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DOI: 10.1177/1470357205055919

2005 4: 259Visual CommunicationDarren Newbury

Museum, Gold Reef City, and the Hector Pieterson Museum, Soweto'Lest we forget': photography and the presentation of history at the Apartheid

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A R T I C L E

Lest we forget:1photography and the

presentation of history at the Apartheid

Museum, Gold Reef City, and the Hector

Pieterson Museum, Soweto

D A R R E N N E W B U R Y

Birmingham Institute of Art and Design, University of Central England, UK

A B S T R A C T

Since the end of the apartheid dispensation in South Africa in 1994 there

have been many new memorials, exhibitions and museum displays that

have sought to represent and interpret the countrys recent history. This

article looks at two major and recently opened museums: the Apartheid

Museum at Gold Reef City in Johannesburg (opened in 2001), and the

Hector Pieterson Museum in Soweto (opened in 2002). The focus of the

article is the dominant role of photography in these museums, which is

itself an indication of photographys wider significance in South African

visual culture. The article also examines the visual economy of apartheid onwhich the museums depend, and the forms of photographic seeing

represented by the displays.

K E Y W O R D S

apartheid museums photography South Africa

I N T R O D U C T I O N

At a recent seminar on Photography, Politics and Ethics in Johannesburg,2Susan Sontag talked about being struck, on this her first visit to South Africa,

by the strong moral and ethical dimension within South African photography,

and the attention given to the politics of photographic representation. As an

outsider to South Africa I also share this interest in the close relationship

between the development of photography and social and political issues in

South Africa. This interest has two main aspects. First, there is a tradition of

photography developed in opposition to apartheid, which has a strong sense

of social and political responsibility, coupled with a refreshing lack of

cynicism.

3

Second, since 1994 photography has played an important role in

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articulating public histories of apartheid. Despite the critiques of humanism

and documentary realism that have become dominant in photographic

theory in recent years, there remains in South Africa a sense of the important

contribution photography can make, as part of a visual public sphere,

through its ability to tell stories about the past: a contribution that in another

context Eric Sandeen (1995) refers to as a faith in the revelatory powerof photography (p. 1). For contemporary South Africa, the power of

photography to tell the truth about the past is clearly linked to the process of

reconciliation. Jeremy Rose of Mashabane Rose Associates, architects for

both the Apartheid and Hector Pieterson Museums, explicitly links the

representation of the past to the purposes of the present when he argues that:

The stronger the negatives of the past are reflected, the more positive the

changes we are experiencing now seem to be (cited in Reilly, 2003: 15).

Photography is central to the presentation of historical narratives about

apartheid South Africa and is placed within a pedagogical framework,

educating a new generation of black South Africans about the history of thestruggle, and revealing what for many white South Africans were hidden

dimensions of the society in which they lived, both important tasks for the

building of a new South Africa.

Since the early 1990s, major museums, and some minor ones,4 have

been set up dedicated to remembering what happened in South Africa

between 1948 and 1994. Photography is a key, and in some cases the

dominant, element in these museum displays. This article focuses on two

relatively new museums the Apartheid Museum, Gold Reef City,

Johannesburg (opened in 2001) and the Hector Pieterson Museum, Soweto(opened in 2002). According to Coombes (2003), they represent a second

post-apartheid phase of national museum and monument construction, and

hence are the result of a far greater consensus than that represented in the

less resolved attempts at reinventing national history just prior to and after

the first democratic elections (p. 11). It is interesting nonetheless that in its

brochure the Apartheid Museum feels the need to announce that, It is an

unbiased and historically accurate accounting of modern 20th-century South

Africa, signalling the still contested nature of this terrain.

My primary reason for choosing to look at these two museums is for

the central role they give to photography. Both museums are dominated by,

and in fact inconceivable without, the photographic image. The museums

also represent substantial investments in public history for international and

local audiences. Although the relatively small number of local black Africans

who visit the museums has been a point of criticism, local school groups do

represent an important and sizeable constituency. The similarity in visual

design in both museums should also be noted; although they were funded

separately and have some differences, there is a great deal of consistency

between the two.

I want to do two things. First, to begin to unpack the visual economyof apartheid on which these museums rely. The notion of visual economy is

V i s u a l C o m m u n i c a t i o n 4 ( 3 )260



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developed from the work of Deborah Poole, and places emphasis on the

organization of the production and exchange of images, rather than relying

simply on an analysis of their visual content:

the word economy suggests that the field of vision is organised in

some systematic way. It is also clear that this organisation has as much

to do with social relationships, inequality, and power as with shared

meanings and community ... it also suggests that this organization

bears some not necessarily direct relationship to the political and

class structure of society. (Poole, 1997: 8)

For Poole, a visual economy has three levels: the organization of production,

encompassing both the individuals and the technologies that produce

images; the circulation of ... images and image-objects; and the cultural and

discursive systems through which graphic images are appraised, interpreted,

and assigned historical, scientific, and aesthetic worth (pp. 910). I do nothave space here for a comprehensive account of the visual economy of

apartheid; my purpose rather is to draw attention to the complex histories

of the photographs, and the implications of their original contexts of

production and circulation for an understanding of these museum displays.

Photographs from a range of different contexts are brought together in these

two museums in order to provide a unified narrative of apartheid and the

liberation struggle, which serves the purposes of commemoration and

reconciliation, and contributes to the creation of a new national identity. The

museums can be seen as sites of what James Young calls collected memory the many discrete memories that are gathered into common memorial

spaces and assigned common meaning. The approach taken here follows

Young, who uses the term in order to resist closure of meaning and to place a

greater emphasis on the work of collection and display: By maintaining a

sense of collected memories, we remain aware of their disparate sources ...

and of the ways our traditions and cultural forms continuously assign

common meaning to disparate memories (Young, 1993: xixii). By

removing the images from their original contexts of production and

circulation, for example the pages of illustrated magazines such as Drum or

anti-apartheid publications such as Sechaba or SASPU National,5 and placing

them on a museum wall, the visual economy that produced these images is

negated or obscured in favour of a more neutral sense of the photograph as

raw material or a window onto history.6 The museums represent new sites

for organizing the production and circulation of photographs. In their study

of the work of Leon Levson, Minkley and Rassool (1999) explore the way in

which Levsons work becomes repositioned, moving from native studies to

resistance documentary, as it is appropriated into a visual history of the real

conditions of social life of South Africa just before apartheid.7 Some of the

friction between these old and new economies, between the needs andexpectations of photographic practitioners and the projects represented by

N e w b u r y : P h o t o g r a p h y a n d t h e p r e se n t a t i o n o f a p a r t h e i d h i st o r y 261



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the museums, can be observed in the disputes over ownership and copyright

payments that have emerged in the creation of both museums.

Second, I want to analyse and comment on the significance of the

style of visual and photographic display. The article focuses on the visual

dimension of the museums, and considers some of the different visual genres

and practices that they draw upon in the presentation of apartheid history.Both museums have been influenced by the forms of display developed in

Holocaust museums. Like the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in

Washington, DC, these displays were created out of a need to narrate a

traumatic past in a highly charged contemporary context, where many

people still alive today have first-hand experience of the events concerned.

Also like the Holocaust museums, these museums were based on a

conceptual and narrative framework rather than a significant collection of

artefacts. Indeed, the creation of an artefact collection has become a

secondary role of the museums as they developed:

The US Holocaust Memorial Museum is a narrative historical

museum. Unlike most historical museums, it is based on a narrative

rather than on a collection of works of art and artefacts relating to

history. (Weinberg and Elieli, 1995: 49, original emphasis)

Its primary purpose is to communicate concepts, complex informa-

tion and knowledge, rather than merely to display objects of the

Holocaust. (Jeshajahu Weinberg, Director of US Holocaust Memorial

Museum, in Berenbaum, 1993: xiv)

Like the Holocaust museums, the apartheid museums are heavily

dependent on photographs to convey information and stories. It is these uses

of photography that I want to explore here through these two examples; just

as photographs are not simply raw material for creating histories, neither are

the forms of display themselves neutral. My intention is to develop an

understanding of the relationship between the photographs as products of a

particular social and cultural context and their representation in these

museums. A further issue of theoretical significance is the degree of

organized photographic and cultural activity that was part of the anti-apartheid struggle. This is not directly dealt with in these museums, but

clearly has an impact on the images that were available for selection.

In conclusion, the article reflects on some of the questions raised by

the museums re-use of images from the past, and how this relates to

contemporary photography in South Africa. Does the incorporation of

humanist documentary into these museums perhaps represent the final

destination of this particular style of photography?

T H E V I S U A L E C O N O M Y O F A P A R T H E I D

Photography was an important presence in the struggle against apartheid




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an individual; Omar Badsha ... is a product of the collective movement of

recent years (p. 60). The emphasis shifted away from valuing the individual

vision and creativity of the photographer, to asking how photography could

be used as a tool of struggle. For example, speaking for photography at the

Culture and Resistance festival, Peter McKenzie (1982) argued that: No

photographer can lay claim to any individual artistic merit in an oppressedsociety (p. 17). Although some may have been ambivalent or even hostile to

the title, this is often seen as the period of struggle photography, where the

photography itself was subservient to the needs of the movement. As Cedric

Nunn recalls: we were working in concert with the liberation movement, we

were focusing on issues that were issuing out of the United Democratic

Front.13 More dramatically, Peter McKenzie notes, I always used to say I

didnt have an AK, I had a Zenit B.14 Of course, this tension between the

individual and the collective, and the creative and the political, does not

disappear; in the post-struggle period it re-emerges strongly and in

interesting ways. As with Drum, though more explicitly, the emphasis ontraining black South Africans to be photographers, film-makers and so on is

also an important part of this practice there wasnt one photographic

darkroom in the township at that time ... our strategy was to actually create

infrastructure and a production base for the development of knowledge ...

for people to produce newsletters, for people to produce posters. In this way,

culture as well as photography can be viewed as a conceptual liberated

zone ... culture was a liberated zone, we controlled culture.15

I also consider a third source of archival material from the

photographic collection built up in London by the International Defence andAid Fund (IDAF).16 The collection contains work by Leon Levson, who

photographed in South Africa during the 1940s (see Minkley and Rassool,

1999), and Eli Weinberg, a trade union activist, photographing from the

1950s. In Weinbergs work one can see the earliest examples of struggle

photography: photographs, staged for the camera, of Nelson Mandela and

Walter Sisulu burning their passes, or of Walter Sisulu reading the speech of

the banned African National Congress (ANC) leader Albert Luthuli at a

meeting in Sophiatown in 1954.17 The photographic collection was part of

IDAFs publicity programme, the main aim of which was to keep the

conscience of the world alive to the issues at stake in South Africa,18 and

much of the day-to-day work was disseminating images of current events in

South Africa to the anti-apartheid movement across the world, and through

the international press. The aims of IDAF were political, and it did not have

an aesthetic agenda. Nevertheless, in their article on Levson, Minkley and

Rassool note how they were struck by the ways that the photographs often

implied a fascination and a delight in the act of photographic representation

itself (Minkley and Rassool, 1999). Similarly, Paddy Donnelly, who ran the

day-to-day business of the collection during the mid- to late 1980s, recalls

the impact of seeing the work of Eli Weinberg when it first arrived at theIDAF offices:




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It was just completely thrilling, because everyone was working in

35mm and the whole IDAF collection was pretty grotty 35 at best.

Sometimes original negs, and here were these fucking pristine 21/4

sharp, sharp, sharp, tonally beautiful. They were just so nice to print

out they felt so fresh you know ... I think he was an exceptional

photographer. Maybe not exceptional but certainly ... thank you for

using larger format you know, his quality of stuff was great.

In 1990 with the unbanning of the ANC and other anti-apartheid

organizations the IDAF photographic collection was returned to South

Africa, where it is now housed at the Mayibuye Centre, University of the

Western Cape. The archive has been used to create photographic

exhibitions19 as well as supplying images to a number of museums.

T H E A PA R T H E ID M U S E U M , G O L D R E EF C I T Y,

J O H A N N E S B U R G

A white person is one who in appearance is, or who is generally

accepted as, a white person, but does not include a person who,

although in appearance obviously a white person, is generally

accepted as a coloured person. (Population Registration Act 1950,

cited in the Apartheid Museum)

If anyone was in any doubt as to the importance of the visual to the

functioning of apartheid, and arguably perhaps to its ultimate demise, then a

visit to the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg should very quickly dispelany uncertainty. The convoluted thinking in this quotation from the

Population Registration Act 1950, which refers to a test applied in the

classification of persons into racial categories by the apartheid system,

indicates both the significance of visual difference to apartheid and at the

same time the difficulties implementing such a system created in practice. It

is perhaps fitting that the experience of the museum for any visitor is both

overwhelming and overwhelmingly visual; it is this visual experience that I

want to consider.

The Apartheid Museum at Gold Reef City opened in November 2001

(Figure 1). The museum is a significant venue in the presentation of the

history of apartheid South Africa, both for tourists and for the South African

population. The process that led to the creation of the museum began when

the holding company Akani Egoli bid for a casino licence for Gold Reef City.

Gold Reef City is the site of a former gold mine just south of Johannesburg,

not far from Soweto. Redeveloped in the 1990s, it now has a theme park, a

casino and a number of restaurants, as well as the museum. In order to

get the casino licence, Akani Egoli was also obliged to finance a social

responsibility project. Although the initial idea was for the creation of a

cultural village on this site, the proposal evolved over an 18-month periodinto what is now the Apartheid Museum.20 The company financed the




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creation of the museum and provided two years operating costs. Following

the end of the two-year period the museum now exists as an independent

not-for-profit company, with Akani Egoli providing a nominal contribution.

However, although now independent, the museums association with the

casino remains an issue. The origins of the museum and its siting in the

context of a casino and a theme park have led to criticism of the lack ofseriousness afforded the subject matter by this context (Sean OToole, 2002,

describes the museum as a mandatory conscience foisted on a pleasure

seeking public), the inappropriateness of consumer capitalism as a sponsor

of the museum, and its exclusivity as a place for mainly middle-class South

Africans and international visitors.21 The architects were aware of the

dissonance created by the setting as they sought to ensure a dignified and

deeply contemplative experience:

Analogous to a deep gash or cut in the landscape, the strong forms of

the building are partially submerged into the ground, the grass-

covered roof (recalling the veld that existed before gold was

unearthed in Johannesburg) and earthed terraces concealing the

theme park setting in favour of a more considered view of the city.

(Castle, 2003: 49).

The lack of connection with black South African communities has

also been a point of criticism; as Joseph OReilly (2004) notes, the museum

was assembled and organised by a multidisciplinary team of curators,


Figure 1 Exterior view of the Apartheid Museum, Gold Reef City, Johannesburg.All

photographs by Darren Newbury. Photographs of Apartheid Museum used withpermission of the museum.



10/38

historians, film-makers and designers, little or no attempt was made to

involve outside communities in its development or display (p. 30). The

museum is addressing some of these criticisms: staff would point to

the number of school groups that now visit the museum, and in 2003 the

museum entered into an agreement with the Gauteng province education

department.

22

There is also the perception amongst museum staff thatassociation of the museum with the casino is a criticism that emanates more

from a cultural elite than from ordinary visitors. In one way, the context of

the museum is not inappropriate as it is in precisely this context that, as a

contemporary museum, it will have to compete. Both of the museums

discussed here are committed to encouraging the growth of a culture of

museum-going amongst black South Africans. Inevitably this will take place

in a context where other popular cultural attractions are also targeting the

same audience. Furthermore, there are strong arguments for seeing popular

forms of cultural display as part of the same field as more traditional

museums. Witz et al. (2000) argue that popular culture the festival, thetourist spectacle, television productions, visual landscapes, dramatic

performances and their scripts should be the concern of historians, and

that rather than burying oneself in a morass of despair and pessimism,

South African historians should seize the opportunity, visualize their work in

the public domain and proclaim a new historiographical school (pp. 267).

Whatever one thinks of its origins and context, the museum does demand to

be taken seriously.

At the heart of the museums strategy is a faith in the documentary

tradition to enable visitors to see and experience history for themselves; thevisual and experiential is central to the way in which the museum presents

itself to its visitors:

Using documentary pieces of film, texts, audio and live accounts you

will experience for yourself the early part of the last century ... Feelthe

plight of a people subjected to forced removals, political executions

and imprisonment. Witness the beginning and increase of black

consciousness in South Africa and see the consequences of the 1976

Soweto student uprising. (Apartheid Museum brochure, emphasis

added)

In this way, the rhetoric of the display echoes that of the anti-apartheid

photography discussed earlier: to serve as a witness to events,23 and to impact

on the conscience of those who saw the images. It is worth noting that this

process of fostering in the visitor an emotional identification with the victims

of apartheid assumes an audience who have not experienced apartheid first

hand, and for whom the museum is an educational experience. This

approach is comparable with that developed at the US Holocaust Memorial

Museum: Visitors project themselves into the story and thus experience itlike insiders while at the same time remaining at a distance, with the




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intellectual perspective of outsiders (Weinberg and Elieli, 1995: 49). At the

same time, there is an inevitable ambivalence about this approach; as in the

context of Holocaust representations, the process of fostering identification

with the experience of those involved is both necessary, but always

insufficient.24 The orientation, in the Apartheid Museum brochure, to the

education of visitors who have little experience of the events described might

be contrasted with some of the exhibits at District Six Museum in Cape

Town (where there is also a considerably more intimate and vernacularphotographic aesthetic), which imply an active participation on the part of

those forcibly removed (Coombes, 2003: 11648).25

The Apartheid Museum is extensive and requires the visitor to spend

the best part of a day, in fact it probably requires several visits to really do it

justice. I intend here to draw attention to a number of important visual

elements.

The initial processing of visitors provides a form of psychological

preparation for what follows, and invites identification with the victims of

the apartheid system. At the ticket office, visitors are handed on a randombasis an entrance card labelled in the terminology of apartheid as either


Figure 2Segregated

entrance to the

museum.



12/38

blankes (white) or a nie-blankes (non-white) that determines which of the

two turnstiles must be used to enter the main part of the museum.26 For

first-time visitors to the museum, this causes mild disorientation as one is

not sure where others in the group are going or for how long you will be

separated, and provides a lesson, albeit a gentle one, in the system of

apartheid that is the museums subject. Once through this segregated

entrance, one enters a short, narrow passage, made of the steel mesh used

throughout the museum, lined with enlarged images of identity passes(Figure 2); at the end of the passage, where the separate pathways come

together once more, there is a life-size photograph of the Classification

Board, an imposing image showing four white men sitting behind a table

facing the viewer (Figure 3). By implication they are there to decide upon

racial classification and hence the life chances of those who stand before

them. Although the original source is not acknowledged here, the image

(cropped differently) was originally used in Drum magazine (July 1956),

telling the story of Thomas Holyoake, a coloured man who was reclassified

as a native, and then on appeal proved his coloured status.27

The absurdityof apartheid was an ongoing theme in Drum, though it is interesting to note


Figure 3 The

Classification

Board. Original

image reproduced

courtesy of Bailey

African HistoryArchives.



13/38

that the kind of ironic humour that defined Drums style is here replaced by a

more serious treatment.

Leaving the Classification Board display, one is then led outside once

more, where there is a ramp leading up to the main museum building

(Figure 4). Two contrasting visual points are made here. First, the ramp is

occupied by several full-length mirrors with images of people (a diversegroup of contemporary South Africans), challenging the visitor to confront

his or her own identity (Castle, 2003: 50). Second, off to the right-hand side

are small alcoves with images from the colonial period, including a group of

South African Bushmen28 (prisoners forced to do hard labour) photographed

in Cape Town in the late 19th century (Figure 5), as well as rock art drawings,

some of which show white settlers in a characteristic pose with hands on

hips. The number of different ways of seeing encountered just in this

introductory section of the museum, and the interplay between them, alerts

one to the significance of different visual genres. What might be thought of

as the surveillance gaze of 19th-century colonial photography or of theClassification Board with its power of visual scrutiny is turned back on itself

in the stylized depictions of white settlers, or in the irony of the Classification

Board image originally used in an article in a magazine for black Africans

pointing out the absurdity of the classification process.

Inside the main building there is an opportunity to see a short film on

the colonial history of South Africa, ending in the election victory by the

Nationalist party in 1948 and the beginning of the apartheid system. One is

therefore primed to leave the auditorium to continue this story. The


Figure 4 The ramp leading up to the main museum building.



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circulation path of the museum is organized by the timeline of apartheid

from 194894, and at the time of my visit (April 2003) space had been

allocated for a new display on the work of the Truth and Reconciliation

Committee. The museum depends heavily on still photography, many images

for example from Baileys African History Archives, and monitors showing

film footage from the 1940s on, as well as more recent television newscoverage (much of which would not have been seen in South Africa at the

time). Towards the latter part of the narrative the austere black-and-white

footage gives way to a visual celebration of struggle culture, with a colourful

array of T-shirts, posters and banners:

What you saw happening after UDF [United Democratic Front] was

incredibly rich ... thousands of posters and T-shirts ... I mean it was

amazing I think for white people to actually come to the notion that a

T-shirt can make actually a hell of a difference, because white people

didnt actually understand that for a black person to wear a T-shirtthat says down with Apartheid was an incredible act of defiance.

(Gordon Metz, 21 February 2004)

The centrepiece of the museum photographically is the room devoted

to reproductions from Ernest Coles House of Bondage (1968) (Figures 6

and 7). Born in 1940 in Eersterust, a black township to the east of Pretoria,

Cole began photographing in the mid-1950s, and worked for Drum

magazine for a period from 1958. According to Cole, seeing the work of


Figure 5 South African Bushmen photographed in Cape Town in the 19th century.



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Henri Cartier-Bresson inspired him to work on a book. The images were

made from the mid-1950s up until Cole left South Africa in 1966, taking hispictures with him to be published for the first time in New York by Random

House the following year. The book is a substantial and powerful

contribution to this documentary genre, and the equal of any of the

publications that came out of the more frequently referenced American

Depression work. Following its publication it was banned in South Africa,

although several copies did find their way back into the country to friends of

Coles,29 as well as to those interested in photography. It is therefore pleasing

to see one of the major photographic critiques of apartheid given such

prominence. The museum display reproduces pages from the book as large

image and text panels. Given that the negatives are lost and the whereabouts

of the prints uncertain, as well as the scarcity of the book itself (another

edition was published in London in 1968, but it has not been reprinted

since), this was perhaps a logical choice. But it is not an uncontroversial one.

The book is divided into 15 sections (e.g. The Mines, Police and Passes,

Whites Only) each accompanied with text written in collaboration with Life

editor Thomas Flaherty, and with an introduction by journalist Joseph

Lelyveld. Coles voice and vision is therefore mediated. It is not clear precisely

how Cole would have liked the work to be displayed; however, it seems quite

likely that he would have preferred a photographic display without the textfrom the book.30


Figure 6 Entrance to the exhibition of Ernest Coles House of Bondage. Original image

reproduced courtesy of the Ernest Cole Trust.



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Both here and in the Hector Pieterson Museum, which I discuss later,

there is a literal and symbolic appropriation of ways of seeing in the form of

the surveillance footage produced by the security services. Although anti-

apartheid photography provides a substantial proportion of the photography,

film and video footage in the museum, material from government sources

also became available after the fully democratic elections in 1994. In the

centre of the museum is one of the few artefacts a yellow Casspir armoured

vehicle of the kind that security forces frequently used in the townships. The

visitor is invited into the back of the vehicle to view footage as seen through

the eyes of the security forces patrolling a township. Once more, the power

associated with particular ways of seeing is invoked and at the same time

reconfigured.The exhibition ends with a series of monitors showing ordinary

contemporary South Africans talking to camera about aspects of their lives

or reflecting on the recent history of the country (Figure 8). This section

illustrates the idea of diversity and reconciliation. Visually it is worth noting

that the black-and-white social documentary style of the earlier period

(within which the role of the photographer as a witness to social and political

events is crucial) gives way, as the display turns its attention to the new

post-1994 South Africa, to a more personal and confessional mode of

documentary.

31

From here one exits into the quiet and solitude of themuseum gardens (Figure 9).


Figure 7 Exhibition of Ernest Coles House of Bondage. Original images reproduced

courtesy of the Ernest Cole Trust.



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memorial to the anti-apartheid struggle. Although the Soweto uprising and

the death of Hector Pieterson (and others like him) clearly warrants

commemoration, without Sam Nzimas photograph32 of the 13-year-old

Hector being carried through the streets, the museum would not take the

form it does (Figure 11). Pieterson was not the first to die on 16 June; that

was Hastings Ndlovu who was shot as he crossed Orlando West bridge witha group of students on the morning of June 16 (Hector Pieterson Museum).

But the power of the photographic image means that it is Pieterson rather

than Hastings Ndlovu who is remembered.33 The image of Pieterson very

quickly became an icon of the Soweto uprising. Peter McKenzie (8 March

2004) attributes to this image his decision to become a photographer, in large

part because it showed him the political value of images.

Prior to the museum opening in 2002, the site had already been used

for an exhibition in memory of the 1976 Soweto uprising. On the 10th

anniversary, a temporary exhibition of photographs by Peter Magubane and

many other photographers was held in a number of containers.34 Accordingto curator Ali Hlongwane, these earlier exhibitions helped to create an

awareness of the need for a more permanent memorial.35 In 1992, a

memorial was also erected at the site by the ANC Youth League (Figure 12).

In contrast to the Apartheid Museum, which is located in a clearly defined

recreational space on the edge of Johannesburg, the Hector Pieterson

Museum is situated in Soweto.36 This is an important difference and

something one might contrast to the purely imaginative identification


Figure 10 Outside Hector Pieterson Museum, Orlando West, Soweto.



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provided by the entrance procedure at the Apartheid Museum: tourists

visiting this museum have at least to acknowledge the reality of

contemporary South Africa, and recognize that the legacy of apartheid has

not simply disappeared, though I suspect the brown heritage-style signposts

that indicate the route to the museum provide a reassuring sense of

familiarity to international visitors and tourists. However, as well as needing

to attract international visitors, the relationship of the museum to the localcommunity is also an important concern:


Figure 11 Hector Pieterson. Photograph by Sam Nzima. Photographs of the Hector

Pieterson Museum used with permission of the museum.



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The bigger challenge is the ordinary person who lives across [from]

here, who passes all the time to go to the shop ... there are twoattitudes to it. One attitude tends to say its for tourists ... the other

attitude is we know it, we were there, we saw it, and then the

challenge for us is how do we bring that person to it even if he knows

this story, all of us can say we know the story, but ... whats new in the

story ... How do we capture that memory? (Ali Hlongwane, 5 March

2004)

In contrast to the Apartheid Museum, for those who run the Hector

Pieterson Museum its relationship to the local community was an issue that

was keenly felt, and which has some very clear practical implications for thesafety of visitors and respect for the building. The location of the museum in

Orlando West means that it must continually make and remake this

relationship.37 As part of this process, the museum runs a programme of

workshops, lectures and events. Nevertheless, tourists clearly remain central,

and the museum is now part of most Soweto township tours.

In its architectural style the red brick building reflecting the

materials used in Soweto and many South African townships38 and in

the design of the displays, the Hector Pieterson Museum is very similar to the

Apartheid Museum. This is unsurprising given that the same architects anddesigners were used for both projects. The main difference between the two


Figure 12 Hector Pieterson Memorial and photograph.



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is the opportunity afforded to the Hector Pieterson Museum for acknowledging

and exploiting its location visually. At the entrance to the museum the

visitors gaze is directed along a thin line of indigenous rooigras (red grass),

which extends from the museum entrance towards the spot where Hector

Pieterson was shot (Figure 13). This positioning implicates the visitor in the

scene and prompts reflection on what it means to look along a line of sightand then shoot someone, or to witness that shooting as the photographer

did.39 Visitors, particularly white visitors, are therefore positioned

simultaneously as witness and perpetrator. Inside the museum, large

windows provide a view onto the surrounding area, significant elements of

which are identified, revealing the layers of history (Ali Hlongwane, 5 March

2004) and their contribution to an understanding of the events of 1976

(Figures 14 and 15). This is the most powerful aspect of the museums visual

display, and signals what is a recurring theme: the appropriation of the

visual.My main interest here lies in the different visualphotographic genres


Figure 13 The line

in the ground joins

the entrance of the

Museum to

the point where the

clash with policeoccurred and

Hector Pieterson

was shot. Hector

Pieterson Museum.



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that the museum draws upon, and the way this is shaped into an overall

scheme, but it is also important to understand the narrative construction of

the museum display. The aim of the museum is to narrate the run-up to the

events of 16 June 1976 and the events that followed from that day. However,

the perspective from which those events are told is important. One of the key

issues for this museum, as with many other new museums in South Africa, is

the relationship of the narrative to contemporary politics.40 Many

participants in the events of 1976 later became important figures in the ANC,

and the museum was therefore very conscious of the dangers of the narrative

being read as a party political one. To avoid this perception, the curatorial

team decided to focus on the stories of the students and the particular issue

of Afrikaans teaching that provided the point of confrontation:

There was a likelihood that the story could be told from a party

political point of view and we consciously said this is not a story ofparty politics, it is the story of students ... they were grappling with


Figure 14View of

Soweto from

Hector Pieterson

Museum.



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the problem of Afrikaans in class, they knew nothing about Lenin and

Karl Marx, and never even knew about ANC or PAC. It was just the

realities they were faced with as young people at the time ... students

were concerned with the immediate issue that was affecting them.

They had exams coming, they had to suddenly start reading Afrikaansin mathematics and in history, and that just didnt make sense. The

very teachers that were supposed to be teaching them Afrikaans were

themselves grappling with the language as they had never used it as a

medium of instruction. (Ali Hlongwane, 5 March 2004)

The museum therefore foregrounds a humanist perspective the

story of individuals who are within a particular context (Ali Hlongwane, 5

March 2004) rather than making an explicitly political analysis. This is

supported and informed by the photography; the style of its presentation

reinforces the association with the humanist paradigm in photography which

was very influential on the work of photographers such as Peter Magubane

and Alf Kumalo, whose work is strongly represented in the museum.

Like its counterpart at Gold Reef City, the Hector Pieterson Museum

draws on a range of different photographic genres in the construction of its

narrative. In this process of decontextualization and recontextualization, the

particular photographic practices recede in favour of an emphasis on the

content of the image. A majority of the photographs are printed to large sizes

and mounted directly onto the wall; there is no framing. This style of display

makes the most of photographic reproducibility and maximizes their impactas images (Figures 16 and 17), whilst at the same time it minimizes any sense


Figure 15View of Soweto from Hector Pieterson Museum.



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Figure 16 Hector Pieterson Museum.

Figure 17 Hector Pieterson Museum.



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of the photograph as an artefact with a particular history. This form of

photographic display also serves the pedagogical purpose of the museum; the

large images provide the opportunity for groups of schoolchildren to study

the picture while a teacher or guide talks to them.41 The photographs are

conspicuously not treated as artefacts. It is significant that the image around

which the museum is constructed is not shown in any of its original contextsof publication, and, other than being credited, there is very little information

in the museum about Sam Nzima or the other photographers whose work is

on display. This was a quite deliberate strategy: the photographers were

important witnesses to what was happening, but we deliberately left them

out to try and go for the actors (Ali Hlongwane, 5 March 2004). It also

contrasts with the exhibition on the Treason Trial at MuseumAfrica,

Newtown, Johannesburg, where there is a room devoted entirely to the

photographers who covered the trial (mostly for Drum magazine and Golden

City Post).

It is useful at this point to consider the main photographic genres thatthe museum deploys. The dominant genre is unsurprisingly the black-and-

white documentary or photojournalistic style of photography. The museum

space is dominated by very large wall-mounted and unframed reproductions.

Although some of this work is taken from international press coverage

(which itself has a small section), the strength of the display comes in part at

least from the work of black photographers and the access they had to the

townships to record the protests and the violence. Peter Magubane and Alf

Kumalo are particularly important photographers in this respect. They had

started their photographic careers at Drum and Golden City Post, and in 1976were both working for the mainstream press (to a large extent the white press

depended on images supplied by black photojournalists). Both were involved

in the early discussions about the museum. In addition to images of street

protests, there are other documentary style images, for example a photo-

essay on the security services,42 and a powerful photograph of a classroom of

black schoolchildren. The latter is among the largest reproductions in the

display and derives its power from the tension between the humanism of a

shared moment of reading and the oppression represented by the sparsely

furnished classroom (the children sat three to a desk and sharing books) and

the issue of language, which was the catalyst for the Soweto uprising. There is

also a small alcove with a window overlooking the site of the shooting, and a

photograph of a student who has had to use a wheelchair since being shot

in 1976 visiting Pietersons grave (Figure 18).

Working in relation to this dominant narrative of the immediate

protests are a number of other photographic genres. The early struggle

photography of Eli Weinberg is referenced on one of the monitor displays,

which includes an image from 1953 of a protest against the planned forced

removals from Sophiatown and its redevelopment as a white suburb. The

photograph is of a staged ANC protest showing a coffin which bears a bannerwith the phrase we mourn the death of Sophiatown on its side (contact




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Photograph[y] is ... very popular with the African communities ...

people always want to see themselves, their reflections of themselves,

and if you go to peoples homes you get quite a lot of pictures that ...

they took of themselves, and we do have quite a few images of people

... we also try to pick up photographs where people then pose for

pictures, and say how do they project themselves outside of their

objective, which ... reflects people, what they hoped to be in the future

in life.

Life in Soweto ... that attempts to say that, in spite of the fact that

there was oppression, they still got married, people still had birthday

parties, people had those things, and you can see that reflected in

photographs that really were taken also by just ordinary photographers

not professional people who had a market or a newspaper market in

mind. On the left, where we show the origins of Soweto, contrasts

people in the slums and underground in the mines, with photographs

like people who went into the studio and say I would like to take a

picture. (Ali Hlongwane, 5 March 2004)

Many of these still images are presented as sequences on video monitors.


Figure 19 Life in

Soweto, still

photograph

sequence. Hector

Pieterson Museum.



28/38

As in the Apartheid Museum, there is an appropriation of visual

images produced from the other side of the conflict. A number of artefacts in

the museum come from government archives, for example placards used in

the protests (Figure 20). The museum includes photographs taken on behalf

of insurance agencies (for whom the Soweto uprising was a story of the

destruction of property) and photographs from the police archives, inparticular aerial photographs. In the visual research in the police archives, the

museum researchers also noticed where the camera had been used to follow

particular individuals; some of these individuals had later been shot (Ali

Hlongwane, 5 March 2004). This is represented visually in the museum by a

photograph of an unmarked car used by police as a sniper vehicle. The

display itself to a large degree ignores or obscures the different photographic

practices these represent in favour of providing an overall narrative.

Although a credits board appears at the end of the museum, very little

information is provided alongside the images themselves.

There are also a number of other elements in the display that appearless resolved. For example, the museum has a small auditorium showing a

performance of the poem Africa My Beginning by the poet Ingoapele

Madingoane, filmed at the Soweto YMCA around 1976. Although the arts

played an important part in the liberation struggle, especially in the 1970s

and 1980s, this is the only element of this kind in the museum.

One particularly interesting element is the section on Life in White


Figure 20 One of the few artefacts in the museum. Hector Pieterson Museum.



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ending of apartheid, this has led to numerous disputes between photographers

and the archive, which is privately owned by the Bailey family (Jim Bailey

was the original proprietor), about who owns the negatives, who is able to

grant permission to use the images and what level of payment is appropriate.

Similarly, in the 1980s, when Afrapix photographers were sending images to

IDAF in London, and supplying them for use in ANC publications, imageswere not credited and there was no direct payment involved. Should such

images produced in the service of the liberation struggle continue to be free

for use in the post-apartheid period? The level of payment was one of the

main subjects of discussion between photographers and the Hector Pieterson

Museum.43 The need to balance the public historical value of these images

with the rights, and in some cases economic needs, of photographers and

their families is an ongoing issue for South African photography and for

museums such as these.

Finally, what do these museums tell us about the future of photography

in South Africa? There are two issues: the fate of humanist documentary in aSouth African context and the necessity of a new photographic aesthetic after

the austerity of struggle documentary.

Both museums draw extensively on the kind of photojournalism and

documentary photography that developed in an international context during

the 1930s and 1940s, and which took root, at least in part through Drum

magazine, in South Africa during the 1950s. Although the particular

articulation of this photographic humanism in the South African context

deserves greater consideration than I have space for here, the faith in

photography as a means of telling the truth about society, the emotional andmoral appeal to the viewer, the idea of the photographer as witness and the

twin focus on the lives of ordinary people and major political events are all

aspects of these museum displays. The displays draw visually on photographic

modernism with an emphasis on reproducibility and the manipulation of

size. Images are enlarged and mounted unframed onto the wall, or shown as

sequences on video monitors. The particular contexts within which

photographs were originally made and shown are subservient to an overall

message, one that is characterized by reconciliation, a sense of hope for the

future and faith in humanity. The trust Edward Steichen placed in

photography when he created the Family of Man exhibition is echoed here44

I believe it is potentially the best medium for explaining man to himself

and to his fellow man.45

However, at the same time, perhaps these museums represent the last

expression of humanist photography as an important presence in the public

sphere? The peculiar circumstances of South Africa under apartheid the

cultural boycott, the late arrival of television, and the dehumanization of

apartheid itself provided a context in which photographic humanism led a

protected existence, where its moral force was a necessary corollary of the

goal of citizenship and where the criticisms of passivity and sentimentalismthat were levelled elsewhere did not apply.




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In the new South Africa, photography is finding a new rationale, and

for many photographers this lies in a more personal and subjective direction

and a renewed interest in aesthetic experimentation. The personal and

subjective narrative documentary mode is one of the defining features of

post-struggle photography. For example, former struggle photographer

Cedric Nunns most recent project has involved an exploration of familyhistory (Van der Merwe and Faber, 2003). Similarly, Peter McKenzie

describes his approach to photography after 1994, when he started working

exclusively in colour, as trying to jerk myself out of this documentary

mentality and try to do documentary but in another way (Cedric Nunn, 26

February 2004; Peter McKenzie, 8 March 2004). This is echoed in the

museums themselves, in the video monitors with their talking heads at the

Apartheid Museum or the archaeology of urban African vernacular

photography at the Hector Pieterson Museum. The subjective documentary

mode is also developed in the work of many contemporary South African

photographers, as for example in Zwelethu Methethwas rich and colourfulphotographs of informal settlements in Crossroads, Cape Town. What these

developments signal is the dissipation of the grand narratives of apartheid

and liberation, and of the photography that reflected these concerns, and a

reworking of photographic humanism to serve more multiple, diverse and

conflicting stories.

A C K N O W L E D G E M E N T S

This article is part of a research project on South African photography, which

has received support from the United Kingdom Arts and HumanitiesResearch Board and Birmingham Institute of Art and Design, University of

Central England. The South African National Research Foundation also

funded research visits to South Africa in 2002 and 2003. I must thank Rolf

Gaede, Heidi Saayman, Nick Stanley and the anonymous reviewers for

reading and commenting on earlier versions of this article. They do not of

course bear any responsibility for any inaccuracies or faults that remain. I

must also thank Gail Behrmann for assistance with copyright permissions.

An earlier version of the article was delivered at the 2nd International

Language Comunication Culture Conference, 247 November, InstitutoSuperior Politcnico, Beja, Portugal.

N O T E S

1. Front cover, Hector Pieterson Memorial and Museum brochure.

2. Photography, Politics and Ethics, 12 March 2004, University of the

Witwatersrand.

3. I do not wish to overstate the case, and there are alternative positions

which have also developed in South Africa. For example, it is

arguable that during the late 1980s and early 1990s, the townshipsof South Africa provided something of a training ground for




32/38

photojournalists of conflict. For some of these photographers, mainly

young white men, the commitment was to an adrenalin-driven

practice of photography; these photographers primarily serve an

international news agenda, and are to some degree detached from

any political commitment, sense of social justice or human interest.

It is indicative perhaps that Paul Velasco places photographing town-ship violence in the same context as photographing motorsports: I

had been doing Formula One; a week later I was in the township of

Boipathong doing a hectic funeral of a massacre of people who were

killed (Paul Velasco interviewed by Heidi Saayman, Parkmore,

Johannesburg, 5 March 2004). I am grateful to Heidi Saayman for

sharing transcripts from her doctoral research of recent interviews

with South African photographers. See also Marinovich and Silva

(2001).

4. In photography, for example, Alf Kumalo has bought his former

house in Diepkloof, Soweto, and turned it into a museum andworkshop with a permanent exhibition of his images and a facility

for running short courses in photography with young people from

Soweto.

5. Drum was an illustrated magazine for urban Africans first published

in 1951, Sechaba was an official African National Congress

publication, and SASPU National was the South African Students

Press Union National Newspaper; the latter two publications were

banned by the South African government.

6. For a sophisticated reflection on the rawness of photographs andthe implications of this for museum display, see Edwards (2001):

Photographs are very literally raw histories in both senses of the

word the unprocessed and the painful (p. 5).

7. This appropriation has been confirmed in the regular appearance

of Levsons images in exhibitions, posters, publications which seek

to depict the social conditions of black people in South Africa. This

transferral of genre and shifts in meaning from the paradigm of

native studies, to that of African agency occurred in the ritualized

and performative settings of resistance archives (from IDAF to

Mayibuye, and soon to the Robben Island Museum) (Minkley and

Rassool, 1999).

8. More recently, and inspired by the original Drum, Paul Boakye

has set up a new Drum published in London. See .

9. Despite the volume of republication, the visual dimension ofDrum

(unlike the literary component) has not received a great deal of

critical cultural analysis. For some of the critical writing, mainly on

Drum literature, see Chapman (1989), Clowes (2001, 2003), Dodson

(1974), Driver (1996), Fenwick (1996).




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10. I am particularly grateful to archivist Jacqui Masiza for her

assistance with my research in these archives.

11. Patricia Hayes and Fazanah Badsha at the University of the Western

Cape are currently conducting research into the history of Afrapix.

12. The photographers who exhibited in Botswana were: Paul Alberts,

Joe Alfers, Vicki Alhaderf, Omar Badsha, Bee Berman, Tessa Colvin,Ivan Gieson, David Goldblatt, Jenny Gordon, Glynn Griffiths,

George Hallett, Mike Kahn, Lesley Lawson, Ashley LeGrange, Peter

McKenzie, Glenn Masokoane, Jimmi Matthews, Mxolisi Moyo,

Judas Ngwenya, Jon Paisley, Biddy Partridge, Myron Peters, Sam

Peterson, Wendy Schwegman, Robert Tshabalala, Paul Weinberg, J.

Wolverstone, Gisell Wulfson and Morris Zwi. (Art Toward Social

Development: An Exhibition of South African Art, 10 June10

August 1982 at National Museum and Art Gallery, Gaborone,

Botswana [MCH233, Mayibuye Centre Archive, University of the

Western Cape]).13. Cedric Nunn, interviewed by Darren Newbury, Melville,

Johannesburg, 26 February 2004. The United Democratic Front was

a coalition of anti-apartheid organizations formed in 1983.

14. Peter McKenzie, interviewed by Darren Newbury, Melville,

Johannesburg, 8 March 2004. AK refers to the AK 47 Russian assault

rifle and the Zenit B refers to a Russian 35mm camera. The origins

are of course significant given the support for the ANC provided by

the Soviet Union.

15. Gordon Metz, interviewed by Darren Newbury, Cape Town, 21February 2004.

16. My information on the photographic collection of IDAF comes

primarily from interviews with Paddy Donnelly, London, 31

October 2003 and Gordon Metz, Cape Town, 21 February 2004.

17. These images come from contact sheets EW14 and EW60,

respectively, of the Mayibuye Centre collection.

18. IDAF had four programmes: (1) funding legal aid for those who

were victims of unjust legislation and oppressive and arbitrary

procedures; (2) support for their families: Programme [sic] Three

and Four worked together to keep the conscience of the world alive

to the issues at stake through research [3] and the publication and

dissemination of information [4] (IDAF Archive Index W.H.

Frankel 1991, Mayibuye Centre Archive, University of the Western

Cape). See also Herbstein (2004).

19. For example, Margins to Mainstream: Lost South African

Photographers (Ernest Cole, Bob Gosani, Leon Levson, Willie de

Klerk, Ranjith Kally, Eli Weinberg), a Mayibuye Centre exhibition,

curated by Gordon Metz (1994).

20. Personal communication, Wayde Davy, Operations and PublicProgrammes Manager, Apartheid Museum, 23 April 2003.




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21. When I visited in 2003/4 the entrance fee was R25, relatively cheap

by international standards, but expensive for a majority of black

South Africans.

22. Personal communication, Wayde Davy.

23. The notion of witnessing which is so central to South African

documentary and struggle photography, and documentary morewidely, deserves detailed consideration.

24. Survivors often say that those who were not there will never

understand. Not even the most imaginative description of the

Holocaust can truly reflect the horror of those days. No description

can re-enact the emotions of victims and survivors. And still,

even survivors who emphasise the inability of any narrative to

fully portray their sufferings, even they wanted the story to be

told, in spite of all the inevitable shortcomings in the narrative

reflection of historical truth. (Weinberg and Elieli, 1995: 17)

25. There are a number of distinctions at work here, betweengenerations, between white and black South African audiences, and

between South African and international audiences. In a discussion

of the Holocaust monument in Berlin, Gay (2003) refers to the

transition from communicative to cultural memory and from real

environments of memory to symbolic ones (p. 157). Although the

museums discussed here intend to serve all these audiences, the

Apartheid Museum has the strongest emphasis on the symbolic and

the presentation of history for others, with the Hector Pieterson and

also the District Six museums having a stronger sense of being anactive locus for remembering by those who lived through these

events.

26. This compares with the device at the US Holocaust Museum of

providing visitors with an ID card of someone caught up in the

Holocaust, which is carried through the museum, until eventually

finding out their fate. I am grateful to Nick Stanley for pointing out

this parallel.

27. A Native by Mistake!, Drum, July 1956.

28. There is considerable debate in South Africa regarding the

appropriate terms for the hunter-gatherer communities of southern

Africa (see Coombes, 2003: 208). The term Bushmen was introduced

by Europeans; I have used it here because it is the term used in the

caption for this image at the museum.

29. Geoff Mphakati interviewed by Darren Newbury, Mamelodi West, 3

March 2004.

30. Geoff Mphakati, 3 March 2004. Geoff Mphakati, a life-long friend

of Coles, was involved in the discussions with the museum,

although his primary concern was ensuring a fair deal for Coles

family. This in itself raises an important ethical issue about there-use of photographs from the apartheid era, for which many




35/38

photographers or their families do not control copyright. I have not

been able to fully clarify the controversy concerning the text in the

book, although it seems clear that either the process of editing

and/or the final result was not entirely as Cole would have wanted

it. I am also grateful to Patricia Hayes for drawing my attention to

the issue of Coles dissatisfaction with the text.31. See Van der Merwe and Faber (2003). The video pieces in this

display also echo the style of the BBC Video Nation series, and the

style of digital storytelling being developed by Daniel Meadows

(2003).

32. There are in fact several images rather than a single one. Two

versions are used at the museum: a closer cropped portrait image

outside, and a wider shot, showing the crowds behind, inside.

33. A slightly out-of-focus and faded family portrait of Hastings

Ndlovu is also displayed in the museum.

34. Metal shipping containers which can be seen around Soweto, forexample used to house telephone booths.

35. Ali Hlongwane interviewed by Darren Newbury, Hector Pieterson

Museum, Soweto, 5 March 2004.

36. The architects, Mashabane Rose Associates (Phillemon Mashabane

and Jeremy Rose), worked with the Soweto Heritage Trust to secure

funds for the project, which was eventually funded by the Depart-

ment of Environment and Tourism (R16 million), Johannesburg

City Council (R8 million) and Standard Bank of South Africa (R4

million). However, local developers had wanted to build a hotel,retail centre and shebeen on the site (Reilly, 2003: 14).

37. Press coverage of the museum makes much of the fact that

Antoinette Sithole, Hector Pietersons sister who is beside him in the

photograph from 1976, now works at the museum. However,

clearly, for her, this position is ambivalent and in general she would

prefer to remain anonymous when talking to visitors. See Mawson

(2004).

38. The Orlando West community was consulted on what they

wanted the museum to look like. The consensus was that it

should look like the township houses around the site (small,

uniform, red brick) so as not to stand out from them. (Phillemon

Mashabane cited in Castle, 2003: 52)

39. The aggressiveness of the photographic act of shooting also

contributes to the ambivalence here. Similarly, Reilly (2003) notes

that one of the museum windows uses this metaphor, directing the

viewers gaze out towards the Orlando Police Station, a place of key

significance in the uprising: Welded on either side of the window

outside the building are steel plates, directing the view towards the

police station and giving the feeling of a gun sight, aiming back atthe station (p. 15).




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40. The dominance of the African National Congress (ANC), con-

firmed by the 2004 election results, is an issue that those involved in

representing the history of the liberation struggle are acutely

conscious of, and there is a concern not to retrospectively erase

other perspectives from history.

41. I am grateful to Rolf Gaede for this observation.42. This picture story was done for Drum at around this time, although

the archivist was not able to identify the photographer or locate the

original story.

43. The museum negotiated a fee of R20,000 for the use of the Sam

Nzima photograph, with other photographs typically costing

between R3000 and R4000 (Ali Hlongwane, 5 March 2004).

44. As a comparison one might look at the use of photography in the

District Six Museum, Cape Town, which employs a more vernacular

and intimate, and much less precious, visual aesthetic.

45. A common response to the museum by white South Africans is thatit is an education on an aspect of their own society about which

they knew very little at the time. Personal communication, Wayde

Davy.

R E F E R E N C E S

Berenbaum, Michael (1993) The World Must Know: The History of the

Holocaust as Told in the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.

Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Company.

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B I O G R A P H I C A L N O T E

DARREN NEWBURY is a Reader in Photography at Birmingham Institute of

Art and Design, University of Central England. He is editor of the journal

Visual Studies and the electronic publication series Research Issues in Art,

Design and Media. Current research interests include photographic theory,

practice and pedagogy, visual research methods, and research education and

training in art, design and media.

Address: Birmingham Institute of Art and Design, University of Central

England, Gosta Green, Birmingham B4 7DX, UK.

[email: [email protected]]

Documents

Visual Communication 2005 Newbury 259 95