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Jolyon Mitchell

A protestor holds a picture of a blood spattered Neda Agha-Soltan and another of a woman, Neda Soltani, who was widely misidentified as Neda Agha-Soltan.

It was agonizing, just a few weeks before publication of Martyrdom: A Very Short Introduction, to discover that there was a minor mistake in one of the captions. Especially frustrating, as it was too late to make the necessary correction to the first print run, though it will be repaired when the book is reprinted. New research had revealed the original mistake. The inaccuracy we had been given had circulated the web and had been published by numerous press agencies and journalists too. What precisely was wrong?

To answer this question it is necessary to go back to Iran. During one of the demonstrations in Tehran following the contested re-election of President Ahmadinejad in 2009, a young woman (Neda Agha-Soltan) stepped out of the car for some fresh air. A few moments later she was shot. As she lay on the ground dying her last moments were captured on film. These graphic pictures were then posted online. Within a few days these images had gone global. Soon demonstrators were using her blood-spattered face on posters protesting against the Iranian regime. Even though she had not intended to be a martyr, her death was turned into a martyrdom in Iran and around the world.

Many reports also placed another photo, purportedly of her looking healthy and flourishing, alongside the one of her bloodied face. It turns out that this was not actually her face but an image taken from the Facebook page of another Iranian with a similar name, Neda Soltani. This woman is still alive, but being incorrectly identified as the martyr has radically changed her life. She later described on BBC World Service (Outlook, 2 October 2012) and on BBC Radio 4 (Woman’s Hour, 22 October 2012) how she received hate mail and pressure from the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence to support the claim that the other Neda was never killed. The visual error made it almost impossible for Soltani to stay in her home country. She fled Iran and was recently granted asylum in Germany. Neda Soltani has even written a book, entitled My Stolen Face, about her experience of being mistaken for a martyr.

The caption should therefore read something like: ‘A protestor holds a picture of a blood spattered Neda Agha-Soltan and another of a woman, Neda Soltani, who was widely misidentified as Neda Agha-Soltan.’ This mistake underlines how significant the role is of those who are left behind after a death. Martyrs are made. They are rarely, if ever, born. Communities remember, preserve, and elaborate upon fatal stories, sometimes turning them into martyrdoms. Neda’s actual death was commonly contested. Some members of the Iranian government described it as the result of a foreign conspiracy, while many others saw her as an innocent martyr. For these protestors she represents the tip of an iceberg of individuals who have recently lost their lives, their freedom, or their relatives in Iran. As such her death became the symbol of a wider protest movement.

This was also the case in several North African countries during the so-called Arab Spring. In Tunisia, in Algeria, and in Egypt the death of an individual was put to use soon after their passing. This is by no means a new phenomenon. Ancient, medieval, and early modern martyrdom stories are still retold, even if they were not captured on film. Tales of martyrdom have been regularly reiterated and amplified through a wide range of media. Woodcuts of martyrdoms from the sixteenth century, gruesome paintings from the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries, photographs of executions from the nineteenth century, and fictional or documentary films from the twentieth century all contribute to the making of martyrs. Inevitably, martyrdom stories are elaborated upon. Like a shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean, they collect barnacles of additional detail. These details may be rooted in history,unintentional mistakes, or simply fictional leaps of the imagination. There is an ongoing debate, for example, around Neda’s life and death. Was she a protestor? How old was she when she died? Who killed her? Was she a martyr?

Martyrdoms commonly attract controversy. One person’s ‘martyr’ is another person’s ‘accidental death’ or ‘suicide bomber’ or ‘terrorist’. One community’s ‘heroic saint’ who died a martyr’s death is another’s ‘pseudo-martyr’ who wasted their life for a false set of beliefs. Martyrs can become the subject of political debate as well as religious devotion. The remains of a well-known martyr can be viewed as holy or in some way sacred. At least one Russian czar, two English kings, and a French monarch have all been described after their death as martyrs.

Neda was neither royalty nor politician. She had a relatively ordinary life, but an extraordinary death. Neda is like so many other individuals who are turned into martyrs: it is by their demise that they are often remembered. In this way even the most ordinary individual can become a martyr to the living after their deaths. Preserving their memory becomes a communal practice, taking place on canvas, in stone, and most recently online. Interpretations, elaborations, and mistakes commonly cluster around martyrdom narratives. These memories can be used both to incite violence and to promote peace. How martyrs are made, remembered, and then used remains the responsibility of the living.

Jolyon Mitchell is Professor of Communications, Arts and Religion, Director of the Centre for Theology and Public Issues (CTPI) and Deputy Director of the Institute for the Advanced Study in the Humanities (IASH) at the University of Edinburgh. He is author and editor of a wide range of books including most recently: Promoting Peace, Inciting Violence: The Role of Religion and Media (2012); and Martyrdom: A Very Short Introduction (2012).

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Image credit: A protestor holds a picture of a blood spattered Neda Agha-Soltan and another of a woman, Neda Soltani, who was widely misidentified as Neda Agha-Soltan, used in full page context of p.49, Martyrdom: A Very Short Introduction, by Jolyon Mitchell. Image courtesy of Getty Images.

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Got a Twitter account? You need to upload a new header image before December 12th!

AllTwitter explained why: “Twitter started rolling out its Facebook-a-like header photos to profiles back in September, and users who haven’t yet implemented this new functionality have until tomorrow (December 12th) to upload a suitable image. Otherwise, Twitter is going to force the change upon you, and you’ll be left with a default grey box. This isn’t permanent – you can change your header photo at any time. But, as Twitter says, the grey background isn’t exactly fun.”

We’ve embedded a video above that shows you how the new profile pictures work. Below, we’ve collected a few easy steps for how to add a Twitter header photo to your account.

continued…

New Career Opportunities Daily: The best jobs in media.

By Barbara Zelizer

A New York Post photographer snaps a picture of a man as he is pushed to his death in front of a New York City subway. An anonymous blogger photographs a dying American ambassador as he is carried to hospital after an attack in Libya. Multiple images following a shooting at the Empire State Building show its victims across both social media and news outlets. A little over three months, three events, three pictures, three circles of outrage.

The most recent event involved a freelancer working for the New York Post who captured an image of a frantic Queens native as he tried futilely to escape an approaching train. Depicting the man clinging to the subway platform as the train sped toward him, the picture appeared on the Post’s front cover. Within hours, observers began deriding both the photographer and the newspaper: the photographer, they said, should have helped the man and avoided taking a picture, while earlier photos by him were critiqued for being soft and of insufficient news value; the newspaper, they continued, should not have displayed the picture, certainly not on its front cover, and its low status as a tabloid was trotted out as an object of collective sneering.

We have heard debates like this before — when pictures surfaced surrounding the deaths of leaders in the Middle East, the slaying of Vietnamese soldiers and civilians, the shattering of those imperiled by numerous natural disasters, wars and acts of terror. Such pictures capture the agony of people facing their deaths, depicting the final moment of life in a way that draws viewers through a combination of empathy, voyeurism, and a recognition of sheer human anguish. But the debates that ensue over pictures of people about to die have less to do with the pictures, photographers or news publications that display them and more to do with the unresolved sentiments we have about what news pictures are for. Decisions about how best to accommodate pictures of impending death in the difficult events of the news inhabit a sliding rule of squeamishness, by which cries of appropriateness, decency and privacy are easily tossed about, but not always by the same people, for the same reasons or in any enduring or stable manner.

Pictures are powerful because they condense the complexity of difficult events into one small, memorable moment, a moment driven by high drama, public engagement, the imagination, the emotions and a sense of the contingent. No surprise, then, that what we feel about them is not ours alone. Responses to images in the news are complicated by a slew of moral, political and technological imperatives. And in order to show, see and engage with explicit pictures of death, impending or otherwise, all three parameters have to work in tandem: we need some degree of moral insistence to justify showing the pictures; we need political imperatives that mandate the importance of their being seen; and we need available technological opportunities that can easily facilitate their display. Though we presently have technology aplenty, our political and moral mandates change with circumstance. Consider, for instance, why it was okay to show and see Saddam Hussein about to die but not Daniel Pearl, to depict victims dying in the Asian tsunami but not those who jumped from the towers of 9/11. Suffice it to say that had the same picture of the New York City subway been taken in the 1940s, it would have generated professional acclaim, won awards, and become iconic.

At a time in which we readily see explicit images of death and violence all the time on television series, in fictional films and on the internet, we are troubled by the same graphic images in the news. We wouldn’t expect our news stories to keep from us the grisly details of difficult events out there in the world. We should expect no less from our news pictures.

Barbie Zelizer is the Raymond Williams Chair of Communication and the Director of the Scholars Program in Culture and Communication at the Annenberg School for Communication at the University of Pennsylvania. She is the author of About to Die: How News Images Move the Public.  

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The post Why we are outraged: the New York Post photo controvery appeared first on OUPblog.

By Barbie Zelizer

A New York Post photographer snaps a picture of a man as he is pushed to his death in front of a New York City subway. An anonymous blogger photographs a dying American ambassador as he is carried to hospital after an attack in Libya. Multiple images following a shooting at the Empire State Building show its victims across both social media and news outlets. A little over three months, three events, three pictures, three circles of outrage.

The most recent event involved a freelancer working for the New York Post who captured an image of a frantic Queens native as he tried futilely to escape an approaching train. Depicting the man clinging to the subway platform as the train sped toward him, the picture appeared on the Post’s front cover. Within hours, observers began deriding both the photographer and the newspaper: the photographer, they said, should have helped the man and avoided taking a picture, while earlier photos by him were critiqued for being soft and of insufficient news value; the newspaper, they continued, should not have displayed the picture, certainly not on its front cover, and its low status as a tabloid was trotted out as an object of collective sneering.

We have heard debates like this before — when pictures surfaced surrounding the deaths of leaders in the Middle East, the slaying of Vietnamese soldiers and civilians, the shattering of those imperiled by numerous natural disasters, wars and acts of terror. Such pictures capture the agony of people facing their deaths, depicting the final moment of life in a way that draws viewers through a combination of empathy, voyeurism, and a recognition of sheer human anguish. But the debates that ensue over pictures of people about to die have less to do with the pictures, photographers or news publications that display them and more to do with the unresolved sentiments we have about what news pictures are for. Decisions about how best to accommodate pictures of impending death in the difficult events of the news inhabit a sliding rule of squeamishness, by which cries of appropriateness, decency and privacy are easily tossed about, but not always by the same people, for the same reasons or in any enduring or stable manner.

Pictures are powerful because they condense the complexity of difficult events into one small, memorable moment, a moment driven by high drama, public engagement, the imagination, the emotions and a sense of the contingent. No surprise, then, that what we feel about them is not ours alone. Responses to images in the news are complicated by a slew of moral, political and technological imperatives. And in order to show, see and engage with explicit pictures of death, impending or otherwise, all three parameters have to work in tandem: we need some degree of moral insistence to justify showing the pictures; we need political imperatives that mandate the importance of their being seen; and we need available technological opportunities that can easily facilitate their display. Though we presently have technology aplenty, our political and moral mandates change with circumstance. Consider, for instance, why it was okay to show and see Saddam Hussein about to die but not Daniel Pearl, to depict victims dying in the Asian tsunami but not those who jumped from the towers of 9/11. Suffice it to say that had the same picture of the New York City subway been taken in the 1940s, it would have generated professional acclaim, won awards, and become iconic.

At a time in which we readily see explicit images of death and violence all the time on television series, in fictional films and on the internet, we are troubled by the same graphic images in the news. We wouldn’t expect our news stories to keep from us the grisly details of difficult events out there in the world. We should expect no less from our news pictures.

Barbie Zelizer is the Raymond Williams Chair of Communication and the Director of the Scholars Program in Culture and Communication at the Annenberg School for Communication at the University of Pennsylvania. She is the author of About to Die: How News Images Move the Public.  

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The post Why we are outraged: the New York Post photo controversy appeared first on OUPblog.

Today is my birthday! 

I’m SIX years old.  I think that is the perfect age.  Mom agrees.  She says if I could go to school, I’d be a first grader, and would be learning to read. How fun would THAT be?  Then, I would help Mom with her writing work.  Sometimes, she writes stories that are perfect for first graders, but they’re not books, yet.  It’s just as well, since I can’t read yet.

To celebrate my birthday, I will have treats,

and I’ll finally get to play with my new birthday hedgehog, which has been hidden in the closet. 

I knew about the hedgehog, because I picked it out at Petco last week.  It’s been a looong wait, but I am sure it will be a blast to bite it and throw it and catch it and lick it and cuddle with it.

Mom says, “Writers are experts at waiting.” and “We have to wait for our big break. And then wait for our big break again!” and “Don’t break your new toy!”

I don’t know about Mom, but I’m tired of waiting!

REALLY tired of waiting.  Let’s party!!

I’m tired of reading picture books. Well, maybe “reading” is a poor choice of words. Mostly, Mom reads them. I sleep on top of them so she can’t turn the page.

Sometimes I try to eat them, so she has to hide them in the closet.

She’s almost reached her goal of reading 212 books this year. Maybe when she gets to that magic number she’ll stop. Ha! Who am I kidding? When she reaches her goal, she’ll make a new goal. 

Mom says, “I love reading stories!” and “I need to read in order to write right. Right?” (Huh??) and “Move your bony head! You’re drooling on the book.”

Mom has finished writing nine stories for her 12×12 challenge.  She is ready to start something new.  That’s always fun.  Something new for a writer is exciting because they get to start with a clean page and have millions and millions of possibilities in front of them, just ripe for the picking (like when somebody spills a whole bag of popcorn in the field where I walk).  One of those possibilities might be The Idea that leads to THE ONE. 

For Mom THE ONE means the elusive Book #2. She will look at the list of ideas in her phone for a long time.  She will probably mumble to herself for a while.  When she starts typing, she will stall around, looking for just the right names for her characters.  She’ll look in her phone at her list of names, and maybe look online at a name-your-baby website (or a name-your-puppy website if it’s a dog story – which I hope it is).  From start to finish, she’ll mind write a lot, talk to herself a lot, type on the computer, and drink coffee (that’s my favorite part).

Yesterday, I did something new, too.  If I were a writer, this might become my Favorite Idea for MY elusive Book #2.

Sometimes, I’m just plain tired. Belly-up-worn-out. Head-upside-down-exhausted. Desperate for a nap.

Resting is good. Recently, I had a busy day visiting friends, almost eating stones (till Mom yanked them out of my mouth), and almost eating an ant trap (till Mom dragged me out from under the chair and picked up the trap). I also dodged the treacherous air conditioner vents in the floor which I’m pretty sure were trying to kill me, and I navigated my way past the dangerous grill, which had a mysterious cover on it to disguise the perils underneath. So clearly, after such a difficult day, I needed to clear my head and get some rest.

Writing is like that, too. If Mom has too many perils to navigate, too many imaginary friends to visit, some close calls, danger, strangeness, and pressure, she gets tuckered out like me. She doesn’t go belly-up and nap, though. She does an hour of writer-relaxation, instead. She organizes notes and computer folders. She reads blogs and Facebook posts that her writer friends write. She browses around on the computer doing research or looking for unusual character names. If it’s a lucky day for me, we go to the park or the ice cream store or the playground or Starbucks to people-watch. If it’s an unlucky day for me, Mom says, “I’m going to the bookstore.” or “I’m going to the library.” and she drives off in the car without me to go and read millions of books. If she brings any home with her, she says, “Do NOT eat the books!”

Duh. Why would I eat books?

Be like a duck, my mother used to tell me. Remain calm on the surface and paddle like hell underneath.
~Michael Caine~

Don’t I look adorable in these pictures? It’s an act! I’m calm on the outside, but my heart is paddling like….heck on the inside.  (You can kind of tell by my flat ears.) First of all, we had just arrived at the VA Home, where I work as a therapy pet, and I couldn’t wait to get in and see all my  friends.  Secondly, there was a loose thread on my sundress, and it was tickling me and making the strap slide down.  Sexy, but annoying.  Halfway through our visit, Mom took the dress off me and left me naked. More sexy, less annoying. And worst of all, Mom was making me pose at the brand new flower beds, and she didn’t even care that the sod was wet and muddy!  A few Cheerios helped me settle down on the outside, but inside I stayed over-excited.

That’s how Mom feels when she’s revising a story. She reads a line (out loud to herself) and in her head she’s thinking of 20 other ways to say it better. She changes the line, reads it again (it sounds fine to me), but in her head there are 20 MORE ways to say it better. So on the outside, the story is winding along sounding finished, but on the inside, every line is being checked to see if it needs to be cut, fixed, moved, changed, or left alone. That’s why being a writer isn’t as easy as it looks!