Continuum: The Australian Journal of Media & Culture
Vol. 6, No. 2, 1992
Photogenic Papers
Edited by John Richardson

Photographing hunger: paving the way with good intentions

Susan Hayes

Recognition of world hunger and popular support for the provision of foreign aid appears to rest, to a large extent, on the presence of a photojournalist. Rarely, if ever, do the news media announce "famine" without at least one photographic depiction of hunger, and between news media events, agencies such as World Vision, Freedom From Hunger, Austcare and Community Aid Abroad, work to regularly maintain public awareness of images of emaciation. Evidence of investment in the photographic process can be extended even into policy formulation, for the Department of Foreign Affairs makes reference to the evidence of 'dramatic and heart-rending television pictures of emaciated, starving Ethiopians', to explain how Australia is currently 'taking action to help fellow human beings suffering from extreme hunger and deprivation' (Alliband 26).

The high correlation between aid promotion and images of hunger could be explained as the co-existence of highly disparate practices; very crudely, one gives while the other takes. On this basis, the relationship between hunger photography and aid provision could be seen as one of complementarity but dissimilar practices, working in concert in a relationship of cause and effect. That is, photojournalism functions as the harbinger of pictorial news which is, in turn, responded to by the provision of foreign aid. But a closer examination of aid provision problematises a reading of complementarity, and what becomes interesting is not so much the differences between the practices, but rather their neatness of fit.

Briefly, the preferred forms of aid provision tend to work within a major contradiction of what constitutes "relief". And this contradiction is that aid provision, though often given with the best of intentions, tends to facilitate, rather than eradicate, conditions of recipient hunger.1 Instead of "curing" famine, the majority of aid can effect a perpetuation of a cycle of hunger amongst the most vulnerable of a recipient country's population, and in so doing, ensures a continuing dependence with little chance of the aid recipient country ever achieving eventual self-autonomy. What underlies this contradiction between overtly curing and covertly facilitating hunger is a strong tendency for aid provision, be it bilateral or unilateral, to be heavily underpinned by economic self-interest on the part of the donor. Indeed, such economic self-interest is what marked the recommendations of the Jackson Report as a 'watershed' in Australian foreign aid policy:

Aid is given primarily for humanitarian reasons to alleviate poverty through economic and social development. It is the response of the wealthy industrial countries to the needs of hundreds of millions of people who live harsh and materially meagre lives. Aid also complements strategic, economic and foreign policy interests, and by helping developing countries to grow, it provides economic opportunities for Australia. (1)

The complementary nature of aid provision with a donor country's own desire for 'economic opportunities' is realised, by and large, through the majority of aid being "tied", that is, dependent on purchases and projects which are beneficial to a donating country's economy, but which may often be out of step with a recipient's actual needs. And, in addition to being shackled, the "gift" aspect of aid is at best problematic, for aid typically takes the a form of a hire-purchase charity, accruing substantial interest over time with repayments due on an annual basis. Overall, and in that aid provision more often functions as a sponge for donor country surplus while fortuitously providing for economic opportunism, it has been suggested that economic dependence on aid is to a large extent shared between donor and recipient. This co-dependence is, however, somewhat unequal, for though often justified on humanitarian grounds, the forms and effects of aid provision tend to fall well within the charitable claim that it is far better to give than to receive.2

Photojournalism, meanwhile, while arguably having very different concerns and constraints from aid provision, regularly produces images of hunger which not only tend to be largely uncritical of the forms and effects of aid, but, as will be shown, actually work towards enabling the preferred practices of economic opportunism. In other words, rather than producing images which are at best at variance with the underpinnings of foreign aid, photojournalism more often than not produces images of hunger which are virtually tailor-made for the preferred practices, as well as overt claims, of foreign aid provision.

In order to read how the discursive strategies utilised within photojournalism work to produce images which are so suited to the practices of aid, I have drawn upon what could be called photojournalism "policy". That is, the preferred explanations and understandings which circulate within the industry, either voiced by photojournalists themselves or by those who seek to promote the practice. A brief summary of this policy is that photojournalism is understood to involve "reflexivity" in the production of "key images" of events or states, such as "famine". Not surprisingly, examination of the terms "key image" and "reflexivity" yields a tendency towards contradiction, but what is most enlightening, particularly in regard to how images of hunger are produced, is that which serves to stitch together the contradictions. Paralleling aid provision, and arguably accounting for the neatness of fit between images of hunger and economic opportunism, suture is effected by drawing on notions of humanitarian concern.

Reflexivity

As a producer of photographic news, photojournalism has a vested interest in having its images read as objective truths of a given event or state. Paul Strand, one of the founding members of the profession, set down the following guiding principle for photojournalists, a principle which is, in effect, one of objectivity achieved through non-interference:

Objectivity is of the very essence of photography.... Honesty no less than intensity of vision is the prerequisite of a living expression. The fullest realisation of this is accomplished without tricks of processes or manipulation, through the use of straight photographic methods. (qtd. in Gernsheim & Gernsheim 191)

While this principle acknowledges a degree of manipulation available to a photographer, it aims to absent such manipulation from the practice. The honest, objective photojournalist works with 'straight photographic methods', is an impartial witness to events, and makes use of photographic technology in an uninvested way. As Hutton has claimed, the primary aim of photojournalism is to 'produce a true objective picture of life as it is lived ... of people in everyday life ... when no camera is near them' (584). Don McCullin, one of photojournalism's most successful photographers of war and hunger clearly illustrates this desire to be read as an uninvested witness when he claims, 'I'm really just a communication platform, manoeuvring images, raw material, from one place to another' (qtd. in Beloff 66).

Modern photographic practice draws on two distinct strategies to invest its images with truth value. The first strategy differs from Strand's principle of objective witnessing and non-intervention in that it legitimates manipulation on the basis of a photographer being highly knowledgeable of that which is being photographed. The second strategy is more in accord with Stand's principle, for it foregrounds the photojournalist as instinctively reflexive in the taking of images. Photographers Eugene Smith and Robert Capa are illustrative of these two distinct strategies, and are frequently drawn upon by modern photojournalists to support their preferred form of practice.

Eugene Smith exemplifies the legitimate interventionist photographer by being credited with spending a year amongst Spanish villagers 'to understand their customs and be regarded as a friend, not as an outsider' (Gernsheim & Gernsheim 265), before taking series of carefully composed photographs. These images are regarded by his supporters as truthful compositions, and not mere "tricks of processes or manipulation", because they were taken with an insight acquired over time. Put another way, Smith's images are seen to answer to a higher truth of extensive knowledge, and any interventions are taken to be informed by this higher truth. In stark contrast, Robert Capa is celebrated as having captured photographic truths because he spent very little time in consideration of the shot. Capa's photographs of war tend to be technically imperfect - often blurred and over or under exposed - indicating a minimum of time, if indeed any at all, spent on the photographic process. Rather than being seen by the industry as evidence of carelessness or poor technical skill, Capa's imperfections are read as indicative of a greater truth than Smith's, both morally and factually, because they were taken reflexively and under extreme duress:

Perhaps Capa felt it would be blasphemous to be too concerned with the technical niceties of a picture in which people were shown in danger of their lives and that there would be something obscene in worrying about making a fine print of a picture of human suffering. (Cornell Capa n.p.)

The picture should tell the story.... Had he taken more time to perfect it, there just wouldn't have been any story. (Deloche 28)

Of the two strategies, the reflexive, non-interventionist practice accorded Capa's work tends to be the most preferred within photojournalism policy. This popularity has a practical dimension, given that most photojournalists work under severe time constraints, rarely spending a day, let alone a year, in an event or state photographed. As "Third World photographer" Mark Edwards explains, 'you just don't have very much time and you're looking for a few key images that get the flavour of the place really' (2). In addition, despite being celebrated as taken with extensive knowledge, Smith's images are considered by "reflexive" photojournalists to contain elements of fabrication, in that they are carefully considered compositions. McCullin in particular is critical of some of Smith's output, and is credited as describing the images as 'somewhat arty considering the tragedy involved' (Haworth-Booth 60). McCullin, whose own work has been compared to Capa's, firmly sets his photography against Smith's by avowing, 'I hate art, I want my pictures to stink a bit' (qtd. in Haworth-Booth 60).

McCullin notwithstanding, the "Smithsian" sanitary strategy can be read as offering an implicit critique of majority practice. Smithsian photography implies a need for extensive knowledge of an event and its history before a truthful image can be taken; a luxury not available to most photojournalists. Operating with "Capparesque" reflexivity evades Smith's critique. By claiming that photojournalism is 'reflexive, not reflective' (Szarkowski 6), the industry can construct the photojournalist as one who emits a knee-jerk reaction to the events encountered, rather than taking (ill-informed) time for reflective or creative composition. A policy of Capparesque reflexivity neither engages in Smith's implied critique of photojournalism as misrepresentative due to a lack of knowledge of an event, nor in his preferred process of intrusively determining how an image should look. This allows Capparesque, rather than Smithsian, photojournalism to situate its practices well within Strand's founding principle of objective, non-interventionist witnessing.

Capa's photographic imperfections, however, while frequently cited in support of photojournalism as reflexive, are rarely imitated as a preferred style. Most successful products of photojournalism, including those taken by McCullin, tend to display a skilful manipulation of photographic technology. In an attempt to resolve the disparity between McCullin's work and the imperfect products taken by Capa, Mark Haworth-Booth, with somewhat of a heavy hand, takes refuge in technological advancement:

Perhaps it is something like the difference between the songs of Woody Guthrie coming over the radios of America in the 1940s and the sound of Bob Dylan with the full blast of electric power in our time. There seems little difference between Capa and McCullin in heart, journalistic accomplishment and graphic power - only the power has been turned up. (61)

But McCullin cuts across this musical metaphor by asserting, 'I don't want to risk getting killed and then get the exposures all wrong' (qtd. in Haworth-Booth 2).

Evidence of the preference of photojournalists to achieve correct exposures is indicative, one would imagine, of at least some prior consideration, and works to contradict the necessary claims of objectivity achieved through knee-jerk reflexivity. A more effective reference to technology which yields some resolution of this evidence is a strategy of constructing the photographer as "unconsciously" integrated with his or her equipment. That is, the camera is seen to function as an extension of the photographer's physical eye (Gidal 573), and any technical perfections in the images are but reflections of a 'profound knowledge of equipment, light and photographic technique that has become second knowledge' (Callahan 81). What is apparent in this discursive melding of the photographic body with the available technology, is a useful circumvention of a conscious photographic mind - it is instinctive, secondary knowledge which informs the practice, not primary volition. And although it could be argued this understanding of photojournalism necessarily entails photography to be read as a largely "mindless" practice, this would seem to be preferred to the construction of a photographer who is engaged in conscious management, both before and during the photographic process. In other words, a reading of a photographer as a reflexive, mindlessly instinctive techno-body, while less than complimentary, effectively works to negate any notion of conscious volition.

Key images

Somewhat at odds with photojournalism's preferred construction of its practices as performed by mindless techno-bodies is the often co-present claim of the photojournalistic ability to capture 'the one climactic shot that would describe with clarity and simplicity the central facts of a situation' (Szarkowski 5). One would think that in order to be aware of what these central facts are, and which image would best portray this, mindlessness would be less than advantageous. Photojournalism, however, maintains that even Capa, the most reflexive photojournalist of them all, still managed to produce 'x-ray plates of form, action and emotion ... which ... cut through to the heart of the matter' (Whelan n.p.).

Not surprisingly, what is seen to inform the photojournalist's knowledge of an event or state tends to be in keeping with the photographer as one who operates reflexively, instinctively and never consciously. That is, what guides the photojournalist towards the 'key images' which will 'cut through to the heart of the matter' is similar to that which enables the process - instinct. Photographers are seen to operate with intuitive powers which produce an empathic relationship with that which constitutes the climax of an event. In the words of Gidal, great photojournalists achieve their photographic truths with an 'intuition and insight bordering on an identification mystique' (575).

Photojournalists themselves tend not to justify their practice in terms of intuitive insight, although they do indicate an acceptance of the notion that they achieve 'key images'. When speaking of what is involved in their profession photojournalists tend to keep to a technical commentary, discussing the type of film, lens and camera used, or alternatively, confine their comments to the difficulties inherent in the job, such as gunfire, disease, time constraints, the pathos of the experience and/or bureaucratic complications. Rather than expanding on what it is which informs their doings, guides their reflexivity, or what criteria they use to judge the centrality of an occurrence and how it should be photographed, photojournalists stay well within the preferred discourses of their profession. To quote McCullin, 'I only use the camera like I use a toothbrush. It does the job' (qtd. in Beloff 66). But in the rare event that a photojournalist does expand on how the "toothbrush" happens to be in the right place at the right time, there is a marked preference to attribute ability to the simplicity of luck, of being unusually fortuitous, and not to some form of cosmic 'identification mystique'. This good fortune is evident in Elliott Erwitt's modest explanation of his professional achievements: 'I developed a technique that was very successful for me. After following the crowd for a while I'd then go 180 degrees in the exact opposite direction. It always worked for me, but then again, I'm very lucky' (qtd. in Callahan 57).

Photography, whether it involves rabbit's feet, the luck of the draw, telepathy or a crystal ball, nevertheless involves choices. Every image taken is from a particular angle, has a particular focus, is of a particular subject, taken at a particular time. Most of the knowledges which circulate within photojournalism appear to work against an inclusion of choice, of setting up a shot in a particular way, of consciously aiming to produce a particular effect. But while acknowledgment of choice is rare within photojournalism's self-understandings it is not entirely absent. By way of illustration, Mark Edwards, in an interview for Camerawork, gave the following explanation of his photojournalistic practice:

I can tell you a terrific example of setting a picture up - alot [sic] of people laugh when I tell them, but the picture from the back of the Taj Mahal - it's not the one of the body being eaten, but it's the one that hasn't really been publish [sic] very much. I think it's better in a way. It's just a skeleton, and the legs are pointing out towards the Taj Mahal, but actually, when I was there, the legs were pointing the other way, and I could see it would be just ridiculous not to move it. I know it sounds ghastly, but I just moved it around, and there you are. (2)

Edwards' explanation jars somewhat with the array of explanations which circulate around central notions of impartial witnessing. A mere 'communication platform' for 'raw material', for instance, would not, presumably, realign the limbs of a corpse in order to produce a better picture. Edwards may be displaying an awareness of the contradictions involved in his confessed actions by claiming it would have been 'just ridiculous not to move it', inferring that he possibly should not have, and by admitting 'I know it sounds ghastly, but I just ...'. The preferred policies and principles of photojournalism, while in contradiction with Edwards' practices, did not prevent him from interfering with life, or death, as it was encountered. Furthermore, as part of the discourses of photojournalism, Edwards' corpse is likely to be read as having been taken in accordance with the preferred knowledges of the profession. That is, produced reflexively, instinctively, and above all, non-intrusively.

As mentioned, most (if not all) photographic images are produced by processes of exclusion and inclusion involving informed choices. Photojournalism, like aid provision, is a practice which involves varying degrees of command, or imperialism, over the events encountered. And as with aid provision, Edwards knew what outcomes were the most desirable: 'It would have been irresponsible in that situation not to have taken a picture - it would have been not doing the job I set out to do ... I just had a certain feeling about what I wanted to do in India' (2). Edwards illuminates the extent to which imperialism and photography can become enmeshed, he also illuminates what it is that informs the choices that are made - what it is within photojournalism which both enables and legitimates such action. According to Edwards, 'Eugene Smith said he couldn't see anything wrong with it as long as it was done with integrity' (2).

Despite having a preference for their techniques being read as Capparesque, photojournalists can and do work from Smithsian strategies; strategies which tend to be reflective, rather than reflexive. But while Smithsian photography legitimates intrusion into events because extensive prior knowledge is being brought to bear on the composition, most photojournalists typically do not have such knowledge. To reiterate Edwards, 'you just don't have very much time and you're looking for a few key images that get the flavour of the place' (2). In the light of the tendency for photojournalists to go to an event or state with a distinct lack of extensive knowledge of that particular event, what serves to inform a photographer's integrity - this higher truth which enables and legitimates intrusion into life as it is lived - are other determinants acquired long before the photographer reaches the event to be photographed.

Humanitarian concern

Humanitarianism, as the Jackson Report notes, is generally taken to be the prime directive for aid agencies; a directive which could be read as somewhat at variance with the economic self-interest which underscores the majority of aid provisions. But humanitarianism, while popularly assumed to encompass a degree-zero political stance and uninvested selflessness, has a tendency to allow for the necessary pre-conditions for economic self-interest to take place - namely, dominance over a recipient. Recipients of humanitarian attention are, within the discourse, necessarily weak and needful of direction. These are the 'hundreds of millions of people who live harsh and materially meagre lives' referred to in the Jackson Report (1), or the pitiful 'human beings suffering from extreme hunger and deprivation' described by Alliband (26). And this reading of the recipient, even if well intentioned, tends not to contradict the preferred position of benefactor knows best. Imperialism within aid has not been without criticism: 'It is somewhat arrogant of aid donors to believe that they know the priorities of development better than the government of the recipient country that is directly faced with the problems' (Singer & Ansari 189). But it is usually assumed that the presence of such arrogance is due to a lack of humanitarian concern, rather than a surfeit. Far from contesting such arrogance, this humanitarian knowledge of the recipient both requires and legitimates it. And within Australia, as with other donor countries, donor knowledge has a remarkably fortuitous tendency to 'generally coincide with perceptions of our foreign policy and economic interests' (Joint Committee on Foreign Affairs and Defence 26).

Images of the needy are compatible with the visual gamut of photojournalism's "proper domain", a domain which encompasses the 'strife and life, the hope and despair, the humanity and inhumanity of the world' (Gernsheim & Gernsheim 209,244). And ideally, or so the story goes, into these pools of despair steps the photographer, reflexively taking 'key images' with correct exposures. If it happens that a photographer utilises practices which are less than reflexive, practices which tend to involve a degree of intervention and/or the conscious exercise of choice, such practices may be afforded legitimation through reference to "integrity". In effect, photojournalism will suture over the imperialism of the practice by presenting photojournalists as selfless saviour-heroes, sensitively battling on behalf of those they shoot:

The inhumanity of man to man and the futility of war became an obsession with [Capa]. He hated war. (Gernsheim & Gernsheim 260)

Bischof's reportages on refugees, war ... and famine ... leave no doubt that he was sick at heart at what he had to report. (263)

My photography's an expression - of my guilt, my inability to make a protest in any other way. It's an expression of something in front of me that doesn't look too good. (McCullin qtd. in Beloff 200)

The construction of the photojournalist as a "saviour-hero", however, is somewhat precarious, for it brings into play elements of stark contradiction. That is, those discourses which stress objectivity in photojournalism are brought to rest side by side with those which seek to celebrate the photojournalist as compassionately engaged. Most preferred in this discursive mix is a reading of the photojournalist operating with an increased honesty due to his or her compassion, or, failing this, an understandable domination of compassion over objectivity:

The straightforward, direct honesty of his work; its underlying emotional strength and visual power, make Don McCullin the most exciting and promising talent in British photography. (Campbell qtd. in Haworth-Booth 5)

A photographer of sensitivity cannot record poor social conditions objectively; the deeper his [sic] compassion goes, the greater will be the impact of his pictures. It is probably true that most great reportage photographers cannot help getting emotionally involved in what they see, and their creative ability may subtly influence our way of thinking. (Gernsheim & Gernsheim 257-60)

"Compassionate honesty" works to place photographic practice well within the benefits of humanitarian concern. That is, as a practice which is seen to be arguably informed by humanitarianism, photojournalism is open to being read as uninvested with power relations. So, rather than involving a dominated recipient of gaze, compassionate, humanitarian photojournalism enables photographers to be respectful and their subjects, dignified: 'Although refugees may have lost everything, they renounce neither their dignity nor their honour, which a photographer's respect for them obliges him to portray'(Deloche 26). Furthermore, humanitarianism enables the "taking" of photography to be read as a "giving" of a gift which is both well intentioned and naturally of benefit to the recipient. And in accordance with humanitarian structures, the recipient of gaze is suitably helpless, needful of and grateful for such photographic attendance - 'when you take a look at what you're doing, you see human beings, suffering human beings in your camera, all of them needing help. And all of them very grateful' (26).

While the dominance of compassion over objectivity has a tendency to foreground determination in photographic practice, this construction of what could be called the Sensitive New Age Photographer (SNAP) allows imperialism within photography, as with aid, to be read as answering to integrity, to sound moral principles which are, above all, informed by humanitarian concern.

Photojournalism discourse does not always successfully make happy bed-fellows of truth-objectivity and humanitarian compassion, but it is permissible for the photojournalist to be read with his or her objectivity subsumed under a dominant compassion, the reverse is not the case. Less frequent and less preferred is the converse imbalance of strategies, the case where the attributes of reflexivity and objectivity are seen to outweigh a photographer's compassion. Logically, such imbalance would not harm the preferred readings of photojournalism, for in this instance truth would be greater than feelings. But if the moral legitimations of humanitarian concern are seen to be subsumed under a desire for truth, the moral status of a photographer is called into question. And this is an image of photojournalism which may cause the photographer some unease; to cite McCullin: 'Although I go down dark tunnels, I don't want to be thought of as a ferret' (qtd. in Beloff 220).

What the foregoing illustrates is that while the oppositional nature of objectivity and compassion may form a precarious relationship, compassion is integral to photojournalism, and furthermore, both attributes tend to be co-present within photojournalism discourse virtually at all times. The photojournalist may be seen to be morally honest or honestly moral, but rarely, if ever, neither one nor the other. At the very least, although not often, photojournalism is just a job: 'A lot of photographers like to put their hand to their forehead and tell you how much they suffered. It's really very simple. If you're told what the problem is, you go out and do it. It's not a big deal' (Erwitt qtd. in Beloff 66).

Photographing hunger

Photojournalists attend states of hunger with predeterminants of what constitutes a key image of hunger. It is possible that what informs these predeterminants is humanitarian compassion. It is also possible that photojournalists are informed by factors other than humanitarian concern; "you're told what the problem is, you go out and do it". But whether it is compassion which informs the photojournalist or some other criteria, the imperialism of photographic practices is legitimated if these practices can be subsequently read as being primarily guided by humanitarianism, informed by "integrity". And in order to access this justification it follows that the image must be composed so as to fall well within the constraints that the figure maps out. That is, the subjects photographed should be depicted as possessing the requisite features of deservingness within humanitarian discourse: of being helpless, lacking self-autonomy, needful of a benefactor who knows best, and grateful for the forms any assistance takes. Little wonder that most hunger photography output consists of isolated images of emaciated children.

Photojournalism meshes well with the preferred image of aid provision in that photojournalists tend to photograph "famine", not "hunger". These two terms, "famine" and "hunger", construct the same object, an aid recipient, differently. Hunger is a continual state of deprivation, famine a sudden occurrence of dramatic proportions. By photographing a key image of famine, and not hunger, photojournalism effects an elision of the cyclic nature of aid, presenting instead the central facts of the matter as lacking precedents; lacking the benefits of donor knowledge and relief. But most importantly, for this paper at least, the dependence of photojournalism in having its practices read as compassionate, as informed by humanitarian principles, has an effect of pre-forming images which invite and legitimate the preferred form of aid provision, that of imperialistic intervention.

Don McCullin has been celebrated as one of photojournalism's most successful hunger photographers, credited with having produced images of emaciation which 'caused most horror and grief, most money to be sent for relief, more vigils in London streets' than any other form of news promotion of his time. And while McCullin was not the first, and far from the last, photographer to depict "famine" for the donor bloc, his images continue to enjoy wide dissemination, 'as if they are candles that no one will put out, or stains that cannot be removed' (Haworth-Booth 59). McCullin apparently no longer takes images of the hungry, and is often quoted seeking to disavow his past photographic practice. But in seeking to do so, McCullin falls into the habit of making reference to higher feelings, as if the road which is paved with such good intentions has changed direction of late: 'I hate carrying cameras, they disfigure me. I carry a conscience' (26)

Notes

1. There are many terms used within aid to describe the giver and receiver of aid, and these tend to be complicit with the inherent power structures of the macro-political. These include world ranking (First-Third), and relative industrialisation and development levels. There has been an attempt to overcome the labelling along lines of power through use of a generalised geographic position (North-South), but in preference to this strategy, which contains inaccuracy and still carries echoes of a linear ranking, I refer to the giver of aid as the donor, and the receiver of such aid, the recipient.

2. My discussion of the politics of foreign aid is necessarily brief. For further discussion regarding the politics and effects of aid provision see, for example, H. Singer & J. Ansari, Rich and Poor Countries; A. Sen, Poverty and Famines; and J. Hill & H. Scannell Due South.

Works Cited

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Deloche, P. "Dignity, Honour and Respect". Refugees 69 (1989): 26-27.

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Gernsheim, H. & Gernsheim, A. A Concise History of Photography. London: Thames & Hudson, 1965.

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Joint Committee on Foreign Affairs and Defence. The Jackson Report on Australia's Overseas Aid Program. Canberra: AGPS, 1985.

McCullin, D. "Notes by a Photographer". The Photographic Memory. Eds. E. Meiher & J. Swart. London: Quiller Press, 1987. 11-26.

Sen, A. Poverty and Famines: An Essay on Entitlement and Deprivation. Oxford: ILO & Oxford <+>UP, 1981.

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Whelan, R. "Introduction". Robert Capa Photographs. Eds. R. Whelan & C. Capa. London: Faber & Faber, 1985, n.p.


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