The politics of the image

Today you read about and listened to people debating the ethics of publishing a "selfie" photo of the Boston Marathon Bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine. At issue is the question of glorifying, or at the least humanizing a monstrous act.  Does this image make us reflect on the fact that "the boogie man" can be among us, he does not necessarily stand apart and call attention to himslef by projecting a monstrous image.  Or, on the contrary, does it create a barrier to reflection by being so controversial that we may react with visceral outrage , not caring to explore the issue of images when so many lives have been destroyed.  Today you will reflect on what you have read and listened by exploring the issue yourself.  Take a stand and join your voice is discussing the politics of the image.

Meanwhile, take a look at some iconic Rolling Stone covers of the past.

 

Now how does Tsarvaev fit within the framework of these images?

For a look at famous covers, click here

Bullet-proof

You are walking along a road,  you hear crunch crunch crunch, you look to your right, you see antlers, you see a majestic brown beast, you see a moose, you see two of them!  You are on your bike one day and you hear the familiar crunch crunch crunch, sure enough, its the buck and his partner.   You are driving along that same road, the windows down because your air-conditioning is broken and hey wind-cooling is more environmentally-friendly than air-conditioning anyway and you hear crunch crunch crunch and there again, on the side of the road, stands that buck.  This happens to you all summer, every couple of days.  You become attached to this animal, you admire his grandeur, his quiet nobility. You reflect: gee, am I ever privileged to witness this great creature, just being.  You think to yourself, I hope I never hear bang!

Autumn arrives, it's back to school, back to work but that's ok too, you love your work, you love your 45-minute drive at this time of year.  You drink your coffee, you listen to the radio, you contemplate the surroundings, you're in your bubble.  Then one day as you turn your attention from the red yellow orange trees to the vehicle you are approaching, you realize with growing nausea in the pit of your stomach that your woodland companion has been shot, killed, and tied to the hood of a car.  You become a  voyeur in spite of yourself, you are a hostage, you can't escape any more than the moose can.  Look away too long and you will crash.  You are complicit, you are a witness to the scene.

 And you know it's hunting season again.   You reason that you live in a rural region, it's to be expected, hunting is a hobby, a way of life, a means of subsistance, part of the cycle of nature.  And who are you to criticize, you carnivore, you meat-eater, you who enjoyed all those barbecues all summer long!   But it's that shameless display of that poor sacred creature, the macho arrogance of victory that you just can't digest.