The digital revolution, given that it is a revolution in the sense of constituting a new relationship to the world generated by new ways of seizing its representations, and their availability, restates in a radical way the question of the status, functions and connotations of images, in the first place those of photography, and more precisely, documentary photography linked to the news media.

Predictably, there are proponents of the old order who regret its being undermined, or at any rate destabilized, and possibly endangered. This suggests a trivialization of history and what it can teach us. But it is also a case of burying one’s head in the sand and refusing to analyse events, examine facts and identify issues. The facts (and we are talking about facts) are obdurate, and they are mapping out the new panorama of the image that is taking shape, and is shaking up – but also renewing – professions, functions and attitudes, including those of photography, which have founded our culture, and which undeniably constitute the memory of the 20th century.

This is obviously not the right place for a debate about digital imaging and its implications. But it would be unjust and (to say the least) partial not to consider Cédric Gerbehaye’s work in its historical context, in other words the point at which a technique invented in the 19th century to represent the world “in a precise, rapid, faithful way” is in decline, following its occasionally arrogant hegemony over the notions of personal and documentary observation. Photography, in its production, is actuated by a succession of choices – and, by the same token, a series of desertions– which, in their chronology, define a position and end up producing sense.

In this respect, and to consider only the domain of ever more succinct, rapid, simplificatory information, digital technology is the best vehicle for a globalized society’s fascination, no doubt illusory, with speed (and, reserved though I am about his pessimism, I am alive to Paul Virilio’s warning not to forget that “when we invented the train, we also invented derailing”.)

Let us look briefly at what has changed for the professionals, from the viewpoint of facts reported as news, in other words, when a situation spectacularly attains an apogee of violence. On the one hand, they are no longer the sole legitimate producers of images relating to such situations, since amateurs –of whom there are always a few on the scene– can also produce images. And this has redefined a profession. Likewise, now that the technical side of things has been simplified, and that the culture of the image, along with its processing, has become so widespread, the domination of Britain, France, Germany and America, which lasted almost a century, and which gave an oligopolistic account of the planet’s conflicts, is a thing of the past. Today, in places such as Gaza or Pakistan, where foreign reporters cannot work, and where, in any case, they do nothave an insider’s understanding of the issues, capable local professionals are often the ones who supply the needs of the media, including the papers. Rather than wringing one’s hands (though it is true that the press, which for more than half a century was an essential source of news photographs, has now, regrettably, given up that role), it has to be admitted that if one wishes to be a photojournalist in the way the term was used for decades, as designating a person who gave an account of current events, there is now no alternative – other than for those (ever fewer) employees of specific publications – to working on a more or less permanent basis for Reuters, Agence France Presse or Associated Press, which, with their scope, resources and organizational power, can achieve standards that were unattainable just thirty years ago.

The pre-existing situation is proving difficult to maintain, but new conditions are opening up possibilities which, however parlous in production terms, are clearer, if more demanding, for photographers who want to give an account of current events in something other than sensationalist terms. And Cédric Gerbehaye is clearly one of these.

To begin with, there is his conception of what it means to provide information. Finger-pointing is no longer (or at least not on its own) a viable form of criticism. The idea is to “inform” a reality and its complex logics. But this naturally takes time. Because there is a problem of comprehensibility. Photography is a means of analysis and an instrument which, though perhaps demonstrating nothing, makes it possible to ask questions, and to apply sensitivity at the point where they are asked. Rather than standing at the threshold of voyeurism with regard to spectacular situations that just become more acute over time, Gerbehaye invites us acquire a better grasp of their implications and intricacies. Other contributors to this book describe how the plundering of the Congo’s natural resources has given rise to a conflict that is being financed by these same resources;which has consequences for every aspect of life. Well, you may say, what’s new? Fair enough. But the fact of demonstrating a process rather than just piling up documents makes an appeal to our analytical faculties, our intelligence. Beyond that, it is a matter of showing how the situation was brought about, and how it is a concern for the people involved. Hence the visual – and conceptual – approach that includes unstaged shots and portraits: the spontaneous and the face-to-face. These portraits, which may also be modalities of spontaneity, are characterized by a precise choice: that of distance. The right distance, or at any rate one that is relevant today. A respectful distance that preserves the dignity of individuals – on both sides of the camera. A discreet distance that leaves room for emotion, but is wary of pathos. A viewpoint that includes the physical sense of the term, guiding us towards eyes and what they express.

Such an approach is possible only if based on consistency – that of the framing, the choice of camera and the amplitude of the visual field. Thus it is that images engage in a dialogue. They can articulate and construct phrases (it is not exactly a question of narration); and though some do take on a precise meaning, each is enriched by its relations to the others. We are a long way from the kind of pure reportage, however excellent, that on many occasions, for instance in Africa, and particularly in the Sahel, drew attention to the seriousness of drought or conflict. Generous and empathic, it was also demonstrative. It served to mobilise opinion (or, in some cases, to appease people’s conscience), and in its time it got results. One might wonder whether, given that this kind of aesthetics is now to be found in campaigns organized by NGOs, it can go beyond mere observation. The fact is that the environment is no longer the same, and that the relationship to the image has changed. It is in this context that Cédric Gerbehaye’s decision to continue using analog techniques, with gelatin-silver photography in black and white (which in certain quarters has been somewhathastily labelled as antiquated), takes on its full sense. The fact of not seeing the image immediately – of there being a latency time (and here again we are confronted with a “limbo”) between the taking of the picture and the revelation of the image – induces a distance which, besides itstemporality, is that of the reflection resulting from the emotion that led to the picture being taken.

And this reflection is obviously salutary. Once more, it opens up the possibility of adopting a position by making choices. This means that rather than allowing oneself to be swept along on a wave of enthusiasm generated by a confrontation with reality, one can control it, channel it, direct it towards the chosen objective, in a search for an intelligible, investigative form of a reality thatis as chaotic as it is complex.

All of this comes into the tradition of photographic essays, but it does so unhurriedly, through an adaptation to the present situation, with an apparent coldness that constantly conditions the perception of emotions, the emotion of perceptions, the localization of bodies in space. We cannot fail to be aware that the photographer was there physically, on the ground, and that his body was involved in the framing. We are no longer in the position of asking him to be “objective” – we accompany him in a quest for knowledge, with all the accompanying difficulties and fragilities.

Taking the images one by one, and showing how they feed into one another, one could carry out a more precise analysis. For this purpose, it would suffice to revisit each image, to follow the sequence, to turn round and go back, then continue, knowing that the prerequisites are clear and simple: a familiarity with the situation on the ground, methodological rigour, a clear stance and viewpoint, an assertion of photography’s documentary function, obligatory aesthetic choices. This is journalistic work at its best. It is demanding and difficult, because there can be no compromise in the depiction of complex situations. Gerbehaye’s aim is not to describe or proclaim, but to investigate, through strata, moments, categories. He wants to understand both the unacceptable and the incomprehensible, people and landscapes, devastation and emotions –his own and those of the people he meets– with a curiosity which, beyond specific situations, focuses on individuals and their relationships with the groups that have founded or formed them, to which they belong and from which they sometimes break free. It is important –essential, even– to say or show that everything is complex, even for the most unassuming and unobtrusive of observers.

Cédric Gerbehaye impresses me with the self-evidence of his viewpoint and his absence of hysteria, whichmake me look seriously at situations of which I often know very little. But what is perhaps the most important thing is that his images encourage me, without any false sentimentalism, and even in the grimmest of situations, to take an interest in people, and to ask myself about them – about what they experience, undergo, or suffer. And these images naturally take their place in a tradition of profound humanism, which does not deal in slogans, but simply says, “Look, this is how it is”, in the hope of helping us to assume our responsibilities as citizens of the world, and to situate ourselves. What makes sense, at the heart of this approach, is also the fact that it offers us a respite from the images that traverse our weary retinas to the point where we can no longer take them in, if indeed we even register them. This does not represent a rejection of crucial issues, but reinforces the very concept of information, and that which should motivate it, namely a facilitation of understanding. Because better understanding can mean better seeing. And vice versa.