The Worst Thing in the World Text by John Taylor
The worst thing in the world varies from person to person. It may be death by
fire, or by falling, or fifty other deaths. Whatever is worst or disgusting varies,
and everyone has their own threshold. But the worst thing in the world also has
a public face. Of course, no news picture is the real thing, or even the same as
being there. The face of terror never appears in full. Besides, the daily press in
Britain is not a forensic report or a freak show.
News stories recur eternally. News is an endless loop of different examples. Planes
crash routinely; bombs routinely explode; huge buildings collapse; thousands die
in single, man-made incidents on a regular basis. The press squeezes these events
into stories. Journalists write the narrative from any one of many angles, all with
photographic support. Popular formats include ‘Heroes’, ‘Survivors’, ‘Victims’ and
‘The Bitter Deaths of the Youngest/Bravest/Most Famous/Most Promising’.
Photographs exist of most types of event, but not all of them. Some of the most
spectacular or dreadful events are not recorded in any photographs – events such
as the destruction of whole cities or whole armies and whole peoples.
Almost everything happens out of sight. Thousands died in the 9/11 attacks,
but, not surprisingly, very little of that appeared in the press. One controversial
picture, taken by Richard Drew, staff photographer for Associated Press in New
York, showed a man falling to his death. Some people reckoned they could name
him, which would be a cruel burden for his family. Naming is not normal practice
in Britain, where the dead are seen at a distance, if at all. Drew’s picture is rare,
but in a tradition of ‘falling’ imagery. Given that news value derives from stories
that are the-same-but-worse, what makes this picture so poignant, even savage,
is the height (and therefore the time) of the drop. The unknown, suffering stranger
falls to his death. We know that happened, though we do not see it fully.
Few unknown, suffering strangers die in photographs. This may be a mercy
for those living, and is not even irresponsible. When such pictures are published,
blame is often attached to them for inducing ‘compassion fatigue’. This special
blame attached to photography is unnecessary, because our whole culture is
a contract of mutual indifference. We learn the art of mis-meeting, allowing our
eyes to graze over and fail to see whatever is potentially disturbing. It is not
even irrational to feel nothing and fail to respond to the misery of others.
News photography is blamed for being there, for its authenticity. No matter what
technological changes take place in picture gathering and printing, the press
derives its authority from the truth-value of its stories and pictures. But no one can bear too much reality, so editors present it in euphemistic forms. The
aftermath of terror is twisted metal, not blown flesh. Bad news often appears in
pictures that are aesthetically pleasing. In fact, photographs always have some
aesthetic appeal. Speaking about the collapsed towers in New York, a British
photojournalist remarked that he could not help noticing the lovely effect of
sunlight filtering through the debris – but then he was born into a culture that
invented the Sublime. This ‘art‘ response is as normal as curiosity, and neither
is to be condemned.