History and Theory, Theme Issue 48 (December 2009), 112-129 © Wesleyan University 2009 ISSN: 0018-2656

PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE PRACTICES OF

CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY

LEIGH RAIFORD

ABSTRACT

Not too long after photography’s grand debut in 1839, physician and inventor Oliver Wen-
dell Holmes described the new technology as a “mirror with a memory.” What might this
phrase mean for the question of African Americans and their relationship to the vicissitudes
of photography and the vagaries of memory in particular? Through readings of works of
art and social activism that make use of lynching photographs, this essay considers ways
in which photography has functioned as a technology of memory for African Americans,
what the essay calls critical black memory, and proffers a mode of historical interpretation
that both plays upon and questions photography’s documentary capacity.

by way of the photograph has been central to the recounting and reconstitution of black
political cultures throughout the Jim Crow and post-Civil Rights era. From the usage of
lynching photography in pamphlets by early twentieth-century anti-lynching activists, to
posters created by mid-century civil rights organizations, to their deployment in contem-
porary art and popular culture, this archive has been a constitutive element of black visual-
ity more broadly. Second, African American engagements with photography as a “site of
memory” suggest a mode of historical interpretation in which African Americans simul-
taneously critique the “truth-claims” of photography while they mobilize the medium’s

Keywords: memory, photography, lynching, African Americans

I. “MIRROR WITH A MEMORY”

Not too long after photography’s grand debut in 1839, physician and inventor
Oliver Wendell Holmes described the new technology as a “mirror with a mem-
ory.” Holmes’s metaphor applied initially to the form of daguerreotypes in which
images are exposed directly onto chemically treated and highly polished metal

own image with that of a departed husband, wife, or child— daguerreotype’s most

from daguerreotype to the collodion or wet-plate process, allowing for multiple

reproductions, so too did the uses to which photography was put. What endured
was the medium’s mirroring capacity. Holmes, one of photography’s early and
most ardent enthusiasts, celebrated photography’s “completion [of] the triumph”
 PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE PRACTICES OF CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY 113
of daguerreotypy, through its ability to “assert [the] hidden truth [of the recorded
1

“Mirror with a memory” is an enormously evocative phrase. It speaks to the

-
deed, photography’s uniqueness as a medium, and its early and enduring appeal,
lay in its ability to record, not merely depict, that which exists in the material
world. Photography quickly surpassed painting in its imagined capacity to capture
history and human experience as it truly was, unmediated by human hands. The
medium’s magic rested in its capacity to offer an index, a sign of a “truly existing
thing.”
To Holmes, photography was the ultimate historical artifact; he happily pre-
-
cial, will go to the Imperial, National, or City Stereographic Library and call for
its skin or form, as he would for a book at any common library.”2 Holmes thought
that photography, as historical artifact, could effectively perform the work of hu-
man recall, that is, memory. Memory in this context is best understood as the

place. For Holmes, a Harvard-trained doctor and published poet, the phrase would
also seem to capture the alchemy of technology and art from which photography
was born and the antinomies that have animated its reception since. Science im-
bued with soulfulness. Wonder captured with technical precision. The index of the
truly existing thing, the “that-has-been.”
What might this phrase, “mirror with a memory,” mean for African Americans
and their relationship to the vicissitudes of photography and the vagaries of mem-

people, a people who could not not know: a people of long memory”?3 What is
the role of this visual medium for a people who have long held up a mirror to the

This essay considers the ways in which African Americans throughout the
twentieth century have utilized photography to interpret and critique a dominant
history that more often than not excised, degraded, and silenced them. African
Americans have engaged in a practice of what I will call critical black memory,
a mode of historical interpretation and political critique that has functioned as an
important resource for framing and mobilizing African American social and polit-
ical identities and movements. In order to illuminate the practices of critical black
memory, I focus here on the archive of lynching photographs. The almost surpris-
-
ages and their circulation through the Without Sanctuary book, traveling exhibit,

to consider lynching’s visual longevity, and compelled attention to the deep em-

1. Oliver Wendell Holmes, “The Stereoscope and the Stereograph” (Atlantic Monthly, June 1859),
(accessed September 16, 2009).
2. Ibid.
3. Geneviève Fabre and Robert O’Meally, “Introduction,” History and Memory in African-
American Culture (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), 5.
114 LEIGH RAIFORD

beddedness of these images in our present ways of seeing.4 Originally produced

as testimonies to the inevitability of white supremacy, these photographs soon
were employed by African Americans in the emergent anti-lynching movement.
From these early uses well into our contemporary moment, lynching imagery, and
lynching photography in particular, have appeared in African American news-
papers; in social movement literature, including posters, pamphlets, postcards,
and the like; in visual and conceptual art; and on t-shirts and album covers. Such
visual re-visitations and iconographic re-inscriptions provide an opportunity to
consider what we might call a black visual hermeneutics, a practice of historical
and aesthetic interpretation by artists and activists that engages the fecund ten-
sions produced by photography as a “mirror with a memory.” Put another way, the
archive of lynching photography constitutes a site of struggle over the interpreta-
tion of the history of racial violence and black citizenship in the United States.
The essay begins by outlining the persistence of lynching and its photographic
representations in black political and expressive cultures before turning to an ex-
plication of the concept of critical black memory. It then offers close readings of
social movement posters and contemporary works of art from the second half of
the twentieth century that make use of the archive of lynching photographs, in or-
der to consider the ways in which photography has functioned as a technology or
“ritual” of memory for African Americans. Such engagements with photography
as a “site of memory” suggest a mode of historical interpretation in which African
Americans simultaneously critique the “truth-claims” of photography while they

returned to these images over and over, and the particular forms that such refer-
encing and quoting take, demonstrate the necessity of reinterpreting the black

Finally, in turning attention to visual artists and activists, the essay emphasizes
Michel-Rolph Trouillot’s assertion that theories of history “grossly underestimate
the size, the relevance, and the complexity of the overlapping sites where history
[as a social process] is produced, notably outside of the academy.”5 As I hope to
demonstrate, critical black memory recognizes the salience of memory to African
American life, history, and culture. Critical black memory names, then, an ongo-
4. James Allen et al., Without Sanctuary: Lynching Photography in America (Santa Fe: Twin
Palms Publishers, 2000). The exhibit opened at the Roth Horowitz Gallery in New York City on
January 13, 2000 and was followed by shows at the New-York Historical Society, the Andy Warhol
Museum in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, the Martin Luther King, Jr. National Historical Site in Atlanta,
Georgia, and Jackson State University in Mississippi. Without Sanctuary has also engendered a
plethora of new scholarship. See especially the work of Jacqueline Goldsby, A Spectacular Secret:
Lynching in American Life and Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006); Shawn
Michelle Smith, Photography on the Color Line (Durham, NC: Durham University Press, 2004);
Dora Apel and Shawn Smith, Lynching Photographs (Berkeley: University of California Press,
2008); Dora Apel, Imagery of Lynching: Black Men, White Women and the Mob (New Brunswick,
NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004); and Ashraf Rushdy, “The Exquisite Corpse,” Transition 9, no.
3 (2000), 70-77.
5. Michel-Rolph Trouillot, Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History (Boston:
Beacon Press, 1997), 19.
 PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE PRACTICES OF CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY 115
ing, engaged practice through which a range of participants speak back to history

II. THE PERSISTENCE OF LYNCHING PHOTOGRAPHS

In the lynching epidemic that swept the United States, murdering at least 3,220
African American men, women, and children between 1882 and 1930, and near-
ly 5,000 people of all races and ethnicities until 1968, primarily in the South,
photography emerged as integral to the lynching spectacle.6 For those not close
enough to the scene, or for those not lucky enough to obtain clothing or body
parts, photographs proved the next best things. As postcards, trade cards, and
stereographs, lynching images held a strong popular commercial appeal. For pro-
fessional photographers, lynchings spawned a cottage industry in which picture
-
tage point, constructed portable darkrooms for quick turnaround, and pedaled
their product “through newspapers, in drugstores, on the street—even . . . door to
door.”7
present and in the surrounding areas, then photographs of lynchings helped extend
that community far beyond the town, the county, the state, the South, to include
whites nationwide and even internationally. Now all whites, rich or poor, male or
female, northern or southern, could imagine themselves to be master. This is true
not only of the images made professionally and sold commercially, but also of
those amateur photographs taken by everyday folk with cameras readily available
through a burgeoning photographic industry.
Lynching spectacles placed their black victims at the center for all to see; in so
-
nities for whom their warnings were intended. As whites were meant to identify
with the power of the photograph’s white participants, so too were blacks meant to

Tree” postcard was made from a photograph taken after a lynching in Sabine
County, Texas, June 15, 1908 (Figure 1). The poem beneath the image celebrates

resemble bleeding crosses:

This is only the branch of the Dogwood tree;
An emblem of WHITE SUPREMACY
A lesson once taught in the Pioneer’s school;
That this is a land of WHITE MAN’S RULE.
The Red Man once in an early day
Was told by the Whites to mend his way.
The Negro, now by eternal grace,
Must learn to stay in the negro’s place.
In the Sunny South, the Land of the Free,
6. Robert L. Zangrando, The NAACP Crusade Against Lynching, 1909–1950 (Philadelphia:
Temple University Press, 1980); and Goldsby, A Spectacular Secret.
7. Text from the Without Sanctuary exhibition at the New York Historical Society, May 12,
2000.
116 LEIGH RAIFORD

Let the White supreme forever be.

Let this a warning to all Negroes be,
Or they’ll suffer the fate of the DOGWOOD TREE.

The poem frames the story of

the black male victims who hang
silently in the woods. The bod-
ies pictured here may be those
of Jerry Evans, William Johnson,
William Manuel, “Rabbit Bill”
McCoy, Moses Spellman, Frank
Williams, Cleveland Williams,

African Americans, nine in all,

lynched in June 1908. The pres-
ence of these men amid the Texas
trees is naturalized by the absence

the picture’s frame. The men are

still and no longer threatening.
The quality of the image prevents
us from seeing the faces of these
men, and perhaps even identifying
them. However, the composition,
particularly the distance between

clear that they are to remain face-

Figure 1. The Dogwood Tree. less and without identity. They are
Copyright holder undetermined merely empty black vessels that
embody the foregone conclusion of white supremacy. With references to Native
American, and ultimately African American, genocide, the poem makes explicit
the tale the photograph is meant to convey: one of the inevitability of white su-

or his or her sense of powerlessness.8

This use of text mirrors the practice of hanging signs on or near the bodies
of lynching victims. A note pinned to the body of Joseph Riley read, “Let this
be a warning to you niggers to let white people alone or you will go the same
way.” “Warning” was written by hand on a lithographed postcard of this lynching.
Hanging from the foot of John Bailey was the macabre notice, “Please Do Not
Wake Him.” Further, the use of text indicates that the photograph does not “speak
for itself,” but rather has to be contextualized within a discursive narrative of
black bestiality. The constant framing of the image with words indicates that the
mythology needed to be retold and reinforced repeatedly even as the photographs
themselves became shorthand for the proper way blacks and whites were to relate

8. NAACP Papers, Part 7, The Antilynching Campaign 1912–1955, Series A, Antilynching

Investigative File, 1:292. NAACP Collection, Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
 PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE PRACTICES OF CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY 117
in the South. Indeed, these photographs reference a familiar narrative of spectacle
lynching that was often repeated and reinforced by mainstream newspapers of the
time. To tell the story of lynching in this way was meant to hold black communi-

American identity.9

lynching was occasioned by the Without Sanctuary traveling exhibit and its ac-
-
alence of these photographs in the early twentieth century. But as cultural historian
Jacqueline Goldsby so deftly argues, the various representations of lynching—in
words and in images—constitute a “spectacular secret,” one in which lynching’s
violence “could command the public’s attention and yet will the nation to a col-
lective silence.”10 Lynching photographs were consumed both privately—in the
form of postcards, stereographs, and cabinet cards—and publicly, in newspapers
and as part of nickelodeon displays.
By the beginning of the modern civil rights movement, lynching photographs
had fallen out of favor among whites, their primary consumers. But for African
Americans, lynching and lynching photographs have constituted a sort of “pri-
mal narrative” of the black experience of citizenship. Opposition to lynching
was a key site of political organizing following the period of Reconstruction;
the black women’s club movement at the turn of the nineteenth century, the Ni-
agara Movement, and the National Association for the Advancement of Colored
People (NAACP) all made anti-lynching activism the centerpieces of their social
11
The NAACP alone helped introduce three of the approximately
two hundred proposed federal anti-lynching laws (to this day there is no such
legislation). And lynching proved a persistent theme in African American cultural
expression.12 As for lynching photographs, beginning with the pioneering work of

“Lynch Law” and her 1895 pamphlet, A Red Record, these images appeared in
anti-lynching propaganda and pamphlets, as well as in reports of mob violence in
the black press. In such contexts, these images reconceived the received narrative
of black savagery as one of black vulnerability; white victimization was recast as

9. Allen et al., Without Sanctuary, 196.

10. Goldsby, A Spectacular Secret, 281.
11. Hazel Carby, Reconstructing Womanhood: The Emergence of the Afro-American Woman
Novelist (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987); Paula J. Giddings, Ida: A Sword among Lions
(New York: Amistad, 2009); Patricia A. Schechter, Ida B. Wells-Barnett and American Reform,
1880–1930 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001); and Zangrando, The NAACP
Crusade against Lynching.
12. In addition to Goldsby, Apel, and Apel and Smith, see Margaret Rose Vendryes, “Hanging
on Their Walls: An Art Commentary on Lynching, The Forgotten 1935 Art Exhibit” in Race
Consciousness: African-American Studies for the New Century, ed. J. Jackson Fossett and J. A. Tucker
(New York: New York University Press, 1997); Witnessing Lynching: American Writers Respond, ed.
Anne P. Rice (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2003); Abdul JanMohamed, The Death-
Bound-Subject: Richard Wright’s Archeology of Death (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2005);
Phyllis Jackson, “Re-Living Memories: Picturing Death,” IJELE: Art EJournal of the African World
5 (2002); Leigh Raiford, “The Consumption of Lynching Images” in Only Skin Deep, ed. C. Fusco
and B. Wallis (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2003), 267-273; and David Margolick, Strange Fruit:
The Biography of a Song (New York: Harper Perennial, 2001).
118 LEIGH RAIFORD

white terrorism. Though the actors and the fundamental story of crimes remained
the same, in this new forum photography changed the roles and the ultimate mor-
al. Though not the producers of lynching photographs, African Americans were
-
spond through appropriating and re-contextualizing these images.
After the era of “formal” lynching ended, that is with the beginning of the
modern civil rights movement, social movement activists and visual artists have
employed photographs of lynchings to re-narrate history, to memorialize past ra-
cial violence and terror, and also to mobilize against it and what it stands for in
their own historical moment. Whether to repair, redress, mourn, or call to action,
activists and cultural producers have returned repeatedly to “the sight of a black
[person] hanging from a tree,” making of it an icon.13 Such visual returns, I be-
lieve, indicate the central role of vision and visuality in black social movements.
Indeed, it is my contention that black visuality—”how we are able, allowed, or
made to see” blackness “and how we see this seeing or the unseen therein”—is
inextricable from African American movement efforts to change the conditions
of black people’s lives. 14 Not least of that to be transformed is the individual and

see blackness, the meanings we attach to black people, and the value we attach to
black life because of this “sight.” The persistent return to these images suggests
that the powerful and troubling archive of lynching photography is a constitutive
element of black visuality since these images began their intense circulation in the
years following the end of Reconstruction.
In sum, lynching as a “regime of racial terror” has played a formative role in
15
And the mechanical reproduc-
tion of lynching by way of the photograph has been central to the recounting and
reconstitution of black political cultures throughout the Jim Crow and post-Civil
Rights era. From the use of lynching photography in pamphlets by early twenti-
eth-century anti-lynching activists, to posters created by mid-century civil rights
organizations, to their deployment in contemporary art and popular culture, we
can see how this archive has been a constitutive element of black visuality more
broadly.

III. CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY: CHARTING THE CONSTELLATION

OF HISTORY, MEMORY, AND PHOTOGRAPHY

How do we account for these returns and revisitations? How do we understand

the convergences of history, memory, and photography, and their intersection in
-
ror with a memory, Holmes believed that photography, in presenting the skin or

13. Ida B. Wells, “A Red Record” [1895], in Southern Horrors and Other Writings: The Anti-
Lynching Campaign of Ida B. Wells, 1892–1900, ed. Jacqueline Jones Royster (Boston: Bedford
Books, 1997); Trudier Harris, Exorcising Blackness: Historical and Literary Lynching and Burning
Rituals (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984).
14. Hal Foster, “Preface,” in Vision and Visuality, ed. Hal Foster (Seattle: Bay Press, 1988), ix.
15. Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1993), 118.
 PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE PRACTICES OF CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY 119

like the hide of an animal after skinning, readily available for viewing. However,
rather than conceiving of photography as a mere repository of the past, both in-

photograph is imbued with a living engagement with the past. Or put another way:
-
able to and for re-viewing, reconsideration, and re-evaluation.
This dialectic is in keeping with notions of memory as an active process by
which people recall, lay claim to, understand, and represent the past. As French
historian Pierre Nora avers, “Memory is life . . . It remains in permanent evo-
lution.” Individuals and collectives are constantly reshaping memory, renewing
and retying, and sometimes undoing, in Nora’s words, our “bond to the eternal
present.”16 Indeed, memory is an active and integral element in the composition
of social and political communities. For social movements especially, memory is
never an end in itself but rather a tool to make sense of history, declare lineages,
clarify allegiances, and mobilize constituents.
We need, then, to consider memory as a mode of criticism “that makes visible
what has been obscured, what has been excluded and what has been forgotten.”17
What we might call a practice of critical black memory is one of many tools New
World blacks and African Americans in particular have employed as a response
-
ence of modernity. I employ the term “critical black memory” to invoke both

and Houston Baker, who emphasizes the critical capacity of a memory attuned
to “ethical evaluations of the past” with an eye toward revolution and distinct
from “the distraught sentimentality” of nostalgia.18 Critical black memory implies
the negotiation, the use,
memory is an essential site of political and social struggle.
Photography stands at the crossroads of history and memory. This intersection
-
tographs confound historians; history confounds photography.”19 Such a location
alerts us to the ways that we as scholars, particularly historians, engage photo-
graphs in our work. We tend to use photographs as illustrations, as evidence, as a

a social practice,” fully exploring the practices of looking or the historicity of the
photograph itself. Such an engagement requires a different kind of interpretive act.

16. Pierre Nora, “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire” in Fabre and O’Meally,
eds., History and Memory in African-American Culture, 285.
17. David Scott, “Introduction: On the Archaeologies of Black Memory” Small Axe 26 (June
2008), vi.
Illuminations (New York:
Schocken Books, 1968); Houston A. Baker, Jr., “Critical Memory and the Black Public Sphere,” in
The Black Public Sphere, ed. The Black Public Sphere Collective (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1995), 7.
Reviews in American History 26, no. 3
(1998), 567.
120 LEIGH RAIFORD

And indeed it challenges the way we interpret and interrogate other kinds of archi-
val sources. This is certainly the case of African Americans’ engagement with pho-

to the frames of the criminal, the pornographic, ethnographic, the comedic, or to

the margins of the sentimental portraits of whites.20 As demonstrated by “photog-
raphy’s other histories,” the multitude of photographic practices engaged by sub-
altern groups, African Americans too have used the technology to reconstruct not
merely individual and collective selves, but also racial and national histories.21
Critical black memory emerges out of and is motivated by both survival—the
continued ability to struggle and the faith that such struggle will secure a brighter
future—and failure—the persistence of peril and renewed forms of racial ineq-

the future while making critical assessment of the past and present. For African
Americans in particular, who have traditionally been denied access to formal his-
torical institutions, memory has been more than a mere repository of experience.

silences. It has attempted to suture continuity in the face of rupture and fragmenta-
tion. It has proffered futurity woven out of “the ineffable terror” of the past. As a
living entity, memory has proven critical to identity-formation and self-creation.
In W. Fitzhugh Brundage’s keen words, “the rituals of black memory represent a
form of cultural resistance.”22 And even more, black memory “implies a certain
act of redemption.”23
Black memory also describes and carries within it the failures of the past: the
failure to produce the desired political transformations, the failure to create or sus-
tain a culture of mourning or to successfully work through that mourning. Black
memory has also been a burden: it can turn experiences into icons, force racial
and gender conformity, elicit prescribed responses to racial events, and produce
an ambivalent myopia when it comes to recognizing political and social inequities
endured by other marginalized groups.
In the wake of the more than 3,000 lynchings that occurred in all parts of the
-
tivists have had to ask what narratives do we then produce to put the individual and
collective self, fragmented by trauma, back together?24 I argue that photographs
of lynching embody the will to survive and the anguish of failure entrenched in
critical black memory. Photography has been central to the narration of lynching
across the twentieth century, and lynching photography is nearly omnipresent in
the narration of black life in this long century as well. The lynching archive func-

20. Laura Wexler, Tender Violence: Domestic Visions in an Age of U.S. Imperialism (Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press, 2000).
21. Photography’s Other Histories, ed. Christopher Pinney and Nicholas Peterson (Durham, NC:
Duke University Press, 2003).
22. W. Fitzhugh Brundage, The Southern Past (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005),
10.
23. John Berger, About Looking (New York: Pantheon Books, 1980), 58.
24. Maurice Stevens, “Opening Remarks,” “Imagining Bodies: Visions of the Nation through
Race, Gender and Space,” symposium, University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, March 16, 2006.
 PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE PRACTICES OF CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY 121
tions as a site of struggle over how to memorialize the dead and how to organize
25

Survival comes in the retelling. Indeed, to be able to tell the tale means one has
lived. Likewise, to look at a photograph of the dead means that the viewer is liv-
ing and breathing. For James Cameron, a black man who survived a lynching that
took the lives of his friends Thomas Smith and Abram Shipp in Marion, Indiana in
1930, survival is most clearly articulated in the ability to recount the tale in both
written memoir and through engagement with the now well-known photograph of
Shipp and Smith hanging lifeless in front of the white Marion, Indiana crowd. “To
survive . . . is to immerse oneself in photographic representation,” writes David
Marriott, to distinguish between the (black) hands that hold the photograph and
the (black) body that hangs dead within the photograph’s frame. “Re-presenta-
26
And in Trudier
Harris’s estimation, keeping these images alive and in circulation demonstrates a
retelling of history, “an awareness that has survival at its basis.”27

IV. PHOTOGRAPHIC PRAXIS

Black artists, writers, and activists, including those who did not directly experi-
ence a lynching, have been motivated to revisit lynching as a primal narrative of
Jim Crow. For this group, the lynching photograph “provide[s] an occasion for

longing.”28 It is a way of wresting possession of the past, reclaiming the black

body in pain.
For civil rights and black power activists, lynching provided a key referent for
the continued terror experienced by African Americans whether in rural enclaves
or urban ghettos. Organizations including the Student Nonviolent Coordinating
Committee and the Black Panther Party made use of lynching photography in the
visual literature of their movements.29
Black Panther Party Minister of Culture and artist, Emory Douglas, used pho-
tography to place lynching within a longer historical continuum. In a photo col-
lage that appeared in the November 23, 1972 issue of The Black Panther, the
organization’s newspaper, Douglas cropped the well-known Lawrence Beitler

25. Like other archives of “atrocity photographs,” the uses of lynching photographs raise a host
of ethical concerns. Work on the circulation of Holocaust photography offers striking and insightful
Remembering to Forget: Holocaust Memory
through the Camera’s Eye (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998); Andrea Liss, Trespassing
through Shadows: Memory, Photography, and the Holocaust (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press, 1998); Susan Sontag, Regarding the Pain of Others (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux,
2003); and Susan A. Crane, “Choosing Not to Look: Representation, Repatriation, and Holocaust
Atrocity Photography” History and Theory 47 (October 2008), 309-330.
26. James Cameron, A Time of Terror: A Survivor’s Story (Baltimore, MD: Black Classic Press,
1982); David Marriott, On Black Men (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000), 3.
27. Harris, Exorcising Blackness, 187.
28. Saidiya V. Hartman, Scenes of Subjection: Terror, Slavery, and Self-Making in Nineteenth-
Century America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 7.
29. For a discussion of SNCC’s employment of lynching imagery, see Leigh Raiford, “‘Come Let
Us Build a New World Together’: SNCC and Photography of the Civil Rights Movement,” American
Quarterly 59, no. 4 (December 2007), 1129-1157.
122 LEIGH RAIFORD

photograph of the lynching of Thomas Shipp and Abram Smith, and tinted the
original photograph an electric and almost nauseating fuchsia (Figure 2). In the
space between Shipp and Smith’s corpses, Douglas added an advertisement for
the sale of “Virginia and Maryland Negroes” available for purchase, “low for cash
or, on time, for good city acceptance,” at a New Orleans slave house. As a result,
-
tice, as if he were raising his arm high to place a bid on this “likely slave.” In this

practice of spectacle lynching. The auction block and the lynching tree are both

eager whites.
For Douglas, the con-
nection is not merely
that between slavery and
Jim Crow; it extends
into the immediate post-
Jim Crow era and into
the future. Douglas left
Smith’s image untinted,
keeping its original black
and white tone. Smith’s
right hand seems to touch
the head of a seated el-
derly black man, and at
his knee, Douglas pasted
an image of two young
black toddlers. The di-
agonal line formed by
these four black males

descent rooted in the

enslaved/lynched black
man, and routed through
the defeated elderly man
who holds both hat and
crutches in hand. Like
Abram Smith, this man
Figure 2. Emory Douglas, “Freedom is a Constant has also been rendered
Struggle. © 2009 Emory Douglas / Artists Rights Society physically and socially
(ARS), New York disabled. The man’s free
hand grazes the raised

whether hand-drawn or in photographs, have always been prominent in Douglas’s

artwork. According to Douglas, “The kids were always an inspiration to everyone
 PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE PRACTICES OF CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY 123
in the party. That was the main focus of everything. . . . We always used to use that
quote from Mao in the early days, ‘Children make the revolution.’”30 Douglas’s
use of the lynching photograph in this collage produces a narrative whose vi-
sual and metaphorical arc begins with the lyncher/slave owner, crescendos with
the lynched black man, and descends into the powerless aged black man. It is a
story of white supremacy’s persistent pursuit and destruction of black masculin-
ity across generations. The narrative attempts to make whole the fractured black
male self by ending with two boys at the very beginning of their lives. “Real”

-
ed its spatial boundaries as well. The caption above the collage reads in capital let-
ters, “Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, California, New York, America!
Freedom is a Constant Struggle.” Mapping both the routes of African Americans’
migration and the terror that pursued them across history and region, the poster
erects a critical black memory born of failure but with survival as its goal.
As author and critic John Berger tells us: “Photographs are relics of the past,
traces of what has happened. If the living take that past upon themselves, if the
past becomes an integral part of the process of people making their own history,
then all photographs would reacquire a living context, they would continue to ex-
ist in time, instead of being arrested moments.”31 Visual artists and activists give
photographs a living context in part through the practice of intertextuality. Not
unlike pioneer activist Ida B. Wells’s placement of a photographic postcard of a
Clanton, Alabama lynching within multiple “discourses of truth” in her 1893 es-
say “Lynch Law,” later uses of a photograph often situate the photograph against,
and in conversation with, other representational forms: advertisements, material

song, “Freedom is a Constant Struggle,” Douglas also makes use of sound), as

well as other photographs. Such a practice recognizes the historical import of the
-
tion. But it also comprehends the photograph’s inadequacies, either its failure to
adequately represent the lynching death of blacks or its failure to intervene on

changing scopic regimes, acknowledging that the practice of how we look must
be historically contextualized.

V. THE BOUNDARIES OF CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY

The move to intertextuality forces us to ask: When and how does photography as
a site and source of black memory fail? When does memory no longer offer an op-
portunity for redress but become a burden? What are the costs of, in Hilton Als’s
words, “having to drag all those lynchings around?”32

30. Leigh Raiford, “Emory Douglas Meets CodeZ,” CodeZ (Summer 2007), http://codezonline.
com/featurearticle/2007/08/emory_douglas_meets_codez.html (accessed July 28, 2009).
31. Berger, About Looking, 61.
32. Hilton Als, “GWTW,” in Allen et al., Without Sanctuary, 41.
124 LEIGH RAIFORD

Failure comes in the retelling. Such repetition of the lynching narrative over
the course of the twentieth century has both compounded the violence of lynching
and has served to anesthetize audiences to black pain and suffering. The public’s
seeming insatiability for tales of racial violence and transgression has kept the tale
of the black male rapist/criminal, at the heart of the lynching narrative, alive and
well and circulating in our cultural and political imaginary.

as a site of political mobilization. Photographs of lynchings imaged the fragil-

ity and vulnerability of black bodies in the United States. Lynching photographs
helped discipline black and white communities alike to stay in their racially pre-
scribed places. As part of anti-lynching campaigns, photography instructed black
communities always to be reminded of the menace of mob violence. These im-
ages became shorthand for a wide range of ideologies and approaches to combat
mob violence. Through repeated use and circulation, they emerged as powerful
visual icons.33
and reinvented as the embodiment of racial ideology.

has emerged and evolved as visual shorthand, as a powerful icon paradigmatic

black male body. The costs of resituating political discourse within or on the black

violence against black women that are inextricable from yet submerged in the his-
tory of lynching.34 Put another way, does the iconization of the image of Shipp and
Smith render the lynching of African American women illegible? The iconicity of
the image of the lynched black male alerts us to the ways that black memory is

African American social movements. Indeed, the Black Panther Party poster that
I offered as an example of a critical black memory trades on the power of the
black male icon, and as a result it may occlude an understanding of contemporary
inequities in feminist terms. Douglas’s collage contributes to a narrative of racial
terror in which black men are the only victims and black boys the only hope. Such
a framing is endemic to much black nationalist (and black conservative) rhetoric.
-
tions and struggles against them. However, the Black Power and Civil Rights
movements navigate a visual and discursive terrain established in large part by the

black men will always take precedence in anti-racist activism.

So too must we wrestle with the ways that photography can relieve us of the
burden of memory: rather than initiating a critical process, photography can do the
work for us. In the contemporary context of hypermodernity and hypervisuality,
photographs do not necessarily represent and record something unique. Rather, in

33. For more on “the icon,” see Vicki Goldberg, The Power of Photography: How Photographs
Changed Our Lives (New York: Abbeville Press, 1991).
34. Hartman, Scenes of Subjection, 19.
 PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE PRACTICES OF CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY 125
a world of constant recording, photography, and its continual circulation through
cell phones, Flickr, and MySpace, loses meaning through “incessant acts of per-
sonalized repetition.”35 Like a needle stuck in the groove of a record, to use an
older technological metaphor, nagging repetition may force us to turn away.

print on paper, edition of 3, 57” x 54 1/4” each.

Courtesy of Koplin Del Rio Gallery, Culver City, CA

Two artists have produced conceptual work that attempts to address this turn-
ing away, each by redirecting our attention away from the lynching victim to the
violence of whiteness that makes a spectacle of the lynched body. Kerry James
Marshall’s Heirlooms and Accessories (2002), and Ken Gonzales-Day’s series
Erased Lynching (2006–2008) each mute or disappear the victims at the center of
lynching photographs. Marshall transforms the Beitler image of the 1930 Marion,
Indiana lynching into a triptych of three young white women (Figure 3). The pho-
tograph is produced three times, at 57-by-54 inches each, and the bodies of Shipp

barely visible, hazy. “Overall,” writes Shawn Michelle Smith, “the whited image
-
36
solidated and made manifest.” With each rendering, Marshall has highlighted
the face of a white woman in the crowd, always present in the original version
but left indistinguishable in the midst of the large crowd and the hanging corpses.
Lockets whose gold or silver necklaces loop languorously, ominously, around

from which black men hang, as the chains that bind them to white supremacy.
To underscore the stark contrast between the idealization of white womanhood

Marshall himself spoke of Heirlooms and Accessories, “This piece was sort of a

heirlooms and the things that their offspring inherited from them were inherited
from them because they were engaged in this kind of violence.”37 By extension,
these are heirlooms and legacies with which we all must contend.

35. Timothy J. Clark, “Art and Violence,” symposium, UC-Berkeley, January 31, 2007.
36. Shawn Michelle Smith, “The Evidence of Lynching Photographs,” in Apel and Smith,
Lynching Photographs, 29.
37. Kerry James Marshall, “An Artist’s History,” McNeil Lehrer News Hour, November 28, 2003.
126 LEIGH RAIFORD

Marshall employs a concise (and precise) visual language that forces us to

confront not only the history of lynching, but the modes of photographic repre-
sentation and scopic regimes that have routinized the ways we see race as well.
-
ness. In so doing, the white women are themselves foregrounded and spectacular-
ized in Marshall’s framing. And the framing he chooses is, despite its grand size,
disturbingly intimate: delicately detailed lockets, not unlike the velvet-lined cases
that held daguerreotypes, suggest the preciousness of the beloved one held close,

elevated to portraits, a form that, as John Tagg avers, functions as “a sign whose
purpose is both the description of an individual and the inscription of a social
identity; it is also a commodity, a luxury, an adornment, ownership of which it-
self confers status.”38 We as viewers must contend with our own familiarity with
lynchers, and particularly with a historical tendency not to implicate white women
in the maintenance and perpetuation of white supremacy. In the necklaces’ circling
of Shipp and Smith, we are also reminded of the intimacy, both real and imagined,
between white women and black men that fed lynching’s fury. Marshall effects
these intimacies through the transformation of the photographic genre, a change of
affect disciplined by a different visual register. Yet while the young white women
are at once singled out and individualized, the remainder of the scene is repeated
as a stage for each. This recalls the repetition of lynching through its mechanical
reproduction, that the bodies of the black men were deemed interchangeable for
the production of whiteness.
Finally, Heirlooms and Accessories speaks to a refusal to look and look and
look at lynching victims, at the exquisite corpses that give these photographs their
shape and purpose. For some black spectators in particular, the resurgence of the
lynching archive has produced a profound ambivalence, a simultaneous desire
to redress history and an anxious fear of continuing to make a spectacle out of
black suffering. Hilton Als most painfully and bluntly expressed his inability “to
determine the usefulness of this [the Without Sanctuary
pictures are documents of America’s obsession with niggers . . . This is what
makes me feel nigger-ish, I’m afraid: being watched.”39 Als’s phrasing is no doubt

under the weight of the white gaze explored by Frantz Fanon in Black Skin, White
Masks. Marshall’s own visual phrasing redirects the gaze, forcing a recognition of

faces of the white women become crisp, distinct, and literally darkened. Marshall
reminds us of the relational nature of race, how blackness gives whiteness its form

-
shall’s, asking what happens when lynched bodies are removed from the lynch-

2009).
38. John Tagg, The Burden of Representation: Essays on Photographies and Histories
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1988), 37.
39. Als, “GWTW,” 38, 41.
 PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE PRACTICES OF CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY 127
ing photograph—does it
cease to be an image of
a lynching? Without the
corpse, what then do the
-
nify? Gonzales-Day’s
series, Erased Lynch-
ing, emerged initially
out of archival research
in which he encountered
photographs of mob
violence in the western
United States. Looking
for the historical or aca-
demic text that would
place these images in
context, Gonzales-Day
found only silence. He

by this historical lacuna,

resulting in the academ-
ic book Lynching in the
West and the concep-
tual art pieces, Erased
Lynching. His research
revealed that over 800
people were lynched in
California alone be-
Figure 4. “Erased Lynching.” Courtesy of Ken Gonzales-
Day and Steve Turner Contemporary, Los Angeles tween 1850 and 1935.

form of control in the early years of statehood even before lynching grew in force

followed by Chinese and Native Americans; fewer than ten were African Ameri-
can.40 Despite the growth in scholarly and artistic work around white-on-black

book, Erased Lynching then speaks to the way that these victims and this history
have been overlooked and expunged.
Throughout Erased Lynching, Gonzales-Day appropriates historical images of
lynchings primarily of Mexican men in the years 1850 to 1935. He has digitally
removed almost all traces of the victims and the nooses from which they were
hung. What’s left are groups of whites, men mostly, arranged around trees and
telegraph poles, making awkward gestures toward seemingly empty space. In part
of the series Gonzales-Day maintains the original postcard size, preserving the
intimacy of images circulated to friends and family (Figure 4). Rather than enlarg-
40. Ken Gonzales-Day, Lynching in the West: 1850–1935 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press,
2006).
128 LEIGH RAIFORD

ing the photographs, as in Marshall’s Heirlooms and Accessories, Gonzales-Day

grid. Viewers then must come close to each, and they are overwhelmed by quan-
tity rather than size.
Erased Lynching also refers to Gonzales-Day’s own digital manipulation, a
conceptual piece that includes one image enlarged to 10-by-14-by-30 feet and

with mirrors and memory. In refusing to look at the body of the lynched, the artist
suggests that what we need is not further spectacularizing of the Other; rather,
-
cations and blindspots. The absence of the corpse alerts us to our own investment
in images of racialized suffering; like the mob members whose numbers we are
enfolded into, we become aware of our own expectations, predilections, and an-
ticipation. Erased Lynching works in part for contemporary audiences because it
is predicated on a visual familiarity with lynching photography that has the black
corpse at its literal and metaphoric center. In 2006, we know what a lynching
image looks like. Gonzales-Day’s series suggests that the lynching archive is a
shared one but only unevenly applied: what do we mean when we say “lynching”?
What images do we see? Anti-lynching photography, as a site of historical mem-
ory and memorialization, has offered for some a shared visual language through
which to speak about other photographic spectacles of racialized violence while
potentially foreclosing the differences of these histories.41 Reading history back

the history we repress (lynching) with the history we disavow (torture) . . . all the
photos should be read as documents of lynching.”42

VI. CONCLUSION

Lynching photography has been fundamental to seeing blackness, constituting a

crucial archive in the formation of black visuality and American identity. Afri-

unforgiving images reveals an ongoing challenge to dominant racialism, to the

which black looking is both unwanted and dangerous, and to a sustained commit-
ment to critical (and not so critical) memory practices. But lynching photography
also represents a crisis of representation, an archive whose cultural and political
life continues to be an antinomy, at once wholly true and, by its very nature, with-

41. Consider for example, the photographs of torture emerging from the U.S. prison in Abu
Ghraib, Iraq. See Hazel Carby, “A Strange and Bitter Crop: the Spectacle of Torture,” November 10,

and Susan Willis, Portents of the Real: A Primer for Post-9/11 America (New York: Verso, 2005).
42. Willis, Portents of the Real, 120.
 PHOTOGRAPHY AND THE PRACTICES OF CRITICAL BLACK MEMORY 129
out resolve. Why do we keep returning to these photographs? Why do we keep
telling ourselves this story with these images?
To offer a conclusion, I return to the space where lynching and photography
make their pact, and also the space in which they expose one another. In an
October 30, 1915 front-page article, a Chicago Defender writer found himself
or herself at this crossroads: “We print from the postal card to show you that
these things are facts that you can’t deny. . . . This lynching was never recorded,
although done three weeks ago: no press, no pulpit, white or black, to speak a
word.”43 The photograph reveals the silent indifference of both God and human to
the wanton killing of black people. And because we are forced to look both at the
photograph and within it, as both document and social practice, we are confronted
with photography’s own silent indifference.
Yet the photograph also occasions an opportunity for anti-racist critique, an
opportunity to enter a historical discourse that, as the evidence of the photograph
attests, has attempted to eviscerate black humanity, to silence it. Through the prac-
tice of critical black memory, as a method of limning and indeed intervening
into history, some artists and activists have suggested alternative and politically

University of California, Berkeley

43. “Father and Three Sons Assassinated for Raising the First Cotton, News Never Reached World
from Texas,” Chicago Defender (October 30, 1915), 1.