In the era of the image, the power of the photographic lens goes beyond the depiction of reality. It is exploited and transformed into an insurmountable instrument of biased narrative, often touching the limits of manipulation. The recent image of a boneless child in the Gaza Strip, which flooded the international media, was the cause of the outbreak of a new, even greater wave of public anger and political confrontation over what is happening in Palestine today.
Of course, it was later proven that the specific child, in addition to the existing state of malnutrition, was facing serious underlying pathological diseases, and his death was partly due to them. Of course, the question is not whether the photo was real—it was. The question is: what was it really telling and, above all, what was it implying?
When emotion overpowers reason
This particular image functioned as an all-powerful and undeniable visual argument. After all, no one dares to object to the sight of a starving boy.
When the gaze is disarmed by brutality and emotion captures reason, this emotional fixation is often the fertile ground for the truth to be trampled. In the age of breaking news and endless scrolling information, how many are there who will seek, check, cross-check, and ultimately confirm deeper relationships of cause and effect within a broader context of events? Very few. And this is precisely where the superiority—but also the distorting danger—of the image lies.
Aylan Kurdi: A symbol and a turning point
In 2015, the shocking photograph of three-year-old Aylan Kurdi, lying drowned on a Turkish sandy beach, captivated the world, shedding light on the migrant drama unfolding in the northeastern Aegean. The lifeless body of this child became a symbol of the migrant crisis of that period. Although he was just one of countless child losses in the waters of the Mediterranean, his image was enough to disturb “sleeping” consciences and to trigger wider developments, culminating a few months later in the signing of the European Union–Türkiye Joint Statement, a landmark agreement to control illegal migration. Thus, Aylan’s death, as recorded by the photographic lens, became a tool for shaping an official political agenda. Or, for the more cynical, his image became a bargaining chip and a currency in the geopolitical market—a modern-day scapegoat on the altar of previous managerial incompetence.
The image of Aylan, and other similar images such as the little girl collapsing from hunger in Somalia, while a vulture lurks a few meters behind her, do not lie. However, their fragmentary and occasional display can be the subject of political, ideological and commercial exploitation, serving expediencies that have the subconscious of public opinion as their main target.
Media’s business model: Human tragedy as a commodity
The media and social networks, which now clearly operate in terms of spectacle, have based their commercial operation and survival on the inviolable principle: “nothing sells more than human tragedy.” When this tragedy is shaped in the face of a half-dead child, a vulnerable woman, or a persecuted old man, the greater the pressure applied to the soft underbelly of the television-watching crowds.
In essence, it is a stock exchange of emotions and impressions where the shares of the most shocking and explosive prevail over the meticulous, precise but also boring—in television terms—narratives.
Weaponizing the lens in conflict
However, it is not only the hetero-directional media that exploit the image. All kinds of involving parties in conflicts—either ideological or in combat zones—and in particular state entities, activists, paramilitaries, and even terrorist organizations, know the power of semiology and systematically invest in symbolism.
A photo of a bombed hospital or a demolished school full of collateral damages, a burned Quran, or a cartoon of the Prophet in Charlie Hebdo magazine can, depending on the perspective, lead to the approach and the successful recruitment of more doctrinal supporters than a text of structured arguments.
Beyond shock: Towards critical image decoding
The images of dead children, whether they are buried in Gaza, or in Darfur, or in Berlin and New York, must not be forgotten. This does not mean, however, that they should also constitute an alibi for effortless stories and easy arguments that may in turn signal and cause, in the form of a domino effect, equally unpleasant situations. If our real purpose is to honor these people by attributing due value to the martyrdom of their life and death—and not to transform them into mirrors of our fragile ego, projecting upon them our obsessions and mental needs for emotional release—then we must stand with a critical spirit and questioning towards every photographic lens.
What is sought, therefore, is the deciphering of the images that will lead to their decontextualization and ultimately to their liberation from any form of expediency. Not downgrading or diminishing the ongoing tragedies in various corners of the planet, but perceiving them in their entirety and in a less biased direction that some deliberately seek to lead them.
Disclaimer
This article reflects the personal views of the writer and in no way expresses the official policy and administrative practices of the Hellenic State, Greek Authorities and EUAA.
English reprint of an article first published in To Vima tis Kyriakis (“Sunday Vima”) on 10 August 2025, issue no. 417.
* Marios Kaleas is General Director of the Greek Asylum Service and Deputy Chair of the Management Board of the European Agency for Asylum (EUAA).