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PARIS — Human migration is the story of our times. Victims of conflict and climate change, pushed by poverty at home and pulled toward opportunity abroad, people on the move are both a catalyst and consequence of globalization. Yes, immigration is a polarizing political issue, but also a keen reminder of the shared circumstances that bind us all.
As is often the case, the numbers and headlines and political declarations from all sides fail to tell the whole story. Photographs can help. They let us see what's at stake, and at play.
Reuters photographer Kim Kyung-Hoon caught this moment Sunday of a mother and her twin daughters fleeing tear gas near the U.S.-Mexico border wall. The 2014 World Press Photo of the Year was a much quieter image: John Stanmeyer's poignant shot that captured the paradox of our particular epoch in the migration saga, where technology can only go so far in connecting people to what they seek and who they love.
Aboard a rescue ship a year later in the Mediterranean, Francesco Zizola took what can be classified as a documentary portrait of several would-be immigrants, whose expressions of trauma and dignity recall the standard bearer of all such images: Migrant Mother by Dorothea Lange during her work surveying the internal migration caused by the Great Depression.
Migrant Mother — (© Dorothea Lange | OneShot)
As the ultimate victims of circumstance, it is often children who finally move our collective conscience — and certain images hold the power to shift the public debate over immigration. No one can unsee the images Nilufer Demir took of the corpse of Alan Kurdi, the three-year-old Syrian boy found dead on a Turkish beach in 2015, while John Moore's shot of a crying girl near the Mexico-U.S. border helped spark the outcry last spring over the American policy of separating migrant children from their parents.
The sad truth is that the vast majority of the suffering and stories go undocumented. Even sadder are those who disappear along the way without a trace, leaving behind loved ones back home with grief and uncertainty. Italian daily La Stampa reports on a new book by Cristina Cattaneo, a Milan professor of forensics and legal medicine, who has helped lead an effort for the past five years to document the identities of the estimated 30,000 would-be migrants who have died trying to cross the Mediterranean since 2001.
The vast majority of the suffering and stories go undocumented.
"Nobody ever thought to do for them what we do for ourselves," Cattaneo explained. "To give them an identity and give a response to the mothers, children, grandparents, to let them know if they should keep waiting or make their peace."
These 192 pages of text, entitled Naufraghi senza volto ("The Faceless Shipwrecked") help remind us of the real power of the photographs above: to tell the story of those who could not be seen.
PARIS — Human migration is the story of our times. Victims of conflict and climate change, pushed by poverty at home and pulled toward opportunity abroad, people on the move are both a catalyst and consequence of globalization. Yes, immigration is a polarizing political issue, but also a keen reminder of the shared circumstances that bind us all.
As is often the case, the numbers and headlines and political declarations from all sides fail to tell the whole story. Photographs can help. They let us see what's at stake, and at play.
Reuters photographer Kim Kyung-Hoon caught this moment Sunday of a mother and her twin daughters fleeing tear gas near the U.S.-Mexico border wall. The 2014 World Press Photo of the Year was a much quieter image: John Stanmeyer's poignant shot that captured the paradox of our particular epoch in the migration saga, where technology can only go so far in connecting people to what they seek and who they love.
Aboard a rescue ship a year later in the Mediterranean, Francesco Zizola took what can be classified as a documentary portrait of several would-be immigrants, whose expressions of trauma and dignity recall the standard bearer of all such images: Migrant Mother by Dorothea Lange during her work surveying the internal migration caused by the Great Depression.
Migrant Mother — (© Dorothea Lange | OneShot)
As the ultimate victims of circumstance, it is often children who finally move our collective conscience — and certain images hold the power to shift the public debate over immigration. No one can unsee the images Nilufer Demir took of the corpse of Alan Kurdi, the three-year-old Syrian boy found dead on a Turkish beach in 2015, while John Moore's shot of a crying girl near the Mexico-U.S. border helped spark the outcry last spring over the American policy of separating migrant children from their parents.
The sad truth is that the vast majority of the suffering and stories go undocumented. Even sadder are those who disappear along the way without a trace, leaving behind loved ones back home with grief and uncertainty. Italian daily La Stampa reports on a new book by Cristina Cattaneo, a Milan professor of forensics and legal medicine, who has helped lead an effort for the past five years to document the identities of the estimated 30,000 would-be migrants who have died trying to cross the Mediterranean since 2001.
The vast majority of the suffering and stories go undocumented.
"Nobody ever thought to do for them what we do for ourselves," Cattaneo explained. "To give them an identity and give a response to the mothers, children, grandparents, to let them know if they should keep waiting or make their peace."
These 192 pages of text, entitled Naufraghi senza volto ("The Faceless Shipwrecked") help remind us of the real power of the photographs above: to tell the story of those who could not be seen.
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Of course Russia's announcement of moving tactical nuclear weapons to Belarus should not be underestimated. But the reality is that, since the beginning of the invasion, Russia's nuclear situation has not changed. We should instead look hard at where both Minsk and Beijing have wound up.
Vladimir Putin and Alexander Lukashenko at the Independence Palace in Minsk, Belarus.
-Analysis-
PARIS — It's yet another episode of atomic blackmail: Russian President Vladimir Putin has once again raised the threat of nuclear weapons announcing that some tactical nuclear weapons — "small" bombs intended for use on the battlefield — will be moved to Belarus.
The silos are not expected to be finished before July, Putin says — so the threat is not immediate. But this announcement is already causing a stir, as has happened every time over the past year when Moscow has raised the threat of nuclear apocalypse. Why does Putin continue to play this card?
Stay up-to-date with the latest on the Russia-Ukraine war, with our exclusive international coverage.
Sign up to our free daily newsletter.First, it's important to note that Putin is not afraid of self-contradiction. The day before the Belarus announcement, he signed a declaration with Chinese leader Xi Jinping stating that "nuclear powers should not deploy nuclear weapons outside their territory." Putin could point out that Americans are doing exactly that in some NATO countries, but the contradiction still says a lot about the limits of Russian commitments.
What is Putin trying to achieve? He has clung to the same objective since the beginning of the invasion of Ukraine: scaring Europeans who do not want to "die for Ukraine."
Many in the West strongly believe that Putin's threats are serious, and that the risk of nuclear war should not be underestimated.
The reality is that, since the beginning of the invasion just over a year ago, Russia's nuclear posture has not changed, according to the United States, which is watching closely. The Pentagon saw no change in Russia's nuclear posture on the day of Putin's announcement, and indicated that NATO was doing the same.
Still, two lessons can be drawn from this announcement. The first is that Belarus is a Russian vassal state. Alexander Lukashenko, the dictator in Minsk, has been said to be cautious and uninterested in getting directly involved in the war.
But ultimately he has no choice but to obey the demands of the Kremlin, which has been his lifeline since the stolen 2020 election. Some Westerners regret that sanctions have driven Lukashenko into Putin's arms, but in any case, the two regimes are now bound together.
The only victim in this episode is Belarusian sovereignty.
Secondly, we must be cautious about China’s role in this war, and especially the idea that it can mediate a peace deal. By signing this declaration with Putin, Xi has first and foremost polished his own image as a peaceful power figure. But the very next day, Putin did the opposite of what he had promised.
Europeans going to Beijing, like French president Emmanuel Macron, who is headed there next week, brandish the Chinese statements on nuclear weapons like a trophy. This may help to avoid fatal escalations, but it is not enough. If Xi were serious, he would prevent Putin from deploying his tactical weapons in Belarus, a move which would contradict their joint statement.
In the end, this is primarily a rhetorical escalation, as we have seen from Putin before. The only victim in this episode is Belarusian sovereignty — but no one had any illusions on the matter. The war will continue on conventional military terrain, with no signs of stopping any time soon.
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