, Zonezero Magazine, 2004. www.zonezero.com”; the polemic with Morris is published at Zonezero.com. The Capa photo still generates controversy.

37 BENLLOCH, Pep, Agustín Centelles: Fotografías de la Guerra Civil, Valencia, Excm. Ajuntament de València, 1986, np; see other examples in FORMIGUERA, Pere, Agustín Centelles: Fotoperiodista (1909-1985), Barcelona, Fundacio Caixa de Catalunya, 1988, pp. 89, 93, 137.

38 The fact that this photo is not found in the Osuna collection now in the possession of the University of California, Riverside, may be significant.

I believe that the study of photographic albums produced during the revolution could render useful results in determining the importance assigned to these publications by the different forces –for example, we have not seen any such albums by Villistas or Zapatistas– as well as identifying the photographers who participated in that struggle. An album was funded by the Constitutionalist army, and edited by Manuel F. Novelo, the Deputy Head of the Office of Information of the Ejército de Oriente under Pablo González: Álbum conmemorativo de la visita del Sr. General de División D. Pablo González, a la Ciudad de Toluca. 39 The book opens with a portrait of Venustiano Carranza, which is no surprise, knowing of “the love of Don Venustiano to have his portrait made”, according to Martín Luis Guzmán, who referred to his “Tender narcissism of sixty years!”.40 Pablo González appears in the majority of the photographs, alone or accompanied by his staff, chatting with the “pueblo”, supervising the distribution of bread and money to the populace, as well as being the centerpiece of an evening soiree of music and speeches given in his honor and attended by a “select public” in the Teatro Principal. This too is no surprise, for according to Berumen, he was the most-photographed of all the revolutionary leaders.41 Although Berumen has identified José Mora as the official photographer of Pablo González, no photographer is mentioned by name in this album.42 In general the album’s texts rail against the “reactionary hydra” personified by Victoriano Huerta, who had left the country in July 1914, more than a year before the events documented in the album. At that moment, the Villistas and Zapatistas represented the opposition to the Constitutionalists, but they are not mentioned. However, they are visually personified as immature and childlike in the album’s only photograph of any real interest, which purports to show the surrender of an alleged sergeant of the Convencionista forces, those led by Villa and Zapata, to a member of Pablo González’s staff. [FIGURE 4]

39 NOVELO, Manuel F., Álbum conmemorativo de la visita del Sr. General de División D. Pablo González, a la Ciudad de Toluca, con motivo de la toma de posesión del Gobierno de dicho Estado por el Gral. Lic. Pascual Morales y Molina, 18 a 23 de octubre de 1915, Toluca, Santiago Galas, 1916.

40 GUZMÁN, Martín Luís, El águila y la serpiente, Mexico City: Colección Málaga, 1978 [1928], p. 337.

41 ACOSTA, Anasella, “Miguel Ángel Berumen: Villa sabía que el poder militar no lo es todo”, Cuartoscuro 98 (2009), p. 47.

42 BERUMEN, ed., México: fotografía y revolución, op. cit., p. 384.

4. Photographer unknown. Un rendido. Sargento 1º “Convencional”… Saludando a un oficial del E.M. del Sr. Gral. González (A surrendered sergeant of the Convencionalist forces saluting an office of the General Staff of General González). Manuel F. Novelo, Álbum conmemorativo de la visita del Sr. General de División

D. Pablo González, a la Ciudad de Toluca, con motivo de la toma de posesión del Gobierno de diecho Estado por el Gral. Lic. Pascual Morales y Molina, 18 a 23 de octubre de 1915, Toluca, La Helvetia, 1916. Biblioteca del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas de la UNAM. Agradezco a Ernesto Peñaloza su ayuda en obtener esta imagen.

Post-Revolutionary picture histories

The historias gráficas published after the revolution shaped both national identity and the study of photography in Mexico. Daniel Escorza’s 2014 book on Agustín Víctor Casasola made an extraordinary contribution to research on this protagonist of Mexican photojournalism and the visual portrayal of history, about whom no major investigation had been carried out, while many misconceptions circulated.43 One of the most prevalent was what I had called, “The Myth of the Casasolas”, the title of a chapter in which I implied that Agustín Víctor had been the originator of the idea that he was, according to French photohistorian Marion Gautreau, “The quintessential photographer of the Revolution”.44 Though his failure to identify the different photographers whose images appeared in his series, Álbum histórico gráfico, rendered him suspect, he nonetheless clearly identified his role as that of a “recopilador” (compiler), as well as a photographer, on the cover. As Escorza correctly asserts, “At no time did Agustín Casasola assert he was the author of [all] the photographs”.45 Rebeca Monroy is no doubt correct in asserting that “In 1978 the formal study of photohistories began in our country”.46 However, I believe that the albums produced during the revolution, and the historias gráficas that followed upon their heels during the rest of the twentieth century have been influential in giving Mexican photographic studies a different orientation than those produced in other Latin American countries, focusing on issues of history rather than art, as I have discussed elsewhere.47

43 ESCORZA, RODRÍGUEZ, Agustín Víctor Casasola, op.cit.

44 MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit., pp. 45-52; GAUTREAU, Marion, “La Ilustración Semanal y el Archivo Casasola”, in “Fotografía y sociedad: nuevos enfoques y líneas de investigación”, Special Issue, Cuicuilco 14:41 (2007): p. 115.

45 ESCORZA RODRÍGUEZ, Agustín Víctor Casasola, op.cit., p. 155. On the cover, the statement, “Fotografías y recopilación por Agustín V. Casasola e hijos”, indicates that the Casasola made some of the photos. Escorza develops an important close analysis of the series, Albúm histórico gráfico, pp. 152-179.

46 MONROY NASR, Rebeca, “Los quehaceres de los fotohistoriadores mexicanos: ¿eurocentristas, americanistas o nacionalistas?,” in “Fotografía, cultura y sociedad en América Latina en el siglo XX. Nuevas perspectivas”, Special Issue, L’Ordinaire des Amériques 219 (2015), https:// orda.revues.org/2287.”

47 See MRAZ, History and Modern Media, op.cit., pp. 72-75.

When Gustavo Casasola returned to the mission his father had undertaken, his first production was the series, Historia gráfica de la Revolución, which began to be published in 1942, subsidized in the beginning by President Manuel Ávila Camacho (1940-1946).48 It continued to grow during the 1940s and 1950s, stating it was a “recopilación”, as well as including Casasola photos. When the series changed its name to Historia gráfica de la Revolución Mexicana in 1960, it no longer identified itself as a “recopilación”, although Gustavo Casasola did not erase the names of other photographers from the images; this series was republished constantly until 1973.49

A year after Gustavo Casasola began to publish the series, Historia gráfica de la Revolución, Anita Brenner contributed to the illustrated history of the revolution with a work in English, The Wind that Swept Mexico. 50 The book contains 184 photographs selected by George Leighton from a great variety of sources, including the Casasola Archive and numerous graphic agencies such as Keystone View, Brown Brothers, European Pictures Services, Pix, Underwood & Underwood and Acme News Pictures, among others. Published by an important press, Harper & Brothers, the work was very favorably received in 1943, and was reviewed in various publications. One of the most influential U.S. historians of Latin America at that time, Leslie Byrd Simpson, wrote in the prestigious journal, Hispanic American Historical Review, that a “challenge which Miss Brenner’s book offers to the profession is its frank use of photographs as source material. Indeed, the extraordinary series of historical photographs… almost steals the scene”.51 The book was considered both important and possibly profitable by the University of Texas Press, which published the text in 1971, although the photographs are different from the 1943 work. One reviewer in a recog-

48 [CASASOLA, Gustavo], Historia gráfica de la Revolución, 25 Cuadernos, Mexico City, Editorial Archivo Casasola, 1942-1960.

49 CASASOLA, Gustavo, Historia gráfica de la Revolución Mexicana, 10 volumes, Mexico City, Editorial Gustavo Casasola y Trillas, 1960-1973.

50 BRENNER, Anita and LEIGHTON, George, The Wind that Swept Mexico; The History of the Mexican Revolution, 1910-1942, New York, Harper & Brothers, 1943. This book was published in Mexico as, La revolución en blanco y negro, Mexico City, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1980.

51 SIMPSON, Leslie Byrd, review of The Wind that Swept Mexico, Hispanic American Historical Review, 25:2 (1945): 259-260. The book was also reviewed in academic publications such as Foreign Affairs and Kirkus

nized journal, The Americas, asserted that, “Seldom does a 29-year-old work merit reprinting and even less seldom one which has twice the number of photograph pages (184) as narrative pages (106). Miss Brenner’s and Mr. Leighton’s work is of such merit”.52 It is worth noting that Mexican historians have never deigned to critique any of the multiple historias gráficas, although –and perhaps because– they have participated in them.53 Hence, both within Mexico and beyond its borders, studies on the photography of the revolution have largely focused on the national scene. However, the publication of Jefes, héroes y caudillos in 1986 was a step toward incorporating photography into the history of the revolution with a certain rigor. Many of the photographs had not circulated previously, alluding to the wealth of visual material yet unseen in the Casasola Archive. The short text by photohistorian Flora Lara Klahr was incisive and critical, long before other photohistorians developed this perspective. She spoke of the problem in the Casasola series –and picture histories in general– noting that “There is a tendency to insist on those events of which images have been conserved and to treat with less emphasis, or to omit, those of which no photographs were taken or collected”.54 Moreover, she identified the Positivist mentality leading to the belief in the objectivity and impartiality of photographs; and she also recognized the bias in the Casasola Archive that resulted from the fact that the collection was largely composed of images made by metropolitan photojournalists. Her insistence that Agustín Víctor was a collector as well as a photographer should have alerted those who praised the Casasolas’ ubiquity to the fact that he was not the author of all the images. Finally, she described the importance that the Casasola series had in defining the country’s history, “The works brought out by the Casasola Archive had an over-

52 GRONET, Richard W., review of The Wind that Swept Mexico, The Americas, 29:1 (1972): 113-114.

53 The only book (or article) to analyze the Mexican historias gráficas, focuses on the Casasola publications and was written by a Brazilian; see SAMPAIO BARBOSA, Carlos Alberto, A fotografia a servico de Clio. Uma interpretação da história visual da Revolução Mexicana (1900-1940), São Paulo, Editora unesp, 2006. I have reflected on Mexican illustrated histories in MRAZ, John, Looking for México: Modern Visual Culture and National Identity. Durham: Duke University Press, 2009, pp. 72-76, 192-200, and 226-235.

54 LARA KLAHR, Flora, “Agustín Víctor Casasola: Fotógrafo, coleccionista y editor”, in Jefes, héroes y caudillos, Mexico City, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1986, p. 106.

whelming success. They became the national photographic encyclopedia”, “an official calendar”, in which “the history of the nation is synonymous with the chronicle of the governments”.55

New directions in studying the photography of the Revolution

Although Jefes, héroes y caudillos was a crucial contribution to redefining the photography of the revolution, it was not the watershed that two other publications represented. One of them was already anticipated in Klahr’s assertion that Agustín was a collector. In his 1996 article, “A Fresh Look at the Casasola Archive”, Gutiérrez Ruvalcaba revealed that his research had determined that the Casasola Archive contained the work of at least 483 photographers.56 At that moment, this was a revelation that required all future scholars of the revolution to re-evaluate the question of authorship.57

The other watershed was completely unexpected. In 1998, anthropologists Blanca Jiménez and Samuel Villela published a book on the Salmerón family of photographers, that would redefine the photography of the revolution in three ways.58 In the first place, it established that Amando Salmerón was Emiliano Zapata’s photographer, by including the letter from the caudillo to the photographer in March 1914, instructing him to go to Chilpancingo.59 This, one of the very few communications between a revolutionary leader and a photographer to be discovered, documents the commitment of Salmerón to the Zapatista forces, while at the same time belying the widespread notion that the Zapatistas did not have an awareness of modern media.60 In the second place, Salmeron’s alliance with Zapatismo

55 Ibid., pp. 106-107.

56 GUTIÉRREZ RUVALCABA, Ignacio, “A Fresh Look at the Casasola Archive”, in “Mexican Photography”, Special Issue, History of Photography 20:3 (1996): pp. 191-195.

57 A few years later, I was talking with John Womack, and he asserted that he was not surprised by this news, as many people that he had talked with said much the same thing. However, it is clear that until Gutiérrez’s published research, this fact had not been firmly established.

58 JIMÉNEZ, Blanca and VILLELA, Samuel, Los Salmerón. Un siglo de fotografía en Guerrero, Mexico City, inah, 1998.

59 Ibid. 42.

60 The leading historian of Mexican cinema, Ángel Miquel, has uncovered two letters between the photographer, Jesús H. Abitia and Álvaro Obregón: De Abitia a Obregón, 27 August 1917, Fideicomiso Archivo Calles-Torreblanca, Fondo Álvaro Obregón, serie 20200, exp. 2, inv. 147,

leaves behind the myth of objectivity much promoted in the Casasola publications, as well as the idea that images of the revolution were to be found only in the Archivo Casasola.61 Finally, the work of Jiménez and Villela introduces the importance of the studio photographers outside of Mexico City, an insight that offers what might be considered as the most fruitful direction for future research on the photography of the revolution. The prolific photohistorian, Miguel Ángel Berumen, has provided us with several works that have greatly advanced the study of the photography made during the revolution. The first of these, 1911, was published in 2003, and documented the importance of foreign photographers in covering the Maderista rebellion. There he noted that, “By June 1911 [U.S. magazines] had published almost 100 photographs of the Mexican Revolution; Jimmy Hare was the author of most of them”.62

Hare was a well-known combat photographer, having covered the Cuban-Spanish-U.S. war in 1898, and the Russo-Japanese War of 1905. I believe that Hare may well have been the first modern photojournalist in the world. This is an important discovery for scholars of press photography, as we have generally tended to think that modern photojournalism begins with the Spanish Civil War of 1936-39, with photographers such as Robert Capa, Gerda Taro, and the Hermanos Mayo. For me, modern photojournalism is defined by an esthetic strategy composed of several elements: the photographs are spontaneous rather than posed; they have been taken in the midst of action and with a small camera that permits the photographer to enter a situation without being openly exposed to enemy fire; and the imagery often contains movement within the frame, either because that movement actually occurred, or because the photographer moved the camera slightly, or left the diaphragm open longer than necessary. Hare alluded leg. 1, doc. 1; and De Obregón a Abitia, 17 September 1917, Fideicomiso Archivo Calles-Torreblanca, Fondo Álvaro Obregón, serie 20200, exp. 2, inv. 147, leg. 1, doc. 2. Although Miquel’s work is basically on cinema, he did produce a useful article on Abitia’s documenting of the Constitutionalist campaigns, MIQUEL, Ángel, “El registro de Jesús H. Abitia de las campañas constitucionalistas”, in MIQUEL, Ángel, PICK, Zuzana, and DE LA VEGA ALFARO, Eduardo, Fotografía, cine y literatura de la Revolución mexicana, Cuernavaca, Universidad Autónoma del Estado de Morelos, 2004, PP. 7-30. I thank Ángel for sharing this information with me.

61 See my critique of Casasola’s “objectivity” in MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit., p. 49.

62 BERUMEN, Miguel Ángel, 1911, La batalla de Ciudad Juárez/II. Las imágenes, Ciudad Juárez, CuadroXCuadro, 2005 [2003], p. 56.

5. Jimmy Hare. (No title). Maderistas in combat, Ciudad Juárez, May 1911. James H. Hare Collection, Inv. 1343.

Harry Ransom Research Center, University of Texas.

to making such spontaneous imagery to register action in his foreword to Cecil Carnes’s biography Jimmy Hare: “I want to stress the fact here that what I did was to try to obtain pictures of action in the early days of war photography—not just static group scenes”.63

Hare’s capacity to capture movement in the frame can be seen in his image of Maderistas fighting in Ciudad Juárez. [FIGURE 5] He was able to work in the midst of combat because of his great courage, aided by the technology he himself had developed: a small camera that matched his own diminutive stature. His father, George, manufactured cameras which were

63 HARE, Jimmy, Foreword, CARNES, Cecil, Jimmy Hare: News Photographer; Half a Century with a Camera, New York, Macmillan, 1940, p. VIII. Italics in the original.

“in demand around the world”, because they were made with great skill and attention to detail.64 Jimmy was apprenticed to his father’s workshop, but left it to begin making his own small cameras. He was incorporating motion within the frame as early as 1898, but this style became more notable in the Mexican photos from the northern border.65 In 1911, Berumen also introduced us to the studio of Homer Scott and Otis Aultman, whose archive contains more than 2000 negatives of the revolution.66

Berumen brought out the book, Pancho Villa: La construcción del mito, in 2005 to counteract the myth created by several studies that focused on Villa’s international cinematic appearances. For example, the magazine, Reel Life, promoted the documentary of its parent company, the Mutual Film Corporation, by asserting that more than three times as many photos of Pancho Villa were being published than any other man alive.67 Berumen reorients the discussion toward what was happening in Mexico, arguing that “In Mexico, the influence of the myth in mass media was very small”.68 In 2009, Berumen coordinated the first in-depth study of the photography produced during the Mexican Revolution, México: fotografía y revolución. Invited by the Fundación Televisa to create their yearly gift to important figures in the world of business and politics, Berumen directed important essays written by first-class photography and art historians: Mauricio Tenorio Trillo, Laura González, Claudia Canales, Marion Gautreau, and Beru-

64 CARNES, Jimmy Hare, ibid., p. 5.

65 Gould and Greffe reproduce the 1898 photos in GOULD, Lewis and GREFFE, Richard, Photojournalist: The Career of Jimmy Hare, Austin, University of Texas Press, 1977.Photojournalist, 24, 26–27. See the movement in the Mexican images in the Harry Ransom Research Center, University of Texas, James H. Hare Collection, 1343; 1310. I am grateful to the Harry Ransom Center for awarding a research fellowship to carry out investigations on Jimmy Hare (David Douglas Duncan Endowment for Photojournalism/Andrew W. Mellon Foundation Research Fellowship Endowment, Harry Ransom Center, University of Texas, 2013).

66 BERUMEN, 1911, op.cit., p. 4.

67 BERUMEN, Miguel Ángel, Pancho Villa: La construcción del mito, Mexico City and Ciudad de Juárez, Oceano/, CuadroXCuadro, 2006 [2005], p. 29. Reel Life was owned by the Mutual Film corporation, so the article was essentially publicity for the film. Mutual had sold the rights to distribute the documentary in the U.S. to a company called “Mexican War Pictures.” I thank Miguel Ángel for providing me with this information.

68 Ibid. p. 51.

men himself.69 Berumen’s accomplishment was such that all the ensuing publications about the revolution’s photography were influenced by both the quality and quantity of information provided by this work. I know that my own study of that imagery could not have been written without standing on Berumen’s shoulders.

The illustrated press

Several Mexican photohistorians turned to the analysis of illustrated media. Ariel Arnal was the pioneer of these efforts, having completed his Master’s thesis in 2002 on the representation of Zapata in the metropolitan press; this work was finally published as a book, Atila de tinta y plata, in 2010 thanks to funding provided for the Centennial celebrations.70 The text had circulated as an obligatory reference among Mexican photographic researchers during almost ten years in the form of poorly-photocopied and blurry pages, sometimes bound in plastic, and often incomplete. The need of investigators to see how Arnal had carried out his extraordinary research was so great that these copies were better than nothing, and the work became a mythical text that was almost clandestine. How was it possible for it to acquire this status? I think that its reception resides in the audacity of the author to follow a less-traveled and more difficult road.

It would have been easy to construct Zapata’s image in the illustrated magazines –a medium that might appear marginal to us today but which was one of the few ways in which news images circulated in 1910-1915–basing the study on the cutlines and essays that related to the photos. But Ariel chose a task much harder when he decided to limit his study to the

69 Mexican governmental offices and banks produce sumptuous books at the year’s end to be given as gifts, but they rarely have the research quality and lasting value of this work. Although Berumen coordinated the research, he edited the book together with Claudia Canales. A smaller version of this enormous tome was published in the same year in a co-edition of Lunwerg and Fundación Televisa.

70 ARNAL LORENZO, Ariel, “La fotografía del zapatismo en la prensa de la Ciudad de México”, Master’s Thesis, History, Universidad Iberoamericana, 2002; ARNAL, Ariel, Atila de tinta y plata: fotografía del zapatismo en la prensa de la Ciudad de México entre 1910 y 1915, Mexico City, INAH, 2010.

images themselves. In this way he developed a new method to interrogate photos, which are mute, but will answer well-formulated questions. It may well be that some readers find some of his assertions to be too daring. For example, I do not agree with his position that Zapata was somehow aping the uniforms and pose of officers of the Rurales –the Porfirian national police force– and continue to follow the hypothesis of François Chevalier that Zapata “Habitually dressed in charro clothing: tight pants, big spurs, a short jacket, and a large sombrero with braiding”.71

Nonetheless, Arnal is opening up paths that those who come from disciplines other than history have not been able to offer us. One example is his carefully-researched and argued analysis of the structural absence of photographs in the metropolitan newspapers showing the Zapatistas with their customary banners of the Virgen of Guadalupe, a fundamental emblem of their movement as well as a crucial element of mexicanidad. Arnal argues sharply that, “The Zapatistas –predefined as not being Mexican because they did not deserve it– are not allowed to reflect any signs of being religious”.72 Given the significant number of images of Zapatistas beneath banners of the Virgen de Guadalupe or carrying her cards in their sombreros when they visit the Basilica, this is an important analysis of photographic absence.

A general study of the Prensa y fotografía durante la Revolución Mexicana was commissioned by the Biblioteca Miguel Lerdo de Tejada, a library that specializes in the social sciences, and offers the greatest possibilities for researchers to access newspapers and magazines from the past, together with the Hemeroteca Nacional.73 Gutiérrez Ruvalcaba was invited to curate the exhibition and write a short text for this slim volume of well-researched and finely-printed reproductions from magazines and newspapers published during the revolution, which was given free of charge by the Secretaría de Hacienda y Crédito Público. In his brief though insightful essay, Gutiérrez

71 ARNAL, Atila de tinta y plata, ibid., p. 79; CHEVALIER, François, “Un factor decisivo de la revolución agraria de México: el levantamiento de Zapata (1911 – 1919)”, Cuadernos Americanos 63:6 (1960): p. 177.

72 ARNAL, Ariel, “La devoción del salvaje. Religiosidad zapatista y silencio gráfico”, in “Fotografía, cultura y sociedad en América Latina en el siglo XX. Nuevas perspectivas”. Special Issue, L’Ordinaire des Amériques, 219 (2015). https://orda.revues.org/2287.

73 GUTIÉRREZ RUVALCABA, Prensa y fotografía durante la Revolución Mexicana, op.cit.

asserts that the majority of photographs that have survived of the revolution were those made by Mexico City photojournalists. He makes clear the constraints under which the photographers worked: “Press photography published during the revolution took place almost exclusively within the journalistic businesses whose owners were either a medullary center of those who benefited from the long government of Porfirio Díaz or, in other cases, those who identified with the urban social sector that was elitist and resistant to any radical social transformation”.74

He concludes that the imagery was almost exclusively of the forces and figures in power: Porfirio Díaz, Francisco León de la Barra, Francisco I. Madero, or Victoriano Huerta. With the fall of Huerta, many magazines ceased publishing, but those who replaced them still reflected the more conservative option: “The majority of the newborn journalistic businesses identify with the reformism of Venustiano Carranza’s revolution”.75 Although I had assumed that Heliodoro J. Gutiérrez was essentially a postcard photographer, this work identifies him as “a recognized photojournalist;” however, Ignacio did confirm my hypothesis that “his link to the Maderista movement was complete and without any doubts from the beginning of the conflagration”.76

The book of Marion Gautreau, De la crónica al ícono: La fotografía de la Revolución mexicana en la prensa ilustrada capitalina (1910-1940), is an excellent and detailed study of the imagery published in five illustrated magazines: El Mundo Ilustrado, La Semana Ilustrada, La Ilustración Semanal, Revista de Revistas, and El Universal Ilustrado. 77 This work originated as a doctoral dissertation at the University of Paris and was accepted in 2007, but its publication by INAH can be linked to the Centennial celebrations. Gautreau opens the book with a meticulous dissection of the magazines, which is an extraordinarily useful tool for scholars of this period. The time is long past where historians could cite periodicals as if they provided an objective picture of the events they cover. She notes that images of leaders “fill the pages of the metropolitan magazines” in the following order: Madero, Carranza,

74 Ibid., p. 13.

75 Ibid., p. 14.

76 Ibid., p. 16.

77 GAUTREAU, Marion, De la crónica al ícono: La fotografía de la Revolución mexicana en la prensa ilustrada capitalina (1910-1940), Mexico City, Secretaría de Cultura/INAH. 2016.

Huerta, Obregón, Orozco, Villa, Pablo González, Félix Díaz, Emiliano Zapata, Manuel Mondragón, Lucio Blanco, and Felipe Ángeles; the common soldiers are identified generically as “juanes”, and very rarely appear.78

The author also finds that, “Very few images focus on the daily life of Mexicans during the war”, and that Revista de Revistas published the majority of such photos.79 She examines briefly one of the crucial issues that we need to investigate: the role played by provincial studio photographers, asserting that, “The magazines wove webs of correspondents and created ties with provincial photographers and agencies, with which to obtain images of the country’s interior with relative speed”.80 She also addresses the problem of identifying the authors of the imagery, stating that such credit is given in only 20% of the cases. According to Gautreau, women appear on 36 pages of the publications, either following their husbands and serving as cooks and laundresses, or fighting side-by-side with the men; in either case, they are identified as “soldaderas” (camp followers).

Gautreau notes the technological limitations under which photographers worked, and asserts that the “numerous and profound transformations in photojournalist practices… are not a result of specific technical modernizations but rather the eruption of new themes”, a position with which I am not entirely in agreement.81 Although this is an area that requires much more research, I believe that the introduction of increasingly smaller cameras offered more mobility and capacity to capture action. Finally, although this is certainly the most important publication on the illustrated magazines of the period, her argument that, “In general, Zapata does not look comfortable before the cameras”, seems to feed into the wide-spread misconception that the Zapatistas had little awareness of the importance of modern media.82 Given the number of times Zapata willingly posed for his own photographer, Amando Salmerón, as well as seeking out other portraitists, the author might have qualified her argument by noting that perhaps the discomfort she perceives –a psychological reading that is always a risky

78 Ibid. pp. 80, 114.

79 Ibid., 80.

80 Ibid., 84.

81 Ibid. 57, 130-131. Her citing of the now dated analysis by Olivier Debroise is unconvincing.

82 Ibid., 108.

venture in historicizing with photography– was a result of who was depicting him rather than his relation to modern media.83

The photojournalists

The metropolitan photojournalist, Ezequiel Carrasco, was introduced to us during the Centennial celebrations by the highly productive photohistorian Monroy Nasr, in her book on him.84 Until her work appeared no one had heard of Carrasco, who worked for Revista de Revistas, the only illustrated magazine that published continually during the 10-year civil war.85 Monroy had originally written the text to compete in the bi-annual contest of the Centro de la Imagen, which publishes the winning work in a series, “Colección Ensayos Sobre Fotografía”. However, when her manuscript did not win, “instead of getting depressed,” she turned to the Sistema Nacional de Fototecas (SINAFO) where it was quickly picked up because of the Centennial, and appeared in a more important collection, “Testimonios del Archivo”.86

Born and raised in Michoacán, Carrasco set up a studio in Mexico City during 1907 where he devoted himself to portraiture, including portraits of famous actresses such as Mimí Derba and María Conesa. However, as his clientele diminished during the revolution, he followed the path of many other urban studio photographers, and began to cover events for the illustrated magazines. Carrasco is among those identified by Monroy as portraitists who became photojournalists: Samuel Tinoco, Antonio Garduño, Manuel Ramos, José María Lupercio, Abraham Lupercio, Isaak Moreno, Gerónimo Hernández, Víctor León, Rodolfo Toquero, Ezequiel Álvarez Tostado, and Eduardo Melhado.87

While Carrasco may have shared a common role with his colleagues, his participation in La Decena Trágica was singular. During those terrible ten days, he collaborated with the well-known poet and journalist, José Juan Tablada, to produce a daily chronicle of the events which was so successful it

83 For example, see the work of JIMÉNEZ and VILELLA, Los Salmerón, op.cit. I have also addressed this issue in MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit., pp. 93-94, 190-191.

84 MONROY NASR, Ezequiel Carrasco, op.cit.

85 Ibid., p. 38; GAUTREAU, De la crónica al ícono, op.cit., p. 34.

86 Conversation with Rebeca Monroy, January of 2017.

87 MONROY NASR, Ezequiel Carrasco, op.cit., p. 27.

sold more than 40,000 copies of Revista de Revistas in a city with a population of half a million; almost one out of every 10 residents bought a copy, an astronomical figure for a society that was largely illiterate.88 It appears that Carrasco worked with the heavy View camera that used glass plate negatives, and had to be mounted on a tripod. As the war wound down in 1917, Carrasco abandoned photography to dedicate himself to the cinema, both documentary and fictional.

In his book, Agustín Víctor Casasola, photohistorian Daniel Escorza Rodríguez has provided scholars with the much-needed rigorous study Casasola required.89 Escorza is a Researcher in the Fototeca Nacional, a position that allowed him direct access to the archive as well as the opportunity to carry out this investigation over a long period of time, and which was to become his doctoral thesis. However, its immediate publication by the INAH as a book in 2014 can be seen as part of the Centennial project. Among the vital information in this work is the re-orientation Escorza carried out in relation to Casasola’s role as a photographer. In contrast to the imagemakers mentioned in the preceding paragraph who went from studio to street, Agustín Víctor entered the medium as a journalist, and then became a photojournalist. Nonetheless, as Escorza argues, “Although he had his agency, he made his living by the daily work of individual and collective portraiture”, as well as covering religious ceremonies and weddings.90 Escorza redefines what we had misunderstood as a modern news agency; on the contrary, he asserts that “What was thought to be the great ‘Agencia Casasola’, which provided images to all the media in Mexico City, was in fact a small studio, where they also framed photos, sold postcards and made portraits signed ‘Casasola fots’ or ‘Casasola e Hijos’”.91 Escorza contradicts the idea that Agustín Víctor erased the names of photographers and substituted his own, instead arguing that much of the writing on photographs of the revolution that identified them as made by Casasola, was placed there by other members of the family during the 1930s. Finally, the photohistorian makes an interesting case against the notion that Casasola was the conservative photojournalist we have described; and very

88 Ibid., p. 97. Rather than run the risks that the photojournalists faced, Tablada sent in his texts by telephone from Coyoacán.

89 ESCORZA RODRÍGUEZ, Agustín Víctor Casasola, op.cit.

90 Ibid., p. 140.

91 Ibid., pp. 80-81.

far from Olivier Debroise’s description of him as “the official photographer of Porfirio Díaz”.92 One piece of evidence is found in the photograph of Agustín Víctor holding the bloody clothes of Madero, together with two other journalists; it must have been very risky to have made such a public statement, when the intellectual author of his assassination, Huerta, took power.93 As Escorza argues, “In the Casasola Archive there are multiple images of misery, of victims of alcoholism, of the destruction caused by war, of hunger, and the so-called underworld of society between 1911 and 1921”.94 Of course, as the author admits, we don’t know what the purpose of this imagery was, they could have been meant to provide costumbrista scenes as an echo of the “Mexican Types” seen in the tarjetas de visita of Cruces y Campa. However, the image of the revolutionary veteran with his makeshift prothesis is a compelling denunciation of the victims produced by the long civil war, as well as an implicit critique of the New Order’s lack of concern for their wellbeing. [FIGURE 6]

In articles published in 2009 and 2017, Escorza Rodríguez provided a window upon the dangers that photojournalists faced during the revolution, and introduced us to the photographer who may not have yet received the attention he deserves.95 Gerónimo Hernández worked for the Maderista newspaper, Nueva Era, where one of his published photographs would go on to become a key icon of the revolution. His image of the woman who grips the handrails of a train car, and leans forward to peer intently up the tracks, has been recruited to serve as the personification of the soldadera in the Mexican Revolution, and has today acquired the name of “Adelita”.96 Hernández was recognized as an audacious and experimental photojournalist by his peers, and he utilized a low-angle shot to empower Rafael Martínez de Escobar, a Maderista supporter speaking to crowd in the street, in an unposed image that, Escorza asserts, “has resonances with the move-

92 DEBROISE, Olivier, Mexican Suite: A History of Photography in Mexico, translated by Stella de Sá Rego, Austin, University of Texas Press, 2001, p. 184.

93 See the photo in MONROY NASR, “Victoriano Huerta”, op.cit., p. 292.

94 ESCORZA RODRÍGUEZ, Agustín Víctor Casasola, op.cit., p.146.

95 ESCORZA RODRÍGUEZ, Daniel, “Gerónimo Hernández, un fotógrafo enigmático,” Dimensión Antropológico, año 16, vol. 7 (2009): pp. 143-168, and “La trilogía de la lente fotoperiodística: Casasola, Garduño y Hernández”, in La imagen cruenta: centenario de la Decena Trágica, eds. MONROY NASR and VILLELA, op.cit., pp. 163-176.

96 See my discussion of “Adelita” in MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit., pp. 240-245.

7. Gerónimo Hernández. (No title). Maderista Rafael Martínez de Escobar in a rally, c. 1911. © Inv. # 36380, Fondo Casasola, SINAFO-Fototeca Nacional del INAH, Secretaría de Cultura.

ment and activity in the streets, akin to the modern photojournalism of the 1930s”.97 [FIGURE 7] Hernández’s allegiance to Madero was such that he accompanied the president on 9 February 1913 when he left Chapultepec Castle to go the National Palace and face the forces involved in the coup d’etat. The photographer there took one of the most reproduced images of the Decena Trágica, as Madero waves his hat to the crowds, accompanied by the Cadets of the Colegio Militar.98 [FIGURE 8] He may also have later made the dramatic composition of Figure 3 on that same day.

97 ESCORZA RODRÍGUEZ, “Gerónimo Hernández,” op.cit., p. 147.

98 Escorza notes that the photo “has been reproduced dozens of times and appears in the majority of books on the Decena Trágica.” It has also been incorporated in a mural within the Heróico Colegio Militar, the Mexican military university. It is worth noting that this photo was shot to be cropped, which is almost always the case among photojournalists. “Adelita” has become an icon precisely because it was cropped. I have here cropped the photo of Madero to reproduce its publication on the front page of Nueva Era, 10 February 2013.

After Madero’s fall in the Decena Trágica, the risks involved in being a photojournalist, above all one that had worked for Nueva Era, led Hernández to abandon photography. He attempted to hide his involvement in this work, for as Escorza comments, “Hernández stopped taking photographs; he never even mentioned to his children that he had worked in the field, and much less taught them the secrets of press photography”.99 He gave

99 ESCORZA RODRÍGUEZ, “Gerónimo Hernández,” op.cit., p.143.

Agustín Víctor Casasola his entire photographic archive of some 1,500 images, and never again spoke of his role in the revolution. This story opens up a new facet in analyzing some of significant absences in revolutionary photography. For example, it may provide insight into the reasons why there are no photos of Pancho Villa in the archives of the Hermanos Cachú, although they were dyed-in-the-wool Villistas, and Juan Cachú was entrusted with confidential commissions by the caudillo; they were probably disposed of when the Villistas began to lose the war.100 And, it may also explain why the Maderista photographer, Aurelio Escobar, sometimes listed his name as Aurelius or Amelio.101

An important study of Aurelio Escobar, and the Heliodoro J. Gutiérrez agency (known as The Chicago Photo Studio), was carried out by Arturo Guevara Escobar, and appeared in the same SINAFO series that published the work of Rebeca Monroy, “Testimonios del Archivo”.102 Moreover, during the years around the Centennial Guevara Escobar carried out a crucial task in what we might call postmodern media: he put up an Internet site, fotografosdelarevolucion, that provided a vital space for information and debate before, during, and after the celebration.103 An important thinker on photography, Fred Ritchen, has argued for the importance of Internet for photohistorians: Just as the novel, poetry, and the memoir have explored the permutations of memory, so too might the digital photograph evoke a more complex past. Rather than a singular, inarguable reference point that is thought to be truer than human recollection, it can serve as an element in a web of other supporting and contradictory imagery, sounds and texts, a menu of possible interpretations, a malleable dreamscape and memory magnet. In a digital environment a photograph can be easily linked to newspaper headlines of that day,

100 On the Cachú Hermanos see, BALCÁZAR, Nidia, Cachú Hermanos, fotógrafos. Una microhistoria visual de la Revolución, Puebla, Benemérita Universidad Autónoma de Puebla, in press. I have explored this issue of the Cachú in MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit., pp. 177-181.

101 GUEVARA ESCOBAR, Arturo, Aurelio Escobar, Fotógrafo: La H.J. Gutiérrez Foto y Francisco

I. Madero, Mexico City, INAH, 2014, p. 65.

102 Ibid.

103 Guevara opened the site in 2008 and it has received 242,413 visitors. Communication with Arturo Guevara, 22 January 2018.

locally or globally, to weather reports, to diaries and appointment books, to photos and texts written by others in one’s family or anybody else. Most important, others can also link to it, amplifying and contravening what its initial author claimed it represented, a central tenet of Web 2.0. Holistically, the photograph sprouts electronic roots and branches and is, in turn, entwined by other media.104

Arturo Guevara provides a useful correction to our idea of a photographic agency, as did Daniel Escorza with the Casasolas. He notes the photojournalism in which Gutiérrez engaged, and describes the Gutiérrez agency’s other practices:

He worked for businesses and industries, as well as making publicity photographs; he also printed and enlarged photographs, including the production of half-tone images; he produced postcards; manufactured and imported articles for photographic studios; he rented automobiles to photo studios for events such as weddings, and he was in charge of floral arrangements and decorations for social gatherings.105

Guevara also establishes the commitment of Heliodoro J. Gutiérrez and Aurelio Escobar to the Maderista rebellion as well as the fact that postcard producers arrived in the north before photojournalists. In fact, Heliodoro’s agency “Obtained a privileged place in the new Maderista structure, once the government was established. With the images he had made with other ends in mind, he put into practice a large-scale publicity campaign to make the Maderista revolution, its men, and its triumph, known”.106 In another article, Guevara underlined the commitment to Madero: “As photographers, Heliodoro J. Gutiérrez and Aurelio Escobar Castellanos created, over three years, the most complete visual chronicle of the Madero movement”.107

We are provided with a fascinating story by Guevara who identified a woman who appears in several emblematic photographs of the revolution: Herlinda Perry. [FIGURE 9] Having been popularly identified as a soldadera –for example, in Elena Poniatowska’s book– Escorza’s account of

104 RITCHEN, Fred, After Photography, New York, W.W. Norton, 2009, p. 59.

105 GUEVARA ESCOBAR, Aurelio Escobar, op.cit., p. 39.

106 Ibid., 43.

107 GUEVARA, ESCOBAR, “H.J. Gutiérrez,” op. cit., p. 225.

what he calls “the bourgeois Adelita from the north” is much more interesting.108 Her real name was Sun Far Herlinda, the daughter of a Chinese man and a Mexican woman, which is why her surname precedes her given name. She married a Chinese immigrant and they faced the problem of the dangers posed by the massacres of Chinese in Mexico, as well as the prohibition against their migrating to the U.S. Guevara thinks that she may have taken the surname of Perry as a way of protecting her identity, and as an allusion to Commodore Matthew Perry, who opened up Japan to international trade in the 1850s. A 16 or 17 year old girl, she probably had little to do with the Maderista rebellion, and the crossed cartridge belts is a performance trope while she played at war, beneath her elegant hat.109 However, she was much involved in saving the Chinese during the battle of Ciudad Juárez: “She crossed the border carrying two children in her arms while the bullets flew”, and then negotiated with U.S. officials to allow them to stay until the fighting was over.110 She later became a leading figure in the struggle against the discrimination against Chinese immigrants, and the Mexican women who had married them.

The exhibit and book produced during the Centennial by photohistorian Rosa Casanova was a result of her initiative within her workplace. In her description she states that “I returned to the INAH with a position in the Museo Nacional de Historia in 2009, and was writing up other things and revising materials when I discovered a treasure about Madero. I proposed the exhibit, Francisco I. Madero: Entre imagen pública y acción política, and as we were in the Centennial period, it was accepted by the Museum and by the INAH”.111 She was the curator of the exhibition, and coordinated the lavishly illustrated book of the same name, which contains essays by a wide variety of visual scholars.112 In her brief text, “Practices and Strategies of Visual Information in Maderismo”, Casanova outlined the difficulties in

108 PONIATOWSKA, Elena, Las soldaderas, Mexico City, Era/INAH, 1999, p. 62; GUEVARA, ESCOBAR, Aurelio Escobar, op.cit., p. 145.

109 See, CANO, Gabriela, Se llamaba Elena Arizmendi, Mexico City, Tusquets, 2010, pp. 98-99. I have discussed this trope in MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit., pp. 68-70.

110 GUEVARA ESCOBAR, Aurelio Escobar, op.cit., p. 43.

111 Communication with Rosa Casanova, January 2018.

112 CASANOVA, Rosa, ed., Francisco I. Madero: Entre imagen pública y acción política, Mexico City, INAH, 2012.

identifying the different photojournalists, a result in part of the fact that “The editors cropped photos, as well as chopping them up for montages”.113

I think that the number of studies of the metropolitan photojournalists during the Centennial now allows us to ask several questions. Have we gone beyond the belief that reigned in 1984, a year in which artist Felipe Ehrenberg referred to the Casasola imagery as “The Style of the File”, and Flora Lara Klahr described it as “A style that was not limited to him [Agustín Víctor Casasola], rather, it was rather shared with the other photojournalists?”,114 Can we now distinguish the styles of different photojournalists, as well as inquire into the relation between their photographic form and their political stance? I believe that Daniel Escorza has begun to identify the particular style and commitment of Gerónimo Hernández, but other studies on photojournalists have yet to attain his level of analysis. Another question that begs to be asked is: To what degree did the Mexico City photojournalists leave the city to cover events? That is to say: How often did they report visually on stories outside the urban area, and how far from the city did they go? And, a final question about the images in the press is: Who exactly are the “correspondents” that are referred to in the illustrated magazines?

Amateur photographers

Rosa Casanova opens up an intriguing issue by asserting that in the illustrated publications, “They looked for amateurs to cover what was lacking in visual information”.115 Given the invention of the Kodak cameras in 1888, and the proximity of Mexico to the U.S., I believe that research into the photography made by amateurs during the revolution both within and outside of Mexico City could yield up a whole new trove of information. Fortunately, art historian Laura González pursued that possibility in her study of an imagemaker whose identity cannot yet be firmly established beyond

113 Ibid., p. 186.

114 EHRENBERG, Felipe, “The Style of the File, un estilo del arte,” in The World of Agustín Víctor Casasola. Mexico: 1900-1938, Washington D.C., The Fondo del Sol Visual Arts and Media Center, 1984, p. 15; LARA KLAHR, Flora, “Agustín Casasola & Cía.: México a través de las fotos,” La Cultura en México, Siempre!, 21 November 1984, p. 40.

115 CASANOVA, Francisco I. Madero, op.cit., p. 192.

the hypothesis that his name was Ángel Sandoval.116 What we do know about him is that, although he was probably not a member of the Porfirian bourgeoisie, it would appear that “he used the camera that he inherited or was given as a means to enter and circulate among the upper social classes at the end of the Porfiriato”.117 Some members of the ruling class took a great interest in photography, as in the cases of Juan Antonio Azurmendi and José Luis Requena.118 However, they had either left Mexico or, if they took photographs of the revolution, they have not yet been discovered. The case of Sandoval is different. He stands at the great divide between “an evanescent past” and “a threatening future”: “As his archive moves forward, the amiable themes of family portraits, views and celebrations begin to disappear and, little by little, the signs of conflict emerge: first, as subtle indications, and later as clear signals of material deterioration and social degradation”.119 Sandoval worked largely with a light-weight stereoscopic camera that permitted him to circulate freely in the city capturing a great variety of scenes. However, the camera speed was slow, so movement within the frame can be observed in some of his images. This would have been considered an error at that moment, but we see it as an esthetic strategy because of our experience with modern photojournalism. He also could change expositions rapidly, allowing him to photograph sequences; as González notes, “It is important to note that no photojournalist of that period would have been able to capture these moments in sequence no matter how light the professional camera they carried was”.120 Sandoval’s images of detained movement provide a way of looking that was much more modern than that of the photojournalists, whose images were largely posed or orchestrated. Miguel Ángel Berumen participates in this book to write about Sandoval’s photos of the entry of Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata into Mexico City. He notes that the seven glass plate negatives Sandoval made of

116 GONZÁLEZ FLORES, Laura, Otra revolución: Fotografías de la Ciudad de México, 19101918, Mexico City, UNAM, 2010, p. 218.

117 Ibid.

118 On Azurmendi see, MASSÉ ZENDEJAS, Patricia, Juan Antonio Azurmendi. Arquitectura doméstica y simbología en sus fotografías (1896-1900), Mexico City, INAH, 2009. Requena was a “member of the Porfirian modernizing elite…and president of the Sociedad Fotográfica Mexicana”; CASANOVA, Francisco I. Madero, op.cit., p. 28.

119 GONZÁLEZ FLORES, Otra revolución, op.cit., p. 21.

120 Ibid., 24-25.

this event “are the equivalent of the same number of photographs of these same scenes that have been published regularly since 1914”.121 The majority of photojournalists waited in the midst of packed crowds in the Zócalo for Villa and Zapata’s arrival. In contrast, Sandoval strategically set up on the Paseo de Reforma, which allowed him much more visibility, as well as opportunities to get closer to the caudillos. Berumen carries out a step-bystep analysis of where Sandoval was located when he made each shot, how he moved from place to place, and which of the two cameras he carried was used. It is an extraordinary reading of how an event was covered by a photographer. This book has set the mark very high for future studies of amateur photography, both because of the penetrating analysis, and because of the careful, almost compulsive manner in which Sandoval noted each image in notebooks.

Committed photographers and new directions for research

Those familiar with my study on the photography of the revolution know that among the most important tasks we face is that of establishing authorship. The names of the photographers are crucially important, not because of a model derived from History of Art, but rather to know why and for whom they were made, how they expressed their commitments visually, their esthetic strategies to take sides, what identities they generated, and whether they were men or women. Alberto del Castillo entered the Centennial in the following manner: “I was contracted by the Centro Cultural Isidro Fabela to do a book on the photographic archive of Isidro Fabela that deals with the Mexican Revolution. The book was subsidized by the Centro as well as the Instituto Mexiquense de Cultura”.122 The participation of the Banco de México must also have been crucial, since they published the work. Alberto’s book on the images found in the Fototeca of the Centro Cultural Isidro Fabela is important for at least two reasons. The first is that he carried out a rigorous study of a particular photographic archive, providing researchers with the methodological tools to dissect these collections in his chapter, “The Documentary Keys to a Photographic Collection”.123 The significance of this

121 BERUMEN, Miguel Ángel, “Las fotos que el tiempo puso en su lugar,” in ibid., 177.

122 Alberto del Castillo, comunication, 15 January 2017.

123 DEL CASTILLO TRONCOSO, Alberto, Isidro Fabela, Una mirada en torno a la Revolución

book also resides in del Castillo’s identification of the Hermanos Mendoza, José and Pedro, as Constitutionalist photographers: “They document Carranza’s reception in the different cities of the north and center of Mexico with well-achieved professional framings that construct a certain documentary esthetic of the revolution with interesting closeups of the crowds; on occasion they also projected images designed to glorify the ‘First Chief’”.124 Although it is clear that studies undertaken during or as a result of the Centennial have taken us far beyond what was previously known, every point of arrival is at the same time a point of departure. Two of the areas that received some attention during the Centennial, but would benefit from a more systematic study, are those of the postcards and of technology. Rosa Casanova argues that postcards were the “prevalent” format in which photos of the revolution circulated.125 While almost all authors mention postcards, the field could benefit from more methodical research.126 For example, the images of Hugo Brehme must have circulated largely in postcard form, and one book on his work was published during the Centennial, with an important but short essay by Mayra Mendoza.127 The other missing factor is the development of photographic technology during the revolution. Weapons, uniforms, and munitions flowed across the border form the U.S.; we must assume that much the same thing happened in photography. Daniel Escorza and Heladio Vera produced a significant study of the Graflex cameras in 1912, and Laura González also made important contributions to the analysis of technology.128 Nonetheless, it would be useful to have a solid technological investigation on which to base further studies of the photography during the revolution.

Mexicana, Mexico City, Banco de México, 2010, p. 27.

124 Ibid., 30.

125 CASANOVA, Francisco I. Madero, op.cit., p. 29.

126 One important study of postcards is that by VANDERWOOD, Paul and SAMPONARO, Border Fury: A Picture Postcard Record of Mexico’s Revolution and U.S. War Preparedness, 19101917. Albuquerque, University New Mexico Press, 1988.

127 MENDOZA AVILÉS, Mayra, “Hugo Brehme: una historia por contar,” in CABRERA LUNA, Claudia, et.al., Hugo Brehme y la Revolución Mexicana, Berlin and Mexico City, DAAD/ INAH, 2010, pp. 10-16.

128 ESCORZA RODRÍGUEZ, Daniel and VERA TREJO, Heladio, “La cámara Graflex Graflex en la campaña federal maderista contra Pascual Orozco, 1912,” 20/10. Memoria de las revoluciones en México 10 (2010): pp. 254-265; GONZÁLEZ FLORES, Laura, “Técnica fotográfica y mirada. La fotografía en el país de la metralla,” in BERUMEN, México: fotografía y revolución, op.cit., 53-61; GONZÁLEZ FLORES, Otra revolución, op.cit.

My exhibit and book for the Centennial

I participated in the Centennial celebrations when, at the beginning of 2008, Alfonso de Maria y Campos, Director of INAH, and his Secretario Administrativo, Luis Ignacio Sainz, invited me to be the curator of the Exposición Nacional del Centenario de la Revolución Mexicana. The exhibit was later titled, Testimonios de una guerra. Fotografías de la Revolución Mexicana, and was shown in 30 places in México, as well as several international venues during 2010. At our initial meeting the Director addressed two reservations about my taking on this task. The first was in relation to my political position, noting that I was known in the photographic community as a “gringo rojo” (a red gringo).129 However, he himself quickly shunted that aside, stating that, “A Marxist gringo is a Mexican liberal.” He then inquired why my exhibit of 1996, La mirada inquieta: nuevo fotoperiodismo mexicano, 1976-1996, had produced such a polemic in the press. As I really had no interest in addressing that question with the complexity it deserved, I replied simply, “Por gringo” (because I was a gringo). Alfonso wondered aloud if that might not be a problem in my curating the national exhibit, but I assured him that I had applied for Mexican citizenship, and he immediately offered his aid should it be necessary.

Carrying out this project was an important experience in understanding the constraints placed on historians when they work as curators, and I decided from the very beginning that I would produce a book based on research rather than an exhibit catalogue composed of photos and an introduction. The book had to go to press in February 2010, and the National Exhibition had to be ready in November of that year. Hence, I functioned more as a curator than as a historian, in a project that deserved at least ten years of research. This situation had its advantages and disadvantages: I could open unexplored archives, but I had to work within a time frame that was uncomfortable for a historian. Nonetheless, in spite of

129 In 1994, I was invited to give a lecture, “La historia del fotoperiodismo en México,” by the Centro INAH-Nayarit. I was named a “Distinguished Visitor” of the state capital, Tepic, and the ceremony was attended by the then-governor, Rigoberto Ochoa Zaragoza. He ironically referred to me as “professor Marx,” in an obvious allusion to my political position, which caused his retinue to snigger.

these limitations, the publication of the work in both Spanish and English speaks of its quality.130

It is also important to note that the experiences of curating the exhibition and writing the book were very distinct. I accepted the invitation to curate the exhibition with the understanding that I would have complete control. Bureaucrats within the INAH evidently have a different perception. In the exhibiton, I attempted to construct a narrative that focused on the cruel realities of daily life, a perspective that clashed with the official history. I did not concentrate so much on the revolutionaries as on the “revolucionados” –those to whom the revolution happened– a decision that may have come from the fact that I have read about the revolution in depth, or it may be due to the moment we are currently living in Mexico, with great insecurity, militarization, and the daily reproduction of horrifying images.131 I do not think of the revolution as an epic, but as a tragedy in which one out of every seven Mexicans died, and many more suffered rape, hunger, thirst, disease, wounds, robbery, and the pain of seeing their loved ones in distress. This is what occurs when a people find themselves before the impossibility of political redress and in a situation of profound class differences. This perspective was too harsh for those who put up the exhibition and, in the end, it did not represent my vision. As the time to mount the exhibition drew nearer, I was confronted by the authoritarianism of INAH bureaucrats, who transformed my vision into a mishmash so confused that the review by Blanca González Rosas in Proceso declared, “The content of Mraz’s book does not coincide with the exhibition … Organized by the Coordinación Nacional de Museos y Exposiciones del INAH, the exhibition is conventional in its narrative, incomplete in its content, and terrible in the way it has been constructed”.132 When I had attempted to resist these bureaucrats’ interference, one of whom sent me a letter with the threat that, if I did not accept their changes, “The curatorial credits will be assumed by

130 MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit.; MRAZ, John, Fotografiar la Revolución Mexicana: compromisos e íconos, Mexico City, INAH, 2010.

131 See GONZÁLEZ Y GONZÁLEZ, Luis, “La Revolución Mexicana desde el punto de vista de los revolucionados,” Historias 8-9 (1985): pp. 5-13.

132 GONZÁLEZ ROSAS, Blanca, “La fotografía revolucionaria de México,” Proceso 1787 (30 January 2011), p. 67.

this Coordinación, which has been the area charged with enriching the proposal with other photographic materials, and in amplifying its historical and visual contents, with the aim of adjusting the nature of its construction”.133 I was not invited to the press conference before the exhibition’s opening, which only resulted in creating a polemic because reporters sought me out at my home. Moreover, I made it clear that I would not guide President Felipe Calderón on a tour of the exhibition opening, since I considered him to be illegitimate because of the 2006 election fraud (although I did not actually say this, preferring –a lo mexicano– to avoid confrontation; I simply said it was not really my place to do so). When I arrived at the opening, I saw that they had added insult to injury: one of the bureaucrats was listed in the credits for having “corrected” the exhibition.

Prior to my invitation, the INAH Fototeca Director, Juan Carlos Valdéz, had asked researchers in that entity, Patricia Massé and Daniel Escorza, to curate an exhibition for the Centennial. However, Valdéz and the MasséEscorza team generously provided me with access to their exhibition, and Juan Carlos sent me photocopies of the entire Fototeca holdings of photographs of the civil war. Having access to this mass of images was the necessary first step toward knowing the photography that had been taken of the revolution, because many of the images found in the provincial archives, as well as those held in other Mexico City archives, are copies from the INAH Fototeca. The photocopies were sent to me because it had become extremely difficult to cross Mexico City to go to Pachuca, and the Fototeca is not organized to permit consultation through its module in Mexico City. However, the exhibit and book probably would have benefitted from the opportunity to consult at length with Heladio Vera, one of the Fototeca workers who best knows the collections.

Having all the copies of the revolutionary photos also enabled me to understand how Agustín Víctor Casasola had forged his archive. I had formerly believed that the images taken by the other 480 photographers had been acquired through purchase –such as the archive of El Imparcial– or were given to him –as in the case of Gerónimo Hernández– or had been made by photographers working in his agency. I found as many as five copies of the

133 Gabriela Eugenia López, Directora Técnica, Coordinación Nacional de Museos y Esposiciones, INAH, Letter of 3 July 2010.

10. Samuel Tinoco. (No title). Children crying next to executed Zapatistas, Ayotzingo, Mexico State, January 1913, Novedades, 22 January 1913.

© Inv. # 63752, Fondo Casasola, SINAFO-Fototeca Nacional del INAH, Secretaría de Cultura.

same photo, and discovered that many had been reproduced from illustrated magazines. For example, one version of one of the most powerful images of the revolution, that of terrified children crying next to the body of their father, an executed Zapatista, includes part of the text from the magazine out of which it was cut. [FIGURE 10] Other photos show the tape and tacks used to hold them firmly to the wall in order to be reproduced. [FIGURE 11]

I felt that my research revolved around two inter-related tasks. The first was to critique the myth that Agustín Víctor Casasola was “The photographer of the Revolution”; as Ignacio Gutiérrez resumed in 1997: “To date, it is generically claimed that ‘the Casasolas are the photographers of the

11. Photographer unknown. (No title). General Francisco Mendoza, Zapatista, c. 1911. © Inv. # 4190, Fondo Casasola, SINAFO-Fototeca Nacional del INAH, Secretaría de Cultura.

Mexican Revolution’”.134 My second duty was to discover who made these images, with what intentions, for whom they were taken, and how they circulated. I established that the signatures on photographs, particularly postcards, were not definitive in identifying the author. Plagiarizing images –by erasing the name they bear and then signing them– was constant during the Mexican Revolution (and in the wider world of international photography). I attempted to overcome this problem with a methodology that cross-referenced archival photographs, images printed in illustrated magazines and picture histories, published interviews with the photographers, articles written during the revolution, and, moreover, investigations carried out afterwards, both of histories of photography and of the revolution.

134 GUTIÉRREZ RUBALCAVA, Ignacio, “Los Casasola durante la posrevolución,” in “Agustín Víctor Casasola: El archivo, el fotógrafo,” Special Issue, Alquimia 1 (1997): p. 37.

In the course of my research, it became clear that there were many who covered the long civil war. Some of them were linked to certain groups, and I uncovered a pattern of commitment that had been little commented upon in previous studies. That which is really novel about Mexican photography during the armed struggle is the fact that photographers are committed to revolutionary groups that are at war with each other. For photographers with a political awareness, the revolution must have represented a unique opportunity. Taking photographs is a passionate occupation and, although the evidence of commitment is at times circumstantial, I believe that specific photographers can be linked to the contending forces, in broad strokes –and with strong possibilities of erring– in the following way: Manuel Ramos was the preeminent photojournalist of the Porfiriato; the agency of Heliodoro J. Gutiérrez was linked to the Maderista movement from its beginning, both on the northern frontier and in Mexico City, making it the first revolutionary photographic protagonist; a studio photographer in Zacatecas, Eulalio Robles was a fervent Maderista, and perhaps a spy for the Villistas; Gerónimo Hernández was the key Maderista imagemaker during the truncated presidency; the photographer most engaged with the Orozquista rebellion may have been “El gran lente” (The Great Lens, Ignacio Medrano Chávez); Amando Salmerón was the photographer of Emiliano Zapata, but there were other photographers connected to that movement, among them, Cruz Sánchez; a certain Hernández appears to have been the image maker for Domingo Arenas, an agrarian revolutionary from the Puebla region; the Cachú brothers, Antonio and Juan, were the photographers closest to Pancho Villa; and the Constitutionalists had many image makers, although Jesús H. Abitia has been considered “the Constitutionalist photographer”. The metropolitan photojournalists worked for illustrated magazines whose owners and editors were generally conservative, even Porfirian. However, the periodicals were chameleon-like, changing their lines to adapt to a turbulent situation. At the same time, some photojournalists seem to have demonstrated a particular sympathy for the coup leaders and the Huerta regime. Eduardo Melhado is the prime suspect, and information is mounting against him; Guevara Escobar affirmed that “his images show a preference for the Felicistas”, and Samuel Villela agrees that there is evidence of Melhado’s “closeness” with coup leaders Mondragón and Díaz.135 It is clear that

135 GUEVARA ESCOBAR, “H.J. Gutiérrez,” op.cit., p. 211; VILLELA, “Las fotos y los fotógrafos del ‘cuartelazo’,” op.cit., p. 193.

Melhado had unique access to the coup leaders, and after their triumph pictured reconstructions of the Tragic Ten Days from a Huertista perspective.

My presupposition that photojournalists had made most revolutionary images was proved untrue, though there is no doubt that the graphic reporters from Mexico City were important in picturing the revolution; for example, metropolitan photographers made up about half the photos in my books. Furthermore, their photography is the best preserved, thanks to the Casasolas. However, they did not leave the city often, and it was a common misconception to assume that their media sent them to cover the war. In the main, the illustrated magazines may have gotten the images of scenes outside Mexico City from photographers they called their “correspondents”, but who were probably the owners of studios in the region. I believe it could be argued that regional photographers, most likely with studios (but who also sold their imagery to publications both local and national when possible), were the group that really photographed the revolution, particularly as they attached themselves to one group or another.

Regional studio photographers

Perhaps the most important direction that research in this field needs to take is in the discovery and analysis of provincial studio photographers. We know that the imagemakers who seemed to be most connected to the revolutionary forces came from this area: Jesús Abitia abandoned his Hermosillo studio to join up with the Constitutionalists; the Hermanos Cachú ceased their itinerant wandering as portraitists and actors to become Villistas; Amando Salmerón left Chilapa to work for Zapatistas; Cruz Sánchez evidently kept his studio in Yautepec, but also photographed elsewhere in Morelos, always in favor of the Zapatista cause; and Ignacio Medrano Chávez may have put his Chihuahua studio at the service of the Orozquistas.

An important study by Bernardo García Díaz, Los trabajadores del Valle de Orizaba y la Revolución Mexicana, examines the imagery of workers in the Orizaba region, and was published as part of the Centennial celebrations.136 The ever-increasing extension of camera use led to creation of

136 GARCÍA DÍAZ, Bernardo with the collaboration of FLORES ROJAS, Hilda, Los traba-

family albums that have been a vital source for the imagistic study of work and workers in the volumes that García Díaz produced for the important series, Veracruz: Imágenes de su historia. 137 They, and García Díaz’s 2011 book, are a perfect example of what a trio of photohistorians have described as a wellspring of worker photography: “It is through the mostly unremunerated, unmonetized networks of kin and community that are registered in these vernacular archives that we find traces of what capital forgets and conceals, the unpaid work and care that goes into social reproduction and the maintenance of available, cheap, and vulnerable work forces”.138 However, it is important to note that the photographs workers made, and had taken, generally provide a positive image of them dressed in their “Sunday best”, rather than, for instance, washing dishes. And, as García Díaz underlines, “What is not captured are the crowded living spaces, the shoeless proletarian children, the premature aging of women submitted to a double day’s work, the violence within the families, alcoholism, the oppression of syndical caciquismo, etc”.139

Union newspapers are another prominent fount of worker photography that is explored in Los trabajadores del Valle de Orizaba y la Revolución Mexicana. Although this issue has been little-explored in Mexico, the periodical founded in 1915, Pro-Paria (Pro-Pariah), was crucial in publishing photographs, largely taken by José Mayorga, of protests and social cohesion that demonstrated the force and political capacities of the Orizaban laborers. Mayorga worked for Pro-Paria from 1920 to 1946; born in Orizaba, the personal relations he enjoyed with the worker families in the textile towns was fundamental in gaining access to their world. He utilized a 5 X 7 Kodak camera and his artisanal sensitivity, inherited from his silversmith father, as well as his dogged capacity to work long hours, left an important legacy of labor photography. In a picture that showed union members demonstrating

jadores del Valle de Orizaba y la Revolución Mexicana, Veracruz, Universidad Veracruzana, 2011.

137 Veracruz: Imágenes de su historia, 8 volumes, Veracruz, Archivo del Estado de Veracruz, 19891992. See a discussion of this series in MRAZ, John, “Picturing Mexico´s Past: Photography and Historia Gráfica,” South Central Review 21: 3 (2004): pp. 36-39.

138 COLEMAN, Kevin, JAMES, Daniel, and SHARMA, Jayeeta, “Photography and Work,” Radical History Review, 132 (2018): p. 10.

139 GARCÍA DÍAZ, Los trabajadores del Valle de Orizaba, opc.it., p. 19. Caciquismo here means boss rule.

12. José Mayorga. “Demonstration of protest opposed to the attacks made by the Secretaría de Industria, Comercio y Trabajo against the C.R.O.M. (Confederación Regional Obrera Mexicana) and in favor of the Secretary of the State [Veracruz] passing in front of the print shop of Pro-Paria. Orizaba, Veracruz, 16 August 1931”.

Courtesy of Bernardo García.

in favor of the local government’s support, and protesting against the attacks made by the Secretary of Labor against the CROM, Mayorga chose to photograph from a high angle in order to capture the magnitude of the dissidence. [FIGURE 12] For García Díaz, the workers’ media demonstrated an acute visual awareness,

From an early moment, they conveyed a detailed iconographic memory of union activities. If in the past, workers had been objects of photographs, they were now converted into subjects and they were very willing to be photographed for workers’ publications. They clearly understood what propaganda served for, and the relevance of the photographic image.140

140 Ibid., 125.

One studio photographer from Zacatecas was a “correspondent” mentioned sometimes in the illustrated magazines, Eulalio Robles.141 In the insightful work, Episodio fotográficos de la toma de Zacatecas, photohistorian Jaime Robledo carries out a rigorous analysis of the photography in Zacatecas and its dissemination. He has closely studied the primary sources available and provides brief biographies of Robles and another Zacatecan photographer, José María Aguilar, as well as introducing several more. Robles published his photos in national magazines, but they also appeared in the Revista de Zacatecas; moreover, “He exhibited his work on the Revolution in the Portal de Rosales [in the Zacatecas center], so that it would be seen by many people, and they would buy his postcards”.142 This information leads us to ask what other provincial photographers participated in such activities. Robledo confirms the idea that photographic studios provided a great variety of goods and services, citing a 1908 newspaper advertisement for Aguilar that, “Promoted ‘enlargements’, ‘buttons’, ‘postcards’, and ‘a wide variety of landscapes and stereoscopic images… as well as the sale of Kodak cameras at $2.50, all easily payable in instalments”.143

Of great importance is Robledo’s affirmation that Robles was involved in the struggle against the ancien regime from the very beginning, placing ads in the local newspaper for the sale of “artistic buttons of Francisco I. Madero”.144 In an article on the battle of Zacatecas, a writer claimed that Robles functioned as a “spy for the revolutionaries”, and Robledo opens a whole new chapter on this question when he asks: “Is it possible that his images of the federal army in Zacatecas, their geographic distribution, their condition, the location of their artillery and its characteristics, influenced the strategy for the attack of the rebels on the city?”145 Robledo underscores, several times, the fact that “Eulalio Robles was a revolutionary photographer who documented the Revolution in Zacatecas with very favorable vision

141 ROBLEDO MARTÍNEZ, Jaime, Episodios fotográficos de la toma de Zacatecas, 1913-1914, Zacatecas, Fototeca de Zacatecas “Pedro Valtierra,” 2014.

142 Ibid., 25.

143 Ibid., 94.

144 Ibid. 102.

145 Ibid., 107-108. Robledo cites a 1998 study by SALINAS LÓPEZ, Samuel, “La Batalla de Zacatecas”.

of the rebels”.146 For example, Robledo remarks upon a photo that Robles titled Ysabel Rodríguez, notable tirador revolucionario (notable revolutionary marksman), stressing that the photographer’s positive representation “of the revolutionary combatant is not to be doubted”.147

The photohistory by Luciano Ramírez Hurtado, Imágenes del olvido, delves deeply into Venustiano Carranza’s control of the press at the Convention of Aguascalientes through massive subsidies.148 The author was awarded his doctorate with this work in 2007 and, in that same year, proposed it to Publishing Department of the Universidad Autónoma de Aguascalientes. Although it had been approved from the beginning, the university took advantage of the approach of 2010 to make a more substantial edition, including the documents establishing the presence of metropolitan photojournalists that went to cover the Convention, such as Carlos Muñana, Arturo Cisneros, Abraham Lupercio, and Heliodoro J. Gutiérrez. Moreover, it posits that, in its attacks on the Conventionists, largely Villistas and Zapatistas, the publicity apparatus of Carrancismo “went from a cautious mistrust to veiled attacks until it arrived at frank and open aggression”. In an extraordinary document, a photojournalist, Arturo Cisneros, demonstrated the fear he lived in among the Conventionist troops because Carranza’s control of the press led to altering his reporting: Because of journalistic ethics … I have always transmitted exact information. [However] my messages have been altered and also mutilated. The editors of my newspaper do not understand the dangers to which they are exposing me to from the barbarians here, who do not understand reason, and are justified in feeling hurt when notoriously false things are attributed to them.149 Later works examining the representation of the revolution in the regions recognize the importance of the publications produced within the Centennial. In her important book, Cultura visual y fotografía durante la

146 Ibid., 107.

147 Ibid., 57.

148 RAMÍREZ HURTADO, Luciano, Imágenes del olvido, 1914-1994. Discurso visual, manipulación y conmemoraciones de la Convención Revolucionaria de Aguascalientes, Aguascalientes, Universidad Autónoma de Aguascalientes-Centro de Ciencias Sociales y Humanidades, 2010.

149 Ibid. 104-105.

revolución en Sinaloa, photohistorian Diana María Perea Romo noted that, “With the Centennial of the Mexican Revolution many works were published of great relevance to this research”.150 Her work analyses the production of images through the lenses of local photographers such as Alejandro Zazueta, Alberto Lohn, Mauricio Yáñez and his partner, Guillén, who covered the armed combat in Sinaloa between 1911 and 1914. Moreover, she compares their imagery with others that present certain regional similitudes, such as that of Romualdo García in Guanajuato, Sara Castrejón in Guerrero, and Jesús Abitia from Hermosilla; she also includes some from the U.S.: Jimmy Hare, Otis Aultman, Homer Scott, Walter Horne, and Robert Runyon. Perea Romo links the regional photographers to the national press through reproductions, establishing that they were the “correspondents” so often mentioned in the illustrated magazines. Even more important is the analysis of regional newspapers such as El Correo de la Tarde in Mazatlán. Through such research, we can begin to understand their political positions, for example, El Correo de la Tarde described the Zapatista, J. Pilar Quinteros as “a terrible bandit who committed many crimes during the few weeks of his uprising in the Southern District, and the North, as well as some towns in Durango, from whence he came”.151

The famous Mexican microhistorian, Luis González y González, signaled that, “microhistory is the science of the particular”.152 For me, it was the publication of the important series, Veracruz: imágenes de su historia, in the years 1988-1992 that led me to begin to think that “there is a methodological coincidence between the specificities of regional history and the particularity of photography as a medium”.153

The possible concurrence notwithstanding, Nidia Balcázar is the first photohistorian to explicitly assume this position in her perceptive study,

150 PEREA ROMO, Diana María, Cultura visual y fotografía durante la revolución en Sinaloa. Imágenes y significados de la guerra y la sociedad, 1911-1914, Morelia/Culiacán, Universidad Michoacana de San Nicolás de Hidalgo/ Universidad Autónoma de Sinaloa, 2019, p. 22.

151 Ibid., 202.

152 GONZÁLEZ Y GONZÁLEZ, Luis, “Terruño, microhistoria y ciencias sociales,” in Región e historia en México (1700-1850). Métodos de análisis regional, ed. PÉREZ HERRERO, Pedro, Mexico City, Instituto Mora/UAM, 1991, p. 31.

153 MRAZ, “Picturing Mexico’s Past,” op.cit., p. 36.

Cachú Hermanos, fotógrafos. Una microhistoria visual de la Revolución. 154 There, Balcázar argues that, “It is important to take up microhistoric studies to know the life of the photographers, to understand their profession and the forms in which they visually represented the regional movements, their figures, and the particular dynamic in relation to national events”.155 We had some vague leads about the Cachú during the revolution. Miguel Ángel Berumen wrote that “they worked above all in the center of the country,” and that they had joined the Villista forces.156 Following his lead, and basing my research on the BUAP archive, I confirmed their link to Villismo.157 Now, Balcázar has established that they carried out their activities, both photographic and theatrical, in the Bajío, from 1913 to 1917. Using their photos as sources, she can affirm that they generally worked in the cities of Pátzcuaro, Michoacán; León, Guanajuato; Zacatecas, Zacatecas; and Lagos, Jalisco. At the same time that the photohistorian recognizes the gaps in her microhistory, “the scarce information about their lives”, she is nonetheless able to delineate their itinerant travel throughout the Bajío, basing her findings on “the information contained in approximately 80 theater posters that were produced during the artistic work of the Compañía Dramática Cachú”.158 Further, thanks to the interviews Balcázar carried out with family members, she was able to develop an analysis that links their theatrical activities to their photographic practice. Balcázar writes, “While taking portraits of people, they would announce to their clients that they were presenting a play at night; and, at the beginning and intermission they would announce their repertoire of photographic services, it was a round trip”.159 And, the fact that they were theatrical performers was fundamental in allowing them to circulate in the Bajío. As María Cachú Ramírez has written, “Through our art we gained the respect and regard of many people, because we didn’t rouse any suspicion. So, we could leave and enter towns, and were also helped by the safe-conduct passes given us by friends”.160

154 BALCÁZAR, op.cit.

155 Ibid., 9.

156 BERUMEN, México: fotografía y revolución, op.cit., pp. 381, 283.

157 MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit., pp. 177-181.

158 BALCÁZAR, Cachú Hermanos, fotógrafos, op.cit. pp. 8, 78

159 Ibid., 72.

160 Interview with María Cachú Ramírez, cited in ibid., p. 73.

Sara Castrejón: a regional studio photographer

In his contribution to the Centennial, Samuel Villela published a pivotal work on the only woman to extensively document the Mexican Revolution, Sara Castrejón.161 One of the earliest female war photographers in the world, and a pioneer in opening up women’s place in the imagistic world, Sara Castrejón was as exceptional as a woman, as she was typical in her role as a provincial studio photographer. She was probably sympathetic to the Maderista movement, but in the particular form it took in Teloloapan, Guerrero, where the forces of the agrarian revolutionaries, Zapata and Jesús Salgado, had joined forces. As the armed struggle continued, she made studio photographs of the different groups that passed through her city. It does not appear that her images were published in any illustrated press, but they provide a distinct feminine perspective.

Family members participated in the studio, and Dorotea Castrejón painted all the backdrops, one of which appears time and again in Sara’s studio photos. In the photo of the Salgadista colonel, Amparo Salgado, it provides an intriguing play with the floral motifs of her dress [FIGURE 13]. It is noteworthy that Amparo wore this dress (or Sara decided to have her put it on), because it was apparently not the customary way the colonel dressed. Rather, she was described as “a crazy woman who ran around with the men, armed, and dressed in pants”, by Lucila Figueroa, a wealthy, highly conservative and anti-Zapatista member of the Figueroa clan.162 Was clothing her in a special dress, an elegant hat, and highly buffed (perhaps high-heeled) shoes, a decision to emphasize her gender? If so, the rifle, pistol, and cartridge belts stand in stark juxtaposition to the femininity of her attire. The Colonel was the sister of Timoteo Salgado, the owner of the electric plant, so she must have come from an upper-middle-class family.163 Her decision to join the rebellion marked a severe breach with her well-off family, and she was disin-

161 VILLELA, Samuel, Sara Castrejón: Fotógrafa de la Revolución. Mexico City, INAH, 2010. Thanks to Samuel’s pioneering research, I have been able to contribute to the discussion of this photographer in MRAZ, John, “Sara Castrejón: Photographing Revolution, Representing Women”, in Revolution & Ritual: The Photographs of Sara Castrejón, Graciela Iturbide, and Tatiana Parcero, ed. MCNAUGHTON, Mary Davis, Claremont, Scripps College, 2017, pp. 22-77.

162 Interview with Lucila Figueroa by Samuel Villela.

163 Ibid. Timoteo’s electric plant was probably a small local industry at the time of the revolution.

herited; she left Guerrero and died in Michoacán, but the cause of her death is unknown.164 Amparo participated actively in the armed struggle, leading both men and women into combat, so the arms that appear in the photo were not simply decoration, as was often the case with the performance trope of “women with crossed cartridge belts” on the northern frontier that historian Gabriela Cano has identified with the Maderista movement.165

I believe that Castrejón’s gender consciousness –her recognition and hence representation of the active role women were taking in the conflict–led her to make this complex, rebellious image of Amparo, which I consider to be her most powerful photograph of the revolution; its force may also come from a certain commitment to Salgadismo-Maderismo in its first stages, part of the widespread elation for the end of a 35-year dictatorship. It was not the only photo she produced of female combatants. The agrarian revolutionary, Colonel Carmen Robles, known as “La costeña” (the woman from the coast) smokes a hand-rolled cigar of the type made in the Costa Chica of Guerrero, a black enclave on the Pacific Ocean where they are commonly consumed.166 [FIGURE 14] The relation between Carmen and another Zapatista colonel named Robles –Amelia, who would become Amelio– is not clear.167 Another exceptional Castrejón photo is that made of an entire family armed in the patio of their house: we see the father holding a sword, the mother with a dagger in hand, and the five children –an adolescent girl and boy with rifles, a young boy and girl with rifles too, and a tiny girl with a pistol; I have seen nothing comparable to this image among photographs of the Mexican Revolution.168

164 Communication from Joaquín M. Ocampo, March 2018. I thank Samuel Villela for sharing this message with me.

165 CANO, op.cit., pp. 98-99. I have discussed this trope in MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, op.cit., pp. 68-70.

166 See Carmen Robles in Guerrero, after the battle of Iguala in May of 1911, in MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, p. 119. There is another photo of her, taken at another time, and seated in front of an improvised backdrop of the type seen in image 5; see PONIATOWSKA, Las soldaderas, op.cit., p. 61.

167 See Amelia/Amelio Robles dressed as a man in a discussion of this fascinating case, CANO, Gabriela, “Unconcealable Realities of Desire: Amelio Robles’s (Transgender) Masculinity in the Mexican Revolution,” in Sex in Revolution: Gender, Politics, and Power in Modern Mexico, eds. OLCOTT, Jocelyn, VAUGHAN, Mary Kay and CANO, Gabriela, Durham, Duke University Press, 2006, pp. 35-56.

168 See this photo in VILLELA, Samuel, “Sara Castrejón. Fotógrafa de Teloloapan,” in “Precursoras en la imagen fotográfica,” Special Issue, Alquimia 53 (2015): p. 27.

Children were swept up in the revolution for a number of reasons. When their families’ lands were invaded by enemy forces, they followed them into campaigns, where train cars and camps became their new domestic spaces. Adolescent boys joined up to escape their families or for the pay or for the adventure or because they were attracted to the charisma of leaders such as Pancho Villa. And the boys were often press-ganged, above all

15. Sara Castrejón.

Consuelo Castrejón.

by the Huertista government.169 They performed various functions: bringing water, caring for the horses, carrying messages, serving on guard duty, and spying. They were also combatants: in one photo, we see two young captured Salgadista soldiers –Pedro Santana cannot be older than 15– a few minutes before their execution. [FIGURE 15]

Among Sara Castrejón’s tasks was that of photographing executions. When the different factions arrived in the night to ask her to photograph those that were to be shot, the five women in the house hid in the places they had prepared until their brother could acertain that there was no threat of rape; Joaquín always accompanied Sara, carrying the camera and tripod.170 Sometimes she made photos beforehand because the families of

169 See the young boys being press-ganged by the Rurales in MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, p. 137.

170 Interview with Consuelo Castrejón Arriaga by Samuel Villela.

the condemned asked that they be taken as souvenirs of their loved one. It was a situation somewhat similar to that of the Cachú brothers, who photographed hanged revolutionaries in Michocán at the behest of their relatives.171 At other times, federal officers asked her to photograph the executions to provide evidence that they had carried out their orders. Although there are many photographs of executions during the revolution, very few have been found of individuals forlornly awaiting their fate, as we can see in figure 14; those that do exist usually represent a resistance on the part of the doomed.172 Was the empathy that she, as a woman, brought to this disagreeable chore important in capturing these distressful scenes? How did she feel about taking such photos? Nájera Castrejón summed it up succinctly: “She was a professional, and felt that she had an obligation to make those images”.173 But, as Consuelo Castrejón Arriaga pointed out, “It had an impact on her, and she said that she would never forget the executions”.174 Whatever her feelings, she carried out her duty with skill.

Conclusion

The projects that were carried out during the years around the Centennial, from roughly 2008 to 2017, provided researchers, both Mexican and international, with a wealth of information about the photography of revolutions, and represented a significant advance over the prior state of knowledge. They also demonstrated the enormous variety of functions that photographs served during the Mexican Revolution. Their fundamental purpose was to support different factions, be they particular caudillos or the regime that was in power; this was done by picturing leaders in positive or negative ways, or showing their public support in the crowds that surrounded them. Photographs were employed to construct myths, and to deconstruct

171 On the Cachús and their photographs of the hanged, see MRAZ, Photographing the Mexican Revolution, pp. 143-145, and BALCÁZAR, Cachú Hermanos, fotógrafos, op.cit.

172 See, for example, the defiance of Fortino Sámano and Máximo Lobo Guerrero, who attempt to direct the act of their executions; in contrast, Alfonso Aguilar is shown weeping; ibid., pp. 223-225.

173 Interview with Francisco Nájera Castrejón by Samuel Villela.

174 Interview with Consuelo Castrejón Arriaga by Samuel Villela.

them. Those who backed the attempt to transform Mexican society made their movements known through imagery, but pictures could also be used to demonstrate the immaturity of those forces. The destruction and loss of life was documented by photographers both professional and amateur, transmitting those events to Mexicans and an international audience. During the revolution, photographs may have been used as surveillance tools to map the enemy’s artillery positions, as well as the number and state of the troops. Images could also preserve the memory of loved ones who were to be executed, and to document the executions as proof. Photographs have been important for researchers in order to analyze the media’s bias, and to demonstrate the constraints within which photojournalists worked. When the great cataclysm finally ended, photographs were perhaps used to document the personal price veterans paid, as well as the lack of assistance provided by the New Order.

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2. THE MEXICAN ‘CATALOGUE’ OF GOVE AND NORTH, 1883-1885

Abstract

This text is a historiographical critique on the state of cataloguing photographs contained in archival collections. It shows the results of an interdisciplinary research project using methodologies from historical and social sciences, documentation, curatorship, and heritage conservation for the reconstruction of a hypothetical catalogue compiled by American photographers Otis M. Gove and F.E. North in Mexico between 1883 and 1885. The purpose of the research is to recover the professional practices of this firm, and contextualize photographic documents so that they can be reliably used in the study of various social processes of the time.

Key words: Mexico, photographic practices, albumen prints, cataloguing, authorship, Gove and North.

On November 25, 1884, the Mexican newspaper El Monitor Republicano enthusiastically reviewed the products on display in the Mexican pavilion at The American Exhibition of Products, Arts and Manufactures of Foreign Nations, held in Boston from September 1883 to January 1884. Referring to the photos displayed at the event, the author of the article expressed surprise at the absence of ‘the wonderful views by Messrs. Gove and North’.1

1 El Monitor Republicano (November 25, 1884).

In addition to this article, there were many other news items published in various newspapers reviewing activities by this studio or publishing images that had been based on photographic records ‘drawn from life’ by these authors, which revealed both their abundant production and an accurate appraisal of their work.

Otis M. Gove and F.E. North were two American photographers who met in Mexico between 1883 and 1885 and set up a firm under the name of ‘Gove y North. Fotografía Americana’. During their stay in Mexico, the studio produced many studio and outdoor shots.2 Moreover, from the years immediately following the circulation of these photographs until today, their images have been widely used in publications on various subjects. However, there is an obvious problem in the use of these ‘stock’ images, since their photographs have either been attributed to other studios, or classified as works by ‘unknown authors’.

It is important to note that problems of cataloguing do not only involve the authorship but also other components of the photographs, features such as attribution, title, subject, year of production and physical characteristics. These problems found in photographic catalogues mean that this type of document cannot be reliably used in social research. This article argues for modifying the way large groups of documents such as these are catalogued. In particular, it describes the reasons for constructing a hypothetical catalogue compiled in Mexico by “Gove y North”. The aim is, on the one hand, to recover the professional practices of this firm, and on the other, to contextualize photographic records so they can be reliably used to research the various social processes of the time.

Historiography

In its attempts to catalogue photographic documents, this research differs from the proposal put forward by the most widespread version in art history,

2 There is a great deal of evidence of the presence of “Gove y North” in Mexico between 1883 and 1885. The most important evidence is that found in the photographic objects and news items in the periodical press about their work and the photography studio they founded in Mexico City, the Fotografía Americana, at calle Espíritu Santo No. 7. See Mata, Filomeno, Anuario universal y anuario mexicano para 1885 y 1886, México, no editor. 1885.

based on the creation of the ‘artist of the lens’. This approach emphasizes the authors’ biography and constructs bodies of images with varying degrees of consistency, objectifying photographs through their designation as ‘works of art’. This has encouraged a means of historicizing photography, whereby works are inserted into collectors’ circles like museum pieces. Art appraisal focuses on composition and tonal degrees, rather than the social processes registered, which results in photographs having little impact within documentary archives and are far removed from social research.

In addition to art studies, although the use of images has been present in historical and other types of research on various social processes, these images are not always optimally incorporated into research. Some progress has been made in retrieving information on “Gove y North” contained in the hemerography, and consulting what the bibliography produced in other countries has contributed about these authors, as well as similar practices by other photographers, in terms of composition and interests in the registration of images. However, the assumptions of these studies are severely limited, since there is not a sufficient body of documentation to substantiate their hypotheses, and, in addition, problems arise when they address the manufacturing process of the documents. Rather than conducting an exhaustive study, they resort to tried and tested formulas in ‘photographic history’, such as remarks about ‘formats’ and ‘production technique’ expressed, it should be noted, not based on the study of the materials, but by using what ‘we know’ of the period through the literature published on the subject. This means that rather than subjects distinguished by their specific practices, we have artists who have been pigeonholed by our prejudices. Statements made at different times about various social processes should always have, whether explicitly or implicitly, a documentary body capable of underpinning the opinions expressed. In other words, the strength of any statement is directly proportional to the breadth and structure of the documentary body supporting it. Unfortunately, what tends to happen is that ‘historians mistake the documentation they know for all the available documentation and then the available documentation for everything that has been produced, and then the latter for the whole social reality that has produced this documentation’.3 In the history of Mexican photography, the

3 Carlo Ginzburg, ‘Reflexiones sobre una hipótesis: el paradigma indiciario, veinticinco años después’, Contrahistorias, La Otra Mirada de Clío, 7 (September 2006-February 2007), p. 12.

demonstration of the inconsistency or falsehood of these documentary bodies has led to a successive transformation of the reputation, at certain times, of various photographers and their role in the creation of images.

Advancing in a different direction requires constructing solid documentary bodies that provide accurate data on their photographic practices, particularly on the production processes and topics chosen by the creators. However, one of the greatest difficulties in studying a social process through large groups of photographs is the scant attention paid to research and rigorous cataloguing in most collections. Another drawback is the dispersal of the material and the lack of communication between the collections containing it. Projects must therefore be designed to make photography and its representations accessible through the production of catalogues raisonnés, as well as creating support for research projects that make it possible to translate these visual records into genuine documentary sources.

Photography is a complex object that can only be understood within the framework of its production, circulation, and consumption. It is therefore essential to adopt an ontological approach to photography as the basis for conducting research, which can then be used to select different technical and methodological tools. The absence of such a proposal can derail research projects with an enormous range of sources, yet without a consistent system of organization.4 To understand the complexity of the photographs and photographic images published in other media, it is essential to study the various intentions and practices based on their construction, and the links between them. Let us now examine the case that concerns us.

Attribution

Photographers controlled and distinguished their production through various means to ensure their authorship and rights over documents and im-

4 A recent study of William Henry Jackson (Ignacio Gutiérrez, Una mirada estadounidense sobre México: William Henry Jackson Photographic Company, Mexico City, INAH 2012) incorporated several works by “Gove y North”, such as ‘632. Iglesia del Pocito’ presented here (Fig. 5), belying several statements about Jackson. Although some similarities can be found between the practices of the two studios, if historical researchers really wish to reconstruct a work, they must insist on the particularities of each of the authors or studios.

ages. As noted earlier, both in publications and collections of stock images it is possible to find photographs and images by “Gove y North” assigned to other photographers, or, classified as ‘unknown’. It is therefore necessary to explain and prove that a body of photographic documents was actually produced by “Gove y North” rather than by other authors.

Authorship of the firm’s photographs has been attributed through five mechanisms: 1) because illustrations published in the press have been found; 2) because the signature of these authors appears in the photographs’ secondary supports; 3) because the signature appears on the image; 4) because the photographs have a similar control number and physical characteristic; and, 5) authorship has been attributed to photographs lacking either a signature or data yet with the same registered image of those that do have some of the previous characteristics. We will now proceed to explain each of these forms of attribution.

One of the most reliable methods of attributing photographs is to link them to images published during the same period in which authorship is explicitly noted. Album 1064 from the National Library of Anthropology and History (BNAH) contains several copies of a photograph with no author, caption, or any other form of annotation. We now know more about these copies because the image they depict was transferred to a print and published in the newspaper La Época Ilustrada with the caption ‘German Equestrian Club of Mexico. Races on March 2, 1884’.5 Moreover, another page of this newspaper contains the image, ‘Ladies’ Gallery’. In both cases, these photos were described as having been ‘taken from life by “Gove y North”, American photographers’.

We hope that in the future, a copy of the photograph that inspired the image, ‘Ladies’ Gallery’, will come to light, because the comparison between the two types of images (both the photograph and its corresponding lithograph) is crucial for an understanding of how the photographic image was disseminated in another media. Although we have been fortunate in several cases, in fact very few images from this period have been found in newspapers of the time. And even fewer of these include photographers’ credits. However, a great deal of evidence has been found to support the hypothesis that the most common way of distinguishing the photographic

5 La Época Ilustrada (March 10, 1884).

production of “Gove y North” was due to the fact that they placed their name on the secondary supports of photographs. 6 There were several ways of doing this, because different editions of these artefacts were produced. The most used secondary support was light-coloured cardboard (such as that in figure 1) and to a lesser extent, dark brown cardboard, both with gilded edges. On the verso of most of these secondary supports, the phrase ‘GOVE

6 Most of the photographs we refer to in this text are mounted albumen prints. One of the characteristics of this type of photographs is that they were printed on very thin paper. When sold, they were mounted on the secondary supports mentioned, usually cardboard or pasted into albums, which prevented the thin paper from rolling up.

was printed using a blue-ink rubber stamp. On other copies, the cardboard had ink prints on some of these data or variations.7

In some private collections and many of the copies held in the National Photographic Library (fn), the albumen prints attached to the secondary supports used to give them consistency, have been preserved. Conversely, none of the copies stored in the General Archives of the Nation (AGN) attributed to “Gove y North”, or the many stored in the National Photographic Library have this secondary support.

One should be aware that, in some cases, the reason for the absence of secondary supports was the widely held idea at the time about photograph conservation. As a result, albumen prints were separated from their cardboard mounts because these had been damaged and were not valued in aesthetic terms. There are also other explanations for this absence of secondary supports. Many of the photographic documents now available in major Mexican public collections were donated by private collectors (Felipe Teixidor being the most obvious example) or institutions purchasing them from collectors. The existence of groups of photographic objects lacking secondary support, containing the same image and with similar signs of wear and tear caused by many years of exposure to the same storage conditions, indicates that they were acquired and preserved by collectors without these supports.8 Moreover, photographs containing the same image were certainly not purchased singly, but by the lot.

When comparing the quality of photographs, with, or without, secondary supports, some experts conclude that they were kept thus because they failed to meet the quality standards of the image producers of the time. Although these processes involving the circulation and preservation of photographs may be clarified as research progresses, on the issue of attribution we find that several of the documents comprising the universe analysed, had either lost this essential means of identifying photographs, or had never been provided with the support.

7 For example, ‘Gove y North. Fotografía Americana. Espíritu Santo 7. – Mexico’ on the verso of the photo National Photography Collection (FOTOTECA NACIONAL) 464858. ‘Gove y North, Fotógrafos. Espíritu Santo 7. México’ on the front of FN 464930 and FN 465315. ‘Gove y North. Fotografía Americana.- Espíritu Santo 7, Mexico’, FN 465991.

8 For example, the stains on the 17 positive prints containing ‘655. Ferrocarril Mexicano. Puente de la Soledad’ held by the FN. Five on the top left part, and the other twelve on the right.

This brings us to another way of marking a studio’s production, identifying the negatives. Given the set of production attributed to the studio to date, there are comparatively few copies on which the phrase ‘Gove y North’ was written on the negative. Instead, it appears on the image of the various positive prints held in the collections. It is important to note that in addition to the signature, another characteristic of much of “Gove y North’s” production is the inclusion, on many of the negatives, of a control number and the title of the image. When positive copies are printed, they appear with a number we will call a serial number and a title, as well as the signature.9 For example, in Figure 2, ‘No. 774 Celebration of Independence by Students. September 15, 1883, GOVE Y NORTH / Fotografía Americana / ESPIRITU SANTO 7 / MEXICO’ appears on the left-hand side.

Moreover, regarding this manner of identifying production through negatives, we found that some positive prints raise several research questions. In all the photographs with the phrase ‘655. Mexican Railroad. La Soledad Bridge’, Gove’s name was erased, leaving only North’s. Among the positive prints bearing the title ‘651. Maltrata Peaks, Mexican Railroad (FCM)’ both names were deleted, and also from the image entitled ‘628. Aztec Calendar’ (figure 3). The absence of ink marks on the positives as well as the uniformity of the images suggests that the names were erased from the negative, which is consistent with the idea of there being one negative used to make several positive copies. However, things can get even more complicated. In the copies found to date of the image entitled ‘642. Mexican Railroad. Wimmer Bridge’ in the National Photographic Collection (Fototeca Nacional), the names of both authors were deleted, whereas in the copy of the image belonging to the National Anthropology and History Library (BNAH) collection, both names are visible. In other words, there was more than one negative of certain images, or else these negatives were used to produce different prints at different times.

As a fourth way of attributing a large universe of photographic objects to “Gove y North”, research yielded information regarding the physical characteristics of the photographs. What is described below refers only to those images bearing what we have called a serial number; together, these

9 It is important not to confuse the image with the object containing it. For example, 17 positive images containing ‘655 mentioned. Ferrocarril Mexicano. Puente de la Soledad’. Each one is a unique heritage object but with the same image and, in this case, with the same serial number.

The Mexican ‘Catalogue’ of Gove and North, 1883-1885

images make up what we call the Mexican ‘catalogue’. To date, no negatives by “Gove y North” have been found, while the positives held in the collections are albumen prints in two sizes; large, with an average size of 28×21cm10 and small, with an average size of 19×11cm.11 In most cases, the image fills the entire primary support of the photograph.12 Objects that are not albumen prints and are occasionally larger than the sizes listed above, are not considered part of the “Gove y North” ‘catalogue’. In these photographs, there is a space on the primary support without an image, which is why a ‘white frame’ appears on some of the sides.13

As mentioned earlier, an important feature of a large section of the studio’s photographic production which we call the Mexican ‘catalogue’, is the incorporation of a number and a title in Spanish.14 These annotations were handwritten on the negative in different handwriting. Numbers 1 to 400 correspond to the small sizes, while the series from 600 to 795 correspond to the larger sizes.

In addition to these differences in size, the images produced in these two ranges capture the reference located in front of the cameras differently, because two cameras with different lenses were used. The smaller camera nearly always had a wider–angle lens. Another feature of this studio is that shots of the same space were made with both cameras, in some cases, almost at the same time and at others, with a short length of time elapsing between the two. Images 4 and 5 are examples of what is described above. To date, 70 pairs of these documents have been located.

10 One of the smallest measured 26,8×18,7cm, while one of the largest measured 28,8×21,6cm.

11 In this range, one of the smallest photographs measures 18,5×11cm and one of the largest measures 19,7×11,7cm.

12 There are only two exceptions where positive copies do not have a rectangular shape because a mask was placed over the negative. As a result, the image of the positive prints ends in a curve at the top of the document. The first is the set of images marked 631. The other is more unusual, as it appears in one of the versions of image 602, stored at the Cultural Foundation of Televisa (FUNDACIÓN CULTURAL TELEVISA), whereas the 602 of the BNAH is a different shot in which the mask does not appear.

13 For example, the copies numbered 263 and 264 in the 1071 album of the BNAH measure 21×12,9 and 21×12,8cm. In addition to albumen prints, for that period there are also printing out papers with collodion and gelatine binder, but since these documents are later than the dates of our study, they are not included in the production of this catalogue.

14 There are pictures with captions in French that were not included in the catalogue, such as figure 1 of this text.

The Mexican ‘Catalogue’ of Gove and North, 1883-1885

Several types of calligraphy for naming the pictures and defining authorship have been identified. Most of the annotations appearing in the photographs were written using small capitals (such as images 1, 4 and 5). In terms of number, the second most important point type of font is Script (Fig. 3 and the calligraphy of the studio in 2); inscriptions were also found with typeface from the Egyptian family (title in picture 2) and less frequently, upper case letters only (Fig. 6). Regardless of the font, in some cases, guiding lines for writing the inscriptions are visible.

A fifth means is that of logical attribution. When there is a photograph, whose secondary support presents one of the features mentioned earlier for identifying authorship, it is not unreasonable to assume that other photographs with the same image and similar production processes might be attributed to the same author.

Based on what has been said here, one can posit that the body of images known as “Gove y North’s” Mexican ‘catalogue’ is a set of documents produced between 1883 and 1885. Some of these photographs have a signature on the emulsion or secondary supports. A set of unsigned photographs with the same image as certain signed photographs that share similar production processes have also been attributed to this studio. Based on this group of photographs, this attribution has been extended to another group of documents with a control number consistent with the photographs in the above groups, and which, additionally, bear similar physical characteristics. Lastly, photographs containing images published in newspapers, in which the photo credits have been noted, are also attributed to “Gove y North”.

The ‘Catalogue’

It is important to note that no album or catalogue by the “Gove y North” firm is known, nor are there news articles indicating the existence of either.15

15 However, there are other albums by other photographers or studios working in Mexico City during the period from 1880 to1885. There is the Álbum fotográfico de México by Guadalupe Suárez; the Álbum Mexicano by Lorenzo Becerril, in addition to México Pintoresco y Monumental and Vistas Mexicanas by Alfred Briquet. These were like “Gove y North’s” projects, in the sense that they were proposed to edit and sell a large group of documents, which, as far as we know, were sold both as series and individually. Ordinary albums (in other words, groups of photographs in an object with a book-like structure) manufactured by Briquet himself and others by William Henry Jackson have been preserved.

Conversely, there are albums consisting partly of photographs by the studio, yet without the corresponding credits. This article uses the notion of the Mexican ‘catalogue’ to explain “Gove y North’s” aim of forming a body of documents as a unit. The hypothesis is that this work of creating a ‘catalogue’ was begun by the partners when part of their production was starting to circulate. Moreover, it appears that the process never ended, but rather that this ‘catalogue’ was modified by the participation of others who were involved. This warrants some explanation. As mentioned earlier, the fact of having positive prints with the same images but different inscriptions, is proof that there was more than one negative for printing these positive images. Alternatively, it suggests that these negatives were subsequently used to print positives, leading us to what we will call production cycles.

The ‘evidence’, in other words, the traces found in the photographic prints, allows us to posit a series of hypotheses about the studio’s photographic practices. This evidence shows that rather than follow a strictly executed plan, the people involved in these processes made decisions and later modified them.16 They altered some of their negatives and the way some of their photographic prints were presented. These are not continuous exceptions, but rather practices inferred by historical researchers while working on (in other words: grouping together, discerning, selecting and cataloguing) a broad universe of documents.

Although several ideas about the production characteristics of “Gove y North” in Mexico have been proposed, what has been described so far, together with the issue of production cycles, is designed to lend consistency to the universe of sources. This will make it possible to reconstruct an aspect of photographic practices as well as make decisions in selecting a universe, which we call the Mexican ‘catalogue’, from the set of documents to distinguish it from another group that does not have the necessary features for incorporation into this body of documents.

How was this ‘catalogue’ formed? Firstly, a group of pictures were sold without any captions, like the studio portraits and events “Gove y North” recorded outdoors, which is why we have untitled views of railways and urban settings.17 These photographs were printed from a negative containing

16 To simplify explanations, we refer to these people as photographers or directors of a photography studio, but we now know that camera operators, printers, re-touchers and those who wrote the captions also participated, along with an unknown number of assistants.

17 For example, photographs FN 455021 and 465761.

no captions. The identification of what was recorded, or authorship data, were noted in the secondary supports. Then, there are the positives with a title, but no serial number.18 Evidence that the incorporation of the number that would form the numerical sequences (and, therefore, what we call a ‘catalogue’) was a subsequent decision, is provided by the photographs in which the number was incorporated with different handwriting from that of the captions containing the title (as in picture 3).19 There are also several photographs that have no title or signature, simply a serial number.20 Then there are the positives printed when something had already been erased from the negative, such as one or both of the authors’ names.21 Lastly, when topics overlapped, the serial numbers were also changed.22

In response to this evidence, we find that the authors decided to classify their photographic production through the incorporation of a serial number, after making a certain number of records. The first decision they made must have concerned size. Thus, they assigned numbers from 1 onwards for the small pictures and numbers from 600 onwards for the large ones. Numbering of both groups begins with the so-called ‘Heart of the Country’, Mexico City’s Zócalo (the main square in the capital). This is followed by other subjects and places, always with groups (whether large or small) of related images. Moreover, clearly these are not series of consecutive

18 This is the case of photographs FN 465531, 455010, and 455004.

19 This change can be observed in two positive prints entitled ‘Avenida Cinco de Mayo, September 16, 1883’. The picture with inventory number FN 464858 does not contain a serial number, while the one identified as FN 466450 had already been incorporated. The same is true of those sharing the title ‘.’ The picture with inventory number FN 465315 has no serial number, whereas the one held in BNAH in album 1067, has the number ‘614’. In all these cases, the title was written with Script letters and the numbers are like those accompanying the captions with small capital letters.

20 All the positive prints with serial numbers 151 and 271.

21 Twenty-four photographic objects have been found with an image entitled ‘642. Mexican Railroad. Wimmer Bridge’. The studio’s name only appears on one of them whereas it was deleted from the negative of the others.

22 The strange caption ‘598. Mexico Cathedral’ that appears in a photo in the 1067 album of the BNAH (the only one with a number corresponding to the group of photos from 500 to 599) was deleted in the negative and clearly visible above the modification, is a subsequent printing of positive prints with a coherent ‘600’. Conversely, two albums from this institution (BNAH 1036 and 1071) retain a large group of images where the 200-serial number (with the same images) was changed to make a new one within the 300-399 range.

numbers. Instead, after one subject, they jumped to the next, returning to subjects or spaces in subsequent ranges.

Various Mexican collections and the periodical press have copies of the work of “Gove y North”. As indicated in the advertising they themselves paid to appear in newspapers, they devoted themselves, with considerable success, to producing studio portraits and recording scenes of social events (such as figure 1). This type of photograph never had serial numbers. What we call a ‘catalogue’ only included photographs of views, traditional scenes, certain festive events, portraits of popular figures, records of archaeological monuments and notable buildings, and many photographs of industrial items (such as locomotives and bridges).

Several hundred photographic objects have been compiled to date, many with the same image. However, there are several gaps in the series, some of which were filled in with numbers assigned after 1885. In compensation, we have relatively similar images with the same serial number.23

The Mexican states in which records were made are the following: Federal District (133), Veracruz (82), State of Mexico (63), Guanajuato (29), Querétaro (24), Aguascalientes (14), Hidalgo (12), Zacatecas (9), Puebla (7), Chihuahua (5) Jalisco (5) and Michoacán (2). In all cases, the state numbers refer to highly specific locations or themes. By way of example, of the 133 images corresponding to the Federal District, only 19 were taken outside Mexico City. As for the subjects, the numerous photographs of Veracruz or the State of Mexico mostly record the railway activity located in the two states.

The ‘Successors’

Research on various social processes, using photography as one of the sources, revealed the wealth of “Gove y North’s” photographic production. Some years of work yielded no more than several dozen photographs by these authors, partly because no explicit effort had been made to achieve this goal, and partly because the state of Mexican photographic archives did

23 Two copies with the number 70 in the BNAH and two with the number 301 at the same institution. Numbers 602 and 603 of the BNAH are different from those of other institutions. Those corresponding to 602 have the same caption: ‘Inside the Cathedral August 15, 1884’.

not make this type of research easy. Nowadays, thanks to the willingness of institutions to make their material available for consultation on the Internet through electronic catalogues, and through access to their collections for systematic consultation, hundreds of objects attributable to “Gove y North” have emerged. As a result of this new modus operandi, over 2,000 photographic documents attributed to the studio have been located to date. In particular, the BNAH collection contains albums produced by the National Institute of Archaeology and History that are a systematization of the alleged photographic production of a particular photographer or studio. This is a veritable goldmine albeit with several inconsistencies.

There is evidence that both Otis M. Gove and F.E. North had other business partners and produced views independently.24 As mentioned earlier, what I have identified as “Gove y North’s” production only corresponds to the period from 1883 to 1885, since the name of the studio does not feature in the periodical press before 1883 or after 1885. However, their work was so successful that after the studio closed in Mexico, a type of photographic production emerged that sought to emulate their work and market it with modifications and additions. Some of the studio’s former partners could conceivably have continued this work either individually or in collaboration with others. This article therefore seeks to determine the authorship of the photographs of the ‘successors’ in several images closely resembling those produced by the studio (which have even been attributed to “Gove y North”) though differing from them in several respects.25

There are six main differences between what we call “Gove y North’s” Mexican ‘catalogue’ and their ‘successors’ production. The first is the modification of the production process of the positive prints.26 The second difference is that they stopped producing large photographs, thereby putting an end to the aim of achieving a parallel discourse between subjects in large and small formats. The third difference is the increase in the number of pho-

24 For example, Gove teamed up with another photographer named Lovewuell. La Patria (January 16, 1883).

25 For this reason, photographs by the studios and ‘successors’ were indiscriminately pasted into several of the BNAH albums.

26 This happens in three ways. One is their use of other emulsions (collodions and gelatine); another are the new sizes of the positive prints which appear; a third is the modification in the form of individualizing the photographs. The number known as a serial number is retained in the negative, but the captions are inserted differently.

tographs in new states.27 The fourth is that the ‘successors’ engaged in the large-scale reproduction of prints and paintings. The fifth is the increase in the registration of so-called popular figures, some produced in a photo studio. Finally, the sixth and most worrying, since it calls into question the idea of a group of records within a specific time limit, is that the person or institution we call ‘successors’ continued to make records and notes after 1885.28

To our knowledge, photographs by “Gove y North” were marketed in two different ways in Mexico. One was direct sales in the photographers’ studio, the other was through firms specializing in the sale of images, such as Spaulding, which placed its stamp on several of the studio’s positive prints.29 Conversely, there are no references to the names of the ‘successors’ who continued producing photographs nor to how they marketed them. What we have, near the end of nineteenth century, are advertisements for the studio portrait production in a setting linked to ‘Fotografía Americana’, at the same address used by the studio (Espíritu Santo, Nº 7). This establishment remained active for many years with certain variations in the photographers’ names: ‘F. E. North sucesor’, ‘North y Osbahr’, ‘North sucesor & Osbahr’.30

There is an intriguing link between the studio and the editors Mayo & Weed in the USA. Although more research is required, necessarily involving the collections in both countries, the issue is mentioned because there are obviously other production cycles to which we must pay attention. Photographs by the “Gove y North” studio are often sold on American websites. Some of these are very similar to those found in Mexican collections while at other times, the photographs are only attributed to Otis. M. Gove, indicating that the photographs were printed by the Mayo & Weed firm. These links are present on either side of the border. Thus, in the album

27 Oaxaca and Tlaxcala, although the number of photographs in the city of Guadalajara also increased significantly.

28 Therefore, to determine which photographs belong to the period and distinguish them from the others, we will have to resort to the indexical nature of photography. An analysis of the groups of images at BNAH showed that some of them were obviously post-1885 records. In album 1034 of the BNAH, there are records of those taken in Mexico City in approximately 1890 (384 and 391). We know this because of the architectural changes in the town hall and because the image of the Church of San Hipólito shows a poster announcing an event in 1890.

29 For example, photograph FN 450428.

30 These types of signatures were found in studio portraits. Only one outdoor photograph was found with the caption ‘North sucesor & Osbahr Espíritu Santo No. 7’, AGN, Fototeca, Gobernación 1.

Old Mexico, also attributed to Mayo & Weed, we find a picture with the title ‘Mexican Boys and Donkey’.31 This same image, but now with the title ‘245. Burro laden with water jugs’ is part of an incomplete album held by the Cultural Foundation of Televisa, México.32Although the majority are records made in the late nineteenth century, the Mexican collection contains an interesting photograph that appears with two captions.33 One, no doubt added by the publishers Mayo & Weed, says: ‘256. Aztec Calendar’; another one is also visible with the caption ‘628. Calendario Azteca’, identical to the one in figure 3.

Also, unlike the other pictures in the Old Mexico album, this photographic record was made before August 1885, when the Aztec calendar was still to be found at the foot of the cathedral, as is evident from the number of advertisements stuck or painted on the bottom of the Calendar.

31 Mayo & Weed, Old Mexico, 1897, DeGolyer Library, Central University Libraries, Southern Methodist University, Mexico: Photographs, Manuscripts, and Imprints.

32 FCT 187_001_125.

33 FCT 187_001_151.

The Mexican ‘Catalogue’ of Gove and North, 1883-1885

Although there is obviously a link between Mayo & Weed publishers and “Gove y North”, and between the publishers and some of the photographers, we do not know the extent of this association. We have some doubts about their credentials as publishers.

6. Gove & North, 3. “Aztec Calendar and Courtyard Fountain” 1883, BNAH 1063-003N.

It is also necessary to investigate other photographic records attributed to Otis M. Gove or “Gove y North” to determine whether they were produced between 1883 and 1885, or whether they were wrongly credited with authorship.

By way of a conclusion: the ‘Catalogue’

On the basis of the number of records existing in the Mexican archives, the railroad was one of the recurring themes of outdoor photography during the second half of the 19th century in Mexico (Figure 6). As in other parts of the world, in Mexico locomotives running along these tracks and bridges on almost impossible routes fascinated photographers (and their promoters). And just as in other countries, they also became a favourite subject because of the combined achievements of technology, and the charm of natural landscapes, although according to many visitors from other countries, that contrast was particularly spectacular in Mexico.

The Mexican ‘Catalogue’ of Gove and North, 1883-1885

Railroad photography also owed its popularity to the Eurocentric mindset of its clients. In other words, in Mexico (as in other ‘backward’ areas) there was an additional element of contrast between the modernity of the railroad and the picturesque population, with its ‘peculiar’ lifestyles.

Most of the recent Mexican publications that have included photographs have stressed this view of railways, spicing them up with biographical data on the photographers and elements of the composition of the images.

For this reason, the only photograph that ‘serious’ studies (on economics, technology, and social history) occasionally included was on the cover of their books.34 However, as we know, the problem was not the photograph itself, but the use made of it through the study of railways and other issues in nineteenth-century Mexico.

The fact that the photographic image has a direct physical connection to its referent is what gives it its creative nature (with luminosity) and its uniqueness due to its specific spatial and temporal coordinates.35 That is why a photograph records a specific moment in the process taking place in front of the camera. This is the feature that allows for multiple possibilities for use in research. Several photographs by “Gove y North” included the date when they were taken. The rest have been classified by year or the period from 1883-1885, which is much better than simply ‘Nineteenth century’ or ‘Porfiriato,’ as the majority were labelled. By focusing solely on the shapes and textures of the images, most studies have failed to tap the potential of photography. However, for historical studies, it is essential to have the possibility of a large group of photographic documents produced within a limited time frame. That is the purpose of the attempt to reconstruct “Gove y North’s” Mexican ‘catalogue’. The advantage of working with small groups of photographic series has already been exploited in studies on

34 For a historiographical review on the use of images in the subject of railroads see Aguayo, Fernando, Estampas ferrocarrileras: Fotografía y grabado 1860-1890, Mexico City, Instituto Mora, 2003.

35 Remember that a photographic image is obtained when a flow of light emitted or reflected by the reference converges on a photosensitive surface that is chemically modified. Based on this consideration, it follows that the reference, in other words, the object that reflected the flow of light, is what makes the existence of the image possible. Dubois, Philippe, El acto fotográfico. De la representación a la recepción, Barcelona, Paidós Comunicación 1994, p. 48.

The

various subjects.36 The aim to make a complete catalogue of photographic production available will undoubtedly result in a better understanding of the work of these photographers, but above all in enriching social studies using photographs as reliable historical sources for understanding a variety of issues and examining new problems. This is ultimately the goal of historical research.

36 Aguayo, Estampas, 2003 and Alicia Salmerón and Fernando Aguayo (coords.), ‘Instantáneas’ de la ciudad de México. Un álbum de 1883-1884, Mexico City, Instituto Mora/UAM-C 2013.

SOURCES

Archives

AGN, General National Archive

BNAH, National Library of Anthropology and History

FCT, Televisa Cultural Foundation of Mexico

FN, National Phototheque

Bibliography

AGUAYO, F. (2003). Estampas ferrocarrileras: fotografía y grabado 1860-1890. Mexico: Instituto Mora.

DUBOIS, P. (1994). El acto fotográfico. De la representación a la recepción. Barcelona: Paidós Comunicación.

GINZBURG, Carlo (2006-2007). «Reflexiones sobre una hipótesis: el paradigma indiciario, veinticinco años después». Contrahistorias, La Otra Mirada de Clío, SeptemberFebruary, pp. 7-16.

GUTIÉRREZ, I. (2012). Una mirada estadounidense sobre México: William Henry Jackson empresa fotográfica. Mexico: INAH.

MATA, F. (1885). Anuario universal y anuario mexicano para 1885 y 1886. Mexico: n.p.

SALMERÓN, A. and AGUAYO, F. (eds.) (2013). “Instantáneas” de la ciudad de México. Un álbum de 1883-1884. Mexico: Instituto Mora/UAM-C.

3. PHOTOGRAPHIC PRACTICES IN MODERN BRAZIL: THE NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH CENTURIES

Ana Maria Mauad, Mariana Muaze, and Marcos Felipe de Brum Lopes

Abstract

This article analyzes the history of photographic practices in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and the role of photography in Brazilian visual culture. In the nineteenth century, the production of portrait and landscape photography was highly valued; in the twentieth century, the focus shifted to public photography, mainly press photography, but also onto photography created by state agencies and the art worlds. The argument draws on an encyclopedic framework including both original research and the historiographical literature on issues central to the debates on photography in modern Brazil.

Keywords: Brazil, Portrait, Landscape, Public Photography, Photographic practice

Photography has played such an important role in Brazilian visual culture that a visual history of Brazil could told through the history of the development of photography. To narrate this history, one must consider the social circuits, the uses, the functions, and the agents that made photography the technical and aesthetic expression of Brazil, a so-called modern but culturally contrasting country.

Nineteenth-century Brazil is mediated by the logic of slavery; the historical conditions under which photographic practices developed, contributed to the use of the portrait as a marker of social distinction, as well as to the role of landscape photography in promoting an image of Brazil within Western culture. In the twentieth century, visual modernization created conditions for the advent of public photography produced by the agents of modern bourgeois society, thanks to the expansion, different uses, and functions of photography, thus shaping the visual public space, that is, state, press, and art worlds.1

Between landscapes and portraits - social circuits of photographs in the nineteenth century

Photography came to Brazil in 1840 where, on 17th January, a writer for the Jornal do Comércio welcomed it enthusiastically: “Finally, the daguerreotype arrived from overseas; until now, photography was known only in Rio de Janeiro, theoretically [...] This morning, a photo essay was presented at the Pharoux Inn [sic], which was very interesting because it is the first time that Brazilians see this new wonder [...] One needs to see this with one’s own eyes to have an idea of the speed and result of the operation. In less than nine minutes the fountain of the Largo do Paço, the Praça do Peixe, the St. Benedict monastery, and all the other surrounding buildings were reproduced with such fidelity, accuracy, and minutia, that we might be justified in thinking it must be Nature’s own hand, and almost without the artist’s intervention”.2

The need for the visual experience, highlighted by the news of the Jornal do Commercio, was unstoppable in the nineteenth century. For a society where most of the population was illiterate, this new experience made a new,

1 On the notion of art worlds, see: Howard Becker, Art Worlds, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982; On the idea of public photography, see: Ana Maria Mauad, “Fotografia Pública e Cultura Visual em Perspectiva Histórica”, Revista Brasileira de História da Mídia, 2:2 (July-December, 2013). Accessed Jan.15, 2014. http://www.unicentro.br/rbhm/ed04/dossie/01.pdf ; also Stimson Blake. “Public Photography”, IN: Kevin Coleman and Daniel James (eds) Capitalism and the Camera: Essays on Photography and Extraction, London: Verso, 2021

2 Jornal do Commercio (January 17, 1840).

instantaneous, and more general type of knowledge possible. At the same time, it vested social groups with forms of self-representation until then reserved for small segments of the elite who were able to pay for the cost of portrait painting. The social demand for images motivated research to improve the technical quality of the copies, to make the production process easier, and to conform to the idea of a relic, present in the daguerreotype, a single piece placed in a deluxe case. The negative-positive process, with plates of wet collodion and albumen paper, and later with gelatin dry plates, permitted obtaining many reproductions of the image from a single record. In Brazil, photography contributed to the construction of the image and self-image of society during the Second Empire. At that time, photographic production adopted two major guiding references: portrait photography –ranging from  carte de visite format (6x9,5cm photo, glued onto a 6,5x10,5cm card) to cabinet size format (10x14cm photo, pasted on 16,5 cm card)– and landscape photography, usually made on large format plates (18x24cm).

Under the domain of portraiture, social groups built their social identity through visual cues. The portrayed person, by choosing the right pose for  the mise en scène at the studio, would display their lifestyle and social status. The objects and poses adopted to create the elusive atmosphere of the studio acted as badges of social belonging, shaped according to codes of behavior of the group with the technical means needed for cultural production.

Meanwhile, many people started depicting the Brazilian Empire: travelers and sketch artists with their keen eyes and perceptive pens; landscape artists; and, most of all, photographers who visited Brazil, chiefly during the Second Empire. Regardless of the type of photography, the foreigner’s look framed us Brazilians, also training our ways of seeing through patterns of imported culture.3

The typical writing-in-transit produced by travelers gave their narratives an eyewitness effect. The same effect was present in the watercolors and drawings of artists who joined the expeditions. Thomas Ender, Johann Moritz Rugendas, Nicolas-Antoine Taunay, and Hercule Florence had an unshakable belief in the need to register everything. Such conviction is even more evident if we consider that, in 1833, Hercule Florence discovered

3 Flora Sussekind, O Brasil não é longe daqui: o narrador, a viagem, São Paulo: Companhia das Letras 1990.

the process of photography in Brazil – the possibility of producing images through the action of light. Florence’s isolation prevented him from becoming famous like Daguerre, six years later in France.4

In the nineteenth century, landscape photography depended on the canons of Romantic painting and large panoramic landscaping. Thus, large format plates best conformed to this type of photography, because they produced results more like painted landscapes and panoramas. Marc Ferrez, a Brazilian photographer who served at the royal court in the 1870s, specialized in views, and even perfected the device suitable for panoramic views invented by Frenchman M. Brandon.5

However, it is important to note that landscape photography –even following the canons of painting– developed its own language, whose key features consisted of image sharpness, realistic depiction, and balance in framing.6 From 1862 on, photographs were shown at universal exhibitions to reveal the wealth and vastness of Brazil. Brazilian emissaries, well trained in the rhetoric of civilized speech, strove to project an image of Brazil closer to that of the USA than to that of its neighbors in South America. However, the Empire was famous for its exoticism, singularity, and distinction, in terms of prevailing nineteenth-century colonialist reasoning.7

In the Old Continent, photography was related to the rise of bourgeois society and mainly to the consolidation of an industrial capitalist economy model; however, in Brazil, there were specific differences. In this tropical Empire, the latest bourgeois trends in Europe –such as fashion, photography, rules of etiquette, leisure, and education– were available for the wealthy families of the planter slaveholder class. These families did not give up their political-economic slavery-based lifestyles to become agro-exporters. But this lifestyle project enabled them to maintain the high prices of coffee on the international market.

4 Boris Kossoy, Hercule Florence: a descoberta isolada da fotografia no Brasil, São Paulo: Edusp 2006.

5 Gilberto Ferrez, Fotografia no Brasil, 1840-1900, Rio de Janeiro: FUNARTE 1985; Boris Kossoy, Origens e expansão da fotografia no Brasil, século XIX, Rio de Janeiro: FUNARTE 1980.

6 Vania Carvalho, “A Representação da Natureza na Pintura e na Fotografia Brasileira do Século XIX”, in Annateresa Fabris, Fotografia: Usos e funções no século XIX, São Paulo: Edusp 1995.

7 Maria Inês Turazzi, Poses e Trejeitos – a fotografia e as exposições na era do espetáculo, Rio de Janeiro: FUNARTE & Rocco 1995.

The world of slavery endowed the aristocracy with the kind of wealth which allowed a different type of representation through the consumption of photography and other bourgeois goods. However, it was not the plain and simple enjoyment of goods, but the full assimilation and absorption of new customs, habits, and patterns of cultural consumption entering bourgeois lifestyle. That is, the nineteenth-century planter slaveholder class followed the consumer practices of bourgeois culture, while they continued to enjoy the material gains provided by slavery.

In the context of slavery during the Brazilian Empire, photography (portraits, landscapes, and views) constituted a visual discourse seeking to reconcile slavery with the modern era, to legitimate an ideal of Empire for themselves and others in accordance with the young nation’s hierarchical goals.

Portraits – the profile of a nation

The use of portrait photography in nineteenth-century Brazil became fashionable, and this, together with all the other values coming from abroad and influencing our behavior, provided us with frames for creating our selfimages. Escaping professional competition in their homelands, foreign photographers quickly invaded the Court of Rio de Janeiro, the capital of the Empire, taking part in city life by mingling with dressmakers, hairdressers, jewelers, and other agents of Western culture.

For a long time, technical limitations required that the people being photographed keep still in front of the camera lens, reaffirming the importance of posing for nineteenth-century portrait photography. Despite technological advances, this spatial positioning became the everlasting pattern of the century’s visual culture. According to Maria Ines Turazzi,  exposure time also became a  social time necessary for individuals to assume a role through different available attributes. When a client hired the services of a photography studio, he knew that a symbolic rite would take place at the venue. Therefore, the act of posing before the photographer’s lens implied negotiations between portrait artist and the person portrayed.

On the one hand, the portrait artist was concerned with the technical matters: the search for a better angle, framing, focus, lighting, sharpness, and the so-called rules of composition, according to aesthetic patterns still

related to the fine arts. On the other hand, the client concentrated on posing: facial expression, gaze direction, personal items, clothing, and hairstyle. In essence, the client was concerned with creating an image revealing the symbols of the class to with which he or she belonged. In these circumstances, the individual stood out not only as the main character in the photographic composition but also as the greatest consumer and producer of photography. This fact is evident in the large numbers of single  cartes de visite (male and female portraits) found in collections of nineteenth-century family portraits in Brazil.8

Spurred by their interest in political and economic ascent, the planter slaveholders were the main consumers of photography. Within the Brazilian imperial family, the emperor D. Pedro II was a great personal supporter and collector, of photographs. In the 1850s, the invention of cartes de visite lowered the costs of portrait photography thanks to the possibility of producing four or eight images at once, thus making mass consumption possible. From then on, there was an increase in the demand for portrait photography, and the habitual exchange of pictures among relatives and friends was valued as a way of strengthening bonds of friendship and kinship within the planter slaveholder class.

Following this practice, wealthy families started the new fashion for collecting and assembling portrait portfolios. Of different shapes, colors, coating types, such objects came with their slide-in page holders for pictures.9 The most elaborate had a border embellished with gilded and polychromatic designs. Some even played music when opened. Wealthy families exhibited them on the tables of their living rooms so that their members, friends, and curious visitors might have the chance to enjoy browsing through their precious albums.10

8 Annateresa Fabris. “A invenção da fotografia”, in Fabris, Fotografia: usos e funções no século XIX, 11.

9 This nineteenth-century society practice has been widely discussed.: Ana Maria Mauad, “Imagem e auto-imagem do Segundo Império”, in Luis Felipe Alencastro, História da vida privada no Império, São Paulo: Cia das Letras 1997; Pedro Karp Vasquez, O Brasil na fotografia oitocentista, Rio de Janeiro: Zahar 2002; Carlos Eugênio Marcondes de Moura, Retratos quase inocentes, São Paulo: Nobel 1983.

10 Ana Maria Mauad, “Imagem e auto-imagem”, In: Luiz Felipe Alencastro (ed.) História da Vida Privada no Brasil - Império: A Corte e a Modernidade Nacional, São Paulo: Ed. Companhia das Letras, 1998, p. 226

The increase in production, consumption, and circulation of photographs also led to a growing number of photographers and atéliers. At first, these photographers had no fixed address and received their clientele in hotel rooms. However, in the 1850s, the first photography studios began advertising in newspapers. In 1870, thirty-eight professionals were already working at the court of Rio de Janeiro. Such figures confirm the rapid growth of the business of photography.11

Among the most important Brazilian and foreign photographers of nineteenth-century Brazil are Joaquim Insley Pacheco, Joaquim Feliciano Alves Carneiro, Gaspar Antonio da Silva Guimarães, Victor Frond, Karl Ernest Papf, Christiano Jr., Militão Augusto de Azevedo, Marc Ferrez, José Ferreira Guimarães, Van Nyvel, Revert Henry Klumb, Georges Leuzinger, Alberto Henschel, Augusto Riedel, Juan Gutierrez, and Augusto Stahl. These professionals worked in their own studios, and they also associated with one another throughout their careers; some who formed collective studios were Mangeon (Guilherme) & Van Nyvel; Guimarães & Co.; Christiano Jr. & Pacheco (Bernardo José Pacheco); Henschel & Benque (Francisco); Carneiro & Gaspar.

Photography professionals quickly organized themselves, and adopted a hierarchical system, seeking to excel in technical quality and satisfy an elite consumer market. For example, the back of pictures started including (in addition to spaces for dedications) other features that might offer professionals and their atéliers prestige. In their competitiveness for symbolic capital and consumer market, photographers sought advantages from honors and awards won in national and international exhibitions, as well as titles of distinction, such as Imperial House Photographer or Imperial Navy Photographer. 12 Slaveholder class families exploited these aspects to stand out socially. Therefore, besides providing a guarantee of technical quality, picking a good studio (national or international) gave prestige to the photographed subject who might also display the back for added value, always depending on the hired professional’s reputation.

11 Although at this time photographers gathered in the Imperial Court in Rio de Janeiro, the capital of the empire and its political and administrative center, other capitals counted not only on their renowned photography studios but also on branches of the Court studios.

12 According to Pedro Vasquez, fifteen professionals won the title Photographo da Caza Imperial Vasquez, O Brasil na fotografia oitocentista, 16.

Research in many nineteenth-century family albums has unveiled some interesting aspects. Most of the photographs are of individuals, with quite an even balance in the number of men and women. However, photographers used chest framing (the subject stands out owing to the closeness of the lens) more for photographing men than for women and children, for whom full-body portrait photography (which enhanced the clothing worn) outnumbered all other compositions (figure 1, figure 2). Photographs of children at various ages were common in individual, double (with another child or adult), or in group composition. Photographs of groups also had their space in these albums, though less often. Among family groups, photographs of couples with children were the most numerous.

The individual photos (analyzed according to their distribution in family albums) provide a visual narrative placing the family group in both nuclear and wider settings.13 The selection, placement, and organization of images in the albums indicated what the family wished to convey, thus forming a symbolic act of memory construction. Many would arrange family members posing side by side: husbands and wives, parents and children, cousins, godchildren, brothers, and sisters. The use of portrait photography served as large-scale collective memory, symbolically legitimizing the family and its members in the Empire of Brazil.

Families valued ceremonies highly, as they provided the chance for taking photographs: baptisms, First Holy Communions, engagements, weddings, and other social events. These festivities were the center pieces of the albums. At such events, owing to less light and other technical limitations –the conditions for taking photographs in homes were inadequate–clients had to resort to photographic studios to register a new stage in their lives. Events formerly restricted to family circles were transformed through a process involving public sophistication and appreciation, throughout the second half of the nineteenth century, acquiring social rank value and receiving the status of  celebration. The pictures taken on those occasions and distributed as cartes de visite functioned as a mark of uniqueness, segregating certain members of the aristocracy who were not socioeconomically able to celebrate these ceremonies photographically.

Photos in nineteenth-century family albums were not taken solely at expensive studios and by renowned professionals. As an alternative for those who lived in the provinces, far from urban centers, there was a new possibility: the traveling photographer. In a wagon or on the back of mules, these amateurs carried a kit consisting of a plain background, some curtains, some floor mats, and a posing device. They took with them a lot of equipment: huge cameras, tripods, glass plates, chemical preparations, and travel tents.14 However, the furniture reproduced in these photographs mostly belonged to the farms themselves. Somewhere outside the house, where the sunlight was good, the photographer would arrange his setting, furniture, and photo-

13 Mariana Muaze, “Os guardados da viscondessa: fotografia e memória na coleção Ribeiro de Avellar”, Anais do Museu Paulista: História e cultura material, 14:2 (July-December 2006), 73-106.

14 According to Maria Ines Turazzi, this large mass of equipment lasted until at least the 1880s. Turazzi, Poses e trejeitos, 77.

3. (left). Unknown person, Carte de visite, Manoel de Paula Ramos Photographer, 1870’s. Roberto Meneses de Moraes Collection.

4. (right). Joaquim Ribeiro de Avellar with a lamb, Carte de visite, Manoel de Paula Ramos Photographer, 1870’s. Private collection.

graphic equipment. The mise en scène of the nineteenth-century photography studio was made to fit the space amateurs had to improvise. For example, Manoel de Paula Ramos photographed at the Pau Grande farm of the wealthy family of Avellar Ribeiro, who owned property and slaves in the Paraíba River Valley Region in Rio de Janeiro State, taking many photographs between 1863 and 1870.15 (figure 3 and figure 4). A dental surgeon by profession, and an amateur photographer, Ramos traveled through the properties of the Paraíba Valley offering his services far away from big city competition.

15 Mauad, “Imagem e auto-imagem do Segundo Reinado”, 226.

Photographic practices in modern Brazil: the nineteenth and twentieth centuries

Photographic portraits also bore witness to color boundaries in the mestizo society of the time. Present in social relations daily, slavery did not go unnoticed by the lenses of Second Empire photographers who reproduced images of slaves both within and outside their workshops. For example, Christiano Jr. announced in the  1866 Laemmert Almanac “an assorted collection of the customs and the types of black people, very unique for anyone who goes to Europe”.16 This photographer created many collections of cartes de visite showing slaves in their everyday activities, but staged in his studio (figure 5, figure 6, figure 7, figure 8). In other collections, slaves posed in costumes: the women wore turbans, and the men dressed in suits, but all were always barefoot – an attempt to frame slavery within the aesthetics of exoticism.17

In other cases, the focus was the domestic realm. Some portraits displayed African-Brazilian wet-nurses with babies on their laps, nannies with children, slaves with their masters, and even slaves dressed to the nines, as a form of showing off. Staging slavery this way reaffirmed the wealth and power of the slaveholder class. In yet another kind of portrait –those that showed freemen– the African-Brazilian presence reproduced the apparel, style, and poses of the slaveholder class, thus creating social masks.18

In her book,  Negros no estúdio do fotógrafo: Brasil segunda metade do século XIX (Blacks at the photography studio: Brazil in the second half of the nineteenth-century), Sandra Koutsoukos analyzes the different photographs that show different historical practices in Brazilian slave society. This leads us to inquire whether social relations in this slave society also followed the patterns of visual representation revealed in photographs, in their plurality of conflicts, confrontations, and negotiations.19

16 Almanack Laemmert, Rio de Janeiro: Tipografia Laemmert, 1866, 357.

17 Aline Magalhães and Maria do Carmo Rainho. “Produção, Usos E Apropriações De Uma Imagem: O Processo De Iconização Da Fotografia Da Mulher De Turbante, De Alberto Hensche”.  Revista de História da UEG 9, Nº 2 (julho 13, 2020): e922002. Acessado julho 8, 2021. https://www.revista.ueg.br/index.php/revistahistoria/article/view/10514

18 Ana Maria Mauad, “As fronteiras da cor: imagem e representação social na sociedade escravista imperial”, Locus: Revista de História . 6:2. (July-December 2000) 82-98. Available at http://locus.ufjf.emnuvens.com.br/locus/article/view/2363

19 Sandra Sofia Machado Koutsoukos, Negros no estúdio do fotógrafo, Brasil segunda metade do século XIX, Campinas: Editora Unicamp 2010.

Photographic practices in modern Brazil: the nineteenth and twentieth centuries

Family albums and photography collections in Europe reveal that the invention and dissemination of photographic images were linked to the rise of bourgeois society, the birth of modern individuality, and the consolidation of a capitalist mode of production. In Brazil, however, the values of European civilization were going through a reframing process that sought to reconcile modernity and an aristocratic ideal; liberalism and slavery; the individual and the patriarchal family.20 The Empire’s public strategy aimed at defining boundaries of slavery, citizenship, and the rule of law.21

Publicizing the nation - landscapes and international exhibitions

In 1842, photography gained prestige as an artistic expression when photographs and paintings by Hippolyte Lavenue, appeared side by side at the  General Exhibition of the Imperial Academy of Fine Arts. The  National Exhibition launched in 1861 and other general exhibitions confirmed the prestige of photographs. At those events, therefore, landscape photography emerged as an artistic concept.

For a better understanding of the recognition process of landscape photography as a fine art, it is worth mentioning that some writers consider the beginning of the period as a kind of “Rediscovery of Brazil”.22 In Brazil and Europe, many foreign naturalists, artists, and scientists published documents –both written texts and images– of their travels and expeditions, rapidly spreading not only scientific values and civilizing processes but also the ethnocentric ideas most Europeans shared.23 It was during this period of “Rediscovering Brazil”, and the construction of a national identity, that photography arrived. On January 17th, 1840, the chaplain of the corvette ship L’Orientale, Louis Compte, took three photographs of downtown Rio de Janeiro, capital of the Empire: The  Imperial Palace, the  Fountain of Master Valentin, and

20 For a reflection on family photography in the Brazilian Empire, see Mariana Muaze, As Memórias da Viscondessa: família e poder no Brasil Império. Rio de Janeiro: Zahar/FAPERJ 2008.

21 Hebe Castro, Resgate: uma janela para o oitocentos. Rio de Janeiro: Topbooks 1995.

22 Boris Kossoy and Maria Luiza Carneiro, O Olhar europeu, o negro na iconografia brasileira do século XIX. São Paulo: EDUSP 2002.

23 Johannes Fabian, “A prática etnográfica como compartilhamento do tempo e como objetivação” Mana 12:2 (2006), 503-526.

the Market at the Fish Beach. 24

On that occasion, Dom Pedro II was observing this new technology, and, delighted, ordered a camera for himself, thus becoming the first photographer and photograph collector in Brazil.25

Was this new invention a fine art or not? Owing to the prestige of the outstanding photographers working with the Emperor, the controversy did not go much further. Thanks to this royal impetus, unlike in Europe, photography quickly gained independence from painting in nineteenthcentury Brazilian visual culture.

Photographic activity in Brazil throughout the nineteenth century had its hierarchy, structured around different elements. Among these were: access to technical innovations; appropriate aesthetic options for international standards; awards at national and international exhibitions; customers from Rio’s upper class; the geographical locations of studios in large Brazilian cities; contacts with foreign countries; proximity to state power; and, to a lesser extent, artistic training in Fine Arts. All these aspects led to an independent photographic practice.26

Brazil debuted at major international exhibitions in 1862. Earlier, only a group of representatives had honored events in London (1851) and Paris (1855). At that time, photography had already stood out as one of the most appreciated Brazilian products not only for its technical quality but also because visitors were amazed by views of lush Brazilian natural landscapes. An example of this photographed luxuriance is Georges Leuzinger Photographic Studio’s picture of the entrance to the bay of Rio de Janeiro taken in 1883, greatly applauded in the French press.27 (figure 9)

National and international exhibitions became the main venues for the access to circulation, dissemination, and consumption of Brazilian views. Landscapes always portrayed either exotic, opulent, Nature (Indians,

24 Maria Inez Turazzi, The Oriental-Hydrographe and Photography, Montevideo: CdF, 2020.

25 A collection of photographs of D. Pedro II with over 25,000 pictures was deposited in 1892 at the National Library of Rio de Janeiro with the title of Coleção Imperatriz Thereza Christina Maria (Empress Thereza Christina Maria Collection); it was recently awarded recognition as a UNESCO Memory of the World

26 Ana Maria Mauad. “A inscrição na cidade: fotografia de autor, Marc Ferrez e Augusto Malta”, in Ana Maria Mauad, Poses e Flagrantes; ensaios sobre história e fotografias, Niteroi: Eduff 2008, also accessible at http://www.cbha.art.br/coloquios/1999/arquivos/pdf/pg391_ana_mauad.pdf

27 Turazzi. Poses e trejeitos, 22. See the images at http://www.faap.br/hotsites/panoramas/

virgin lands, forests) or the spirit of modernity and progress through scenes of coffee plantations, railroads, and towns. As it met both these requirements, the capital, Rio de Janeiro, was always the subject of landscapes. Large audiences visited exhibitions, and the studios often displayed their award-winning pictures. Medalist photographers Carneiro and Gaspar announced in the March 14th, 1866, issue of  Correio Paulistano that “The people of this capital can come and admire the works that kindled Europe’s admiration and have no rival in the entire country”.28

Representing Brazil at international events, some photographers won various awards, such as Insley Pacheco (Porto/1865, Vienna/1873, Philadelphia/1876, Buenos Aires/1882, Paris/1889), A. Frisch-Leuzinger Photographic Studio (Paris/1867), Georges Leuzinger (Paris/1867, Vienna/1873), Henschel & Benque (Vienna/1873), Augusto Riedel (Vienna/1873), Marc Ferrez (Philadelphia/1876, Paris/1878, Buenos Aires/1882, Amsterdam/1883, Paris/1889), Jose Ferreira Guimaraes (Buenos Aires/1882), Alfredo Ducasble (Antwerp/1885, Paris/1889) and Felipe Augusto Fidanza (silver medal, Paris/1889).29 These awards represent not only recognition for the technique and art of photography, but also professional photographers’ integration into the repertoire of nineteenth-century visual culture. Thanks to their educated photographer’s eye, their photographs constructed the image of the Empire to be identified with the ideals of the nation.

28 Quoted in Solange Ferraz de Lima e Vânia Carneiro, Fotografia e cidade – da razão à lógica de consumo, álbuns de Sã Paulo (1887-1954), São Paulo: Fapesp/Mercado das Letras 1997, 74. 29 Turazzi. Poses e trejeitos, 217-225.

To participate in international exhibitions, photographers had to select the photographs presenting an image of Brazil consistent with the image the Empire wanted to project overseas. Thus, Brazil’s participation at international exhibitions was marked by photographs portraying a civilizing rhetoric together with nature’s tropical lushness, a firm statement of the country’s progress and promising future. Presenting the hegemonic social classes’ vast repertoire of signs identified with natural exuberance and progress, the views and landscapes educated the eye, shaping the idea of the imagined nation of the Empire of Brazil.30

At the Paris Universal Exhibition of 1878, the imperial government cut expenses owing to financial problems, thus handing over the organization and financing of the Brazilian pavilion to the Farm Trade Association Centre, founded in 1871 with the endorsement of major commissioners and coffee farmers. From that moment on, advertising coffee, defending a policy aimed at expanding the consumer market, and achieving a competitive pricing strategy for coffee, were the key points of Brazil’s participation at international exhibitions. Under the Farm Trade Association Centre’s command, coffee stood out among all the products on display, and photography began privileging the production and the progress of the coffee industry.31 As an example, one can mention the set of coffee plantation images by Marc Ferrez, awarded the bronze medal at the Antwerp Universal Exhibition in 1885, and the gold medal at the Paris Universal Exhibition in 1889.32 (figure 10)

At international and universal exhibitions, countries fiercely competed for recognition by the most civilized nations, exhibiting inventions and 30 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, London: Verso 1991.

31 Folha Nova (1 July 1884).

32 Muaze, Mariana. “Violence appeased: Slavery and coffee raising in the photography of Marc Ferrez (1882-1885)”. Rev. Bras. Hist. 37 (74), Jan-Apr 2017, https://www.scielo.br/j/rbh/a/96y pCVNpCWQDv59Vtqqjdyw/?lang=en; The Ferrez collection, composed of glass negatives and photographs, is stored at Instituto Moreira Salles. The Biblioteca Nacional (The National Library) also has pictures of the photographer that belong to the Empress Theresa Christina Collection, among them seven photographs that portray slave labor in the Paraíba Valley, province of Rio de Janeiro. See, http://fotografia.ims.uol.com.br/Sites/#1389305813856_3 and http://acervo. bndigital.bn.br

10.

technologies to change everyday life quickly, and contributed to the feeling that time was accelerating and progress moving. On this scenario, the Empire of Brazil achieved the position of agricultural producer and supplier of goods, in addition to its status as possessor of prime, lush, exotic nature. Proud of the power balance established with European civilization, Brazil built up an internal and external representation of itself as an agricultural country, gaining the title of the world’s largest coffee producer.

Side by side with the photographs emphasizing this civilizing rhetoric, there were other kinds of award-winning photographs at exhibitions, whose purpose was to experiment with photographic language. An example worth mentioning is Valerio Vieira (1862-1941), whose most famous image, Os Trinta Valérios, was a 1901 photomontage, awarded the silver medal

11. “Os 30 Valérios” (“The 30 Valérios”), photomontage, Vieira Valério, 1890. Awarded a silver medal at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition, Saint Louis, 1904. National Library, Rio de Janeiro.

in 1904 at the International Saint Louis Fair, USA. Immersed in a cheerful atmosphere of music, drinks, and talk, the photographer portrayed thirty men; however, all thirty faces are his own.33 (figure 11)

This kind of playful relation to nineteenth-century realism shows the type of attitude towards the outside world taken by these photographers, not only through creative photography but also through documentary photography. Valério Vieira’s photography became a kind of cross between photography guided by Talbot’s “Pencil of Nature” and the defense of copyright status as legitimate for artistic movements all over Brazil between 1910

33 See http://catalogos.bn.br/lc/port/art_fotografia.html

and 1950. With the onset of industrialization, photographic cameras got smaller and smaller. This led to a popularization of the photographic social circuit, closely associated with the project of modern imagery based on the principles of rationality, objectivity, and instantaneity.34 In these three cases, photography fostered audience education because it fulfilled different functions: the production of news, education of the eye, propaganda for the government, and images for memoirs.

Visual Modernity – uses and functions of photography in the twentieth century

The process of urbanization and industrialization in Brazil throughout the twentieth century transformed photography. During this period, photography strengthened its status as a public image-maker through a visual modernization process that drew on new strategies for seeing and being seen. Moreover, it was associated with the formation of a public space hierarchy owing to three main characteristics. The first had to do with the logic of consumption and social distinction found in a society based on inequality. Then, there were new vision devices following mass consumption of images. The last characteristic referred to the new visual economies that sought to account for the entry of Brazil into the international cultural trade circuit of western modernity and liberal capitalist cultures. As a result, three different agents producing contemporary public photography appeared, namely the press, the state, and the art worlds.35

The development and involvement of this kind of photographic practice with the ongoing historical process resulted in a social space for photographers closely connected to a generational sense of belonging.36 The

34 André Rouillé, “Da arte dos fotógrafos a fotografia dos artistas”, Revista do Instituto do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional, 27 (1998) 302-313.

35 The art worlds are composed of the people involved in the production, commission, preservation, promotion, criticism, and sale of art. Howard Becker describes it “as the network of people whose cooperative activity, organized via their joint knowledge of conventional means of doing things, produce(s) the kind of art works that art world is noted for”. Becker, Art Worlds, Preface x.

36 The concept of generation is employed here as a time scale, variable and defined on the basis of the set of social experiences that build the universe of the political culture of an era. On this concept see F. Sirinelli, ‘Geração’, in J. Amado, M. Ferreira, Usos e Abusos da História Oral, Rio de Janeiro: FGV 1996.

photographers as agents of history developed a wide and diverse visual repertoire of the world. Thus, by recording the various conditions and situations of the human experience with different purposes, photographers contributed to developing a visual history of modern Brazil.

Photography and the press – from classical photojournalism to independent agencies

Recent studies on the relationship between photography and the press led to two main perspectives on the evolution of photo-reportage and Brazilian photojournalism.

Regarding the first perspective, Joaquim Marçal de Andrade identified the birth of photo-reportage and photojournalism in the nineteenth century, arguing that “when performed outside the studios, nineteenthcentury Brazilian photography is noticeably documentary”, the feature in which “one finds the ‘germ’ of what would come to be Brazilian journalistic photography”.37 According to Andrade, documentary photographs then corresponded to a documentary trend in photography portraying events different from everyday life: arrivals or visits of the Imperial Family, social and political conflicts, celebrations, and ceremonies inaugurating monuments. Photographers such as Augusto Stahl, Marc Ferrez, Revert Henrique Klumb, and Juan Gutierrez greatly contributed to this trend.

The photographs of the War of the Triple Alliance (1864-1870),38 a conflict involving Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay against Paraguay concerning South American geopolitics, were also matter of Andrade’s concern.

For the first time, Henry Fleiuss, the publisher of the  Semana Ilustrada (Illustrated Week) hired photographers whose mission it was to portray an event the press would later report. According to Andrade, Fleiuss’s idea of documenting the conflict by putting a camera on the field, pinpoints the origin of photographic reportage in the nineteenth century.

Andrade’s arguments have raised controversies, either because the 37 Joaquim Marçal Ferreira de Andrade, História da fotorreportagem no Brasil. A fotografia na imprensa do Rio de Janeiro de 1839-1900. Rio de Janeiro: Elsevier, 2004, 12. 38 Ricardo Salles, Guerra do Paraguai, memória & imagem . Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional 2003.

magazine did not publish any photos (the illustrations were drawings from the photos and only showed ‘photorealistic’ traits to a certain degree); or because the images did not illustrate any narratives; or because the set of photographs did not represent any vested interests of the photographers for specific themes. However, they exemplified the close relationship between a newspaper and technical images working to create new possibilities of production and reception of knowledge.

The other perspective on the evolution of photo-reportage and Brazilian photojournalism (without denying the importance of the nineteenthcentury experiences) argues that photo-reportage and photojournalism are languages and approaches typical of the twentieth century, linked to the growth of urban centers, the industrialization of the press, the invention of snapshots and the emergence of photographers as public figures. In the first decades of the twentieth century, photography was preeminent in the context of press industrialization and professionalization.

The increasing movement of people, together with dissemination of information in the world, took place thanks to technological innovations. Distant worlds, drawing closer to one another in the nineteenth century thanks to photography and travel postcards, were now presented in detailed and current news. Photography would be able to tell what was happening around the world, and the press would select what it thought deserved to be seen. This marked the birth of illustrated magazines, with attractive images added to their pages, as well as the appeal of news on current events presented through photography.

Illustrated magazines

In the early twentieth century, Brazil’s pioneering publication was the  Revista da Semana (Magazine of the Week). This magazine used photography to inform and entertain, embedding the picture in texts and in artistic arabesques that might or might not be related to the content of the reports. In the following years, publishers launched magazines such as  Fon-Fon,  Careta, Kosmos, Ilustração Brasileira (Brazilian Illustration), and Espelho, among others. The content of printed material ranged from criticism to comics and, especially after 1920, the illustrated magazines served as real manuals

(or a kind of self-help book) of modern, civilized bourgeois life.39

These overlapping spaces of pages, words, drawings, advertisements, and photographs, stimulated readers’ imaginations with experiences of all kinds, conveying them to distant places, virtually installing them there. Magazines showed the Brazilian urban and literate world, interweaving journeys into to the wilderness, or to Europe and America, and kings, queens, princes and princesses, chiefs of state at ceremonies, and even Hollywood stars, at dinners and events.

Modern was the keyword for magazines, mostly identified in their titles or subtitles. One of them was the Espelho: A Revista da Vida Moderna (Mirror: The Magazine of Modern Life). The  Espelho followed the trend set by international illustrated magazines, with assorted articles for the bourgeois family (some were even titled ‘the family paper’, as was the case of the Austrian  Neue Jugend – Das Illustrierte Familienblatt  (New Youth – The Illustrated Paper for the Family).

Reading magazines like the  Espelho and the  Ilustração Brasileira, one notices an increasing appreciation for the communicative power of photography with more space granted to the visual content. Texts were reduced in length, mostly being short chronicles, introductions, or contextualization, leaving large areas for photos –a very meaningful, resourceful, idea in a country where literacy was restricted to the upper and middle classes.40

Brazil was developing and acquiring an urban character. At the same time, it appeared fascinating, tropical, wild, and unknown. In this process, one also notices the redefinition of roles for the producers of images. Because of the very technical nature of photography, the photographer had to be on the spot when events were taking place. This was crucially becoming clearer and clearer.

On the one hand, in seeking readers, magazines functioned as vehicles for a new visual narrative. On the other, their relationship with their photographers restricted them to the role of mediators of the information

39 Ana Maria Mauad, “Na mira do olhar: um exercício de análise da fotografia nas revistas ilustradas cariocas, na primeira metade do século XX”.  Anais do Museu Paulista 13:1 (June 2005), 133-174.

40 On literacy rates in modern Brazil, see Angela de Castro Gomes, “A escola republicana: entre luzes e sombras” in Gomes, Pandolfi e Alberti. A República Brasileira, Rio de Janeiro: Nova Fronteira/FGV 2002, 384-434.

they provided. Thus, the actual producers of images began to stand out as accredited individuals ‘lending their eyes’ to their audience by publishing in magazines ‘whatever they had shot’. This photographic practice involved not only authors and magazines but also readers of the final product, who gave photographs the status of a new social experience.

In the late 1920s in Rio de Janeiro, publishers launched two major magazines,  O Cruzeiro Magazine (1928) and  A Noite Ilustrada (The Illustrated Night) (1930). They repeated the successful formulae used by other magazines and also explored new perspectives, such as juxtaposition of photos as a narrative resource, techniques for more accurate printing (rotogravure), publication of everyday snapshots (as opposed to images of historical events and celebrities), and recognized the importance of some of their photographers by crediting them as authors, and incentivzed photography through contests.

In the 1940s,  O Cruzeiro revolutionized the publication of photojournalism in Brazil by adopting the procedures of foreign magazines such as Life Magazine (figures 12 and 13). It gave full priority to images, requiring that reporters and photographers work together as a team in the field, crediting authorship and using advanced printing techniques.  O Cruzeiro established new visual standards for illustrated magazines, such as Manchete launched in April 1952. Personally directed by the Brazilian journalist Adolfo Bloch, Manchete got government support to oppose the supremacy of the entrepreneur Assis Chateaubriand, owner of the Diários Associados (The Associated Newspapers), a conglomerate monopolizing the main radio broadcasting companies and the press at that time in Brazil. In 1922, Russian immigrant Adolpho Bloch had arrived in Brazil, where he continued his typesetter activities and became a naturalized citizen. He started Manchete with a small investment and a circulation of 200,000 copies. However, because of the success of the magazine, Bloch invested in machinery for a printing plant built on the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro and increased circulation to 800,000 copies.

In the 1960s and the 1970s, with the advent of television as a mass medium, the industry of illustrated publications began specializing in magazines on specific topics. For example, in 1961, Editora Abril, one of the major publishing companies in Brazil, distributed the women’s magazine, Claudia, and, in 1970, the sports magazine, Placar. The owner of Editora Abril, Victor Civita, was born in New York but became one of the greatest media

12. “Flagelo de uma nação” (“The scourge of a nation”). Photo-reportage published in the magazine O Cruzeiro about the possible victory of Getulio Vargas in the 1950 presidential elections in Brazil. Vargas had ruled Brazil from 1930 to 1945 under an authoritarian regime. O Cruzeiro, 17 June 1950, p. 1.

Photographic practices in modern Brazil: the nineteenth and twentieth centuries

13. “Flagelo de uma nação” (“The scourge of a nation”). Photo-reportage published in the magazine O Cruzeiro about the possible victory of Getulio Vargas in the 1950 presidential elections in Brazil. Vargas had ruled Brazil from 1930 to 1945 under an authoritarian regime. O Cruzeiro, 17 June 1950, p. 2.

moguls in Brazil. After the consolidation of Brazil’s media culture, photographers began specializing in certain subjects, events, and activities, such as fashion photography, which rose out of advertising catalogs and spread across the pages of magazines and of fashion columns in daily newspapers.41

With the 1964 coup d’état, the military regime in Brazil imposed censorship on all publications, leading to diversification in illustrated magazines.42 It is worth mentioning that, in this context of renewal and upheaval, Editora Abril launched the magazine  Realidade (Reality) in 1966 and published until 1976. They began sponsoring research journalism and ended up establishing principles and methods for this type of journalism in Brazil, despite repeatedly having to deal with censorship. The magazine reported and discussed forbidden issues in the 1960s, including police crackdown, demonstrations against the dictatorship, the marriage of priests in the Catholic Church, women’s status, sex, marriage, and abortion.  Realidade turned its photographic eye on Brazil by improving its photography department, employing a skilled team of photographers, including Luigi Mamprin, Chico Guerissi, Jean Solari, David Drew Zingg, Walter Firmo, Maureen Bisiliat, George Love, and Claudia Andujar, who was one of the photographers responsible for the recognition of documentary photography in the art world.43

Realidade received many awards in the Prêmio Esso de Reportagem (Esso Journalism Award), the highest Brazilian journalism accolade. The awardwinning magazine highlights the central role of photographs in building stories not only for the innovations of photojournalistic language but also for the relationship between text and image with different layouts.

41 Maria do Carmo Rainho, Moda e Revolução nos Anos 1960, Rio de Janeiro: Ed. Contra Capa, 2014.

42 The 1964 coup d’etat was a military-political movement set in motion on 31st March 1964 to overthrow the government of President João Goulart. It marked the beginning of a military dictatorship that lasted two decades. See Daniel Aarão Reis Filho, Marcelo Ridenti, and Rodrigo Motta, O golpe e a ditadura militar - 40 anos depois, 1964-2004. Bauru: EDUSC 2004; Daniel Aarão Reis Filho, Ditadura Militar, esquerdas e sociedade, Rio de Janeiro: Zahar 2000.

43 On Claudia Andujar’s life, see Ana Maria Mauad, “Imagens possíveis. Fotografia e memória em Claudia Andujar”, in Revista do Programa de Pós-gradução da Escola de Comunicação da UFRJ, 15: 01, 2012. Access http://www.pos.eco.ufrj.br/ojs-2.2.2/index.php?journal=revista&page=arti cle&op=view&path%5B%5D=568

Daily newspapers and independent agencies

In daily newspapers, photographs had appeared sporadically from the early decades of the twentieth century, but the difficulties of reproduction, the quality of paper, and the nature itself of publishing did not favor photograph publishing. Until the late 1950s, daily newspapers incorporated photojournalism as a regular communication practice, such in as the following three newspapers in Rio de Janeiro: Última Hora (The Last Hour), Jornal do Brasil, and  Correio da Manhã (The Morning Post).44 Each of them contributed to setting up a new kind of photographic practice associated with the ideals of fast, wide-range communication of major daily newspapers.

From the graphic design reformulation of  Jornal do Brasil in 1955 and after the creation of the  Esso Journalism Awards in 1962, gradually an awareness of the role of photography’s contribution to the meaningfulness of news began taking place.45 The effort of photojournalism editors, such as the photographer Erno Schneider (1933-) from O Correio da Manhã, helped increase this awareness, leading to the development of new photographic presentations which were crucial to the struggle for photojournalists’ authorial rights to be recognized. In the newsrooms of major newspapers, press photographers came to have a certain autonomy in the coverage of political events. Despite the lack of higher education among this generation of photographers who fostered new photographic practices in newsrooms, they largely paved the way for renewal, young people being responsible for their radicalization in the independent agencies’ movement.46

Photo agencies emerged in Brazil in the 1960s and multiplied in the following decades, mainly in the 1980s. They introduced new practices to deal with photos: independent production and a new form of image management, filing original photos, and control over the publication and

44 Silvana Louzada, Prata da Casa: Fotógrafos e a Fotografia no Rio de Janeiro (1950-1960), Niterói: EDUFF 2013.

45 Ana Paula Serrano, De frente para a imagem: O Prêmio Esso e o fotojornalismo no Brasil Contemporâneo 1960 a 1979, M.A. Thesis, Universidade Federal Fluminense, 2013.

46 See Memória do Fotojornalismo Brasileiro, Register of Oral Sources of LABHOI-UFF, www. historia.uff.br/labhoi

dissemination of photos.47 Besides providing organizational structure, archiving methodology, and distribution of work, independent agencies of the 1980s also worked as cooperatives, which encouraged professionals to invest in the coverage of their agendas. This new perspective of photographic practice centered on agency experience took place at a key moment and reshaped the political and economic trends as well as the cultural visual patterns of the decade.

Throughout the 1980s, these agencies spread all over the country, with representatives in several cities in Brazil. In 1979, Nair Benedicto, Juca Martins, Ricardo Malta, and Delfim Martins created the F4 Agency in São Paulo; it focused on political action, the defense of author’s rights, and the definition of new work relationships. In Rio de Janeiro, this agency formed a group with important names in photography: Ricardo Asoury, Ricardo Belial, Rogério Reis, Zeka Araújo, João Roberto Ripper and Cynthia Brito. In Brasilia (the capital of Brazil from 1960), Milton Guran, Domingos Mascarenhs, Tonico Mercador, and Chico Neiva founded, in 1980, the agency  Agil, primarily to build an archive of images of the main events on the political scenario in the capital of the Republic, as well as of the social conditions of native Brazilian communities (figures 14 and 15 - Milton Guran). At the time, they undertook the coverage of the major events and movements of the ‘Political Transition to Democracy in Brazil’ in the 1980s, such as the struggle for amnesty, the debates of the Constitutional Assembly, the ‘rebirth’ of the student movement, the civil unrest movement called ‘Diretas Já’ (Direct Elections Now) and living conditions among native Brazilians. In 1984, photographer João Roberto Ripper founded the agency Imagem da Terra (Image of the Earth) in Rio de Janeiro, which focused on the production of photographs related to the social movements and living conditions of workers and severely deprived communities all over Brazil.48

Although these Brazilian agencies were inspired by international agencies, mainly the French  Dephot and  Magnum, they assimilated the trend

47 On the role of agencies in the 1980s see the testimony of Assis Hoffmann, Milton Guran, Nair Benedicto, and Zeka Araújo recorded during1982 at the I Ciclo de Palestras Sobre Fotografia (First Cycle of Lectures on Photography); they were transcribed and published in Ivan Lima, Sobre Fotografia, Rio de Janeiro: Sindicato dos Jornalistas/Funarte 1983; see also Angela Fonseca Magalhães and Nadja Peregrino, A fotografia no Brasil: um olhar das origens ao contemporâneo, Rio de Janeiro: FUNARTE 2004.

48 Ibid. 90-92.

of the late 1970s and early 1980s, a period when people were committed to solving social problems. Associated with the struggles for the ‘Political Transition to Democracy in Brazil’, the movement of Brazilian independent agencies proclaimed their commitment by adopting two courses of action. The first was to base their agendas around themes of political representation, and choose their photographs accordingly; in the second, photographers strove for professional recognition, such as receiving credit for images and defining an author’s rights policy for photography and social documenta-

tion as a whole. Photographic images emerge as a speech of synthesis and  of the impact that dialogues with caricatures and cartoons on the pages of newspapers and magazines to depict political criticism and social condemnation. The Brazilian press in the 1990s and the 2000s notwithstanding, the practice of photographic expression and documentation stimulated a diverse set of initiatives associated with the expansion of photography in different communities. Among those initiatives, worth highlighting is the project FotoAtiva Cidade Velha, which the photographer Miguel Chicaoka coordinated in the city of Belém, state of Pará, located in the northern region. This project aimed at stimulating the community’s interest in photography through exhibitions in public squares, workshops for various photographic techniques such as  pinhole, and gathering and organizing photographic community-based documentation.49

49 Miguel Chicaoka, ‘Projeto FotoAtiva da Cidade Velha’, Revista do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional, 27 (1998).

2.2 Foreign Photographers’ Practices

In the first half of the twentieth century, many foreign photographers working in Brazil kept up with the changes and technical improvements of images. Because they did, they carried portable high-speed cameras fast enough to register both urban movement and countryside landscape. With the increasing use of photography in various spheres of social and political life, some foreign photographers were happy to be accepted for state projects, to practice their profession. Two important names are worth mentioning: the Austrian Mario Baldi and Frenchman Jean Manzon.

Mario Baldi50 came to Brazil in 1921 and began publishing in the Brazilian press after travelling through the country as a private photographer for Pedro de Orleans e Bragança, D. Pedro II’s grandson. The magazine Noite Ilustrada gave the Austrian space on its pages for his articles, and he received authorship rights for his images.

Around 1935-36, Baldi and Harald Schultz founded Photo Yurumi. The partnership was entitled Brazilian Press-Photo for which they contacted foreign magazines and international agencies. The  Photo Yurumi was even praised by the famous German magazine Die Neue Gartenlaube for the story titled  Diamentenrausch (Land of Diamonds), in which Baldi displayed photographs of miners in his narrative of the diamond saga in Brazil. Besides Baldi, Presse-Hoffmann and Yurumi also got credit for the images. Heinrich Hoffmann, one of the main people responsible for distributing images to the German press, was later known as Hitler’s photographer for National Socialism propaganda.

Baldi would become known for his visual work among some Brazilian indigenous populations, travelling both commissioned by A Noite Illustrada and, later in his career, as a freelancer. In the turn of the 1940’s, the Ministry of Health and Education hired him to photograph the northern states of Brazil for a project called Obra Getuliana. 51 Introducing himself as “the

50 For more information on Mario Baldi, see Marcos F. de Brum Lopes, Mario Baldi, o photoreporter do Brasil: uma história sobre fotografias, narrativas e mediação cultural. São Paulo: Letra e Voz, 2021. 51 Getúlio Vargas was the president of Brazil from 1930 to 1945, and from1951 to 1954. The first period is known as the ‘Vargas Era’, a totalitarian regime that utilized propaganda as an instrument of hegemony. The project Obra Getuliana was aimed at celebrating the achievements of Vargas at the end of the first decade of government through the mobilization of photographers who recorded many aspects of Brazilian social life around the country.

photoreporter of Brazil”, Baldi pioneered Brazilian photojournalism. He got credit for his photos taken since the late 1920s, cultivating the style of adventurous photographer, a striking feature of almost all modern photojournalists. (Figures 16 and 17 - Mario Baldi)

Baldi’s career reminds us of the work of German photographers in Brazil and their relation to state projects, especially in the years 1930-40.

Like Baldi, Germans Erich Hess, Peter Lange, Paul Stille, and GermanChilean Erwin von Dessauer also participated in the  Obra Getuliana. This

Photographic practices in modern Brazil: the nineteenth and twentieth centuries

lineage attributed by Lacerda to the German presence in state photography of the 1930s and 1940s reflects the alliance of the  Vargas Regime and German culture, as well as the dissemination of German photography with its cutting-edge photo journalistic developments.52

Worth mentioning are the two main thematic lines that characterized this historical context, both redefining national culture-centered identities

52 Aline Lopes de Lacerda. “A Obra Getuliana ou como as imagens comemoram o regime”, Estudos Históricos, 7:14 (1994), 241-263.

during the Getúlio Vargas government (1930-1945). The first emphasized Brazilian culture as its birthright. The second redefined the notion of Brazil’s cultural alterity envisioned by its inhabitants. In both cases, one notes the presence of German photographers who immigrated to Brazil.

From the 1930s, the Office for National Artistic Heritage (Serviço de Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional - SPHAN) created a project to record Brazilian cultural heritage. The project aimed at locating and preserving cultural assets reflecting the formation of Brazil as a nation. Centralizing and often suppressing regional benefit on behalf of the national, the project created Brazilian cultural heritage by asserting the historicity of monuments and buildings.

The Baroque, introduced at the beginning of the seventeenth century, became the national architectural identity. Pointing towards the future, the photographers also took pictures of modernist buildings as part of the Brazilian heritage. Among those who contributed to the visualization of Brazil’s historical background based on the Baroque identity, the names of the photographers Erich Hess, Paul Stille, and Peter Lange are worth mentioning, as well as Marcel Gautherot, a Frenchman who was the main photographer of Oscar Niemeyer’s works. Photography became a means of recreating monuments in which the materiality of cultural assets expresses visual historicity.

The presence of foreign photographers evidenced the importance of photographic practices integrating state and press. German photographers with their small high-speed cameras came from a country experiencing the development of modern photojournalism and illustrated magazines. In Brazil, they took pictures which were published by both state and popular magazines: Stille and Baldi took photos for stories about old churches in Rio de Janeiro and published in a  carioca (Rio de Janeiro) magazine entitled  Espelho. 53 Stille stands out as one of the pioneering photographers to value the details of Brazilian religious monuments.54

53 Mario BALDI and Paul STILLE, “Terras fluminenses: egrejas antigas, egrejas rústicas”, Espelho. (ca. 1935) Secretaria de Cultura de Teresópolis, Coleção Mario Baldi, MB-P-PC-C2/54.

54 Aguiló Alonso and María Paz, “Photo Stille. Fotografias de monumentos de Brasil en el Legado de Diego Ângulo al CSIC”, in Pascual Chenel e Rincón García, Argentum. Estudios artísticos en homenaje a la Dra. Amelia López-Yarto Elizalde, (2012), 135-148 http://digital.csic. es/handle/10261/63832. Accessed 12th December 2013.

The so-called ‘March to the West’ in Brazil created by Getúlio Vargas’s government led to encounters with new societies and landscapes. Development, and widespread use of photography, were already at an indispensable stage for many different interests. One should mention that photographers coexisted with other professionals with an interest in photography, such as scientists, journalists, engineers, and other photographers. Some German professionals who produced valuable sets of photographs are: Mario Baldi, also devoted to ethnological themes; Helmut Sick, outstanding ornithologist; Herbert Baldus, ethnologist director of the  Museu Paulista; Harald Schultz, an ethnologist who worked for the  Indian Protection Service (SPI); Heinz Forthmann (also known as Foerthmann or even Foerdhmann), SPI videographer. Baldi, Schultz, Baldus, and Sick worked together at some point in their careers. These relationships evince a network of shared social experiences.

Photographer Jean Manzon greatly contributed to state and press photography in Brazil. Born in Paris, he began photographing together with the photographers of  L’Intransigeant as an intern. In 1938, he started working for a periodical publication considered a milestone in the history of the illustrated press, the  Vu magazine, an experience which would open doors for him in Brazil as an internationally recognized photographer. Arriving in Brazil in 1940, he worked at the Department of Press and Propaganda (DIP) for the government of Vargas, which coordinated and articulated the speeches and images of state propaganda. Manzon quickly achieved recognition and prestige with the political elite, selling many photographs at an exhibition attended by the elite. In 1943, he received an invitation to work for the magazine  O Cruzeiro, where they agreed to pay him a high salary. Also worth mentioning are the networks of social relations between state institutions and newspaper and magazine newsrooms. These included indications for job positions, political patronage, and artistic admiration, side by side.

O Cruzeiro Magazine transformed the role of images into an experience involving seeing and reading. It also credited photographers and reporters responsible for the stories, thus promoting them as public figures. The presence of Manzon at O Cruzeiro promoted those changes to a certain extent. The magazine benefitted from his experience with photojournalism at Vu and Paris Match, 55 and Manzon depicted the figure of the Brazilian

55 Helouise Costa, “Palco de uma história desejada: o retrato do Brasil por Jean Mazon”, Revista do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional, 27 (1998), 141.

Indian as one of his main photographic themes. Like Baldi, the French photographer Manzon followed the incursions of the March to the West and took part in the creation of the Indian image, brought to literate audiences on the pages of printed publications. However, unlike Baldi, Manzon turned the Indians into a spectacle, investing in interventions and setting up scenes referring to the discovery of Brazil.56

During the government of Getulio Vargas, the press and the state established a relationship fostering the production of large collections of images to document, control and catalog many aspects of social life. In this case, photography was made public to fulfill a political function that assured the transmission of a message making power strategies visible. Managing public memory permitted recording and projecting specific versions of history.57 To some extent, institutional demands determined the final visual outcome in newspapers and magazines, but one cannot deny the creativity of photographers whose careers redefined photographic practices from their individual experiences. Owing to the close relationship between state and press, photographers working for a newspaper or a magazine company had to balance institutional goals and public opinion.

Photography also played an important role in international relations. An example of such relations were the photos taken by Genevieve Naylor, a North American who went to Brazil in 1941-42 as an employee of the Office of the Coordinator of Inter-American Affairs (CIAA), a United States Department of State Agency. She was responsible for fostering their good neighbor policy, which encouraged close relations between the USA and the other American republics. The US political stance was aimed at bringing Southern Cone countries to embrace the US cause instead of the Nazi-Fascist axis, hence the need to adopt a two-way policy. On the one hand, it would ensure the assimilation of the ‘American way of life’ in the Americas. On the other hand, the US public would accept their neighbors as reliable. This policy was possible because of the investment in products of popular mass culture in each country, with images following a stereotyped pattern. Thus, Argentina represented the country of the Pampas and the gauchos; Peru, the country

56 Helouise Costa and Sergio Burgi, As origens do fotojornalismo no Brasil: um olhar sobre O Cruzeiro. 1940-1960, São Paulo: Instituto Moreira Salles 2012, 42.

57 Maria Beatriz Coelho, Imagens da nação, Belo Horizonte: UFMG, São Paulo: Imprensa Oficial do Estado de São Paulo/EDUSP 2012, 43.

Photographic practices in modern Brazil: the nineteenth and twentieth centuries

of the Andes and ancient culture; Brazil, the country of samba, mulatto, and the ‘scoundrel’. (Figures 18 and 19 - Genevieve Naylor Photos).

Nonetheless, Genevieve Naylor’s photographs did not follow that pattern; instead, her photographs portrayed Brazil defined by its idiosyncrasies instead of shaping its image to ethnographic protocols of alterity. She also strove to establish common bonds between Brazilians and US citizens, instead

Peter Reznikoff.

of creating unsurmountable differences or channeling them through the scientific discourse of ethnography. The composition of her photos reveals that she established a relationship between the people and the visual references of her time, especially those associated with artistic production in the 1930s, in which the appreciation of individuals and their role in social relations went harmoniously together. The outcome of those combined references produced a wide-ranging set of pictures, revealing the plural alterity of Brazilian character traits that ordinary people in the US could understand. She displayed her

Photographic practices in modern Brazil: the nineteenth and twentieth centuries

photographs at a 1943 exhibition, Faces and Places in Brazil, at the MoMA in New York City. Later, she toured the US with the exhibition.58

In post-war Brazil, photographers coming from many European countries deserve mention. Three genres are worthy of particular attention. The first relates to work carried out on behalf of government agencies, such as the case of Marcel Gautherot.59 The second refers to the ethnographic work leading to the development of African-Brazilian culture, best conveyed in the photography of another Frenchman, Pierre Verger.60 The third can be seen in early work in the field of advertising and social pages, such as work by Hungarian Kurt Klagsbrunn,61 and that of Frenchmen Milan Allran and Jean Solari62 demonstrate.

Some foreign photographers adopted Brazil as their country. They became important in bringing photographic and artistic practice together. Among the most outstanding are Hildegard Rosenthal, Alice Brill, Thomas Farkas, German Lorca, Robert Love, Claudia Andujar. The latter gave photography the value of political discourse when she defended the Yanomami Indian culture.63

Photography and the art worlds

The close connection of photography and the art worlds throughout the twentieth century stemmed from two paths which conjoined to form an

58 Ana Maria Mauad, “Genevieve Naylor, fotógrafa: impressões de viagem (Brasil, 1941-42)”, Revista Brasileira de História, 25:49 (2005), 43-75. Genevieve Naylor’s photographs will be at the the upcoming “The New Women Behind The Camera”, an exhibition at The Met (NY), https://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2021/new-woman-behind-the-camera; and also National Gallery of Art (Washington D. C) https://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/ listings/2021/new-woman-behind-the-camera

59 Heliana Angotti-Salgueiro, O Olho fotográfico de Marcel Gautherot e seu tempo, São Paulo: FAAP 2007.

60 See Pierre Verger’s biography at: http://www.pierreverger.org/fpv/index.php/br/pierrefatumbi-verger/biografia, accessed 10th January 2014.

61 Mauricio Lissovsky, Marcia Mello, Klagsbrunn Refúgio do Olhar: A fotografia de Kurt Klagsbrunn, no Brasil dos anos 1940, Rio de Janeiro: Casa da Palavra, 2013.

62 Interviews with the photographers, accessed www.labhoi.uff.br.

63 Helouise Costa and Renato Silva, A fotografia moderna no Brasil, São Paulo: Cosac Naif 2004; Claudia Andujar, Vulnerabilidade do Ser, São Paulo: Cosac Naify/Pinacoteca do Estado 2005 (bilingual version, Portuguese/English).

audience sensitive to the aesthetic experience of photography. The first path, going from late nineteenth century to mid-twentieth century, included the social circuits where photography was consumed primarily for its aesthetic. It involved a group of agents who were responsible for the dissemination of photography through publishing printed albums and organizing exhibitions. They organized data for the practice of photography according to certain criteria and they attributed artistic value to pieces according to the canons of classical photography. The second path commences at the end of the 1950s with the integration of modern photography in Brazil and the social circuits where this developed, with emphasis on the role of museums. Modern photography in Brazil was conceived as a “certain type of production that discusses the potential and the limitations of photography as a language, whose reference was the avant-garde photography of the early twentieth century”.64 Political struggle in the years that follow the 1964 military coup d’état directed the path of public photography to militant practices, while the presence of photography in the art worlds underwent many changes.

At nineteenth-century international exhibitions, photography glorified the wealth of the Empire with a utilitarian image, at the expense of its specifically artistic attributes. However, in the twentieth century, Brazil leaned towards republican and liberal viewpoints in accordance with the principles of western bourgeois culture. The Imperial Court no longer sponsored the photographer-artist, who returned to his status as the amateur who attended clubs and photographic associations to take photos with no utilitarian purposes.

In the first half of the twentieth century, in southern, south-eastern, and north-eastern Brazil, the first debates about the artistic status of photography took place at amateur associations and photo clubs, which became well known because professional photographers were frequently in attendance. The members strengthened the canon of artistic photography, guided by the principles of international pictorialism.65 These photo clubs organized the world of artistic photographic practice by launching specialized publications, such as  Photograma, the magazine of the  Foto Clube

64 Costa and Silva, A fotografia moderna no Brasil, 2004, 12.

65 Pictorialism defended artistic intervention in the visual outcome. Assuming the reflection of the real as a specificity of photography, the Pictorialist movement emphasized the interpretation and subjectivity of photographs. For a review of this practice, see André Rouillé, La Photographie, entre document et art contemporain, Paris: Gallimard 2005.

Brasileiro  (Brazilian Photo Club)  of Rio de Janeiro, regular newsletters, and contributions from members reviewing photography.66

Through the 1920s and 1950s, photo clubs mounted a permanent and regular circuit of art exhibitions and published the results in illustrated magazines of wide circulation. Among the most prestigious was the magazine O Cruzeiro, which not only displayed photos of members of the photo clubs but also organized photographic contests, particularly praising photographs with an aesthetic purpose, valuing classical themes, such as landscapes, marinas, genre scenes, still lives, portraits, and nude studies. Aligned with the Fine Arts, they emphasized the principles of balance of the composing elements – shape, mass, line, color, light, shadow, etc.67

The main Brazilian amateur photography association of the period, the  Brazilian Photo Club, fostered the practice of pictorialism. They organized the  Brazilian Annual Meetings of Photographic Art, attended exhibitions in Brazil and abroad, and promoted courses on photography.68 However, this scenario changed after World War II because of the arrival of European immigrant photographers. Fleeing from the war, they brought with them unique photographic practices, as well as an expanding view of visual culture strongly influenced by the U.S, and some strategies for the organization of the art worlds.69 Evidence of this change took place in São Paulo in the late 1940s, with the founding of the  Foto Cine Clube Bandeirante and the newly built Museum of Modern Art of São Paulo (1949), which held several exhibitions throughout the 1950s. The Foto Cine Clube Bandeirante was an institution that brought together an active group of amateur photographers belonging to the prosperous middle class aligned with the international art agenda. Helouise Costa’s pioneering study discusses the legitimacy of photography in official art museums in São Paulo, its legitimacy standing out clearly over the 1960s and the 1970s with the reinforcement of photography in the art worlds – art museums and the Bienal de São Paulo. 70

66 Lucas Mendes Menezes, Entre apertadores de botão e aficionados – prática fotográfica amadora em Belo Horizonte (1951-1966), M.A. Thesis, Universidade Federal Fluminense, 2013.

67 Maria Teresa Bandeira de Mello, Arte e Fotografia: o movimento pictorialista no Brasil, Rio de Janeiro: Funarte 1998, 69.

68 Ibid. p.74

69 Costa and Silva, A fotografia moderna no Brasil, 33-35.

70 Helouise Costa, “Da fotografia como arte à arte como fotografia: a experiência do Museu de Arte Contemporânea da USP na década de 1970”, Anais do Museu Paulista,16:2 (2008) 131-173.

However, the 1964 military coup d’état shifted the modern experience of Brazilian public photography from the art worlds to the political arena. It multiplied the uses of photographic practice involved in many social circuits, especially independent photojournalism, as seen in the creation of agencies during the 1980s. Militant photographic practice, however, did not abandon photography as an aesthetic experience because, by rallying different audiences, photography was able to make people talk politics and exercise looking.

In the 1980s, the establishment of the national government policy fostered by Funarte (Fundação Nacional de Arte –  National Art Foundation, created in 1975 by the military regime), prized photography as art. The Núcleo de Fotografia (Photography Center), created in 1979 under the coordination of the photographer Zeka Araújo, became the INFoto (Instituto Nacional de Fotografia – National Institute of Photography) in 1984, directed by the photographer and photographic researcher Pedro Karp Vasquez. The institute was responsible for national dissemination of local photographic productions and the exchange of knowledge and experiences among photographers. The INFoto carried out a heritage policy for photography by investing in the areas of preservation and conservation. They also published books assembling critical thinking and historical knowledge regarding photographic production.

Based on these initiatives, three guiding lines for photography in Brazil were established. The first focused on the practice of photography as an aesthetic and political expression, setting up common social spaces for photographer-artists and artist-photographers, which encouraged the teaching of photography. The second line was linked to the organization, preservation, and restoration of photographic collections, with direct investment in the historical value of public and private photographic collections. Finally, the third created a publishing line with a wide-range profile that bolstered the publication of titles associated with critical thinking about images, the appreciation of the work of photographers participating in shows organized by  Funarte, and historical research; the latter focus led to the creation of a historiography of photography in Brazil.

Despite the importance of public initiatives in strengthening the presence of photography in the art worlds, three private investments of the end of the past century are worth mentioning. The first is Instituto Moreira Salles

Photographic

(IMS), founded in 1985.71 In the 1990s, the IMS began incorporating photographic collections, reaching around 2 million images. Since its creation, the IMS has worked in four main areas: iconography, literature, music, and photography, and is one of the institutions responsible for legitimizing photography within exhibition and museum spaces. The IMS has a policy of acquiring photographic collections responsible for building a significant photographic heritage.72 At the same time, it invests in channels for disseminating contemporary photography through the magazine Zum73, published since 2011, with significant initiatives to value critical photography and to encourage photographic production by awarding grants to photographers.

The second was the partnership between the world of business and art institutions that organized photographic exhibitions, such as creating the Pirelli / MASP collection in 1990.74 The next relates to the expansion of exhibition venues dedicated exclusively to photography, such as the Galeria Vermelho (Red Gallery), launched in 2003 in the city of São Paulo, and the Galeria Tempo (Time Gallery) in 2006 in Rio de Janeiro. Nowadays, many other private institutions around Brazil are committed to promoting Brazilian photography, valorizing collections, archives, and public debate.

Currently, photography is the subject of debates on Brazilian culture through a set of varied initiatives congregated around the  Network of Cultural Producers of Photography in Brazil (Rede de Produtores Culturais da Fotografia no Brasil – RPCFB), which brings together a very wide range of representatives to foster cultural activities directly related to photography in more than 20 states. The network consists of an independent collective organization whose main objective is to establish a communication channel linking the various segments focusing on Brazilian photography.

An important platform for the democratization of photographic practices, the ‘visual inclusion’ projects were created in the first years of the twenty-first century as channels to promote identity construction and circulation of assorted information.75 These initiatives led to community-

71 Site of the IMS

https://ims.com.br/sobre-o-ims/, access September 2023

72 Araújo, B. G. de. (2022). Chichico Alkmim no IMS: um estudo estudo de caso sobre fotografia e agenciamento, Nitéroi: M. A. Dissertation. PPGH-UFF

73 More about Zum Magazine - https://revistazum.com.br/, access September, 2023.

74 Website of the Pirelli/Masp Collection - http://www.colecaopirellimasp.art.br/

75 Milton Guran, “Fotografia e transformação social”, in Milton Guran, 1º Encontro sobre In-

based photography movements valorizing issues, events, people, and places, of fundamental importance for social, racial, political, and ethnic agendas and for the confirmation of independent public photography in public and virtual spaces.76

Conclusion

The writer of the Jornal do Comércio published the news of the arrival of the daguerreotype in Rio de Janeiro as a great novelty. At the beginning of the article the commentary emphasized the automatic aspects of the new technique and its possibilities for visual recording. However, as we continue reading through the rest of the newspaper, the signs of modernization that the novelty was projecting for Brazil lose their force when confronted with the routine of the capital city of the Brazilian Empire. News of the buying and selling of enslaved people, and the routines of escapes and persecutions show that a society structured upon slavery was strongly distanced from the civilizing ideals preached by the rhetoric of the Enlightenment.

Photography, then, laid the foundations for its own practices in Brazil by responding multiple social demands and participating in contested visualities—on the one hand, by contributing to the identification and categorization of the country’s peoples, assigning them rigid places in social hierarchies and reinforcing racist stereotypes. On the other hand, the visual public space of Brazilian society, although still based on unequal foundations, witnessed the formation of indigenous collectives, networks of black photographers, and the broader movement of a diasporic photographic practice taking possession of the visual. The engaged gaze displaces the centers of Brazilian society, and another social contract for photography opens up the possibility of other futures.

clusão Visual do Rio de Janeiro, Rio de Janeiro: Centro Cultural Correios, FotoRio, 2005.

76 About projects on public independent photography see,: “Mão na Lata”, http://www.maonalata.com.br; “A Maré de Casa: imagens da quarentena”, https://www.amaredecasa.org.br; both coordinated by the photographer Tatiana Altberg in partnership with community of Maré, Rio de Janeiro, Rj. For more initiatives see Instagram: Thais Alvarenga, Emiliodomingos; Luiz Baltar; Coletivo de Fotógrafos Negros, Fotografas Negras, among others.

Photographic practices in modern Brazil: the nineteenth and twentieth centuries

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4. FROM ICONS TO DOCUMENTS.

PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE 1973 GENERAL STRIKE IN URUGUAY Magdalena Broquetas

Abstract

This article analyzes the documentary value of the photographs produced by the communist newspaper, El Popular, during the general strike that took place in Uruguay in response to the 1973 coup d’état. Considering its emblematic quality as an icon of civil society’s active resistance during the military dictatorship, this photographic series is studied in its specificity, taking into account the context in which the photographs were produced and distributed, and the characteristics of the photojournalistic project of the first left-wing newspaper to give photography a central space. The article seeks to contribute to the history of documentary photography in Latin America; it includes a methodological reflection on the use of images as documents in the construction of social and political history.

Key words: Uruguay, 1973 general strike, military dictatorship, photojournalism, militant photographers, El Popular, Aurelio González.

On 27th June 1973, Uruguayan president Juan María Bordaberry staged a coup d’état with the support of the Armed Forces, initiating a dictatorship that would last until the first months of 1985. Among the military regime’s first measures was the suspension of all political party activities, issuing a

decree for the dissolution of the only existing workers union in the country, the National Workers Convention1 (CNT). They closed down its premises and arrested its leaders. In addition, under the new decree the workers’ right to go on strike was also abolished. In response to the institutional breach, on the same morning of 27th June 1973, the CNT called for a general strike with all workplaces to be occupied. The student movement joined the struggle, which spread across the capital city, Montevideo, as well as to other parts of the country, and lasted until the 11th July, even though the workers in occupied factories were being continuously evicted. At the same time, the dictatorship was quick to take control of public information, by censoring and closing several means of communication.2

Over the fifteen days the strike lasted, the communist newspaper El Popular managed to publish no more than three editions. The first of these appeared on 29th July and contained the only seven photographs to document the resistance measures adopted by the worker’s union (figure 1). Taken on the first day of the strike, they depict men and women looking triumphant as they occupy their workplaces. Similar photographs were taken over several days –records of the occupation of factories and learning centres– but they were not published due to prevailing censorship. After the strike was clearly over and thousands of opponents had left the country for different parts of the world, these images started to acquire new meaning. During the campaign raised abroad to condemn the Uruguayan dictatorship, the photographs of the strike, together with those of the massive lightning protest on 9th July became icons of resistance against the official government; they also became identity symbols for exiled groups. This outcome was greatly influenced by the itinerary of the original negatives which for three years were safeguarded by their author and chief photographer of El Popular, Aurelio González, until he finally fled Uruguay for exile in various Latin American and European countries. Also, this set of images gained additional value in regard to the events that followed, since from then on and throughout a decade public gatherings were prohibited, spurring smaller undercover acts of resistance of which there is no photographic evidence.

1 Convención Nacional de Trabajadores in Spanish.

2 A detailed description of the events that took place during the two weeks of the general strike can be found in: Álvaro Rico (coord.), 15 días que estremecieron al Uruguay, Montevideo: Fin de Siglo 2005.

1. Reproduced from El Popular daily newspaper, June 29, 1973. (“The

From the reinstatement of democracy in 1985 through the following two decades, the group of photographs acquired a new status: on the one hand, it filled the visual void produced by the scarcity of journalistic images of the 1960s and the dictatorship portraying different perspectives from those of the government authorities; and on the other hand, it was the only surviving group of photographs of El Popular’s great collection of negatives, which had disappeared from the site where the photographers had hidden them days before the imminent coup. In 2003, on the 30th anniversary of the breach of democracy, these photographs were widely shown in newspapers and weekly publications, at academic events, exhibitions and on websites; this time they weren’t only shown to illustrate the events they originally referred to, but also to evoke, in a broader sense, ‘the dictatorship’,

the extensive popular mobilization of the previous years, and the resistance of an organized society against authoritarian abuse. More than evidence of a particular historical event, these photographs had become monuments celebrating heroic popular resistance against the dictatorship.

Until recently, these photographs of the general strike gained much attention for extra-photographic reasons, due to the truly amazing discovery of El Popular’s collection of negatives, which were found inside the heating pipes of the building where the newspaper had functioned during the 1960s. When El Popular was shut down after the military coup, the thousands of photographs taken for fifteen years by the newspaper’s photojournalists were carefully hidden inside the building, the Edificio Lapido on Montevideo’s central avenue, 18 de Julio. With the imminence of the coup, chief photojournalist Aurelio González decided to hide them in a secret place where they would be safe from the usual security force seizures, as the security forces were wont to break into newspaper offices. Many years later, after the reinstatement of democracy, González returned to the country with the hope of recovering what had already become a legendary archive. However, during the dictatorship the newspaper building had undergone reconstruction, and the negatives hidden in 1973 were not to be found.

But Aurelio González refused to accept the loss and for over three decades kept the story of the lost negatives alive. In January 2006, the intriguing story reached someone who knew about the existence of some hundreds of ‘old’ negatives somewhere in the parking lot built on the two underground floors that used to belong to El Popular. In fact, only some of the photographs hidden by Aurelio thirty-three years earlier were there. Over a few more days the entire archive buried in 1973 was found, and in pristine condition. Since then, the 50.000 or so 35-milimetre negatives have been in the safekeeping of the Centro de Fotografía in Montevideo, where they are being preserved, documented, and digitalized.3

Texts published to date have told the story of this finding and briefly reviewed subjects found in the archive; they also mention the work carried out for preventive conservation and documentary treatment.4 Furthermore,

3 The story of the finding of the El Popular negatives can be seen in the documentary Al pie del árbol blanco, by the CdF (Center of Photography) Montevideo 2007. Available at: http://vimeo. com/73467326. This archive is currently in the care of the CdF, Montevideo.

4 Magdalena Broquetas, Isabel Wschebor, “Imágenes de un pasado reciente”, Sueño de la razón. Revista sudamericana de Fotografía, 0, (2009), 86-93.

Aurelio González’s captivating personality and importance as the key actor in the story led to the proliferation, over the last few years, of articles and publications that are more biographic in nature.5 Little has been said, on the other hand, of the photojournalistic project of a communist newspaper that sought to be read by a massive public and in which images, for the first time in left-wing history, occupied a central place. The photographic series documenting the general strike hasn’t been considered in its specificity either: in our search to find and decipher the number of agreements established either explicitly or implicitly between the photographer and the portrayed subjects, we discovered that the way in which the series was studied and used at different historical moments, this was never examined.

In this article, the photographs of the general strike taken by Aurelio González in late June 1973 will be analyzed from another perspective, as historical documents beyond their aesthetic qualities, in the belief that they are of fundamental importance for the construction of Uruguay’s social history.

Since we are dealing with iconographic and therefore figurative sources, I will proceed to examine the photographs in their dual dimension, hoping to establish both the information they offer and their ideological framework. The latter implies taking into consideration not only the original significance of these representations, with the aim to restore their historical context, but also the additional information that can be obtained by reading between the lines and paying attention to detail, marks, or absences, beyond the explicit intentions of their authors or those who commissioned them.

Given that images offer particular ways of approaching the past, one might ask what the specific contribution is that these images can offer regarding other available sources (written and oral), to historically understand the event they document. In this context, the idea is to show, through a methodology based on documentary analysis, to what extent images contribute towards a history of photography that includes various individual histories –technical, social and cultural– and towards the production of new

5 To read more on this topic, refer to: Maria Esther Gilio, Aurelio el fotógrafo. La pasión de vivir, Montevideo: Ediciones Trilce, 2006 and María Noel Domínguez, “Lente con historia”, Cuadernos de historia reciente. Uruguay 1968-1985, Montevideo: Ediciones de la Banda Oriental 2007, 67-73, and Aurelio González’s autobiographical Fui testigo. Una historia en imágenes, Montevideo: Ediciones CdF, 2011 (digital version available at: http://cdf.montevideo.gub.uy/fotografia/ convocatorias/edicionescmdf/libros/fui-testigo.html)

historical knowledge about the recent Uruguayan past.6 To answer these questions, I will begin by discussing some general aspects of El Popular’s journalistic project, in order to outline context and subjects of the photographs, and then proceed to focus specifically on the historical circumstances of the 1973 strike, based on the specificities of this photographic record.

The journalistic project: ‘a popular, combative and campaigning newspaper’

In the mid-1950s, the Uruguayan Communist Party7 (PCU) began a process of inner transformation of profound impact on its organizational structure and programmatic development. With their eyes fixed on Latin America and local reality, in the two following decades the communist strategy consisted in creating a large party made up of cadres and masses, seeking to broaden its alliances to become a ‘real political force’ able to lead a peaceful transition towards Socialism. Self-perceived as the revolutionary avantgarde of the labour movement and in agreement with their new definitions, the Uruguayan communists strengthened their militancy as well as their ties with various social organizations they hoped to influence ideologically. They also established bonds with the student and trade union movements and sought programmatic and voting alliances with various political sectors to unify left-wing forces.8

Among the fundamental tools for implementing this strategy were the new means of communication –such as a radio program, a theoretical jour-

6 For a detailed overview on the documentary analysis of photographs, refer to: Félix Del Valle, “Dimensión documental de la fotografía”, Congreso Internacional sobre Imágenes e Investigación Social, México DF: Instituto de Investigaciones Dr. José María Luis Mora 2002 [online: http:// www.fcif.net/estetica/dimensionfotografia.htm] and Pilar Amador, “La imagen fotográfica y su lectura”, in: P. Amador, J. Robledano, R. Ruiz, Segundas Jornadas de Imagen, Cultura y Tecnología, Madrid: Editorial Archiviana 2004, 225-239. A good example of the many possible uses of the images in social history is in: John Mraz, “¿Fotohistoria o historia gráfica? El pasado mexicano en fotografía”, Cuicuilco, vol. 14, No. 41, (Sep.-Dec. 2007), Escuela Nacional de México, México.

7 Partido Comunista del Uruguay in Spanish.

8 For the transformations and new guidelines of the PCU since the late 1950s, refer to: Gerardo Leibner, Camaradas y compañeros, Montevideo: Ediciones Trilce 2011, 227-285.

nal, and a newspaper– designed in order to reach a wide audience, and taking into account different levels of militant membership, and levels of education. El Popular was born in this context and published from 1st February 1957. Compared to Justicia, its precursor, El Popular had only some similarities, and mostly differences.9 So even though most of the press team had stayed on from the previous party-press, the real novelty lay in the new newspaper’s general orientation, which sought to transcend the boundaries of the communist world and become both spokespiece and battle instrument for many popular sectors. In contrast with the previous weekly newspaper Justicia, defined as an internal political party newspaper, historian Gerardo Leibner explains that El Popular ‘sought to be first and foremost a newspaper whose key interest was the world outside the party seen and interpreted by communists from communist ideas, while at the same time, remaining the centre of expression of political partisanship’.10 One found in its pages the same sections as in other mass daily distribution newspapers (politics, sports, entertainment, etc.) but its main space was devoted to trade unions and international politics. In both areas, the key task was to generate alternative information to that circulating in official media or subjected to the interests of the two major political parties. In this regard El Popular questioned the pro-American perspective which during the Cold War influenced media press discourse; it offered, instead, an approving and hopeful perspective on the achievements obtained in Eastern European countries under Soviet influence.

In turn, by covering both trade-union complaints and disputes as well as their everyday lives, El Popular gave the workers a pre-eminent position, confronting and complementing the images presented by other media –media identified with management and business interests and a certain class bias. An advertisement appearing in the weekly journal Marcha when El Popular was launched hailed it as an ‘agile and informative newspaper’, an ‘anti-imperialist platform’, and ‘a voice raised in defence of workers and the

9 From its origins in 1920, Justicia was the organ of the PCU press. However, after the Second World War Diario Popular and Verdad began to be published, both newspapers with restricted circulation at the time, and led by members of the group carrying out the internal transformation of the fifties.

10 Leibner, Camaradas, 286.

people’.11 From a working-class perspective, the novelty was that for the first time a newspaper with mass distribution was systematically engaging with trade union activities, covering their struggles and protests and contributing towards visibilizing specific demands. The communist activist and union leader Wladimir Turiansky states that El Popular was the only news media reporting daily on the 1963 prolonged strike organized by workers at the state electricity company, UTE.12 ‘Everyday, a journalist from El Popular was present at the campsite set up in front of the union’, he informs, adding that ‘El Popular was mandatory reading because it was the only paper publishing news of the strike together with comments, photography, and the like’.13 The experience of members of one of the state employee unions can be applied to many other organizations that went through numerous conflicts during the 1960s economic crisis. For this reason, it seems safe to say that, regardless of their political affiliation, for many workers El Popular became the newspaper read occasionally, and purchased when they were interested in specific trade union conflicts.

The newspaper also sought to educate by providing workers with conceptual tools and ideological sources for analyzing reality and transmitting ideas in their labour and trade union organizations, in accordance with the communist perspective. Those responsible for the contents of El Popular were not interested in reproducing isolated news items, instead, they struggled to create real protest ‘campaigns’ or promote political actions; these, in turn, were a part of initiatives related to the parliamentary work carried out by communist representatives on various issues of interest both for society in general and for trade unions. It was in this sense that Niko Schvarz, general editor and deputy director of El Popular, described the newspaper as ‘a political, combative, and campaigning newspaper’.14

Towards the end of the 1960s, El Popular effectively became a massdistribution newspaper in which a broad universe of the workers sectors saw

11 Ibid., 289.

12 By that time, the acronym UTE stood for State Power Plants and Telephones (Usinas y Teléfonos del Estado). Nowadays, the company keeps the same acronym, but replaced the telephones with electric transmissions (transmisiones eléctricas).

13 Interview with Wladimir Turiansky by Magdalena Broquetas and Isabel Wschebor. Montevideo, September 21, 2007.

14 Interview with Niko Schvarz by Magdalena Broquetas, Mario Etchechury, and Alexandra Nóvoa. Montevideo, September 2007.

From icons to documents.Photographs of the 1973 general strike in Uruguay

their struggles reflected, and with which they identified. To a large extent this is due to the successful development strategy promoted by the communists, and the political and economic crisis that spread throughout Uruguay in the mid-fifties, aggravating social conflict.

Photography and photographers at El Popular

In El Popular, photographs were used to illustrate these ‘campaigns’, which were put together based on specific topics. Most images associated with the news documented trade union assemblies and congresses through closeups portraying leaders and speakers, or general overviews that reflected the popular attendance and ensuing high levels of participation. In these images one sees street demonstrations organized by wage-earning workers and retired workers, strikes, and factory occupations. Sometimes the photographs also denounced the precarious living conditions in both rural and urban areas, showing the identity of victims of state repression.

In their daily practice, El Popular photographers sided with the large masses of workers, pensioners and students who joined together in response to declining wages, the loss of acquired rights and public freedom. That the photographers sided with them is clear from the relaxed attitude of the protagonists in numerous images, revealing a unique closeness between the photographers and those portrayed.15 An overview of the contents of El Popular’s photographic archive reveals the existence of many directed or staged photographs, reflecting the link between photographer and subject whose collaboration and willingness to be in the picture are noticeable. From this point of view, it is clear that whoever took the photograph was not a stranger, but a ‘comrade’, an equal. In the context of the group of photographs about life and labour, the subjects photographed not only display no fear

15 Besides the images themselves, this section on the importance of the photographs in El Popular and the people who took them was prepared from testimonies given by photographers Aurelio González and Héctor Mesa. Interview with Aurelio González by Magdalena Broquetas, Mario Etchechury, and Alexandra Nóvoa. Montevideo, 9th October, 2007. Interview with Héctor Mesa by Magdalena Broquetas, 23rd October, 2007. A good example on how to interrogate photojournalistic discourse using historical methodology can be found in: John Mraz, Jaime Vélez, Trasterrados: braceros vistos por los Hermanos Mayo, México DF: Archivo General de la NaciónUniversidad Autónoma Metropolitana 2005.

regarding the possible outcome of an unknown photographer’s record, nor any trace of suspicion, often getting involved in the composition of the images, celebrating them, organizing themselves as models of a previewed frame and even incorporating photographs into their repertoire of militant actions, so that frequently it was the trade unions who called the newspaper requesting a photographer to cover an meeting or union measure.

The photographers themselves were involved in editorial discussions and had some bearing on the criteria of the publishing committee, something that at the time wasn’t at all common in the field of photojournalism. While this peculiarity was clearly due to the militant nature underlying the work of El Popular’s press team –who, although they were not always paid punctually, nevertheless worked with a degree of dedication far beyond any ordinary work contract–, the fact is that these photographers enjoyed a privileged position in comparison to colleagues from other visual media, who were rarely involved so directly in their newspapers’ publishing decisions. In a statement concerning the published images, Aurelio González refers to the photographers’ participation in the final selection and editorial work: “We did the choosing, but then we gave them [the members of the publishing office] the possibility of discussing it with us and saying whether one image was better suited than another for a specific article. [...] The newspaper had a clear ideology in which every one of us fought for a common socialist goal. [...] If they asked for two photographs, we gave them five or six and then discussed them. [...] We would get together in the editor’s office and say, “‘I like this’ or ‘don’t cut that part, leave it like that.’ Arguments were constant because space for metal printing was limited and so photographs were often mutilated. Nevertheless, the newspaper gave a lot of importance to the photo...”.16

Most members of the photographic staff had learnt the trade informally. They joined the newspaper either because they were militants or through ties with family members and friends, sometimes knowing nothing about photography and learning the basics and fundamentals of reportage with their peers. The oldest member of the team was Aurelio González, a Spaniard born in Morocco who had fled Franco’s regime at the age of twenty. From his arrival in Montevideo in 1952, González took photographs for the weekly newspaper Justicia and he continued to do so for the new paper;

16 Interview with Aurelio González, ibid.

about a year later, Hermes Cuña and Julio Alonso joined him, the latter coming from the trade union news section. In 1964 the newspaper changed its headquarters and expanded its facilities. From then on, at different times, the photography section hired Eduardo Bonomi, Sergio Pereira, Daniel Bauer, Francisco González, Héctor Mesa, and Fernando González. However, there were never more than five photographers working at the same time in its photography section. As in the written sections, El Popular occasionally commissioned work by collaborators outside their permanent staff.

Photographers conceived their work as part of their political activism; they understood it as an activity that placed them on a higher rung compared to ordinary workers with fixed working schedules. Héctor Mesa comments on how proud they were of their position, which derived from a responsibility transcending the confines of paid, contract-based obligations: “It was more like militant work. When you do something like this it’s got to be like what a war correspondent does: you do it because you believe in it, it’s not like paid work”.17

Together with their commitment to their work, another outstanding feature in the regular activity of El Popular’s photographers was the shared nature of their job and the absence of a hierarchic distribution in the allocation of tasks. While Aurelio held the position of ‘chief photographer’, daily work was characterized by task horizontality and group work. As a rule, statements coincide in highlighting this form of cooperative work as one of the positive values, derived from a shared commitment among team members.

The professionalization of the photography staff was subject to the possibilities of incorporating technology, chemicals, and supplies. Due to the newspaper’s limited funds, there was no budget for investing in technological innovation in photographic equipment and supplies. Cameras usually came from the USSR and other socialist countries, the main brands being Zorki and Kiev. In this sense, there was a turning point when Praktica cameras were bought, a brand from the German Democratic Republic (GDR), remembered by the staff of photographers as the closest to a ‘professional’ camera. Similarly, the acquisition of different lenses took place gradually and depended upon donations and commissions made by sympathisers who travelled to Eastern Europe, and were ultimately incorporated into photographers’ working methods, showing the results they obtained. For 17 Interview with Héctor Mesa, ibid.

instance, the first telephoto lenses used were 125 millimetres, and only later did they manage to get lenses with a focal distance of 500 mm. They lacked zoom cameras, which were already quite common in photography at the time, and having to change lenses manually affected their journalistic work, always defined by speed and unpredictability. Just as in the early years the lack of zoom lenses prevented capturing subjects or situations at a relative distance from the photographer, the absence of wide-angle lenses capable of covering broad views impacted negatively on the possibilities of realizing group images.

The channels and modalities through which photographic film was acquired also shed light on the transition between volunteering occupation and professional practice. In the early stages of El Popular, photographers bought rolls of film by the unit, so materials ran out on a regular basis in the middle of a working day. As in many other respects, this deficiency was compensated by the militant solidarity of a communist sympathizer, the owner of Bernal Hermanos photography store, who repeatedly provided film at no cost. Later, when El Popular photographers were able to set up a better photography lab, Kodak films were purchased in thirty-metre drums, leading to the new practice of cutting and loading negatives whenever needed. These drums were also used as containers in the precarious archival system they implemented; the rolls to be developed were kept in the drums, usually dated, and numbered. On rare occasions the labels also included some thematic reference. This is how a ‘living’ archive started to take form, one that grew thanks to the sustained work of the photographic team but also remained at the service of requests made by the trade unions and political groups documented in the photographs.

An ‘oral paper’

When the military coup took place and the general strike was organized, El Popular had been circulating for fifteen years, and both its writers and photographers were widely known among leftist unions and political spheres. In his account of the facts, repeated on many occasions, Aurelio González describes how the idea of systematically documenting the factories occupied by their workers was born, and what his role was during the strike.

From

icons to documents.Photographs of the 1973 general strike in Uruguay

After witnessing the last session of the legislative chambers on the freezing morning of 27th June, he took to the streets and photographed the military presence across the city, their tanks and the uniformed soldiers who invaded the public space. Nonetheless, consistent with what had been the photojournalistic line of the newspaper from its beginnings, González also risked producing images focussing on the workers’ role in what had become the main mass action of resistance to the coup:

“As a left-wing photojournalist, I told myself that I had to go out and see what was happening in the factories. The central CNT unit (National Workers Convention) had passed a resolution for the occupation of all workplaces in the case of a coup d’état. Of course, we occupied El Popular, but at the meeting we held at the newspaper offices I proposed that we shouldn’t stay in the building, that photographers especially had to account for what was going on out there in order to show the world and ourselves that history was taking place, in army barracks, hospitals, factories, schools, local markets. Eduardo Viera, director of the newspaper, said to me: ‘You go ahead’. And so, I went”.18

In his account, González narrates the concern his arrival caused among those occupying the first venue he photographed:

“The first photo I took after the night in Parliament was at the Buceo19 station, at the bus depot for AMDET [Municipal Administration of Montevideo Public Transport] trolleybuses, opposite the Buceo Cemetery. It was occupied by its workers. The trolleybuses were parked against the gates forming what looked like a barricade (figure 4). Next to the gates people watched. I walked straight towards them and saw that inside everyone began to get restless. I decided to raise my camera so they would see it. It was thrilling to see all those people gathered together on a very cold morning, covered with blankets. Even more moving when they started shouting ‘Freedom, CNT’”.20

Far from being strangers, Aurelio González and the other photographers of El Popular shared close interests and a common history with the people occupying their workplaces. They were cheered on arrival at occu-

18 ‘Con Aurelio González. Fotógrafo, chasque y bonzo’, Brecha (28 June 2013) 16.

19 Buceo is a neighborhood in Montevideo.

20 ‘Con Aurelio’, Ibid.

4. Workers of the State-owned company AMDET. 27 June 1973. Credit: Aurelio González. This photograph was never published in “El Popular” newspaper.

pied factories, and those who agreed to show themselves taking part in prohibited actions punishable by the dictatorial government, knew exactly how the images would be used and circulated.

Moreover, the action of El Popular’s photographer in this historical episode transcended the mere visual record of the events. In a context of isolation due to prevailing censorship and the absence of telephones in workers’ homes, someone who moved throughout the city entering occupied sites became a privileged informant and, indirectly, a vehicle for hope. After taking the first pictures in the AMDET bus depot, González left on foot to cover the public transport workers’ protest. His next target was Cervecerías del Uruguay (Uruguay Breweries), where he received a hearty welcome from the occupants who were in less hostile climate conditions than the people at the previous place: they had assembled indoors, warmed by fires they put together in the metal tanks commonly used for makeshift barbecues. He recalls having been recognized instantly: “As soon as I got there many recognized me because I often visited the factories for the newspaper. ‘It’s the photogra-

pher from El Popular’, they shouted. Some of them who knew I was addicted to ladders because I liked to take pictures from above, brought me one”.21

He narrated in detail what he had seen and heard in the final Parliamentary session and his visit to the first occupied workplace: “Everyone wanted to know what was happening outside, they asked about people’s reactions, if there was any resistance”. Avidly expecting news that would reinforce the sense of their struggle, the strikers’ insistence on information strengthened the feeling that he was indeed a privileged messenger. During the following days, his photographs, along with his word, became powerful weapons both because they violated strike prohibitions and provided strike information, and for their effect in helping to sustain this collective decision. “When I got to the newspaper, I saw the same anxiety and eagerness to know what I had seen in the factories. I spoke to my colleagues as if we were at the barricades. [...] I proposed that we all become speaking newspapers; we should all go to the factories and workshops. Not only photographers and journalists but all those who were willing to talk. ‘We’ll have the advantage that these pictures I just shot are going to be shown by us, we can make people see that Montevideo has been occupied’, I told them”.

During the first days of July, Aurelio visited many places, on several occasions risking his life to enter occupied sites and often documenting aspects of everyday occupations, such as the cooking pots, or the solidarity of neighbours who occasionally brought food (figures 2 and 3). At several sites, the strikers reinforced their collaboration with the photographer, so González’s prior knowledge of the terrain was crucial. For instance, he managed to enter the textile factory La Aurora, blocked by army tanks, thanks to his experience of an earlier occupation where he had sneaked into the factory the back way, and thanks to the occupants’ complicity, who flung a rope over a wall helping him to climb it. Niko Schvarz went with Aurelio to several occupied factories. In his testimony he alludes to this initiative of an ‘oral newspaper’ in which photographs and militant stories compensated for the censorship which brought El Popular to a halt for several days: “It was a phenomenal experience [...] What we couldn’t say through the paper, we said there”.22

21 Ibid.

22 Interview with Niko Schvarz, ibid.

Reinstating the context that gave rise to the photographs of the strike allows for an analysis showing that they clearly surpass their value as illustrations, their arbitrary use, or being reduced to channels of emotional remembrance.23

Photographs as complex testimonies: their different reading levels

Understanding their condition as fragments of the past and taking into account the technical constraints that conditioned them, as well as the complex web of interests and motivations that, explicitly or implicitly underpins the images, the idea here is to revisit this group of photographs in order to answer the initial question: what is the narrative potential of these images in the production of knowledge about the episode they refer to?24 In this sense, it is convenient to distinguish what the photographs want to say from what we can see in them as privileged observers.25

Firstly, this photographic corpus provides valuable information about the strike, giving it a human face and context: portrayed in the photographs are men and women (who can be identified) of all ages. In contrast with the universe of oral and written accounts used for recreating this historical event, these photographs can display individual elements representative of some of the protagonists’ material culture: they are workers belonging to the popular sectors and still unaccustomed to social portraits. They also allow us to become acquainted with the environments where the protests took place. Moving beyond the anecdotal and analyzed in terms of specific data regarding source, author, theme, and context, they bear information about material elements of this collective action, such as clothing –a measure of

23 On arbitrary uses of photographs removed from their original environment, see: J. Berger, ‘Usos de la Fotografía’, in Mirar, Buenos Aires: Ediciones de la Flor 1998, 67-84.

24 On explaining that photographs offer much more than what can be perceived with the naked eye, Michel Frizot refers to the need of ‘untangling the web of technical requirements, achieved intentions, unexpected events tamed, and inconclusive readings’. M. Frizot, El imaginario fotográfico, México: Ediciones Ve 2009, 54.

25 An interesting analysis of the problems facing the discipline of history regarding visual sources can be found in the text by Carlo Ginzburg on films. Cfr. Carlo Ginzburg, ‘De todos los regalos que le traigo al Kaisáre… Interpretar la película escribir la historia’, in Tentativas, Rosario: Prohistoria ediciones 2004, 143-155.

social status–, or the dimensions and infrastructure of occupied workplaces and learning centres. Together with these, the images contain faithful representations of the signs and posters in which many of the strikers’ slogans can be recognized. They also help give visibility to the presence of women in union activities –an area usually regarded as strictly masculine– providing eloquent evidence regarding gender relations. In this sense, despite the fact that several oral testimonies mention activities usually attributed to women in the occupations –among others, cooking and other tasks which involved spending longer periods within private spaces– in photographic records they pose next to men, as equals. Unpublished photographs documenting the occupation of textile factories portray the numerous women in this branch of the industry.

Secondly, it’s also possible to move beyond the plane of what the images ‘say’ in their capturing of the real world, to try and grasp their original meaning, the reason why they were taken and their intended use. Analyzed thus, we can see that the photographs were taken with the purpose of explicitly recording a specific social action: the introduction of strikes decreed by the CNT as a measure against the coup d’état. As we can see from the photographer’s testimonies and that of his colleagues, at the time they hoped to support the resistance of a mobilized society acknowledging the magnitude of the struggle (in each occupied site they would show or ‘tell’ of the others) thus encouraging continuity.

There is another level to questioning visual discourse. Though packed with ingredients the authors and their contemporaries could not recognize, visual discourse also conveys other information that may be recreated through historical investigation. From this perspective, the photographs express the view communist militants had of the strike and the coup d’état, where organization and militant willpower prevail, along with the refusal to interpret the event as a defeat, and with the hope that new scenarios would open to help overcome the crisis the country was immersed in.

Photographs also witness the role that communists attributed to the working class; in this sense they reflect the conviction that the proletariat, allied with the popular movement, would lead the people in the complex process of social change. At the same time, they may be understood as material support for a class identity built on that basis. Underlying these images, we recognize the communist utopia formulated in terms of a peaceful path

From icons to documents.Photographs of the 1973 general strike in Uruguay

towards the revolution. This can be seen in the way the working class is portrayed: with no explicit expressions of violence, unarmed and with their fists raised up high, the strikers don’t convey the sense of a group punished or defeated by the repressive actions they were victims of. Rather, they are shown with a triumphant aura and full of optimism. Considering that the subjects are portrayed in their own contexts, what we see isn’t the result of a heroic gaze in a mythical sense, where the historical dimension has been cropped to exalt extraordinary qualities, but rather as subjects anchored in a historical time and space circumscribed within concrete limits. More than heroism or mythologizing, a dignifying gaze expresses the author’s place of enunciation, one that shares the worldview and perspectives of those portrayed. Many formal elements and some decisions made by Aurelio González reinforce this statement. These images are not the result of random shots, a common practice in El Popular’s photojournalism and the general characteristic of the photos taken at the 9th July demonstration. They are photographs directed and posed by their author with the express consent of those photographed. Most of these are wide-angle group shots reflecting the importance attributed to collective over individual values. Some of them evince a normal shooting angle where the photographer and subjects portrayed stand at the same level, while others show high-angle shots of scenes where the camera stood above the subjects photographed. While high-angle shots as an expressive technique are often used to convey a sense of inferiority or oppression, according to Aurelio González they were used due to his preference for ladders and panoramic images characteristic of previous occupations. In this case, the formal approach aimed at representing the multitudes.

In the history of photojournalism, these images belong to a broader universe –that of El Popular newspaper– which marked a turning point in the unusual prominence it proffered to broad social sectors commonly underrepresented in the daily press, or represented through a stigmatizing gaze. And they’re also the result of the work of a militant-photographer who drew inspiration from a political and photographic tradition of the Spanish Civil War where the conviction that the camera impelled social awareness configured deeply entrenched identity matrices. From this angle the photographs of the strike document the moment when photojournalism was defined by advances in technological evolution and its intersections with political commitment.

5. Reproduced from El País daily newspaper. (“Warrant of arrest issued for the leaders of the dissolved National Workers Union”).

For analytical purposes, it’s useful to contrast the coverage of the same event by different media. The study of other newspapers published during the two weeks following the coup d’état in Uruguay exposes the absence of photographs of the strike as seen from this perspective. In other newspapers, the faces of several union and political activists who participated in the strike were made public through identity headshots published by way of arrest warrants (figure 5). Furthermore, while most of the images reproduced by the press at the time include politicians and military members of the new government, these photographs, along with the texts, highlight the negative consequences of the strike. Several of the published images portray long lines of people waiting out in the cold to get petrol for their vehicles or queuing up for food and other necessities. During the second week of the strike, several newspapers published close-ups of the chains used to produce the short circuit that extinguished the state fuel-refinery flame

From icons to documents.Photographs of the 1973 general strike in Uruguay

6. Reproduced from El País daily newspaper. 7 July 1973. Image from the government campaign “Put your shoulder to the wheel for Uruguay” in which the following text can be read: “Citizen: Uruguay needs you, and you must return to work”.

as visual proof of ‘sabotage’.26 Simultaneously, these same media reproduced advertisements of the official campaign ‘Put your shoulder to the wheel for Uruguay’, which extolled the prototype of the true worker, one who did not harm the country with protest measures and sacrificed himself for the common good. One of the slogans read: ‘Citizen: Uruguay needs you, and you need to go to work!’ (Figure 6). 27

This article has restored the documentary value of the series of photographs of the 1973 general strike by distinguishing the various levels of their potential as historical sources. In this sense, in addition to analyzing the elements that emerge from an informed reading of the images based on the intrinsic photographic ability to document unintentional content, new interpretive possibilities were also introduced. As demonstrated, the particularity of the photos taken by Aurelio González is that it shows where these two perspectives meet; these photographs provide information about the socio-cultural and political atmosphere of a particular era and group of people, while at the same time bearing witness once again to the social resistance organized against the coup.

When the external context of these photographs changed and they began to be studied in other contexts, initially our idea was to warn about the gradual mutation of their original significance; at this point, however, the fundamental dimensions required to restore their value as historical sources have also been clarified. In effect, the photographs of the strike were also survivors of repression, managing to escape clandestinely and to circulate outside the country, acting as memory supports, vehicles for channeling emotions, and instruments of denunciation. In this sense, analyzed retrospectively they became icons to the point that in left-wing circles they

26 This tone is used to refer to the photographs illustrating this news item in several national newspapers: “Sabotaje en Ancap: casi provocan la voladura de la refinería de La Teja” [Sabotage in ANCAP: La Teja refinery almost blown up], El País (7 July 1973) and “Un atentado contra la planta de la Teja, que estuvo a punto de volar” [Attack on La Teja plant, on the verge of blowing up], La Mañana (6 July 1973). La Teja is a neighborhood in Montevideo.

27 The newspaper El País published these two campaign advertisements on 6th and 15th July respectively. One of them was also published in La Mañana on 6th July.

From icons to documents.Photographs of the 1973 general strike in Uruguay

immediately evoke the strike. This brought about the proliferation of a metonymic use opposed to the specificity that characterizes any photograph. Although this transition would merit specific study, the object of this article is to contribute towards demonstrating the need for a multifactorial analysis to examine image technicalities from different reading perspectives. It is, therefore, at the intersection between technical requirements, intentions, and mental representations, that the images offer new possibilities to produce historical knowledge.

AMADOR, P. (2004). «La imagen fotográfica y su lectura» in Amador, P.; Robledano, R. and Ruiz, R. (eds.) Segundas Jornadas de Imagen, Cultura y Tecnología. Madrid: Editorial Archiviana pp. 225-239.

BERGER, J. (1998). Mirar. Buenos Aires: Ediciones de la Flor.

BROQUETAS, M. and WSCHEBOR, I. (2009). «Imágenes de un pasado reciente». Sueño de la razón. Revista sudamericana de Fotografía, 0, pp. 86-93.

DEL VALLE, F. (2002). «Dimensión documental de la fotografía» in Congreso Internacional sobre Imágenes e Investigación Social. Mexico DF: Instituto de Investigaciones Dr. José María Luis Mora. Available at: <http://www.fcif.net/estetica/dimensionfotografia.htm>

DOMÍNGUEZ, M. N. (2007). «Lente con historia». Cuadernos de historia reciente. Uruguay 1968-1985. Montevideo: Ediciones de la Banda Oriental, pp. 67-73.

FRIZOT, M. (2009). El imaginario fotográfico, Mexico: Ediciones Ve.

GILIO, M. E. (2006). Aurelio el fotógrafo. La pasión de vivir. Montevideo: Ediciones Trilce.

GINZBURG, C. (2004). «De todos los regalos que le traigo al Kaisáre… Interpretar la película, escribir la historia» in Tentativas. Rosario: Prohistoria ediciones.

GONZÁLEZ , A. (2011). Fui testigo. Una historia en imágenes. Montevideo: Ediciones CdF.

LEIBNER, G. (2011). Camaradas y compañeros. Montevideo: Ediciones Trilce.

MRAZ, J. (2007). «¿Fotohistoria o historia gráfica? El pasado mexicano en fotografía».

Cuicuilco, 14:41 September-December. Escuela Nacional de México, Mexico.

MRAZ, J. and Vélez, J. (2005). Trasterrados: braceros vistos por los Hermanos Mayo, Mexico DF: Archivo General de la Nación-Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana.

RICO, Á. (ed.). (2005). 15 días que estremecieron al Uruguay. Montevideo: Fin de Siglo.

5. BETWEEN EMBRACE AND CONFRONTATION. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO ICONIC IMAGES AT THE END OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY IN LATIN AMERICA

Alberto Del Castillo Troncoso Instituto Mora

Introduction

The historical study of journalistic photography constitutes a key element to approach the universe of memory construction in the recent history of Latin America. Indeed, in the last forty years, various images have played a leading role in positioning certain issues in the public opinion in every country. Sometimes they have worked to question the regime in power and at others to make certain social actors visible. Among various possibilities they have accompanied the decline of some authoritarian regimes and the coverage of democratic political transitions in the last quarter of the previous century.1

The analysis of the uses made by the publication of some of these photographs in recent years will allow us to discuss the subject and present working hypotheses.

1 For Mexico, see MRAZ, John, La mirada Inquieta, Mexico, Centro de la Imagen, 1996. For Chile, see LEIVA, Gonzalo, Multitudes en sombras, AFI, Asociación de Fotógrafos Independientes, Santiago, Consejo Nacional de la Cultura y las Artes, 2008. For Argentina, see GAMARNIK, Cora, “La construcción de la imagen de las Madres de Plaza de Mayo a través de la fotografía de prensa”, in Afuera, Estudios de Crítica Cultural. Year V, No. 9, Nov. 2010, p. 37-65.

In Argentina, Eduardo Longoni, one of the most relevant photographers in the country’s recent history, captured and recreated some of the most compelling images regarding the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, and who, with other professional lensmen, contributed to the visibility of this group which opposed the military dictatorship.2

Longoni and other colleagues managed to place the photos of the Mothers and other relatives of disappeared persons, in international agencies in the late 1970s and early 1980s, at different stages of the military repression.

Such is the case of the following image, which depicts repression being used against two Mothers by members of the cavalry of the armed forces during a march organized by various human rights groups against the dictatorship, in October 1982, a few months after the debacle of the Malvinas (Falkland Islands) war (Figure 1).

The photograph in question circulated nationally and internationally thanks to agencies making it public. It was reproduced in various publications and became one of the most emblematic images of recent memory in Argentina.

In this case, it is interesting to highlight Longoni’s testimony. Years after, he assumed a self-critical stance, strategically visualizing his work and conceptualizing his participation in the events as a “mistake” from the technical point of view when taking the photograph, because, from his perspective, he lost the optimal distance demanded by professional photojournalism. He got physically too close to the scene he wanted to portray and was trampled on by soldiers’ horses: he fell to the ground for a few moments and lost control of the situation.

This “error” might have had more serious repercussions for Longoni’s life, but in this case, it allowed viewers of the photo to adopt a point of view like that of the two women who can be seen in the image, bringing readers

2 Eduardo Longoni was born in 1959 in Buenos Aires. He worked in the photographic agency Noticias Argentinas during the years of the dictatorship. He was editor of this agency in the years of transition to democracy, founder of the EPD-Photo agency, editor of the newspaper Clarín and the magazine Viva in the 1990s and early 21st century. Among other publications, he authored the photographic book Violencias, Buenos Aires, Libros del Náufrago, 2012, which brings together a significant part of his photojournalistic work, and the photo-essay book Destiempos, Buenos Aires, Lariviére, 2013, which presents some of his most accomplished works in this field.

1. Repression against the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo, Buenos Aires, 1982. Eduardo Longoni Photographic Archive.

of his work closer to the point of view of the ordinary citizen, in contrast to the perspective of the armed forces and the repressors.3

As mentioned, the image circulated widely in agencies, newspapers, magazines, and in the course of time became one of the symbols of civil resistance against the regime.

With this situation in mind, we can see that, clearly, some “errors”, technical or logistic in nature, can be transformed through the media into successes, when, at a second stage, the images circulate in different contexts, and public reception transforms the photographs and endows them with new meanings.4

In Mexico, some images by Marco Antonio Cruz, one of the most important documentary photographers in the country, reclaimed the protest

3 A different reading of this photograph can be seen in GAMARNIK, op. cit, p. 37.

4 Alberto del Castillo interview with Eduardo Longoni, Buenos Aires, September 4, 2014.

of the mothers of the disappeared Mexicans at the end of the seventies as part of the dark episode of the so-called “dirty war” waged by the Mexican state against the armed opposition.5

This episode, which took place during the six-year term of President Luis Echeverría (1970-1976), was re-enacted and reinforced by the following president José López Portillo through the illegal creation of the “White Brigade”, a paramilitary group financed by the State itself, whose lieutenant was the fearsome Miguel Nassar Haro, who engineered the annihilation and extermination of the armed groups of the time, as well as the torture, kidnapping and disappearance of more than 500 people, most of them militants of the Marxist leaning so-called September 23rd Communist League.6

Cruz’s photo shows a close-up of the sisters and mothers of the disappeared at one of the first public protest demonstrations against the regime, on the afternoon of August 28th, 1981, in Mexico City (Figure 2).

These images brought to the attention of public opinion, a very politically relevant phenomenon, which was minimized at the time by the effective propaganda machine of a “progressive” revolutionary regime. The established regime boasted in every direction of its links with Cuba, of its political support of the guerrilla in Central America and the decision to break diplomatic relations with some of the military regimes in South America. It welcomed a significant community of political exiles from all over Latin America to Mexico, and they in turn expressed their satisfaction and admiration for the governments sprung from the Mexican Revolution at both local and international forums.

The examples are varied and show the political will to give visibility to opposition and dissident groups in the public sphere, and to accompany an

5 Marco Antonio Cruz was born in the city of Puebla in 1957 and died in Mexico City in 2021. He was a photographer for the weekly magazines Oposición and Así es, of the Communist Party of Mexico, during the late seventies and early eighties. He was a photojournalist for the newspaper La Jornada, creator of the Imagen Latina Agency and head of the Photography Department of the most important political weekly magazine of the last thirty years in Mexico: Proceso. Among other works, he is the author of photo-essay books: Cafetaleros, México, Imagen Latina, 1996, and Habitar la oscuridad, México, Conaculta, 2011. Cruz is the author of some of the most relevant images in the recent history of Mexico.

6 ORTIZ, Ruben, “La Brigada Especial. Un instrumento de la contrainsurgencia urbana en el Valle de México (1976-1981)”, B.A. Thesis in History, Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la UNAM, Mexico, 2014.

2. Public protest for the disappeared of the “dirty war” in Mexico, Mexico City, 1981. Marco Antonio Cruz Photographic Archive.

alternative political transition process. However, two photographs achieved iconic status in Latin American public opinion during the last quarter of the twentieth century when they were displayed on the front pages of a couple of very relevant newspapers at local levels and, above all, because they obtained the International King of Spain Award in the category of photography, the most prestigious award for Ibero-American journalism. This award gave them far greater visibility and they gained a wider and more diversified reception from all sectors of the political spectrum, where they were appropriated to justify different political projects.7

Although apparently opposite, these two photographs have a common substratum that supports collation and comparison, both being prod-

7 The King of Spain International Award was created in 1983 by the EFE Agency and the Agencia Española de Cooperación Internacional. From then until 2014 it was presided by the Spanish monarch Juan Carlos I. Other photographers who have won the award include: Raúl Estrella, Pedro Armestre, Sebastião Salgado, Marcelo Carnaval, Daniel Aguilar and Wilton de Souza.

ucts of the perspectives of two very experienced photographers of important political acumen, Pedro Valtierra for the Mexican case, and Marcelo Ranea for the Argentine.8

Both images deal in quite an original way with the topic of social protest and human rights and enhance the presence of women as social actors and relevant protagonists of the events. Also, the two images were displayed in large format by the press at first and were similarly circulated internationally.

In short, both photographs are immersed in a common visual culture, to which they respond and contribute with important content with relevant imprint in later years. All this is a prelude to the three characteristic levels of documentary photography as a genre: the author’s gaze, the editorial policy for disclosure of the images, and the various responses from recipients.9

8 Pedro Valtierra was born in Fresnillo, Zacatecas, in 1955. He obtained his first photojournalistic successes with the newspaper Unomásuno, and he was was a war correspondent in Nicaragua who covered the fall of dictator Anastasio Somoza. Founder of the photography department of the newspaper La Jornada and creator of the agency and magazine Cuartoscuro, he is the author of emblematic photos of the recent history of Mexico, among them, and in a very prominent way, that of the women of X’oyep which is analyzed in this text. On the other hand, Ranea, introduced himself as follows on the television program Encuentro, on the Argentine cultural channel: “I am Marcelo Ranea, a photojournalist for many more years than I want to remember. I have had the privilege of living a life and doing what I love to do: photograph. My resumé includes a lot of blunders and a couple of hits. The hits are very good, because they allow you to continue making blunders”. “Fotos, retratos de un país”, the chapter entitled “Marcha por la vida”, at: www.encuentro.gov.ar/sitios/encuentro/programas/ver?rec_id=117430. Among the greatest successes of his long career are undoubtedly the photo of the alleged embrace between a Mother of Plaza de Mayo and a soldier, which we will analyze in this article, and a photograph of Admiral Emilio Massera on June 30th, 1989, walking in the street, in the neighborhood of Palermo, in Buenos Aires, at a time when this genocide was supposed to be serving a life sentence for having committed crimes against humanity. This photo unleashed a media scandal and represented an important contribution to Argentina’s democratic transition at a time when the military boycotted and inhibited all kinds of political change in the country.

9 The first analysis that later led to this article began in early 2014, with my presentation at the seminar on Art and Politics coordinated by researchers Ana Longoni and Cora Gamarnik at the Instituto Gino Germani of the Universidad de Buenos Aires. I am grateful for the comments and observations on my work by the members of the seminar, particularly Gamarnik herself, with whom I have extensively discussed subjects like these and whose intelligent observations have nourished my reading of the Argentinian case.

Between embrace and confrontation.A dialogue between two iconic images...

Argentina: The alleged embrace between a soldier of the repression and a Mother of the Plaza de Mayo

In the early eighties, with the debacle of the Malvinas war, and internal chaos marked by hyperinflation, increased poverty, and significant capital flight, the Argentinian military regime was losing hope of imposing its version of recent history on the population. At inversely proportional rate, the struggle and vindication of different social sectors for human rights was obtaining important support in public opinion.10

One of the most relevant photographs at this stage, which apparently reconciled the military with human rights groups, is the work of the aforementioned Marcelo Ranea.

Analysis by researcher Cora Gamarnik referring to this photograph has had an impact on reading and interpreting this type of visual document for recent Argentine history.11

The photo in question appeared on the front page of the Argentine newspaper Clarín at the beginning of October 1982 and was widely reprinted by other international newspapers, such as the Mexican Excélsior, Spanish El País, the New York Times and USA Today, among many others. A few months later Marcelo Ranea won the King of Spain international award for outstanding photojournalism and the photograph was catapulted worldwide as one of the most emblematic icons of the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo. The image was taken during the March for Life, on October 5th, 1982. It is the same historical event at which Longoni’s “error” photograph analyzed above was taken, showing a couple of women cornered by cavalry soldier. In this context, a group of Mothers tried to reach the Casa Rosada, the presidential residence, to deliver a petition regarding their disap10 Lorenz, Federico, Las guerras por Malvinas, Edhasa, Buenos Aires, 2006, pp. 34-68.

11 GAMARNIK, Cora, op. cit. A first analysis of this photograph can be seen in: SÁNCHEZ, María Victoria, “Abrazar una imagen: algunas reflexiones acerca de las relaciones entre imagen y memoria desde una fotografía”, digital version published on the CD of the Primer Congreso de Sociólogos de la Provincia de Buenos Aires, La Plata, 2009. In this evocative text, the author reflects on the values of truth and falsehood of an image based on the testimonies of some of the protagonists of the events and focuses on the symbolic aspect of the image, and the combative arguments around the memory it has generated. This article takes as its starting point the reflections of these authors and takes some of their arguments from a comparative perspective.

peared children to the de facto president, General Reynaldo Bignone, but the mounted police prevented them from doing so. In the photograph, you can see what looks like an embrace between the police commissioner Carlos Enrique Gallone and Susana de Eguía, one of the Mothers.

Gallone belonged to the fourth section of the Federal Police and was part of a “task group” (a euphemism used to name the groups of soldiers and civilians who kidnapped citizens in the streets or from their homes under orders from the regime and transferred them to clandestine torture centers) of the Federal Security Superintendency, under the command of the then Minister of the Interior, Albano Harguindeguy.

Some years later, Gallone was tried for his participation in the socalled Fatima Massacre, on August 20th, 1976, in which thirty bodies belonging to political opponents who were murdered and dynamited by the dictatorship, appeared in the town of Pilar, in the Province of Buenos Aires. His trial took place in 2008 and he is currently serving a life sentence.12

Ranea’s photograph is taken from the front and from a low angle, which magnifies the act of embracing and highlights the profile of each of the characters (Figure 3).

A vertical approach defines and delimits the scene giving more important positioning to the two central protagonists of the image, captured in an American shot, turning the other people who appear in the photo into incidental and irrelevant characters in relation to the central plot of the episode. Gallone looks calm, focusing his eyes on the horizon, and with his right arm and hand brings the woman’s head closer, her body and face remaining pressed against the officer’s chest.

12 The Fatima Massacre consisted of the murder of thirty people (twenty men and ten women, including several adolescents) who had been kidnapped and tortured by forces of Army Corps I in 1976, and underwent atrocious captivity in the Federal Security Superintendence of the Argentine Federal Police. These people were tied, blindfolded, and finished off with a bullet through the head and then dynamited on a local road near the town of Fátima in Pilar on August 20th, 1976. Enrique Gallone, former head of the Federal Security Superintendence Brigade, was sentenced to life imprisonment for this crime, along with Juan Carlos Lapuyole, former director of Intelligence of the agency. The note “30 x 1” was found in the pocket of one of the victims, which suggests an act of revenge by the army for the assassination of General Omar Carlos Actis, one of the main organizers of the 1978 World Cup, perpetrated a few days before by an armed commando in the town of Quilmes.

Between embrace and confrontation.A dialogue between two iconic images...

There are no recognizable elements in the image that allow the reader to question the existence of the embrace and reflect on any existing conflict between the two central characters of the scene. The only discordant elements are the lack of visual contact between the two characters and the presence of a second woman wearing a white scarf, who gestures in front of

the soldier. However, its vertical frame does not allow the main scene to be visually contaminated.

With these elements, the front page of the newspaper Clarín used the image’s capacity for condensation for its own purposes and constructed a media message of supposed reconciliation between the two antagonistic groups par excellence of the period: the military and the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo.

Indeed, at the end of 1982, this newspaper supported the idea of reconciliation as a starting point for the installation and viability of democracy, an idea associated at that time with the guarantee of impunity for the repressors. It became widespread during the government of President Alfonsín and consolidated during the administration of Carlos Saúl Menem in the 1990s.

For this reason, Clarín published the photo on October 6th 1982, with the following caption: “In the photo: a police officer comforts one of the participants” and in an editorial on October 7th explains: “The problem of the disappeared and prisoners with no trial is one of the most serious issues faced by the Argentinian community, which will not be able to advance towards the goals of reconciliation unless clarified”.13

This reading of the photograph, which prevailed above all at the national level, has been refuted by the Mothers on multiple occasions. According to the testimonies of the photographer, the protagonist of the photo herself, and other women who appear on the scene, what actually happened between the two characters was exactly the opposite: Gallone prevented the woman from entering the square, forcefully pressing her against his chest, she tried to hit him and was in the middle of a nervous breakdown.14

The comparison with the photographer’s sequence of negatives, as well as the comparison with other images taken by other photographers from different angles, has allowed specialists to reconstruct the scene and highlight the atmosphere of confrontation between the women and the police whose hostility was clear to everyone.

The journalistically “lucky” image of the entire process is in fact the opposite of what actually happened, according to other visual and oral testimonies permitting the reconstruction of the episode.

13 Clarín, October 6 and 7, 1982, p.1.

14 All the authors and documents consulted agree on this: GAMARNIK and SÁNCHEZ, op. cit. The documentary video Historia de una foto, by PASCUTTI, Ximena, and KUNIS, Gaspar, Buenos Aires, 2014, and the aforementioned documentary Encuentro.

Between embrace and confrontation.A dialogue between two iconic images...

As in no other example, the photograph in question illustrates the limits of the image as an index –in a Barthean sense– and raises the need to compare it with other documentary traces, but it also warns about the presence of the media as inducers of certain types of conduct and behavior among the subjects portrayed.15

In this case, one might wonder to what extent the aggressiveness of the officer was contained and concealed by the presence of the photographers, who had spent some years projecting the public figure of the Mothers onto the international journalistic imaginary with political intent, opposition of the dictatorship.

Clarín never clarified or explained the background of the matter to its readers; rather, it did the opposite: it continued showing it as the symbol of an assumed reconciliation.

Ranea’s testimony, expressed 32 years after the events, is very significant, since it supports Henri Cartier Bresson’s thesis on the “decisive moment” while at the same time opening a space for subjectivity and the multiplicity of readings around the image:

“I was lucky to be standing in the right place at the right time. The photo is what it is and reflects what happened. Lens photography only has the lens through which it is taken. Everything else in an image is opinion”.16

The ambiguous and contradictory border of fiction and reality continued years later, when the lawyers defending Gallone, who was accused at the beginning of this century of having participated in other crimes against

15 For Barthes, photography is proof of things that happened this way and not otherwise. From this perspective, the photo is the quintessential documentary evidence. BARTHES, Roland, Lo obvio y lo obtuso. Imágenes, gestos, voces, Buenos Aires, Paidós, 1982, pp. 56-59. On this point I agree with SÁNCHEZ, María Victoria, op. cit., p. 7, who in turn follows the guidelines of DEBRAY, Regis, Vida y muerte de la imagen. Historia de la mirada en occidente, Buenos Aires, Paidós, 1994: “The indexicality of photography has led to identify what is represented with its referent, in which a feeling of irremediable reality persists from which it was extremely difficult to depart despite (and because of) the training, in the history of the look in the West, of the eye of the subjects”.

16 PASCUTTI and KUNIS, op. cit. Regarding Cartier Bresson, it should be noted that he is one of the most influential photographers of the 20th century. His theory about the so-called “decisive moment” posits that the photographer is an image hunter who must remain hidden and unnoticed, without influencing the scene he is portraying, until he achieves the lucky image that synthesizes all his creative search. These approaches had a notable influence on the work of photojournalism during the second half of the last century, to the point of becoming a kind of dogma.

humanity, tried to use the cover photo of the newspaper in question as documentary evidence to support the alleged innocence of the repressor they were defending, as it supposedly showed and legitimized him as an authority who was tolerant of opposition and dissidence, and sympathetic to the tragedy of the mothers of the disappeared.

In this context, Diego Martínez’s report published in the press is worth citing; there this journalist recollects Gallone’s testimony, aged 63, during his 2008 trial:

“In 1982, assigned to the fourth police station, he had to “take care of the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo; the old grannies who walked around on Thursdays” and “tried to get to Government House”. He drank some water, breathed deeply, and added that ‘that day the group HIJOS (Children, formed in 1995) was present. There were Mothers, relatives of political prisoners and relatives of the disappeared’. He diverted the Mothers so that they would not reach the plaza, and to compensate he offered to take Adolfo Pérez Esquivel to deliver a petition to the government. ‘When I came back, an old lady said to me: “Thank you son”, and she began to cry on my chest’. Days later, the photo traveled around the world. It was the misfortune of his life, he said. At the end of this speech, with his back to the public, he covered his face as if he were weeping.17

The attempt was unsuccessful, since the court categorically rejected Gallone’s arguments, but it represents an outstanding example of the different uses made of readings of a photograph in different spheres, such as the judicial and the journalistic, as well as of the limits that define and delimit these possibilities, according to the circumstances surrounding each case.

It is very interesting to underline how the iconic photo from 1982 had relevant resonance and impact at international level, which the repressor tried to use for his own benefit to legitimize his participation in a supposed project of reconciliation with the relatives of the disappeared.

On the other hand, it should be noted that Gallone’s quoted testimony is very significant, since it shows the famous photograph caused ambivalent feelings about this repressive policeman, projecting him as a public figure, and therefore vulnerable, and likely to attract the attention of citizens and groups defending human rights.

17 MARTÍNEZ, Diego, “Gallone blames the photo. The trial begun against three retired police officers for the Fatima massacre”, in Página12, April 30, 2008, p. 1.

Between embrace and confrontation.A dialogue between two iconic images...

In this way, on the one hand, the military tried to use the image for their own benefit, as previously mentioned; and on the other, Gallone admitted his annoyance at unwanted celebrity, which marked his connection with the repression during the dictatorship, and with the specific episode of the massacre.

The group Sons and Daughters for Identity and Justice against Oblivion and Silence (HIJOS) was founded in 1995, and it strengthened the impact of associations defending human rights and renewed the group with their youthful vigor. It used public rituals known as escraches, in which the population was alerted to the precise place of residence of some repressors or their workplaces after the period of the dictatorship. Gallone’s crude lapse, which places the group’s presence as early as 1982, is a significant clue to the fear that the youth association generated among some repressors, aware that their degree of impunity was inversely proportional to their level of visibility in public opinion.18

Finally, Ranea’s opinion about his own work very clearly shows this historical construction built over three decades regarding the role of photographers as promoters of democratic change in Argentina:

“The most important thing that image had was its repercussion in connection with the issue of the disappeared. In a way, I feel a bit responsible, along with the whole lot of us who went out risking our lives at that time. I feel a bit responsible for the fact that that today we are living in a democracy in Argentina”.19

The opposite case regarding the political use of photography is represented by Eduardo Longoni’s photographs of the guerrilla attack to La Tablada military barracks in Buenos Aires.

On January 23rd,1989, an armed command going by the name of “Todos por la Patria” attempted to take over the barracks located in the province of Buenos Aires, resulting in the death of thirty-two guerrillas, nine soldiers, and two policemen. On that occasion, Longoni managed to capture a sequence of images which show in detail the moment two

18 In this article we are more interested in dwelling on the symbolic aspects inherent to the exercise of memory, not trapped in a linear vision of memory as a place of supposed fidelity with the past. In this regard, see NECOECHEA, Gerardo, Después de vivir un siglo. Ensayos de historia oral, Mexico, INAH, 2005, p. 12.

19 PASCUTTI and KUNIS, op. cit.

guerrillas who were captured alive were arrested, and then disappeared by the military.20

These photos have recently been claimed by the Supreme Court of Justice as part of the documentation to reopen the case (Figures 4 and 5). This is a very significant milestone in the history of documentary photogra20 Alberto del Castillo interview with Eduardo Longoni, Buenos Aires, September 8, 2014.

Between embrace and confrontation.A dialogue between two iconic images...

5. Attack on the La Tablada barracks, Buenos Aires, 1989. Eduardo Longoni Photographic Archive.

phy in Latin America, with images playing a leading role supporting judicial arguments in the case and are valued in themselves as legal evidence.

Mexico: The women of X’oyep. Army tolerance versus indigenous resistance

A very different example, but with common points of reference, allowing a comparative analysis, is Pedro Valtierra’s famous photograph of the women of X’oyep, which shows the confrontation between Tzotzil indigenous women from southern Mexico and a federal soldier of the Mexican army on January 3rd, 1998.

A few days before this event the terrible Acteal massacre had taken place, in which a group of paramilitaries associated with the Institutional Revolutionary Party murdered 45 people from the group known as Las Abejas, supporters of the Zapatista Army of National Liberation, while praying inside a humble church in the town, fifteen kilometers from the town of X’oyep.

In those days, the community had established itself as a place that housed people fleeing the violence unleashed in the region. The army arrived in X’oyep in the early morning of that day to occupy the territory and was surprised by the community, particularly by women, who surrounded the soldiers before they could set up camp, demanding their withdrawal.

Photographer Pedro Valtierra, journalist Juan Balboa, and cameraman Carlos Martínez arrived at the scene together, thanks to Balboa’s contacts within the community.21

Other journalists also arrived, including several photographers from the Reforma, El Nacional and, above all, cameramen from the important media company Televisa.

All of them covered the spectacular episode starring a group of women who defended their territory and attacked the soldiers of the Mexican army; the soldiers repelled the aggression but did not use weapons, enduring the women’s insults and slaps.

The photo of the episode obtained by Valtierra, was on the cover of various newspapers and magazines, contributing to a national debate about the Acteal massacre and the marginalization of indigenous communities (Figure 6).

Several months later, the image also won the important King of Spain international award for the best photojournalistic work, positioning it internationally as an icon of Zapatismo.22

In summary, reading the image became an obligatory as a reference of the Zapatista indigenous rebellion in the nineties of the last century and has been vindicated from all political positions.

These positions range from that of the ruling party itself, which parades it as documentary proof of the magnanimity and tolerance of the Mexican army in the face of indigenous rebellions, to the sectors of the left, headed by the writer Elena Poniatowska (Cervantes Prize 2013). In

21 The journalist Juan Balboa had wide experience professionally covering the conflicts both in Chiapas and in Central America and in previous years had built a network of very important contacts with the indigenous communities. Alberto del Castillo interview with Juan Balboa, TV UNAM, August 3, 2011.

22 A broader analysis of the reading generated by this image and its editorial and political itineraries is contained in my book Las mujeres de X’oyep. La historia detrás de la fotografía, Mexico, Conaculta, 2013, pp. 17-21.

6. The women of X’oyep, Mexico, 1998. Pedro Valtierra Photographic Archive.

an interview this renowned writer referred to the famous photo as the most remarkable and representative emblem of the resistance and dignity of indigenous peoples and the struggle to claim their rights against military oppression.23

Clearly, the best-known and most influential photograph of Zapatismo does not yield one unique reading and has been the subject of multiple reflections and observations from all ideological sectors in the political spectrum. It raises a dispute over symbols confirming the importance of photographic images in the current political debate.

The cover of the newspaper La Jornada bearing this famous image, presents some relevant aspects to consider. First of all, it is a vertical refram-

23 Alberto del Castillo, interview with Elena Poniatowska, TV UNAM, Mexico City, April 20, 2012. She is one of the most important writers in Mexico today. With a long center-left trajectory, she represents the most authoritative point of view of this type of political position in the country. It is from this privileged social place that her opinions and comments can be read.

Between embrace and confrontation.A dialogue between two iconic images...

ing that focuses the participation of the two central elements: two tiny indigenous women in their Tzotzil clothing who violently grab a soldier with indigenous features by the lapels and neck; the rifle he is carrying, an AR15 rifle, is almost the same size as the women; he is grabbing another soldier’s hand to stop himself from falling, and so resisting the women’s action.

A very significant piece of information for the editorial use of this image is obtained assessing the huge size displayed on the cover of La Jornada in comparison with a much smaller photograph appearing in the upper right-hand margin: here President Ernesto Zedillo is announcing Secretary of the Interior, Emilio Chuayffet’s resignation, following criticism for the Acteal massacre perpetrated ten days before, and the appointment of the new minister, Francisco Labastida.

The three characters were politicians with great power in Mexico in those days. In the background of the smaller photograph, taken at the presidential residence of Los Pinos, there is a significant portrait: the hero Benito Juárez, the only indigenous president in the history of independent Mexico, and one of the most important figures in the country’s history, associated throughout the 20th century with the official story (Figure 7).

As published in La Jornada, the official image surrounding the figure of Juárez is made to dialogue with the new indigenous imaginary constructed by Valtierra’s gaze, where indigenous women have ceased to be victims or passive entities to become active subjects who are fighting for the transformation of their living conditions.

A painting found in the X’oyep community bears witness to the specific use of images. (Figure 8). This research was able to verify the existence of this anonymous painting exhibited in the place as a memorial and silent witness of the events of X’oyep based on Valtierra’s famous photo. It has become a way of thanking the community itself through a visual document, closer to the magical religious sense of the ex-voto or popular altarpiece than to conventional documentary reading.24

The symbolic character of the image has been imposed on its indexical reference and the visual story shows the epic of an indigenous group, who at some point confronted the army present in their territory. Most of the

24 Personal visit to the community of X’oyep, in the state of Chiapas, in the Mexican southeast, September 2012.

8. The painting of X’oyep, Mexico, 2013. Alberto del Castillo Troncoso collection.

refugees have returned to their places of origin in the state of Chiapas, in southeastern Mexico, near the border with Guatemala.

Ruptures and continuities between two icons of memory

The coincidences and differences in the processes which projected these images by Marcelo Ranea and Pedro Valtierra to fame are very significant.

A very relevant point in the comparison between the two images is the strategic alliance that took place between the photographers and the women who came from very different places when faced by military harassment. In the Mexican case, it is the women of the community who establish the link

Between embrace and confrontation.A dialogue between two iconic images...

with the photographers and guide them during the entire defense operation against the presence of the army in their territory. All this is part of the visual learning initiated by indigenous communities in the early nineties, through the Zapatista revolt in southern Mexico.25

In the Argentinian case, the alliance between women who have suffered the loss of their children, kidnapped by the army, navy and air force is also very clear. This is made visible through the support of some photographers, linked to national and international agencies, who circulated the photos of the Mothers in international networks and circuits, positioning the group in the context of human rights claims from the early 1980s.

The two photographers arrived at the conflict zones with their Nikon cameras through professional contacts, which leaves very little room for spontaneous photography and opens up other types of horizons for the journalistic construction of more complex photographs.

In both cases, there were previous contacts with different women who had led protests against the military, for very different reasons in each situation.

Both photographs were taken in a pre-digital era, so the two experienced, strongly intuitive authors, who had taken these powerful images, were forced to have them developed in laboratories by colleagues and assistants: Negro Frías, in Ranea’s case, and José Carlo González, in Valtierra’s. Ranea used the radiophoto in 1982, and Valtierra scanned his images and sent them by fax in 1998.

In both cases, the specific photos were seen together with the contact sheet that allowed an account of the process of capturing the images, with very different sequence numbers (Ranea 7 photos and Valtierra 72). They were subjected to scrutiny and selection by two work teams with a long history and wide photographic experience.

Both men were subject to pressure by the high demands that underlie photojournalistic work, which stipulate effective and immediate results: the

25 FUENTES, Carlos, “La primera guerrilla posmoderna de la historia”, in El País, May 27, 1994, p. 3, referred to the Zapatista revolt of the 1990s as the first postmodern guerrilla in history, to the extent that it no longer had anything to do with the Marxist-oriented armed movements of previous decades. The writer was referring, among other things, to the media role that characterized the movement and positioned it internationally.

Argentine hurriedly walked the six blocks leading to the premises of Agencia Diarios y Noticias (DyN ) where he worked, in downtown Buenos Aires, and spoke directly to Miguel Ángel Cuarterolo, head of the Photographic Department, and Horacio Tato, director of the Agency, who congratulated him after verifying the quality of the image and its journalistic value.

On the other hand, the Mexican photographer had to walk through the jungle after obtaining his shots, then board a jeep for San Cristóbal de Las Casas, near the border with Guatemala. He contacted the Cuartoscuro agency (of which he was the director) and with the photographer Fabrizio León, Head of Photography at La Jornada, the newspaper he worked for, spoke on the phone with the director, Carmen Lira, who was moved by the content of the photograph and ordered its immediate publication on the front page of the newspaper.

In the first case, Cuarterolo was one of the most important photo editors of the last quarter century in Argentina. His work as editor of Noticias Argentinas (NA) and Diarios y Noticias (DyN) bears witness to this. Later he was one of the most important editors of Clarín in the 1990s. There he had several battles for the image with Eduardo Longoni, to renew the photojournalistic language in those years.

In the second case, director Carmen Lira was an important reporter who covered some of the most relevant aspects of the Central American guerrilla and later became the director of the most influential journalistic option for the left in Mexico in the 1990s. It is also relevant to highlight the close collaboration between the photographer and editor Fabrizio León with Valtierra himself, a collaboration built over the previous ten years, which explains the forcefulness and speed of the media deployment of the photo in the newspaper.

Finally, it should be noted that Ranea’s photo was sold by the agency and published in a newspaper closely associated with the military regime, which advocated for the political construction of impunity for the repressors in the civilian governments following the dictatorship, while Valtierra’s image was published in a newspaper opposing the government, which had built a media alliance with the Zapatistas since the mid-1990s, reporting on news read as part of the indigenous resistance against the military impositions of the State.

Final considerations

The two images analyzed in this article were immediately successful. They were used by the different political projects at times of conflict, with a bias towards the regime and the military in the first case, and with a predominance of the point of view of the indigenous community to the detriment of the efforts made by the army and the State to justify their actions in the second.

Both were successful photographs, crowned with the King of Spain award and going on to become icons of the recent history of their countries and of Latin America in the last quarter of the twentieth century.

The media intervened directly in the very configuration of these episodes, which does not invalidate the use of these photographs as documentary sources, but it does force us to rethink them from other perspectives.

In this sense, and against the grain of the government position according to which the fundamental ingredient of the episode lies in the demonstration of pacifism and tolerance by the army, what the reflection of this article underpins is that the media intervene, altering the behavior of soldiers and the rest of the protagonists in the world. For all these reasons, we can affirm that there is no such thing as the so-called “essence” of the army proclaimed by official positions, that is, a timeless essence separated from historical and social conditions.

The most relevant point of divergence between the two icons has to do with the reception of the images by the different social actors. In the Mexican case, the entire political spectrum agrees that Valtierra’s photograph synthesizes the conflict between women and the army, but following this first consensus, different readings are produced.

On the contrary, in the Argentinian case, the very reading of the photo as an index is equivocal: there is no consensus among the different groups regarding an immediate reading of the image. Conversely, everyone assumes different points of view and the image itself is used as an example of how an instant can falsify the reality of an episode.

In summary, and from this brief dialogue with two of the most important icons of Latin American photojournalism, it is important to remember that reconstruction of the different photographic lines has been essential to understand the symbolic weight of both the figures of the

Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, and the indigenous women, in the recent history of our countries. The perception of the authors, the editorial uses of the photographs, and the varying reception by readers, are all part of this complex process.

This article is a first step towards constructing the visual narrative of a history of documentary and journalistic photography in the last quarter of the twentieth century, detailing the role of editorial uses of images and their position in public opinion.

This research aims to document the fact that part of this process accompanies the decline of dictatorial and authoritarian regimes and contributes towards the installation of democratic conditions that have been advancing at different rates and levels throughout the continent.

Between embrace and confrontation.A dialogue between two iconic images...

SOURCES

Interviews

Alberto del Castillo interview with Juan Balboa, TV UNAM, August 3, 2011. Alberto del Castillo interview with Eduardo Longoni, Buenos Aires, September 4 and 8, 2014. Alberto del Castillo interview with Elena Poniatowska, TV UNAM, Mexico City, April 20, 2012.

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6. PHOTOJOURNALISM AND THE MALVINAS WAR: A SYMBOLIC BATTLE

“The step just taken was decided without any political calculation”. De facto President L. F. Galtieri’s broadcast to the nation, 3rd April 1982

This paper proposes a historical reconstruction of some of the photographs taken on 2nd April 1982, the day Argentine troops disembarked on the Malvinas Islands, at a time when the Argentine dictatorship was still convinced of its victory and proclaimed it to the world. We also intend to examine how, from that day, history, politics, and photography –in particular photojournalism– intersected within the context of a war of convenience initiated by the military dictatorship then ruling in Argentina. Likewise, we plan to analyse the key role played by some photographers’ actions and the symbolic dimension of some of their photographs, not only regarding the way that day’s events were (and still are) described, but also and above all, regarding the way the events themselves unfolded. To do so, we try to reconstruct the context within which some of these pictures were taken, how, by whom, and the ongoing situation at the time they were taken, as well as the way they were circulated by the media.

Photojournalism during the Malvinas conflict –and the way the images were used later– was part of the symbolic battles fought in the war between Argentina and Great Britain in 19821. What took place in the

1 In Argentina, the Malvinas do not represent just a territorial claim. They are one of the nation’s symbols, condensing whole range of varied and conflicting meanings. While before the conflict, they were the motive of an important international claim linked to a national and popular cause, during the war they came to be regarded as the symbol of a supposed national unity, to end up

Malvinas was in many regards a media dispute. The so-called theatre of war in the islands was too far away from the neuralgic centres of Buenos Aires and London, therefore the “war” could only gain visibility for the public through the media. These became in fact another battlefield, and photojournalism was an integral part of that conflict.

In Argentina, newspapers and magazines were the main axis of support for the “recovery” of the islands, and the role played by photography was functional to that narrative, and not just as mere illustration but as an agent (and main sales pitch, truth be said) of the events. The media had played a pivotal role supporting the military dictatorship during the coup in 1976 and throughout the years that followed.2

In the early stages of what would eventually culminate in a war, there was a dispute over the photographs that were allowed to circulate and the way these were published, reproduced, titled, and analysed. With its enormous capacity to highlight, condense and symbolise events, it was clear that photojournalism might easily become the privileged instrument for the construction of meaning and historical analysis. Photographs were also a ‘memory vehicle’3 through which a vision of history could be produced. Therefore, we believe that the photographs taken and published by the press during the Malvinas war in general, and on 2nd April 1982 in particular, were an integral part of the symbolic battles that were fought then, and still today, when it comes to reconstructing, recalling, or commemorating the armed conflict.

becoming, at the close of the conflict, the symbol of defeat and shame for some, while others saw in them the painful step that had allowed the nation to recover democracy. (See Rosana Guber, ¿Por qué Malvinas? De la causa nacional a la guerra absurda. Buenos Aires: Fondo de Cultura Económica 2012; Federico Lorenz, Las guerras por Malvinas. Buenos Aires: EDHASA 2006).

2 For a more comprehensive analysis of the history of photography during the coup in Argentina, see: Cora Gamarnik, ‘Imágenes de la dictadura militar. La fotografía de prensa antes, durante y después del golpe de Estado de 1976 en Argentina’, in Artículos de Investigación sobre Fotografía, Centro Municipal de Fotografía de Montevideo, Uruguay, 2011. Available at: http://www.rehime.com.ar/escritos/documentos/idexalfa/g/gamarnikc.php#articulos

3 E. Jelin, in Los trabajos de la memoria (Buenos Aires: Siglo XXI Editores 2002), uses this concept of ‘memory vehicle’ to characterize books, archives and commemorative objects, as well as all kinds of expressions and performances, that, rather than represent the past, incorporate it performatively. Seen from this point of view, photographs could be interpreted as symbolic tools used by different memories in conflict.

Before the War

In March 1982, the Argentine military dictatorship was going through a legitimacy crisis. Both national and international human rights organizations had managed to gain wider recognition for their claims regarding the thousands of detained/disappeared, and the economic crisis had undermined support for the rulers.4 In this context, a group of the Central General de Trabajadores5 organized a demonstration demanding “Bread, Peace and Work”, which was supported both by most political parties and social and human rights organizations. On 30th March 1982, the most important popular demonstration ever against the dictatorship, took place. For the first time since the 1976 coup, hundreds of demonstrators openly challenged the police, confronting them in the streets attempting to gain control of the public space. The brutal police repression on that day was explicit and public.6 But the demonstrations were a clear sign that the atmosphere

4 The third military junta came to power on 22nd December 1981, with L. Galtieri as representative of the army, J. Anaya of the navy and B. Lami Dozo of the air force. This junta started their administration after a dictatorship of six years when the initial support given to the coup by some sectors of the population had started to wear out and was giving way to signs of opposition and rejection.

5 In 1982 the Central General de Trabajadores (CGT) was split up in two factions: one more inclined to negotiate with and support the military dictatorship (the CGT-Azopardo) led by J. Triaca, and another that followed a more confrontational agenda (la CGT- Brasil) led by Saúl Ubaldini.

6 In Argentina, the “forced disappearance of persons” was the main repressive strategy implemented by the military dictatorship between 1976 and 1983. The figure of the “disappeared” implied the person’s forced segregation from social life and the total obliteration of his/her existence. The “disappearance” of persons combined a certain degree of visibility (the kidnappings, the search raids and, in some cases, the dead bodies) with total secrecy regarding what happened to the detainees once they were “sucked” into the clandestine extermination centres. This obeyed a specific policy addressed to spreading terror among the population (see Pilar Calveiro, Poder y desaparición. Los campos de concentración en Argentina. Buenos Aires, Ediciones Colihue 1998). At the same time, to implement this plan, State terror needed to pursue strict disinformation, censorship, and media manipulation policies, carried out through the powerful mechanisms of the intelligence services under government control which were used to obliterate their crimes. Until 1982, the press had only shown the photographs that the dictatorship and the collaborationist press allowed to be published. The Argentine armed forces had studied the experiences in Algeria and Chile. In Argentina, the open and indiscriminate repression unleashed by the military at the 11th September 1973 Chilean coup, and what took place soon afterwards, had been photographed by Chilean and foreign journalists. The most conspicuous among these were David Burnett (USA), Chas Gerretsen (Netherlands) and Koen Wessing (Netherlands). Their

of social fear brought about by systematic implementation of State Terror throughout those years was beginning to break down. Despite brutal repression, photographers managed to take pictures giving the demonstration visibility; in fact, many of the best-known photos in Argentina taken during the military dictatorship and used to illustrate the regime’s brutality were shot on that occasion. There are memorable images of that demonstration in which the police are seen in the act of beating and arresting demonstrators and photojournalists.

This gave rise to a seemingly paradoxical situation: at a time when Argentine society was opening politically with stronger mass mobilizations, when the darkest hours of state terror had already passed, photojournalists were being harassed as never before, but with an important difference: the dictatorship’s repressive policy could no longer go unnoticed. While the dictatorship had relied till then on media censorship and self-censorship, this was beginning to prove insufficient. They now had to prevent not so much the publication of compromising photographs (for which they still relied, in part, on self-censorship by the complicit press), but to prevent their production.

The 30th March 1982 demonstration represented a qualitative change in several interconnected aspects: the magnitude of the mass mobilization, the repression methods deployed by the regime’s security forces, and the visibility given to the repression, thanks to the photographers and cameramen who risked their safety to document the event. Three days after the demonstration, while thousands of protesters were still under arrest, the armed forces landed in the Malvinas, much to the surprise of most Argentinians – except for some people in the media who were informed of the operation.

The landing was not a response to the 30th March demonstration, as is often incorrectly argued – because it could never have been prepared so quickly; in fact, the operation was already planned long before the call for a pictures quickly circulated abroad, and immediately aroused a wave of strong international condemnation resulting in the early isolation of the dictatorship headed by A. Pinochet by the international community of nations (Raymond Depardon et al., “Chili, September 1973” en Chili, Special reporter-Objectif, Special Issue, París 1973; Koen Wessing, Fotografía. El arte de visibilizar la pregunta, Santiago de Chile: Lom Ediciones 2011; Gamarnik, ‘Imágenes de la dictadura militar…’.) In contrast, in Argentina, such photos only started to circulate six years into the dictatorship.

demonstration was issued, but a link between both events is certainly undeniable. As Rosana Guber points out, ‘The news about the islands’ “recovery” sufficed to reverse the prevailing political antagonism in Argentina’.7 Some media reflecting the prevailing critical atmosphere against the dictatorship immediately made a volte-face and shifted from showing and condemning repression to elatedly celebrating the landing in the islands. From 2nd April on, Argentina became a stage on which, day after day, the ‘unity of the people and the government’ against ‘English colonialism’ was played. The photographs published by the entire press helped create the homogeneous image of monolithic support for the Junta’s decision.

The Malvinas: the landing and seizure of the islands

Planning for ‘Operation Virgin del Rosario’ –the name given to the dictatorship’s plan to recover the islands– began in late 19818. The decision was based on two mistaken (and seemingly contradictory) premises: the first was that Great Britain would not respond with the use of military force if Argentina took possession of the islands but would choose diplomatic action instead and take the case to international forums. The second was that in the case of conflict, the USA would not support Great Britain.

At the same time, the decision to recover the islands was built around two issues that were not easy to connect: on the one hand, the Junta, now discredited by the economic crisis and reports denouncing human rights violations, needed to regain political initiative and social consensus; and, on the other, a firmly rooted popular feeling about the justice of Argentina’s claim to territorial sovereignty of the islands. The real motives of the invasion, according to the views of many researchers, were the close relationship between the economic and institutional crisis the Junta was going through,

7 Guber, ¿Por qué Malvinas? 28.

8 For a historical account of the way the Argentine occupation of the islands was conceived and prepared, see, among others, Oscar Cardoso et al., Malvinas, la trama secreta. Buenos Aires: Planeta, 1992 [1983]; Horacio Verbitsky, Malvinas. La última batalla de la Tercera Guerra Mundial, Buenos Aires: Sudamericana 2006; Federico Lorenz, Las guerras por Malvinas. Buenos Aires: EDHASA 2006.

and the idea of ‘finding a subject that would galvanize public opinion to remove internal pressure’.9

The Junta had established three points for carrying out the invasion plan: it would remain a top military secret (which later created many internal problems between the armed forces and the civilians who occupied key positions in the ministries of economy and of foreign affairs); the Argentine troops had orders to carry out their mission in such a way that ‘Neither British military nor local civilians should be killed during the entire Argentine military operation on its territory’10; and that the operation would be as short as possible. The original idea was to capture the islands, leave a garrison of five hundred men there and continue negotiations through diplomatic channels.11

The armed forces planned the landing then as a great symbolic act that would be followed by partial withdrawal of the troops and negotiations. In order to tell this story to the world, they had basically planned to ‘fake’ a photograph to be accompanied by a report made by three pro-government journalists who would be sailing with the Argentine Marines: two reporters (José María Enzo Camarotti, a specialist in military issues for La Razón, and Salvador Fernández, for the Bahía Blanca La Nueva Provincia12) and a photographer, Osvaldo Zurlo, also working for La Nueva Provincia, who usually photographed naval exercises in Bahía Blanca. On 26th March, the troops selected for the landing were mobilized. The landing forces were composed of a total of 914 men, including the three journalists. These forces were

9 Cf. Lucrecia Escudero, Malvinas: el gran relato. Fuentes y rumores en la información de guerra. Barcelona: Gedisa 1996, 113; Max Hastings and Simon Jenkins, The Battle for the Falklands, New York: W. W. Norton 1983; Cardozo et al., ibid.; Verbitsky, ibid.

10 Argentine Army, Informe Oficial del Ejército Argentino Tomo II – Conflicto Malvinas, quoted in Malvinas: The Argentine perspective of the Falkland’s conflict, A Monograph by Leonardo Arcadio Zarza.

11 Cardoso et al., ibid.

12 Both newspapers La Razón and La Nueva Provincia were the most important supporters of the Argentine dictatorship among the press. La Razón was under control of the army while La Nueva Provincia, an ultra-right-wing paper, strictly followed navy directives, but also functioned as the mouthpiece of G. Suárez Mason, Commander of the First Army Corps between 1976 and 1980, and of ex Chief of Buenos Aires Police, R. Camps, both convicted for Dirty War crimes (see, among others, Graciela Mochkofsky, Timerman. El periodista que quiso ser parte del poder (1923-1999). Buenos Aires: Sudamericana 2004, 51-56 y 272).

distributed among several ships (a fact that would later prove important), though the largest contingent embarked on the tank landing ship ARA Cabo San Antonio. On 2nd April, at ten A.M., Argentine radio and television stations broadcast the first communiqué from the Junta announcing that, through the combined action of the three armed forces, the nation had ‘recovered’ the Malvinas islands.

The ‘fake’ Iwo Jima

The photos taken by O. Zurlo during the landing on 2nd April 1982 were not even good enough to be published by La Nueva Provincia. As a matter of fact, the only front-page photo of the event published by this newspaper in its 3rd April issue is that of a soldier folding the Union Jack. In the other unpublished photos, the reporter can be seen standing next to the commandos and the Argentine flag flying outside various government offices in the islands. There are also pictures showing him in uniform at the newspaper editors’ office, in Bahía Blanca again.

The Joint Chiefs of Staff then distributed among local press agencies and the media in general, another photograph of the Malvinas capture in which five soldiers were portrayed in the act of raising the Argentine flag (figure 1). Several media immediately had serious doubts about the authenticity of the photo, and it wasn’t difficult to prove that it was a fake: it wasn’t a wirephoto, the technical system used at the time to send pictures by telephone or wire. The photograph was distributed printed on photographic paper to agencies and the press on that same 2nd April a few hours after the landing. There was no way that photograph could have come from the islands, especially since there had been no take-offs that day. Nevertheless, the following day several morning newspapers published the photo on their front pages. The photograph had been staged on the grounds of the Escuela de Mecánica de la Armada (ESMA).13 The picture was a recreation

13 See ‘La foto trucha’, Clarín, 2 de abril de 1992, p. 3. ESMA (Navy Mechanical School) was one of the clandestine detention centres during the Argentine military dictatorship, where almost 5000 people were imprisoned, with only 150 surviving. On 31st December 2004, the ESMA was transformed into ‘Espacio para la Memoria y la Promoción y Defensa de los Derechos Humanos’, Latin America’s largest human-rights museum.

of the famous picture by Associated Press photographer Joe Rosenthal (a recreation in turn of a previous scene), taken in Iwo Jima, Japan, in 1945.14

14 Rosenthal’s photograph, usually called ‘Raising the Flag on Iwo Jima’, shows five American marines and a Navy Corpsman raising a U.S. flag on Mount Suribachi, Iwo Jima Island, during the Second World War. The photograph taken on 23rd February 1945 became a U.S. symbol, and won the Pulitzer Prize for Photography that same year. The image was actually a recreation: the marines raised a second flag, since the first one was too small for the photo. In 1954, it served as a model for the U.S. Marine Corps War Memorial in Arlington, Virginia. For a more detailed account see John Mraz, ‘What’s Documentary about Photography? From directed to digital photojournalism’, on line ZoneZero magazine, 2002.

Available at: http://www.zonezero.com/magazine/articles/mraz/mraz01en.html

2nd April Photographs: The British surrender

The photographs of the Argentine landing in the Malvinas that known worldwide with the scene of the British surrendering, were not those originally planned by the Argentine Armed Forces, but those taken at dawn on 2nd April 1982 by photographer Rafael Wollmann, a photojournalist who in December 1981 had been fired from Gente y la actualidad magazine, together with other three photographers, Eduardo Bottaro, Tito La Penna y Silvio Zuccheri, due to budgets cuts. The four photographers then decided to use the compensation money and their experience to set up an independent photographic agency, ILA (Imagen Latinoamericana), a completely unknown undertaking at the time in Argentina. With the idea of working for a wider market, they offered their services as correspondents in South America to international agencies, establishing contact with Gamma,15 one of the most important photography agencies in the world in those years, with a wide international distribution network.

As Silvio Zuccheri put it:

We proposed a reportage on the Malvinas to Gamma in December 1981 and had made some preparations for it. They asked me what the Malvinas were, and we had to explain that they were the Falkland Islands. We offered to make a National Geographic-style report (….) It was our first international coverage.16

Rafael Wollmann points out that in December 1981, at their newly founded ILA agency they read in the papers that a new round of negotiations on the Malvinas had just started in New York. Thus, with an eye on the international context, they offered Gamma a geographical report about

15 Gamma agency was founded in Paris in 1966 by photographers Gilles Caron and Raymond Depardon. It was an independent agency playing a key role in the promotion and defense of photojournalism. Together with Sigma and Sipa, two later agencies, Gamma helped make Paris a world capital for photojournalism in the 1970s, attracting some of the best photographers the field has produced. (See Christian Caujolle, ‘Desventuras del fotoperiodismo’, Le Monde Diplomatique, Edición Cono Sur, 2002, Issue available at: http://www.insumisos.com/diplo/ NODE/3277.HTM#3278)

16 María Esperanza Sánchez, Tras un manto de neblinas El circuito de las fotos de Malvinas y su lugar en los medios, tesis de licenciatura, Carrera de Ciencias de la Comunicación, Facultad de Ciencias Sociales, UBA, 2011.

the islands and its people, to show what they were like. Gamma accepted their proposal, and it was agreed that Wollmann, who speaks English well, would draft the report. Thanks to some contacts, they quickly managed to obtain the White Card, a document jointly issued by the British Embassy and the Argentine Ministry of Foreign Affairs required to visit the islands.

According to Zuccheri:

We knew nothing about the Malvinas and so we thought ‘if we know nothing about them, the world must know even less’. This could be an interesting story about the most remote place on earth where Britain has a colony.17

With that end in sight, Wollmann traveled to the islands on 23rd March 1982. Once there, he interviewed the British governor, photographed the landscape, the inhabitants, the flora, and the fauna, and worked together with some British journalists who had traveled to the islands on occasion of the conflict in the Georgia islands. This incident had been triggered by a commercial operation carried out by Argentine businessman Constantino Davidoff, who had bought scrap left over from abandoned whale factories and facilities on the island. The businessman, together with a group of scrap metal workers, traveled to the island for the scrapping works. On arrival they raised the Argentine flag, provoking formal diplomatic protest by the British Embassy in Buenos Aires. The Argentine Navy then dispatched the ship ARA Bahía Paraíso to the area, with a group of naval commandos led by Captain Alfredo Astiz, allegedly with the mission of protecting the Argentine workers from any possible British aggression, and guaranteeing their ‘safety’.18 Many authors interpret this incident as an ‘accelerator’ of

17 Sánchez, ibid.

18 Astiz was a member of GT 3.3.2 (Task Force 3.3.2) based in the ESMA (Navy Mechanical School), where political prisoners were interrogated, tortured, and “transferred”, a euphemism for murdered. Besides other human rights crimes for which he has been convicted, Astiz specialized as an intelligence officer in infiltrating human rights groups (such as Madre de Plaza de Mayo). Pretending to be a relative of one of the disappeared, he stayed with the group long enough to identify key members and then organised their abduction by military forces. He was responsible for numerous abductions, tortures, and disappearances, including those of a dozen people in La Santa Cruz church in Buenos Aires, among whom were two founders of Madres de Plaza de Mayo. He also kidnapped two French Catholic nuns, Leonie Duquet and Alice Domon, who after being tortured at ESMA were murdered.

the Malvinas war, while others see in it a provocation on the part of the Argentine Navy addressed to gain prominence over the Army in view of their imminent landing in Malvinas.19 On 25th April 1982, the British arrived in the Georgias and easily recaptured the island. That same day it was officially announced in London that the Argentine forces had surrendered to the British in Grytviken, capital of the island. A. Astiz –who in 1979 had sent M. Thatcher a personal wire to congratulate her for her victory in the elections20– signed the unconditional surrender without fighting.

In the meantime, by 30th March, Wollmann had already finished his job for Gamma, but because of the rumours circulating, his partners in ILA asked him to remain a few more days in the Malvinas ‘just in case’. Wollmann decided to send his rolls of undeveloped film through a LADE (Líneas Aéreas del Estado) pilot, of the airline operating in the islands. The photographer relates:

I sent the rolls on 30th March 1982, but the material was intercepted by the Argentine Air Force. It was then given back to the other ILA members, already developed. The Air Force had a colour photographic laboratory equipped with all the latest technology. The rolls of film were very well developed ... perfect. They gave us back everything, the uncut rolls, nothing was missing.21

Zuccheri adds:

Wollmann sent the rolls of film he had shot on the LADE plane. We are talking about films and slides. The pilot would take the rolls with him, he had told us so by radiophone. We went to the airport (...), the pilot didn’t turn up, and neither did the rolls. We were desperate because that material was what made us Gamma correspondents in Latin America then. So, we pulled the few strings we had and finally contacted the Air Force. We were summoned to the Air Force Headquarters and there, in a very informal talk with the head of intelligence (...), he asked us who we were, why we

19 See Marcos Novaro y Vicente Palermo, La dictadura militar, 1976-1983. Del golpe de Estado a la restauración democrática, Buenos Aires: Paidós 2003; Andrea Belén Rodríguez, Guerreros sin trincheras. Experiencias y construcciones identitarias de los integrantes del Apostadero Naval Malvinas en el conflicto del Atlántico Sur. Universidad Nacional del Sur, 2008, 12.

20 Verbistky, Malvinas…, 154.

21 Rafael Wollman in interview with the author, 2012.

were in the Malvinas on 1st April. (...) the rolls were there and were being developed. They knew what was happening and were aware that we were ‘nobodies’ who had no idea of what we were doing (…). Then he brought us the photographs, and I asked him for a cassette with interviews and he said, ‘don’t worry’ and pulled out some papers with a complete transcription of the interviews. (…) That afternoon we received the rolls of film developed in the best laboratory in South America we knew of (...) and that same evening we took the rolls of film to the airport to be sent to Gamma in France. At the same time, we gave the same material to Siete Días magazine, who were very interested in publishing it. We now assume it was because the chief editor of the magazine had been in the navy. Later, we realized that that man knew that something was about to happen (...) that’s why he was interested in publishing our photographic reportage...22

The images of ‘humiliation’

Rafael Wollmann, a photojournalist who had set up an independent agency and had made a special deal with one of the most important international agencies in the world, happened to be in the Malvinas on 2nd April 1982 thanks to a combination of chance, intuition and professionalism. He was not the only photographer in the islands; several reporters and journalists carrying cameras were there on 2nd April. Apart from Osvaldo Zurlo, the photographer employed by the Armed Forces, there were some British journalists, such as Simon Winchester of the Sunday Times, who, though he wasn’t a photographer, had a camera.23 Several soldiers and officers with the landing forces also had cameras with them. This meant that a lot of pictures

22 Sánchez, Tras un manto de neblinas

23 The British journalists who were in the islands to cover the conflict in the Georgias were Simon Winchester, The Sunday Times; Ken Clark, The Daily Telegraph; David Graver, The Sun, and a The Daily Mail reporter. Wollmann had established a good relationship with S. Winchester (who was then arrested by Argentine militaries and was imprisoned for three months in Ushuaia with no charges). On Winchester’s recommendation, The Sunday Times had even authorized Wollmann to take some photos for the paper, since the British journalist, although he had a camera with him, was not a photojournalist.

were taken on that day, some by the soldiers themselves, some by the British journalists, and some by Zurlo. But none of them had the quality, the capacity to condense, and the impact of Wollmann’s photos. As Zuccheri pointed out: ‘Rafael’s ability as a photojournalist, compared with that of a journalist that takes photos, is evident in the quality of his shots’.

Wollmann comments:

On 1st April, I was having lamb for dinner at the Upland Goose Hotel, in Port Stanley. At eight P.M., the radio transmission was interrupted, and the British governor Rex Hunt announced the Argentine invasion slowly and clearly, but sounding nervous. Everybody in the restaurant looked at me. The few Argentine residents in the Malvinas were taken to the town hall but they respected the fact that I was a photojournalist, and I was allowed to move around freely. Doing my best to go as unnoticed as possible, I managed to photograph everything that was happening (…). Without meaning it, that night I went from being a chronicler of events to war correspondent.24

Rex Hunt, the governor of the islands before the Argentine landing, lodged Wollmann, along with the British journalists, at his chauffeur’s house, next door to his own residence; he indicated that they should not walk in the streets, since the British marines had orders to shoot to kill. The British resistance had concentrated around Hunt’s house.25

Wollmann took his first photograph from the window of the chauffeur’s house, at dawn. After verbal exchange, and weapons fired between British and Argentine soldiers, the British surrendered and started to turn in their weapons next to the governor’s house. The Argentine commandos took the men to an open area as war prisoners. Wollmann went outside and began to photograph the events, taking one or two pictures of each situation: I took a picture of Büsser,26 approaching with the amphibian vehicles, of the British soldiers who had surrendered and were lying

24 Graciela Speranza and Fernando Cittadini, Partes de guerra. Malvinas 1982. Buenos Aires: Edhasa 2005, 30. My emphasis.

25 At that moment there were eighty British marines in the islands. Normally, there were only forty, but the garrison was in the process of changing over and the replacements had arrived a few days earlier. The Argentine landing troops were composed of 914 men, including soldiers, non-commissioned officers, and officers.

26 Rear Admiral Carlos Büsser, Commander of the Marines First Battalion, led the Argentine forces in the landing operation.

face-down on the road, I took the picture of the British soldiers who had just surrendered being escorted by commando Jacinto Batista with their hands up, when the Union Jack was being taken down; I photographed the soldier with the folded Union Jack, and the raising of the Argentine flag. Argentine vehicles wouldn’t take me anywhere, so I had to walk kilometers all that day.27

Wollmann was able work without interference the day of the invasion, thanks to the British governor’s permission, as well as that of the Argentine military; he had won Hunt’s confidence, and the Argentine soldiers thought that Wollman had come on one of the landing ships. The combination of those factors allowed Wollman to be at the precise place where events were unfolding, and with total freedom to photograph whatever he chose, without being censured either by the British or the Argentines. Abel Zadrayec, a journalist working for La Nueva Provincia, wrote: Inside Hunt’s house, five civilians remained: four British journalists and Argentine photographer Rafael Wollmann. Büsser told them they could work freely and was asking them to avoid all kind of sensationalism when he was interrupted by Captain Monnereau. “Sir, the prisoners have been made to lie face-down on the ground to be searched”. Büsser rushed out immediately: “I found the measure totally unnecessary, because they had already surrendered”. But before the British soldiers were made to stand up, Wollmann captured the scene with his camera. And that was one of the most published photos in the world, one of the photos that caused British fury. “And a photograph that did a lot of harm, because it gave a wrong image of what had really happened”, Büsser commented. However, he didn’t realize this at the time, saying to Wollmann, “By being here, you’ve won the lottery”. The photographer smiled, as did Büsser, who said, “Please be very careful how you use the material”.28

Wollmann doesn’t remember the verbal exchanges which Zadrayec novelizes, but they are very revealing, if not of what actually happened, at least of Büsser’s version of the facts today.

27 Rafael Wollman in interview with the author, 2012.

28 Abel Escudero Zadrayec, Malvinas: el desembarco de una primicia, Suplemento especial, La Nueva Provincia, Bahía Blanca 2007, 17.

The photographs that would soon become the symbol of British humiliation in the international press were two: in one of these, some British soldiers are seen walking with their hands up as they are escorted by Argentine commando Jacinto Batista. In the other, the British soldiers are pictured ‘face-down in the dust’, as The Sun commented, and surrounded by a group of armed Argentine commandos. The careful composition of both photos can be seen in the way the photographer succeeds in freezing the precise moment of action. In both, too, transcendent historical fact and excellent visual composition condensing the event, are perfectly fused (2 and 3).

These photographs are, following the famous theoretical construction invented by Cartier- Bresson in 195229, decisive moments. According to Cartier-Bresson, in this kind of photos, the photographer has a certain technical control of the situation (where to place the camera in relationship to the action, what lens to use, what framing, etc.), but not of the event itself. This is a dominant concept in photojournalism, according to which photojournalists must capture the events as faithfully as possible and with the minimum possible degree of interference on their part. In these cases, the role of photographers is as a ‘witness’ who mustn’t get involved directly in the events they are trying to capture, nor alter them in any way. Their job is to register what they see. Accepting this concept, Wollmann points out: My safe passage was principally the fact that I spoke Spanish and allowing them to believe that there had to be a reason for my being there. Whether I’d been on their ship, come on a next one, or flown out on a Hercules… and I did my best to go unnoticed. I didn’t let myself get greedy. I have two shots of the British lying face-down, not twenty. Since they were all busy, they all had a task… Imagine, the British were surrendering with their hands up! They weren’t going to ask me, Who are you? And if someone looked at me twice, I moved away.30

In their testimonies, the photographers told us about the way photojournalism was practiced in those days: the subject selection, the photographer’s relationship with the media, agencies and political power, the possibilities that analogical photography then offered, and the part that chance

29 Henri Cartier Bresson, ‘El instante decisivo’, 1952, in Joan Fontcuberta (comp.), Estética fotográfica, Barcelona, Gustavo Gilli 2003.

30 Rafael Wollmann in interview with the author, 2012.

2. Photographer:

3. Photographer: Rafael Wollmann. British soldiers surrounded by a group of armed Argentine commandos. Malvinas Islands, April 2, 1982.

played in their work. Wollman also told us how he captured the images, the technical aspects that influenced his decisions, and reversals of fortune. He mentioned details on how he moved on the ground, the route followed by the rolls once the photos had been taken, the risks he ran and how he profited from the circumstances.31 All this proves that the photographers’ privileged outlook turns them into invaluable voices due to the spaces they occupy. At the same time, even if the photographers’ testimonies are crucial, the author’s intention, viewpoint and later analysis aren’t the only explanation for the images. In fact, one of the greatest appeals of photography for social history is its capacity to retain –maybe more than any other form of representation– a certain degree of autonomy vis-à-vis the photographer’s subjectivity. There are even cases in which a photograph is used in a way contrary to the photographer’s own interest. In this case, both ILA photographers interviewed analyzed the impact of the images and their consequences.32

The indexical character of photography gave these images their probatory value. What these images showed had unquestionably happened. These photos were proof of the British surrender, but they had some additional meanings attached to them. The British appeared at the feet of the Argentines. A colonial remnant at ‘end of the world’ had freed itself. Now, a photograph is by definition just a fragment of a time continuum, a fraction detached from a complete sequence of events. These photographs, originating from an essentially ephemeral function were to eventually acquire long-lasting effect. As Joly argues: ‘Most press photographs are completely paradoxical: anchored in reality, “pulled out of the present”, they reach the

31 The fact that we basically rely on the testimony of the photographers themselves, an irreplaceable testimony no doubt, when defining and analyzing these photographs, also reflects the scarcity of other theoretical works on the subject.

32 Wollmann pointed out in interview with the author: ‘There is a lot of myth about my photos. What weighed on Galtieri’s decision was the crowd that filled the Plaza de Mayo, not my photos. I know because I talked to some British people who had seen my photos and they cried. Ordinary, common, people. They saw the photos and cried. Those who had surrendered were marines. And they had surrendered in our Malvinas. But to think that Thatcher sent the fleet because of the photos, no way. She sent the fleet because Galtieri sent over nine or ten thousand soldiers after the crowd filled the Plaza de Mayo’. Silvio Zuccheri on the other hand points out: “I believe that the story about Margaret Thatcher getting furious at the sight of the photos must be true. The picture of your subjects lying face-down on the ground because of a drunken dictator must be really shocking, don’t you think?” (Sánchez, Tras un manto de neblinas…).

4. Photographer: Rafael Wollmann. The British were made to lie face-down for only a few minutes. This photo never circulated in the press. Malvinas Islands, April 2, 1982.

public with such force and last so long in the collective memory that they generate interpretations that exceed the event itself’.33

At the same time, photographs in general, and those taken by the press in particular, have an advantage as compared to other languages: they are both ‘traces of the real’ and offer the possibility of a metaphorical dimension. Herein lies the typical duplicity of photography. In photography there is always an implicit possibility for fiction, simulation, and realistic illusion.34 The fact that these images show only a thin slice of reality partially explains why the photographs of the surrender are part of this last possibility. While what these photographs show did really happen, the historical events didn’t develop as these images suggested.

33 Martine Joly, La fotografía fija, Buenos Aires: La Marca editora, Biblioteca de la Mirada 2009, 169.

34 Lorenzo Vilches, Teoría de la imagen periodística, Barcelona: Paidós Comunicación 1997, 20.

The photographer captured two frames of the British soldiers lying face-down. In the first one, most of them can be seen still lying on the road, whereas in the second, several of the soldiers appear already in the act of standing up (figure 4). This second frame, which shows that the British were made to lie down for only a very brief space of time, never circulated. Through the photo, the ten minutes during which the British remained ‘face-down in the dust’ in the Malvinas were frozen for history. But this photo contradicts the war’s outcome. It was a single instant detached from a long sequence of events that would culminate in Argentina’s defeat.

The route of the photographs

On 3rd April, the Argentine dictatorship sent a plane to the Malvinas carrying 40 journalists and photographers from all the media to cover the ‘recovery’ of the islands. They were allowed to stay for four hours on the islands and photograph whatever they liked with no restrictions. When the time to go back came, Wollmann boarded that same plain and returned to the continent. Many of his colleagues were flying with him, among these his ex-boss at Atlántida, Eduardo Forte, and his ILA partner, Silvio Zuccheri. Wollmann comments: ‘I gave the original rolls to Forte, who was there on the plane. I cut some new rolls to look as if they had been used in case they confiscated them, but when we finally arrived at Comodoro Rivadavia,35 nobody searched us’.36

Then ILA started dealings with Gamma and Editorial Atlántida for the sale of the photographs. The Argentine publisher not only offered to buy the material, but to make available a plane that would take them from Comodoro Rivadavia to Buenos Aires, as well as to open the color and black and white labs to immediately process of the photos. Given the distance from the capital, and the technology then available for sending images, these were indispensable requirements. This would also allow ILA members to have the photographs developed in a short lapse of time. Atlántida offered to give Gamma agency the originals, make copies and duplicates of

35 Comodoro Rivadavia is a city in Chubut, a province 1750 kilometers away from Buenos Aires. 36 Rafael Wollmann, in interview with the author, 2012.

5. (left) Daily Mail front page. 5 April 1982. Rafael Wollmann collection.

6. (right) The Sun front page. 5 April 1982. Rafael Wollmann collection.

the photos and keep the copies. ILA accepted the offer and Atlántida paid $18.500 (US dollars), the equivalent of two apartments in Buenos Aires at the time, plus the expenses for the plane and lab. Gamma, on the other hand, had sent François Lochon, a renowned French photojournalist, to negotiate the purchase of the photographs. Gamma had financed a geographic reportage and would now be getting unpublished images of British marines in the act of surrendering to a Latin American country in one of their colonies where an imminent war could break out any minute.37 Lochon managed to leave Argentina on 4th April at 3 P.M., taking the photographs of the British surrender.

37 Wollmann comments: “When I came back from the Malvinas, there were journalists from all the international agencies in Comodoro Rivadavia, and they offered me more money than Gamma. There were people from Sigma who offered us more money than Gamma, they offered me $ 50.000 (US dollars). But we decided to give the material to Gamma all the same”. (R. Wollmann in interview with the author, 2012).

During the first half of April, the photos appeared on the front page of many international newspapers. The images showed the strongest colonial power of the 19th century in the act of surrender in a distant and unknown group of islands in the South Atlantic. The British marines, portrayed facedown on the ground or with their hands up, had been defeated by a cluster of soldiers from a remote Latin American country. Those photos were, no doubt, irresistible.

The headline chosen by The Daily Mail for its 5th April issue read ‘Surrender’, accompanied by the photograph of the British soldiers lying face-down. The same photo appeared in The Sun under the subheading ‘A moment of humiliating defeat for our marines’ and The Daily Telegraph had a headline that read, ‘Humiliation’. L’Illustré (France) published the same photo under the headline ‘God save the Falklands’ riffing on ‘God save the Queen’. The photos also appeared in Stern (Germany) under the headline: ‘Krieg am Ende der Welt’ (War at the End of the World), and L’Espresso (Italy):

9. Gente y la actualidad front page. Year 17 No. 872. 8 April 1982. Author’s collection.

under the headline ‘Mani in alto, Inghilterra!’ chose the image that showed the soldiers as they walked with their hands up, as did VSD (France) under the headline: ‘L’Anglaterre humiliée’, adding in the lead: ‘Dans les Malvines, îles du bout du monde’ and in the subheading: ‘Les photos qui ont echappé a la censure des Argentins’ (figures 5, 6, 7, 8).38

38 The importance of these photos can also be seen in their inclusion in two important world photography compilations. Marie-Monique Robin included the photo of the British marines with their hands up under the title ‘L’ Humillation’, to represent the year 1982, in her book Les 100 photos de siècle. Anne Tucker selected the same photograph for the exhibition and book ‘WAR/PHOTOGRAPHY: Images of Armed Conflict and Its Aftermath’, held at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston, in 2012.

In Argentina, exclusive rights for publishing the photos had been acquired by Gente magazine. Its issue of 8th April 1982 came out with the headline: ‘We saw the English surrender’; below it stated: ‘The Landing. The Resistance. The Fire Exchange. The Victory’. ‘2nd April, day of the recovery of the Malvinas, we were the only medium there. You will only see these exclusive photos in Gente’.39 The photographer who had been fired from the magazine only three months before was now presented as its star correspondent (figure 9).

Questions, uses and appropriations

The global impact of the events which took place in the islands was amplified and accompanied by the photographs taken at the precise moment the actions were occurring. Hence, it may be asked if the photos in any way influenced the course of events and, if so, to what extent and how. Our contention is that the photographs were not innocuous, that both Britain’s symbolical and material response to the Argentine landing considered the meaning of those images and the need to quickly neutralize them. Certainly, the war was the consequence of deep political and historical causes that affected both contending nations, but the exceptional character of these photos, taken early in the conflict, acted as a catalyst for different uses, appropriations, and interpretations.

As Eric Hobsbawn pointed out in an article written in January 1983, soon after the Argentine landing in the islands, a general sense of disbelief and humiliation prevailed among the English population: ... So the gut reaction that a lot of people felt at the news that Argentina had simply invaded and occupied a bit of British territory could have been put into the following words: ‘(…) But now it’s got to the point where some bunch of foreigners think they can simply

39 The magazine announced on its cover that it was the only media present in the islands. The issue also included a six-page article titled ‘The only journalist who was there speaks of the landing’, which is an account of Wollman’s in the first person, the same photographer who three months before had been fired from the magazine. With total disregard for the flagrant contradiction, on pages 86 and 87, there is another article titled: ‘This is how two journalists experienced the landing’, in reference to Nueva Provincia journalists O. Zurlo and S. Fernández. My emphasis.

march some troops onto British territory, occupy it and take it over, and they think the British are so far gone that nobody’s going to do anything about it, nothing’s going to be done. Well, this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back, something’s got to be done. By God, we’ll have to show them that we’re not really just there to be walked over.40

Hobsbawm added that that popular feeling was caught and turned in a nationalist right wing “semi-fascist” direction by Thatcher’s government.41 In the context of ‘Britain’s loss of Empire and general decline’ (a process that had started with the end of Second World War), the British popular reaction to a feeling of national humiliation prompted the actions of the most conservative groups of Thatcher’s government.42 According to Hobsbawm: ‘…there’s no question that this was a reaction to the decline of the British Empire’.43 This coincided with a military junta in Argentina led by a sector of the armed forces regarded as the “hard-liners” within the regime itself who also gave clear proofs of political and military ineptitude. In this context, the appearance of these photographs in the media represents what Didí Huberman calls a ‘visual event’.44 The widespread repercussion of these photos demonstrates the force and impact that press photos can have under certain circumstances. But they can only be understood in all their complexity if they are analyzed as part and product of the historical, political (and even fortuitous) processes that made them possible. As both powerful and ambiguous objects, the photographs resisted all kind of

40 Eric Hobsbawm, ‘Falklands Fallout’ in Marxism Today, pp. 13-19. January 1983. Available at: http://www.amielandmelburn.org.uk/collections/mt/pdf/83_01_13.pdf

41 Thatcher stated: “When we started out there were the waverers and the faint-hearts, the people who thought we could no longer do the great things we once did, those who believed our decline was irreversible, that we could never again be what we were, that Britain was no longer the nation that had built an empire and ruled a quarter of the world. Well, they were wrong” (Ibid., 15).

42 Hobsbawm pointed out: ‘Now this upsurge of feeling had nothing to do with the Falklands as such. We have seen that the Falklands were simple a far-away territory swathed in mists off Cape Horn, about which we knew nothing and cared less. It has everything to do with the history of this country since 1945 and the visible acceleration of the crisis of British capitalism since the late 1960s and in particular the slump of the late 70s and early 80s’ (Ibid., 14).

43 Ibid.

44 Georges Didí-Huberman, Imágenes pese a todo. Memoria visual del Holocausto. Barcelona: Paidós, 2004, 65.

univocal meanings and had different and even contradictory impacts, uses, appropriations, and interpretations, according to the different actors and interests at stake.

For the British (both the people and the government) they were no doubt embarrassing photos given their symbolic dimension. In this sense, the emphasis given by magazine covers and newspapers on the humiliation inflicted on the British by showing images that ‘proved’ and ‘demonstrated’ what had happened in the islands and the treatment given to their soldiers, contributed to providing those who advocated for a direct action with more convincing arguments, and prevented any possible peaceful negotiation with Argentina. It wouldn’t be wrong then to say that the photos were used ‘to fuel the fire’. They somehow incited among the British the feeling that these images had to be undone. Most of the tabloid press and the hard-liner conservative members of Thatcher’s government used them as proof that war was inevitable. The outrage the British had suffered at the hands of the Argentine armed forces, which the photos had contributed to spread all over the world made the settlement of the conflict via negotiations impracticable; the British needed an overwhelming victory. As pointed out by Hobsbawn himself: ‘That is why the war was provoked by the British side whatever the Argentine attitude’.45 The British had to prove that Britain was still great, if only symbolically. A victorious war would serve this purpose, and Great Britain would have a chance to show the power of her arms industry, her political determination, and her military supremacy. The Falkland Islands played a crucial role in Britain’s domestic politics because of the government’s decision to recreate an old empire.

We now know that, in terms of global politics, the war was absurd, unnecessary, and could have been avoided. The number of Argentine soldiers killed in the war that ended with Britain’s victory was 746 and over a thousand were wounded. According to official British estimates, 255 British soldiers were killed and 777 wounded. Besides, and although there are no official figures, it is estimated that the toll of suicides among former Argentine combatants is even higher than the number of those killed in the conflict. In Argentina it is possible to observe different and even opposed uses and readings of these images. For the armed forces commanding the land-

45 Hobsbawm, ‘Falklands Fallout’, 15.

ing, they were unplanned photographs that somehow escaped their control. That was not what they had originally planned. Their intention (at least as confessed explicitly by the ruling military junta) was not to humiliate the British, but to carry out a bloodless occupation so as to generate a symbolic act with the purpose of creating a dramatic effect, and then to sit at a table for negotiations. But the action itself, the images and their circulation escaped their control.46 Wollman’s photos, consequently, didn’t contribute to this goal as subsequent events clearly proved.

For the most nationalist elements in the Argentine armed forces,47 those who had made the British soldiers lie ‘face-down in the dust’ –and for the sector of the Argentine population easily stirred by the nationalist speeches– to see the British thus subdued by the Argentine forces was undoubtedly a dream come true and a cause of national pride. Even today it’s easy to hear the testimony of military figures who declare being filled with pride by those photos.

For Gente magazine those photos meant an uncontestable ‘journalistic success’. They lifted the magazine to first place in sales, a position it kept for the duration of the conflict.48 This also meant that the magazine became one of the main media supporters for the ‘recovery’ of the islands. That first issue in particular served also as a kick-off for a media campaign addressed to persuade a population ready and willing to be persuaded, in any case, of the likelihood of an Argentine victory. This, in turn, contributed to promoting

46 In fact, what escaped the planned scenario was the circumstance that the Argentine commandos made the British soldiers lie face-down. The photo –with all the contingencies that made it possible– was consequence of this circumstance.

47 This was an army sector that responded to lieutenant-colonel Mohamed Alí Seineldín, one of the commanders of the landing operation. Years later, Seineldín participated in two failed uprisings against the democratically elected governments of both President Raúl Alfonsin in 1988 and President Carlos Menem in 1990. He was sentenced to life in prison for his role in the 1990 mutiny but was pardoned in 2003 by President E. Duhalde. He died in 2009.

48 Gente magazine sales figures rose from 183.808 issues in March to 301.808 in April and 411.569 in May, its highest ever. In June, the magazine sold 408.672 issues. Number two in sales was La Semana that rose from 78.343 sold issues in March to 97.068 in April, 90.815 in May and 88.702 in June. The newspaper with the highest sales record was Clarín: in March the paper sold 504.786 issues, in April 582.115, in May 611.885, and in June 558.573. The sales numbers of all the print media experienced a considerable fall in July and August. Source: Instituto Verificador de Circulación (IVC).

popular support for the war and created a false notion of military superiority for Argentina.

For the Gamma agency, the agreement with ILA turned out to be a real surprise leading to its tremendous success. Scarcely a few hours after the beginning of the conflict, the agency’s photos were being published on the front pages of the most important international papers, thus gaining considerable advantage over its competitors Sipa and Sigma for the duration of the war.

Lastly, for the photographer and ILA agency, the photos marked a turning point in their careers. By pure chance, but also thanks to Wollmann’s and his partners’ professionalism, the photojournalist had the unique opportunity to witness a historical event which he photographed with impeccable technical quality and of a high symbolic value that would circulate around the globe and generate a great impact on all the actors involved.

One of the determining virtues of photography is its capacity for persisting in time by somehow managing to capture the fleeting impermanence of the event. Some images can also be invested with special qualities that transform them into a synthesis of the events condensing the main elements that composed them. The photos analyzed surpassed the events, and the events in turn surpassed the photos. Even today, as we look at those photos, the British are surrendering. The war was lost, the photos remain.

To exaggerate the importance they had in the course taken by the events would simply mean to underrate the value of politics and history as parameters of analysis. To ignore them amounts to overlooking the particular role these photos played in the Malvinas War. Peter Burke points out that images are to a certain extent historical agents, since they not only are not only keepers of the memory of events, but ‘affect the way in which those events were seen at the time’.49 Accordingly, we believe that the photographs that we have analyzed were not only a testimony, or a source of information, but also were an active part in the symbolic dispute about how to narrate the events. They were in themselves agents of history.

49 Peter Burke, Lo visto y no visto. El uso de la imagen como documento histórico. Barcelona: Crítica 2000.

BURKE, P. (2000). Lo visto y no visto. El uso de la imagen como documento histórico. Barcelona: Crítica.

CALVEIRO, P. (1998). Poder y desaparición. Los campos de concentración en Argentina. Buenos Aires: Ediciones Colihue.

CARDOSO, O.; KIRSCHBAUM, E. and VAN DER KOOY, R. (1983), Malvinas, la trama secreta. Buenos Aires: Planeta.

CARTIER BRESSON, H. (2003 [1952]). «El instante decisivo» in Fontcuberta, J. (ed.) Estética fotográfica. Barcelona: Gustavo Gili.

CAUJOLLE, C. (2002). «Desventuras del fotoperiodismo», Le Monde diplomatique edición Cono Sur. Available at: <http://www.insumisos.com/diplo/NODE/3277.

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DEPARDON, R. et al. (1973). «Chili, septembre 1973», Chili, Special reporter-Objectif, special issue, Paris.

DIDI-HUBERMAN, G. (2004). Imágenes pese a todo. Memoria visual del Holocausto. Barcelona: Paidós.

ESCUDERO, L. (1996). Malvinas: el gran relato. Fuentes y rumores en la información de guerra. Barcelona: Gedisa.

GAMARNIK, C. (2011). «Imágenes de la dictadura militar. La fotografía de prensa antes, durante y después del golpe de Estado de 1976 en Argentina» in Artículos de Investigación sobre Fotografía. Montevideo: Centro Municipal de Fotografía.

GAMARNIK, C. (2015). «El fotoperiodismo y la guerra de Malvinas: una batalla simbólica» in Mraz, J. and Mauad, A. M. (eds.) Fotografía e Historia en América Latina. Montevideo: Ediciones CdF.

GAMARNIK , C. (2020). «El desembarco argentino en Malvinas visto por un soldado inglés». Interview with Lou Armour conducted on 29 September 2018, Revista Hamartia, April 2020. Available at: <https://www.hamartia.com.ar/2020/04/01/ gamarnik-malvinas/>

GUBER, R. (2012). ¿Por qué Malvinas? De la causa nacional a la guerra absurda. Buenos Aires: Fondo de Cultura Económica.

HASTINGS, M. and JENKINS, S. (1983). The Battle for the Falklands. New York: W. W. Norton.

HOBSBAWM, E. (1983). «Falklands Fallout». Marxism Today, January, p. 13-19.

Available at: http://www.amielandmelburn.org.uk/collections/mt/pdf/83_01_13.pdf

JELIN, E. (2002). Los trabajos de la memoria. Buenos Aires: Siglo XXI Editores.

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MRAZ, J. (2002), «¿Qué de documental tiene la fotografía? Del fotorreportaje dirigido al fotoperiodismo digital», ZoneZero magazine. Available at: <http://www.zonezero. com/ magazine/articles/mraz/mraz01sp.html>

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Newspapers

«La foto trucha», Clarín. 2 April 1992, p. 3.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Alberto Del Castillo Troncoso is a Professor at the Dr. José María Luis Mora Research Institute, CONACYT. A specialist in the social and cultural history of Mexico in the 20th century, over the past 20 years his work has generated critical reflection on the use of photographic documentation in historical research. In 2022 he received the National Award from the National Institute for Historical Studies of Revolutions in Mexico in recognition of his career as a historian. His book Las mujeres de X’oyep, which won the Conaculta National Award for the best essay on photography in 2013, has been published in 2023 in the following languages: Tzotzil (Instituto Mora / Centro de Estudios Sobre México y Centroamérica); Italian (University of Milan); Portuguese (FGV), and French (Universidad Toulouse Le Mirail). Recent works include: La matanza del jueves de Corpus. Fotografía y memoria, INEHRM, Mexico, 2021; Marco Antonio Cruz: la construcción de una mirada, Instituto Mora/Conaculta, Mexico, 2020; Fotografía y Memoria. Conversaciones con Eduardo Longoni, FCE, Buenos Aires, 2017; Ensayo sobre el movimiento estudiantil de 1968. La construcción de un imaginario, Instituto Mora / IISUE, UNAM, Mexico, 2012; Rodrigo Moya. Una mirada documental, La Jornada / El Milagro / Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas. UNAM, Mexico, 2011.

Ana Maria Mauad holds a PhD in History and is a Full Professor in the History Department at Universidade Federal Fluminense. Since 1996 she has been a researcher with the Brazilian Council of Research, and in 2013 she became a researcher with the Council of Research of the State of Rio de

Janeiro. In 2018 she was a Visiting Scholar at St. John’s College, Cambridge University, as a member of the Celso Furtado Chair. Her research is in the field of photography and history, where issues connected to Visual History, Oral History and History of Memory converge. She coordinates collective projects in these fields sponsored by the principal Brazilian agencies, also leading an international network of researchers working on photographic practice, historical experience and memory, promoting the annual forum An Agenda for Photography. Her publications include Poses e Flagrantes: ensaios sobre história e fotografias (EDUFF, 2008); Fotograficamente Rio: a cidade e seus temas (FAPERJ / LABHOI-UFF, 2015); Itinerários da História Pública no Brasil, edited with Ricardo Santhiago and Juniele Rabelo de Almeida (Letra&Voz, 2016); Fotografia e Historia en America Latina (CdF, 2016), edited with John Mraz; and Diálogos Historiográficos: Memória, História e Tempo Presente no Brasil e na Argentina, edited with Samantha Quadrat (Letra&Voz, 2023), as well as various articles in peer-reviewed journals.

Cora Gamarnik holds a PhD in Social Sciences. She graduated in Social Communication from the Universidad de Buenos Aires (UBA). A CONICET/Argentina researcher, she is Coordinator of the Photography Studies Area and the Postgraduate Program in Photography and Social Sciences, both of the Faculty of Social Sciences, UBA. She has published El fotoperiodismo en Argentina. De Siete Días Ilustrados (1965) a la agencia Sigla (1975), Artexarte, 2020. She is also Professor of Didactics in Communication at the Faculty of Social Sciences, UBA, and postgraduate courses at UNSAM (Universidad Nacional de San Martín), FLACSO and UNGS (Universidad Nacional de General Sarmiento).

Fernando Aguayo Hernández holds a PhD in History from the Universidad Autónoma de Puebla. He has been a full-time professor-researcher at the Dr. José María Luis Mora Research Institute since 1996. He coordinated the construction and uploading of the Online Digital Photo Libraries, and has taught courses on various subjects, particularly on the social use of images and the standardized description of photographs. Research areas include the social history of images, especially regarding their role in gender construction in 19th century Mexico. This research is the basis of his most recent

publications. He co-authored with Dr. Silvana Berenice Valencia Pulido El proyecto de una firma fotográfica estadounidense en México (1895-1909), Mexico, Dr. José María Luis Mora Research Institute, 2022 (pdf in open access), and coordinated the collective work Fotógrafos extranjeros, mujeres mexicanas, siglo XIX, Mexico, Instituto Mora, 2019 (eBook in open access).

John Mraz is Research Professor Emeritus at the Instituto de Ciencias Sociales y Humanidades, Universidad Autónoma de Puebla (Mexico) and National Researcher Emeritus. He has published more than 250 articles, book chapters and essays in Europe, Latin America, and the United States on the uses of photography, cinema and video in recounting history. Among his recent books are History and Modern Media: A Personal Journey; Photographing the Mexican Revolution: Commitments, Testimonies, Icons; Looking for Mexico: Modern Visual Culture and National Identity; and Nacho López, Mexican Photographer. He has directed award-winning documentaries and curated many international photographic exhibitions. His most recent exhibit, Braceros, photographed by the Hermanos Mayo, is currently circulating in U.S. universities and has been viewed by more than 140,000 visitors.

Magdalena Broquetas obtained her PhD in History at Universidad Nacional de La Plata (Argentina) and is currently a Professor at Universidad de la República (Uruguay), where she teaches courses on Uruguayan contemporary history, right-wing movements, and photography. Her research on Uruguayan right-wing political parties and social movements during the Cold War focused on the circulation and reception of ideas between South America and Europe and the organization of regional and transnational networks. Her other field of expertise is the history of photography. From 2002 to 2016, she helped found and develop the CdF (Center of Photography of Montevideo). Her most significant book is La trama autoritaria. Derechas y violencia en Uruguay, Ediciones de la Banda Oriental, Montevideo, 2014. She is also author and editor of two volumes of Fotografía en Uruguay. Historia y usos sociales. Vol I 1840-1930, vol II 1930-1990 (Montevideo, Centro de Fotografía, 2011, 2018) and Historia visual del anticomunismo en Uruguay. 1947-1985 (Montevideo, Facultad de Humanidades y Ciencias de la Educación, 2021).

Marcos de Brum Lopes holds a PhD in History and is a researcher at the Benjamin Constant House Museum, Ibram, in Rio de Janeiro. He was a Fulbright Scholar-in-Residence at Spokane Community College, WA (2015-2016), Substitute Professor of Theory of History at Universidade Federal Fluminense (2017), and Visiting Scholar at Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais (2019-2021). Since 2006 he has been working in the fields of Social History and Visual Culture, having written articles on photography from a historical perspective and published the book Mario Baldi: o photoreporter do Brasil. Uma história sobre fotografias, narrativas e mediação cultural (2021).

Mariana Muaze is Associate Professor in the History Department at the Federal University of the State of Rio de Janeiro (UNIRIO) since 2009. She holds post-doctorates from the University of Michigan (2015) and the University of São Paulo (2020). Her publications include Memórias da Viscondessa: família e poder no Brazil Império (Zahar 2008, 2011), which won the National Archives Research Award and the Jorge Zahar Award; a co-edition of O Vale do Paraíba e o Império do Brasil nos quadros da segunda escravidão (7Letras, 2015), A Segunda Escravidão e o Império do Brasil em perspectiva histórica (Casa Leiria, 2020), and O 15 de Novembro e a queda da Monarquia (Chão Ed, 2019), as well as various articles in peer-reviewed journals. Her research is supported by CNPQ and FAPERJ.

The aim of the CdF archive is to foster reflection, critical thinking, and citizen identity among its users within an immediate iconosphere. This is carried out by circulating images connected with Uruguayan and Latin American history, heritage, and identity, so that Uruguayans and other Latin Americans can communicate freely with one another and are interrogated as social subjects at the same time, in the understanding that, although their daily lives may be marked by the massive circulation of images, very few of these images will have any connection with history, heritage or identity. At the same time, we aim to foster simple access, both for Uruguayan and Latin American photographers as well as for citizens in general, to the technical and conceptual tools which will allow them to develop their personal, individual, visual discourses and languages.

On the basis of these principles and from a plurality of points of view and perspectives, we seek to function as an institution of reference at the national, regional and international levels, producing materials of substance, activities, and spaces for exchange and development in the various areas connected with photography.

The CdF was founded in 2002 as a unit of the Information and Communication Division of the Montevideo Municipal Government Since July 2015 the CdF is housed in the Bazar Building, a historical building on 885, 18 de Julio Avenue. The building was inaugurated in 1932, and from 1940 was the premises of the well-known Bazar Mitre Store. Today our headquarters are larger and with improved infrastructure to allow for better access to the various photographic repositories, as well as other CdF services.

Following international regulations, we administer an ever-expanding collection of images from the 19th, 20th and 21st centuries focused on the city of Montevideo. We also offer space for research and development on photography in its multiple variants.

We have several spaces fully dedicated to photography exhibitions: designated rooms in the CdF Building – on the Ground Floor, First Floor, Second Floor, and Basement – and a number of photo galleries, or permanent open-air venues, located in the neighbourhoods of Parque Rodó, Prado, Ciudad Vieja, Peñarol, Goes, Capurro, Unión, and Parque Batlle, and at the EAC (Contemporary Art Space), as well as on the premises of the Santiago Vázquez Detention Centre. We also manage other exhibition spaces, such as the photo-walks in Patio Mainumby, Plaza de la Diversidad (Ciudad Vieja), and Parque de la Amistad, and a space within the Luisa Cuesta Civic Centre in the neighbourhood of Casavalle.

In 2019, the CdF was the first unit of the Montevideo Municipal Government to win the National Quality Prize awarded by INACAL (National Quality Institute). We are deeply committed to optimisation and have been ISO 9001:2015 certified for all our processes since 2013. We work as a team for the continual improvement of our quality processes with a focus on citizenship.

Mayor of Montevideo

Ec. Mauricio Zunino

Secretary

Olga Otegui

Director, Information and Communication Division

Marcela Brener

Centro de Fotografía Team

Director: Daniel Sosa

Assistant: Susana Centeno

Administrative Director: Verónica Berrio

Coordinators: Mauricio Bruno, Gabriel García, Victoria Ismach, Lucía Nigro, Johana Santana, Claudia Schiaffino

Planning: Luis Díaz, David González, Andrea López

Secretaries: Francisco Landro, Martina Callaba, Natalia Castelgrande, Andrea Martínez

Administration: Eugenia Barreto, Mauro Carlevaro, Andrea Martínez

Management: Federico Toker, Eliane Romano

Producción: Mauro Martella

Curators: Victoria Ismach, Lina Fernández, Carla Corgatelli, María Noel Gamarra

Photograohy: Andrés Cribari, Luis Alonso, Ricardo Antúnez, Lucía Martí

Publishing: Noelia Echeto, Andrés Cribari, Nadia Terkiel

Exhibitions: Claudia Schiaffino, Brenda Acuña, Mathías Domínguez, Guillermo Giansanti, Martín Picardo, Jorge Rodríguez, Ana Laura Surroca

Preservation: Sandra Rodríguez, Julio Cabrio,Valentina González, Rossina Corbella

Documentary Records Team: Ana Laura Cirio, Mercedes Blanco, Gonzalo Silva, Jazmina Suarez

Digitisation: Gabriel García, Luis Sosa

Research: Mauricio Bruno, Alexandra Nóvoa, Jazmina Suarez

Education: Lucía Nigro, Magela Ferrero, Mariano Salazar, Lucía Surroca, Romina Casatti

Media Library: Noelia Echeto, Christian Vera

Operational Coordination: Marcos Martínez

Customer Service: Johana Santana, Gissela Acosta,Victoria Almada, Valentina Cháves, Andrea Martínez, José Martí, María Noel Dibarboure, Milena Marsiglia

Communication: Elena Firpi, Brenda Acuña, Natalia Mardero, Laura Núñez, Lucía Claro, Analía Terra

Technical Services Team: José Martí, Leonardo Rebella, Pablo Améndola, Miguel Carballo

Actors: Darío Campalans, Karen Halty, Pablo Tate

Photography and history in Latin America / Fernando Aguayo, Magdalena Broquetas, Marcos Felipe de Brum Lopes, Alberto del Castillo, Cora Gamarnik, Ana Mauad, John Mraz, Mariana Muaze; coord. Ana Mauad, John Mraz; Intendencia de Montevideo, Centro de Fotografía.- 2nd rev. ed. - Montevideo: CdF ediciones, 2023.1 online resource 248 p.: il. b&w; format PDF 30 MB.

ISBN 978-9915-9536-7-0

CDU 001.891.3:770

1.PHOTOGRAPHY - LATIN AMERICA - HISTORY. 2.AUDIOVISUAL ARCHIVES - LATIN AMERICA.

3.PHOTOGRAPHY IN HISTORIOGRAPHY - CASE STUDIES

PHOTOGRAPHY AND HISTORY IN LATIN AMERICA

Fernando Aguayo, Magdalena Broquetas, Alberto del Castillo, Cora Gamarnik, Ana Maria Mauad, John Mraz, Mariana Muaze, Marcos Felipe de Brum Lopes

© Individual Text Authors

© 2024 Centro de Fotografía de Montevideo http://cdf.montevideo.gub.uy cdf@imm.gub.uy

Intendencia de Montevideo, Uruguay.

Second edition – Digital

The contents of this publication are the property and responsibility of the individual authors. Total or partial reproduction of said contents is prohibited without prior authorization.

Production: CdF, Montevideo Photography Center / Communication and Information Division / Municipal Government of Montevideo (Uruguay)

Content coordination: Ana Mauad, John Mraz

Authors: Fernando Aguayo, Magdalena Broquetas, Alberto del Castillo, Cora Gamarnik, Ana Maria Mauad, John Mraz, Mariana Muaze, Marcos Felipe de Brum Lopes

Content advisor: Mauricio Bruno/CdF

Editorial coordination: Noelia Echeto/CdF

Planning: Luis Díaz/CdF

Design: Nadia Terkiel/CdF, Andrés Cribari/CdF

Translation from Spanish:

«The Gove and North Mexican ‘catalogue’, 1883-1885» by Editorial Production Department, Instituto Mora.

«Photographic Practices in Modern Brazil: The nineteenth and twentieth centuries» by Bruce Bailey.

«From Icons to Documents: Photographs of the 1973 General Strike in Uruguay» by Inés Coira.

«Between Embrace and Confrontation. A dialogue between two iconic images at the end of the twentieth century in Latin America» by Marina Mohar Acedo and Sergio Marín.

«Photojournalism and the Malvinas War: A symbolic battle» by Jorge Salvetti.

Translation review: Lindsey Cordery and Pablo Deambrosis

Montevideo - Uruguay

Technical images have redefined forms of communication and the ways of bringing meaning to the visible world from the mid-19th century to the present day. Photographic practice and circulation of photographs are important dimensions of Western visual culture providing new experiences of seeing and knowing. In Latin America, the significant impact of photography on the organisation of its visual culture can be assessed in photographic collections in museums, archives, and libraries, all of which bring together records that permit learning about the history of countries through their photographic images.

This collection of essays is dedicated to the study of photography in Latin America from different perspectives. The essays consider the methodological uses of photography in social and cultural history; analyse the condition of archives and the forms of photograph curation; problematize photographic practices and their impact on narratives of a country’s history; reveal new photographic practices through the presentation of unpublished and original material; address the importance of photographic records for workers’ struggles; investigate the disappearance of files in exceptional contexts; discuss the role of photographic images as icons of events, and, finally, reflect on the symbolic dimension of photographs in the war of images within photojournalism.

The book presents readers with a critical reflection on the role of photography in Latin American history, and at the same time seeks to consolidate the place of photography in current historical research.

ISBN 978-9915-9536-7-0