Framed
by Sanjana Hattotuwa-November 4, 2017, 6:16 pm
I was approached some months ago by staff of the Office of National Unity and Reconciliation (ONUR) to help with a photography project. The idea was to celebrate seventy years of Sri Lanka’s independence by asking citizens to submit photos that, to them, framed hope and reconciliation. After sharing some ideas around the theme and related technical aspects, I forgot about the project until I was invited to be part of the jury that selected winning entries which would go on public display.
And that was when things started to get interesting.
ONUR received less than 400 submissions. I didn’t see the call for the submission of photographs, but was assured that it went in all three languages in the mainstream print media as well as social media. The jury expected many more photos, especially since the call extended over some months. Aside from other reasons, the jury felt that when asked to capture hope and reconciliation, citizens don’t quite know how best to frame either. This was supported by the fact that most of the photos submitted captured, somewhat bizarrely given the clearly stated theme, random scenes from nature, domestic pets, birds and a whole range of wild flowers or indoor floral arrangements.
The jury didn’t quite know what to do with these photos, or how to explain them. Did those who submitted them just do so in the hope they would be selected? Were they sent by mistake? Even as we dismissed them, we agreed there was something going on that, while beyond the scope of the project, was nevertheless interesting to flag – that when asked to capture either hope or reconciliation in post-war Sri Lanka, few seemed to be driven by a political imagination. Photography and its dominant frames seemed to exist in a domain largely independent of socio-political, cultural, religious drivers and identity politics. There was no critique of, amongst other things, context or place, of dominant narratives or of space. Flowers, bees, landscape, sunsets, mountain mist, pets and even the odd bovine were worthy of capture perhaps because of some entirely personal interest. But the submission of this content to a public photo competition demonstrated little to no discernible critical reflection, by photographers who were also citizens, on their politics, privilege, position, identity or location. It truly was the oddest phenomenon. Were we wrong to expect anything more, or different?
After photos were short-listed, including twelve winners, ONUR said that plans for the public display of the photos involved printing them at around the size of a large calendar, and showing them at a venue like JDA Perera Gallery or the Harold Peiris Gallery at the Lionel Wendt. However, I felt that instead of getting the public to come to see the photos, the photos should be placed in the midst of where the public already congregated. I came up with the idea of printing them in a very large format, and placing them across the walking and jogging paths around Independence Square in Colombo. A project like this had never been done before and to its credit, ONUR was very supportive of the idea. I agreed to help on a voluntary basis. Late stage curation isn’t ideal, but I wanted to use the opportunity to critique so much that held hostage meaningful reconciliation.
In 2017, Independence Square is an interesting location. On the Western flank, a very large Buddhist flag is hoisted and flies every day. A much smaller national flag is flown just behind the statue of D.S. Senanayake at the front or North of the monument. On the Eastern flank, a flagpole, of comparable height to the one of the West, is where the national flag should be present. But it’s absent, and can only be hoisted with the permission of the Navy. On the day of the exhibition and for its entire duration, we were told that the rope to hoist the national flag had frayed, which prevented it from being flown. A monument to celebrate the country’s independence is thus, visually and through the oversight of the military, associated with only a single religion. It is quite revealing that of the thousands who flock to the monument, no one asks why it is only a Buddhist flag, and not the national flag, that flies there.
Using my curatorial freedom and the 76 selected photos, I set out to more clearly highlight the violence of all this. Flanking the Buddhist flag, I placed images of Sri Lanka’s Muslim community – of two women, one in a hijab, engaged in manual labour, and in the other photo, another woman, also in a hijab, holding a Sri Lankan flag at what looked like a cricket match. On the other side of the flag pole, I placed an image of a book seller selling what appeared to be sermons of the Buddha on a street, and another image from Galle Face, showing a small Muslim boy eating an ice cream cone, amidst a sea of other people. Moving outwards in each direction, I placed images of children who were visibly from different ethnic and religious communities, an image of a Buddhist flag flying in front of a very well-known mosque in Colombo, Muslim men paying their last respects at the funeral of a venerable monk and other photos that when you stepped back, helped shape a more critical appreciation of the large Buddhist flag and its symbolism. Inside the monument, I deliberately placed images of Sri Lanka’s rich communal, religious and political diversity – reflecting upon our own tryst with destiny on February 4, 1948 and how much of the 70 years since have been mired in bloody violence. Each of the photos on the Eastern flank, all prize winners, resonated with the visible absence of the national flag. Back to the West, between the two large (dysfunctional) fountains, photos were placed along the walking path in the middle.
Aside from curatorial intent, the objective of the exercise was to get the public to engage with the photos. The very first who did and asked a lot of questions about the project and process were the janitorial and security staff of the monument itself, who would never in their lives set foot into JDA Perera Gallery or the Wendt. There were more people who congregated around and looked at the photos just as we were setting up than would have ever seen them had the venue been what ONUR had originally envisioned. It wasn’t just about numbers. Independence Square attracts school children from across the island, tourists, a random assortment of people from across the city who come to exercise, lovers, university students, the old and the young, and people clearly from various ethnic and religious communities. The photos captured the attention of all of them. Initially only planned to be held over two days, ONUR extended the exhibition till today – Sunday – because of public calls to keep it longer. On a very windy Friday – Poya Day – the frames kept falling over before we could anchor them more firmly with cement blocks. Each time they fell, someone from the surrounding area would go and put them up, without instruction and purely by their own volition. An organic sense of ownership around the content had developed.
The 76 photos vary in quality, framing, gaze and intent. Clearly, many of them don’t really resonate directly or obviously with the original call for photos on hope or reconciliation. But what they do show is a really diverse and ultimately, beautiful Sri Lanka – a country of different religions, communities, ethnic, socio-economic and political groups. Framed by the monument, the photos take a new life against contemporaneous discussions around the need for a new constitution, the violence of the BBS, the rise of extreme nationalism, the invisibility of militarization and the politics of public spaces.
It is simplistic to assume that photography alone, and these photos in particular, are able to change hearts and minds. But there is something here worth exploring. Something about photos from across Sri Lanka, framed in a large format and placed in the midst of the public, fellow citizens are attracted to; something that in a subtle but powerful way, contests the horribly exclusive, violent, divisive narratives that have overtaken dignity, decency and democracy in our 70 years of independence.
And that’s an idea worth pursuing.
