SEBASTIÃO SALGADO: MIGRATIONS
HUMANITY IN TRANSITION AND THE CHILDREN

Asia
On view at the Portland Museum of Art in Portland, Maine
From January 23 to March 23, 2003

Africa
On view at the Institute of Contemporary Art at Maine College of Art in Portland, Maine
From January 23 to March 23, 2003

By Laurie Meunier Graves

The gods give us for every good thing two evil ones, and men who are children take this badly. But the manly ones bear it, turning the brightness outward.
–Pindar


The history of the United States centers on migration. From the earliest people, who bravely crossed the Bering Straight and settled this country, to the most recent arrivals, everyone came from somewhere else. Perhaps some of these immigrants moved for the thrill of being somewhere new, but most came here because of intolerable conditions in their homelands. As a rule, mass migration is born of desperation.

We know this, yet we don’t know this. Too often, our historical memories are short, and even those who have been here for only a few generations frequently rail against newcomers. We forget that our own forebears came here for the very same reasons as the recent immigrants. That is, to seek a better life.

In addition, because our country is so big, has so many resources, and is relatively uncrowded, it can more easily absorb an influx of people than other countries can. There are also big oceans to buffer us from much of the migration of the world’s poorest people. Therefore, we take our space for granted and tend not to look too closely at parts of the world where land, water, and food are scarce. It is easier not to look.

For seven years, starting in 1993, the photographer Sebastião Salgado made it his business to look at areas of the world that most of us in the United States would prefer to ignore. He turned his attention and his camera on human migration at the end of the twentieth century. Hundreds of his photographs are on display at different venues across the state—the Portland Museum of Art, the Institute of Contemporary Art at Maine College of Art, the University of New England, the University of Southern Maine, and the Center for Maine Contemporary Art.

Not long ago, I went to two of Mr. Salgado’s exhibits at the Portland Museum of Art and at the Institute of Contemporary Art at Maine College of Art, which focus respectively on Asia and Africa. These are exhibits of large black and white photographs of people on the move and of people living in shantytowns, in stables, on the river’s edge, in slums, in refugee camps, and under bridges and overpasses. The photographs have the beautiful clarity that comes with being black and white, and they have what I can only describe as an epic sweep. I truly felt that I was witnessing these mass migrations, and my senses were completely absorbed by the photographs.

According to placards at the Portland Museum of Art, there are “Today over 100 million migrants, a number that has doubled in the span of a decade. Each year more than 40 million rural dwellers leave their land to try their luck in the city. This extraordinary level of demographic displacement is unparalled in human history. Explosive population, environmental degradation, wars, natural disasters, and the widening gap between rich and poor have resulted in this worldwide migration.”

Somehow, like all great artists, Mr. Salgado has managed to give us both the large view and the close view of this situation. There is a perfect blend of individuals and communities, and we never for a moment forget the connection between the two. To be able to do this when faced with so much humanity is nothing short of miraculous.

One photograph in particular captures the essence of overpopulation. It is of Church Gate Train Station in Bombay, India, and there are two trains with a blur of what looks like thousands of people rushing between them. It reminds me of pictures of the Chicago stockyards in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

Then, on the other hand, there’s a picture of Kurdish children in Istanbul, Turkey. It was taken inside of a home, and the children look crowded but healthy and well fed. One little girl is holding a doll; another little boy is holding a chicken. They have the things that are dear to them, and when they were young, my own children used to do the same thing when their pictures were taken.

Incredibly, some slums look better than others. In the slums of Bombay, the children are smiling. Their faces are full, their arms are plump, and they look as though they get enough to eat. However, in the Philippines, there’s a shot of a naked, skinny child wandering through the streets. In another, again in the Philippines, a mother is holding a baby whose legs are so thin that it made me worry about the child. Where is that baby now? Did that child survive?

Then, of course, there’s Africa, poor war-torn Africa. There are photographs of starving people, of people who have been murdered, of people who have died in epidemics. There are huge groups of people fleeing to escape massacres. There are photos of the dead lying alongside the road.

And, yet…there is a bright flame that burns even there. In one photograph of two orphans, there is a little boy on the floor, and he could be either crying or calling out. It’s impossible to tell. But beside him is a little girl. She is standing and jigging on one leg while holding her other leg behind her. In other words, she’s fooling around.

I don’t think it’s overstating the case to say that I have never seen an exhibition of this scope in Maine. From its content to its size to its sheer artistry, this exhibition is moving, dazzling, and overwhelming. I could only wonder how Mr. Salgado kept looking for so many years. What inner strength stopped him from turning away?

There is a clue, perhaps, from the Portland Museum’s handout: “The photographer hopes that his work will serve as a catalyst for generating compassion and ultimately social change.”

This writer hopes so, too. 
 
 

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