The people in Griselda San Martin’s portraits congregate, drawn in pilgrimage to that most unconsecrated of places, the US-Mexico border. Young and old alike stand along fencing, leaning, grasping through gaps. The camera is close enough to count the lines on their faces.
This February, 66,450 migrants were apprehended by US officials while illegally crossing the border from Mexico. According to US Customs and Border Protection statistics released in January, 95 percent of people doing so arrive in families, and in June, Vox reported that approximately 2000 migrant children are being detained at any given time by the US border patrol agency. This is the crisis that San Martin, a Spanish photographer based in New York, documents. In her series The Wall (2018), for instance, she focuses on Friendship Park, a small, binational half-acre of land running along the border between San Diego and Tijuana. In these images, you can see metal fences running into the Pacific ocean, marking the division between the US and Mexico – a beach town on one side, a heavily-patrolled territory on the other.
San Martin’s photos capture the anguish and mundanity of separation, offering a poignant view of a situation that’s often framed as a crisis experienced only by Americans. In truth, the tragedy is as simple as the fence itself; a man-made separation. On either side of the fencing, family members approach the barrier for a chance to see and possibly touch their loved ones. The resulting photos are a conspicuous departure from the anonymous aerial shots and digital renderings of caravans heading for the United States. As exaggerated fears of ‘invading’ migrants dominate imaginations, inspiring violence and shaping policy, San Martin’s photos ground the issue in lived experience. In contrast to news coverage, they are tinted with hope. For San Martin, the wall itself is secondary to people’s interactions with it. In her work, the structure is something that divides people as well as bringing them together – if not for the right reasons. Speaking to the photographer about using photography as a humanising tool against border violence and media bias, she explains how the key to greater understanding is viewing experience as a spectrum rather than rendering it as spectacle.
Ayesha A. Siddiqi: What inspired you to choose these particular subjects and locations for your work?
Griselda San Martin: I’m from Spain, I’ve been living here in the US for nine years. So I’m an immigrant, [but] I have a visa so I am not going through the difficult situation that means. But I can relate to the fact that I’m away from my family and trying to navigate two cultures, trying to adapt to the country that I live in while at the same time staying in touch with my roots. I think that’s the way I became interested in these subjects in the beginning. And also, how can I relate to the people that I photograph? Especially immigrants here in the US. It brings up an important part of myself. I’m not saying that I’m going through the same, because I’m not. I can go out and come back. I can go back and see my family.
Documentary photography is tasked with being both aesthetically compelling and communicating essential truths. Do you categorise your work as a journalistic endeavour or an artistic one? Is that a useful distinction to you?
There is a distinction but I try to do both. I do follow the journalistic rules. I try [to have] my images reflect the truth. It’s difficult to use that word, truth is very subjective. I’m trying to basically show what I see, but my vision is very personal and subjective. I do try to ad- dress issues that I think are important.
"One of my goals is to neutralise this power of the wall. I don’t want to show something that is powerful and huge and impenetrable. I want to repurpose [it] and show it in a beautiful way"
How do you feel about the relevance of your work now?
Yeah, I started this before the wall was on the news every day. It takes on more relevance now because people are confused. People are bombarded with images that show a very different story from what I think is real. I’m happy that I can show this other view. I think it’s important because what you see on mainstream news, it’s the same story told in the same way with the same images. I try to offer an alternative, a more complex story.
A lot of mainstream news stories regarding immigrants are framed by a white nationalist agenda. But how can photography change this?
My goal is to challenge the dominant narrative and o er alternative imagery. And when I say “the dominant narrative”, I mean both the logic of how the border is conceptualised and the media coverage. When politicians and media outlets talk about the border they use the logic of territory, where identity is defined by the borders. And foreigners or migrants are usually… Politicians talk about them as if they’re a threat to the American identity and a threat to national security. So in that sense this ‘threat’ legitimises the need for a border wall. The media coverage ends up being very simplistic and sensationalistic because it is made to satisfy these ideas. This aggravates the xenophobia and stereotypes.
At the same time, it’s a powerful reminder to immigrants that they don’t belong. My objective is to reframe this narrative. Instead of talking about territories, [my images have] a logic that goes beyond borders, where identity is not defined by borders or boundaries but instead [by] spaces of belonging. My wall work and also the work I’ve been doing here in New York with the immigrant communities is about creating spaces of belonging. I try to capture the complexities in a way that’s not the usual, but at the same time I also try to empower the migrants and their allies. I don’t want to say that I’m an activist because I’m not – I’m a journalist. My goal is to challenge popular assumptions. At the same time, I have an activist role.
In your images, the scale of the wall compared to the people in front of it seems like a deliberate choice. It appears to ‘shrink’ the issue of the border violation, emphasising instead the plight these individuals are facing.
Yes, that is one of my objectives. I felt it was very important to include portraits in my series, with the goal of not objectifying people. Normally, immigrants are portrayed as criminals or victims, and I didn’t want to do either. In my photos, I try to show that [they’re] neither criminals or victims, just normal people. The wall is not shown as monumental, it’s just a backdrop. It’s part of the story, a very important part of the story, but it’s not only that: [it’s] their everyday life. I didn’t want to [shoot] very far [away] because remember the photos of the migrant caravan? People were very small and tiny and not important. I want to give them importance but I don’t want to get too close because I was trying to find the distance that gives them respect.
The wall is a very routine piece of architecture in the lives you photograph, but in the minds of others, particularly Trump supporters, it’s very monumental. For rightwingers, it’s a symbol of American force and power.
Yes, one of my goals is to neutralise this power of the wall. I don’t want to show something that is powerful and huge and impenetrable. I want to repurpose [it] and show it in a beautiful way. There’s an artist who is painting murals all over the wall on the Mexican side, and he said something like, “If they build the wall we’re just going to paint it again. We’re just going to make it beautiful be- cause this is where we live. We don’t want to see a huge metal structure.” I don’t want to give the wall the power it’s supposed to create [as] a symbol of imperialism and American power.
A recurring motif in your work features hands placed on the wall. It’s so intimate, but also very pleading. It reminded me of Christian iconography.
I think this is a very human thing, touching. There’s an area called Friendship Park [where] there are two [sections]. One, where you can actually touch, but the holes of the metal mesh are so tiny that only the fingertips can go through and touch. And there’s an- other area where there are bars and you can see through, but on the US side, the border patrol [doesn’t] allow people to get close. In some cases I show the hands to show how tiny the holes are. But speaking about the Christian iconography, this is common in many immigration images. In this case, you are right, but I do try to stay away from the crying and the Passion of the Christ and the Virgin Mary holding her son,
Is that why you shy away from depicting spectacles as well?
Yes. Instead of thinking, “Oh, there is a way I can do something to fix this problem,” [they] make you think, “Oh, they are hopeless, there’s nothing we can do for them.” And this is totally wrong because this is not a problem of stopping immigration from crossing a border, it’s structural. We have to examine the whole immigration experience, why are they coming here, who they are and how they got here. If people started talking about this issue in a different way there might be an opportunity to bring significant change.
Right, or at the very least the dialogue should be grounded in these people’s lived realities. Is your photography personally important to you as a reflection of your politics?
Yes, I think it’s important for me and I think it’s important for everyone who cares a little bit. Right now, seeing what’s going on, now is the moment to speak up and take a stance. I don’t think it’s right.
Your images humanise people who are often dehumanised by politicians and the media. But the very fact this is necessary seems to indicate a huge failing, but what sort of failure is it? A failure of the representation or the failure of the audience’s imagination?
Well, it’s difficult because you could blame the people for expecting these images, or you could blame the media outlets for only showing these images, or you could blame the photographers for making those images. But I think everyone is a little bit guilty. Those images, don’t get me wrong, we must see those images. There are a considerable amount of people who are coming from Central America to the US. It’s the constant repetition of those images without any other con- text. Why are they coming? What’s the reason? The problem is if you only see those images then you’ll think it’s true that there’s a danger. But we also have some guilt in this even if we try to make alternative images. And I’m not talking about personal projects, but if you’re a photographer that works for a newspaper or a wire, even if you try to show a more humanising view of the phenomenon, you have the editorial obstacle – they’re going to choose the images that better tell the narrative they are pushing onto the people. It is difficult.
There’s definitely a widespread ignorance regarding what these refugees are running from. They’re forced to make these journeys. And because of how much the wall dominates discussion of these events in the US, we’re blocked from having a conversation about what’s actually going on in Central America and the role the US has played in those conditions.
Exactly, that’s what I was trying to say before. There’s an overwhelming focus on the border crossing moment, or the wall. Instead of doing a more complex coverage of the immigration experience which starts from the place of origin and goes to the settlement or even return. Because that’s a whole different story when people who’ve lived here for 20, 30 years, and go back to their countries of origin. But all those stories are completely ignored.
As a documentarian, what do you identify as the moral imperative you’re faced with? What do you hope to accomplish?
I am not an activist, I just want to inform people who have no idea – or who have a very one-sided or simplistic idea, based on the simplistic coverage of news – that things can be seen in a different way. I mean, some people don’t even know that there’s already a wall.
All photography courtesy of the artist.
This article originally appeared in SLEEK 63, out now.
In conjunction with this issue, SLEEK wants to raise awareness about the cultural divisions that still exist today. We have designed two limited edition sweaters, bearing the slogan “All Walls Fall”, available to purchase now.