A Honduran Prison Guard

A shaved young man in a white undershirt and blue jeans guards the entrance of a prison inside a Honduran security complex. To his right, four young men gather in a circle and behind them we get a glimpse of the facility’s interior dwellings, which house hundreds of gang-affiliated male adolescents serving time for major felonies. Although this image reproduces some elements of the hegemonic visual realm of gang photography, it brings into view quotidian aspects of gang life, in particular the work of security they perform.

Gang photography is often dramatic and serves to reinforce a set of stereotypes that pathologize gang youth. The iconic image of a young Latino gang member with a threatening look and a gun is etched on our visual memory. This look instills fear and reproduces the photographical figure of the criminal that has historically functioned to maintain societal boundaries between good and bad, self and other (Phillips, 1997). Mainstream media and law enforcement have structured the visual field within which Latino gang members appear as menacing forces. As Sekula (1986) explains in his essay, “The Body and the Archive,” photographs have been used to detail the appearance of the criminal body in order to facilitate their arrest. In the case of gang photography, racialized bodies with shaved heads, baggy pants, white undershirts and other signifiers of the gangster pose stand in for violence and insecurity.

This photo reproduces some elements of this structured visual realm. The shaved heads and baggy clothes suggest the presence of gangster attire. The dark-skinned bodies confirm the “bio-type” of the criminal subject. However, the menacing gangster look that produces a dramatic effect is absent. The standard close-up shot used in gang photography is replaced by the inclusion of a broader scene that does not zoom in on the facial features of the young men. A bent corrugated sheet, a white oxidizing gate, and stained aqua-colored walls fenced by three layers of collapsing concertina wire, frame a moment in the everyday lives of young men at the prison. The deteriorating facade that faces an empty parking lot tells us something about the precarious material life conditions from which they are often abstracted. It brings to mind the decrepit appearance of the slums from where many of them come from. Since the blurry and hidden faces of the young men do not convey the anger or defiance that the viewer often looks for in the facial expressions of gangsters, it is to their body movement that the viewer turns to. But the viewer finds normalcy: relaxed bodies that are standing, sitting and squatting; not bodies wrought with tension.

In addition to providing a sobering depiction of gang life, this photo confronts the viewer with a puzzle: why is a gang member guarding the entrance to his own prison? This is not the idealized panopticon that Foucault (1977) theorizes, with a central tower internally monitoring the detained. Across prisons in Latin America, gang members work to secure their interior. This photo captures the self-understanding of gang members as security workers, an unfamiliar insight that surfaced during my research on Central American gangs. Within official narratives that posit the state as the ultimate provider of security, gangs invariably feature as generators of insecurity. However, the gang’s self-understanding unsettles this one-dimensional portrayal. This photo challenges the viewer to re-examine how gender, class and race influence the way we imagine a security worker to look like. Sitting on a rock at the prison entrance and gazing towards the camera, the young guard is attentive. He embodies the thousands of youth who are employed to monitor movement into gang-controlled territories. Without their work, the illicit political economy that sustains livelihoods in the urban peripheries of the world would not be possible and one would probably witness more massacres of marginalized youth.

Commentary on Rachel Tanur's Works: Chinese Guard

A middle aged Chinese man stands guard at the entrance of a building partially bathed in sunlight. Although it isn’t clear what kind of building he protects, the refined stone facade, the elaborate rooftop, and the freshly painted reddish-brown doors bring into relief the high socio-economic status of the building owners. The small wood stool in front of the door suggests that the guard works long shifts and alternates between standing and sitting down. The viewer probably cannot tell that he is a security guard based on his clothing. However, in addition to the photo’s title, his statue-like posture with hands held behind his back reveals attentiveness to the surroundings and a sense of confidence that things are under control. The security work that Rachel Tanur depicts in this photo is different from the one performed by the young man in the image I captured at the Honduran prison complex. The stark contrast between the building’s delicate front and the deteriorating appearance of the prison that the Honduran gang member protects, highlights how the labor of guarding often shields a different set of social relationships. The security work that the Chinese guard performs is perceived as legitimate and most likely targets minoritized subjects, while the young man’s security work involves protecting the prison from state repression and is often cast as illegitimate. Notwithstanding their differences, their work contributes to the creation of an increasingly walled world. Social thinkers who have pondered the nature of work, tell us that it is the “living form-giving fire” (Marx, 1973) that marks the “worldliness” of social life (Arendt, 1958). Work involves meaningful acts of fabrication that make social life possible. It creates a common world within which life unfolds and which lasts beyond the act of fabrication. Rachel Tanur’s images on work seem to partake in a historical photographic endeavor to create long-lasting impressions about the difficult and life-affirming character of work. Her images remind one of Sebastião Salgados’ visual archaeology of manual labor in his book “Workers” (1996). Also a tribute to the human condition, Rachel’s images unearth the toil and dignity of the weavers, peasants, artisans, cart pullers, street vendors, fishermen, upon which the world rests. In the photo of a Chinese guard, Rachel moves beyond the traditional imagery of manual labor and renders visible the immaterial work of private security. Hired to protect specific places, people and things, private security workers are part of a growing industry that globally outnumbers public police officers who are supposed to protect the public at large. In China, economic growth has been accompanied by a rise in income inequality and private security provision. Although the low-paid work that private guards perform does not yield a tangible product such as fish or pottery, being vigilant at all times requires intense bodily and mental investments. This work is also deeply entangled with the expansion of security barriers that carve up our world and that reflect the breakdown of community bonds generated by rising inequalities and the racialized fear of others (Abrahmsen, 2010). The side angle at which Rachel’s photo was taken and the guard’s gaze to his left suggests that this pose was not negotiated. Was Rachel concerned about the consequences of photographing a security guard? Did she take advantage of the fact that the security guard’s attention was directed elsewhere to take her shot? Whether the guard participated in a dialogic production of the visual imaging or not, the photo reveals physical distance between the photographer and the guard. A fearful conduct that learns to keep corporeal distance is perhaps the immaterial product of private security that Rachel’s photographic work so poignantly grasps. Yet, “images are always potentially polysemic,” (Spencer, 2011) and this is only one among other possible interpretations.