The Political Portrait

Leadership, Image and Power

Luciano Cheles, Alessandro Giacone, Luciano Cheles, Alessandro Giacone

• Editorial: Routledge
• Año: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781351187138
• Edición: 1
• Categoría: Art
• Categoría: Art & Politics

The leader's portrait, produced in a variety of media (statues, coins, billboards, posters, stamps), is a key instrument of propaganda in totalitarian regimes, but increasingly also dominates political communication in democratic countries as a result of the personalization and spectacularization of campaigning.

Written by an international group of contributors, this volume focuses on the last one hundred years, covering a wide range of countries around the globe, and dealing with dictatorial regimes and democratic systems alike. As well as discussing the effigies that are produced by the powers that be for propaganda purposes, it looks at the uses of portraiture by antagonistic groups or movements as forms of resistance, derision, denunciation and demonization.

This volume will be of interest to researchers in visual studies, art history, media studies, cultural studies, politics and contemporary history.

1 Introduction

Faces of Politics

Luciano Cheles and Pierre Sorlin

For centuries having one’s portrait drawn was a privilege of the mighty. It was not the price, quite high, that prevented well-off people from asking an artist to depict them but rather the fact that they did not feel worthy of having it commissioned. Portraits singled out those of rank, but there was more to it than that; human effigies pertained to an exceptional, almost supernatural realm. The portrait of a sovereign assured his presence in all the provinces of his kingdom, a gallery of ancestors showed the timeless permanency of extremely affluent families such as the wealthy, powerful Dutch and Flemish ship-owners or bankers.

We, moderns, are well aware that an image is nothing but an object, the keepsake of a person, of a moment, of an occurrence now over. Registration techniques, photography, cinema and video recording have progressively de-mythologized the powerful. Initially, the process was rather slow. For ages emperors, kings and princes had exhibited the painted effigy of their predecessors to mark the antiquity and power of their dynasty; photography and cinema did not disrupt the tradition. Until the beginning of the twentieth century, heads of state or government were solemnly represented, seated at their desk or standing in front of the national flag, in public places. Today there are still, in many countries, galleries where the lineages of kings, elected presidents or important leaders are displayed. In the 1960s and 1970s, although television made familiar the faces of influent politicians and followed closely their activities, kings and presidents were usually in control of the choice and put into circulation the sole images that suited them. In the last few decades, the diffusion of individual recording tools, light video, smartphones and other devices has made it easy not only to film at any time, in all circumstances, but also to spread one’s pictures throughout the planet.

The great leaders of this world have lost part of their aura: they have come down to our level and talk about their family and daily concerns. Members of royal families such as the Prince of Wales and the Queen of Spain would not object to pose with us on a selfie, if we asked them. Considered in the long term, such evolution evidences a profound transformation in the relationship between the citizens and their leaders. The tempo, forms and depth of the change obviously vary according to the cultures and political systems of the different countries. Any occurrence is interesting in itself, but a comparative study is also necessary to appraise the social implications of political effigies more fully.

The First World War upset the political frameworks in Europe, well-established dynasties collapsed and new powers settled in disorder and instability. A photograph taken in Berlin, on February 24, 1934, on the occasion of the National Day of Remembrance, well exemplifies the dramatic change that was occurring. The President of the Weimar Republic, Field Marshal von Hindenburg,¹ who features in the foreground standing up straight despite his eighty-seven years, is looking imperious and archaic in his Prussian uniform. Hitler, who had acceded to the Chancellorship, follows him, heedful, a few steps behind. Der alter (the old man), as von Hindenburg came to be referred to, died on August 2nd of that year. Within weeks, screaming wildly and gesticulating before his multitudes of fanatics, the Führer was to impose a new way of representing leadership in his country.

A map of Europe around 1930 showing the portraits of the different heads of state, here the defenders of the tradition, and there the champions of a great renewal, would be revealing. On one side we would find Miklós Horthy, regent of Hungary, appearing haughty and princely in his uniform studded with medals,² Marshal Józef Pilsudski, the Polish dictator, looking fierce and distant, Engelbert Dollfuss,³ the Chancellor of Catholic Austria, in his officer uniform, praying with profound fervor (Figure 1.1) to recall to his fellow citizens the military tradition of their country and the impossibility of taking sides with Nazi “paganism” – and, on the other side, Lenin, Mussolini and Hitler, the agitators and champions of enthusiastic crowds.

The leaders of mass movements had learned how to arouse popular support before coming to power, while the men of the older generation, accustomed to rule by commanding strict obedience, had trouble in enthralling huge crowds. From the end of the First World War until the late 1920s most photographs of the Turkish leader, Mustafa Kemal, displayed only his facial appearance. Wearing a schapska (four-pointed cavalry helmet) that filled one-third of the frame, the general stared coldly at the onlookers who could interpret his gaze in contradictory ways: as a sign of decisiveness or of a state of confusion, of seriousness or hesitation. Such an ambiguous image is revealing of Mustafa Kemal’s awkward position. As an officer of the Ottoman Empire, he was, until his election to the presidency of the Turkish Republic, a rebel who clashed with Mehmet VI, the legitimate sultan. In the following years he came up against the violent opposition of Muslims who did not accept the secularization of the country and of notables who were losing their social influence: an ambiguous expression brought less anger than a challenging, bold look. Once his power was stabilized, Atatürk (“father of the Turks”), as he came to be known officially, was represented addressing small groups of people to explain his reforms, visiting families and teaching the new alphabet to schoolboys. Having abandoned the hieratic postures adopted by the Sultan, he chose at the same time not to appear before huge crowds as fascist dictators were doing. His successor, İsmet İnönü, reverted to the classical, formal approach, as his portrait busts show.

The point being made here is that in portraiture apparently minor details may in fact carry important symbolic meanings. By choosing a modest attitude both Mustafa Kemal and İsmet İnönü implicitly took position in a European context dominated by two conflicting iconic models: that of the mob leader vs. that of the statesman. In the Second World War Hitler’s pictures were intended to galvanize the Germans: he was pictured inspecting military installations and armaments factories, greeting the departing troops, talking to his staff, checking plans of campaign, and encouraging civilians. The leaders of Western democracies, on the other hand, were keen on heartening their fellow-citizens by contending that they had the situation under control. Churchill’s image dominated the British press and newsreels during the first years of the conflict; his serious, placid countenance and his gaze fixed on the viewer suggested patience and inspired trust. Roosevelt opted for pedagogy: he appeared in the newsreels explaining the scope of the orders he was signing, illustrating the American strategy axes on a wall-map, and talking to officers and privates. In the Soviet Union, throughout the dramatic years 1941–1942, when it seemed impossible to stop the German advance, countless effigies of Stalin were disseminated. The dictator, looking knowing and tranquil, with a hint of a smile on his face, conveyed a confident belief in the future that transcended the worries of the present. Later, when the threat of defeat receded, another Stalin image emerged: that of the architect of victory preparing, late at night, the offensive that was to put an end to the conflict.

The dictators had displayed a determined attitude and firm belief in the future (Hitler’s regime was, notably, to last “one thousand years”), which was conveyed by their serious expression. Fascist and Nazi leaders had attended international rallies wearing the uniform of their respective parties. By contrast, the heads of state of the early post-war era appeared attentive and caring, and with a smile on their faces; and everybody, including military officers like general Dwight Eisenhower, wore civilian clothes. Their contact with the crowds took an informal, good-natured turn: they were photographed shaking hands, stroking the heads of children. The assured and imperious stance of the dictators gave way to attitudes that evoked modesty and the difficulty of the tasks confronting politicians after the war. For instance, the portraits of the British Prime Minister Anthony Eden (in office from 1955 to 1957) conveyed the image of an elegant and courteous man who, mindful of public opinion, struggling with the problems of the reconstruction, and gripped by the fear of another international conflict, tried to lead Europe during the difficult times of the Cold War.

Eden and his contemporaries belonged to the inter-war era, and already by the 1950s their language, attire and public behavior looked excessively formal and old-fashioned. Their style of presentation was to be swept away completely by the next decade. The technical advances made during the war, developed in the following decade (automation, jet propulsion, use of atomic energy, synthetic products), transformed the living conditions. Economic growth seemed assured for the long-term; new consumer goods such as cars, domestic appliances and television sets were accessible at fair prices and people got used to going on holidays. There were noticeable improvements in audio-visual recording with Sony’s first half-inch portable video and the Kodak Super 8 camera. Thanks to light equipment, television channels multiplied interviews and reports while amateurs were able to film the public appearance of famous people. Conscious of being exposed to the curiosity of any passer-by, most politicians decided to organize their self-representation according to criteria of their choice.

At the same time the Cold War gave way to the “peaceful coexistence” between the capitalist sphere and the communist bloc. Political newcomers such as John Kennedy, the West German Chancellor Willy Brandt and the British Prime Minister Harold Wilson, conscious about the image that television was broadcasting to a rapidly expanding audience, got rid of the formal approach pursued by their predecessors. The following half-century was an extension of the new style that had emerged in the 1960s.

Over the last half-century, momentous developments have taken place in the representation of the political universe. To begin with, the media intrusiveness has blurred the boundaries between the private life of statesmen, their family environment, their pastimes, and their public activities. This phenomenon has not characterized politicians exclusively: sportsmen, artists and businessmen have also been forced to expose part of their domestic life, but, in the case of political leaders, the balance has often been difficult to establish between personal concerns and the defense of collective interests. Another important development has been the growth of the role of women. Long confined to the margins of governmental decisions, assigned to secondary tasks and weakly represented in elected assemblies, they have managed to impose themselves and occupy key institutional positions, though they are still subjected to caricature and other forms of demeaning representation. Lastly, the intense competition for the exercise of power has brought about an ever-increasing reliance on fanciful and/or down-to-earth imagery and language. Such approaches are supposed to bring the leaders closer to their co-citizens and show that they are ordinary individuals, though the line that separates simplicity from pure demagogy is blurred.

In Western countries, the most radical changes in the depiction of politicians occurred from the 1950s to the 1990s. President Harry Truman, anxious to provide his fellow citizens with a good memory of his years at the White House (1945–1953), was photographed sitting at his desk, pen in hand, with a serious, knowing and benevolent expression, as if he had just stopped writing to direct the gaze toward the camera, which stands for his audience. Meanwhile Chancellor Konrad Adenauer of Germany⁴ was involved in an election campaign. Sitting in an armchair, he too stares intensely at the camera – at his constituents. Through the extended exposure of the cliché, the smallest details of his face have been reproduced and his garments appear with great clarity. The portrait radiates self-assurance and strength. Both pictures are meant to reassure the electors that they can manage the country efficiently.

Two examples from the last decade of the past century are worth looking at. A picture taken in 1992, during Bill Clinton’s presidential campaign in Cleveland, shows the members of the electoral committee in their shirtsleeves occupying the background while Clinton, his aspiring deputy Al Gore and the organizer of the meeting, wearing a dark suit, feature in the foreground. Their eyes flee to the right and their silhouettes are a little fuzzy, but what matters is the general enthusiasm, their raised arms, their unanimous shouting of the final slogan. As for Helmut Kohl, a campaign poster for the Bundestag election of 1994 depicts him smiling, immersed in the crowd. The photographer has focused on the foreground, the head of Kohl and that of the people close to him stand out clearly, while the undifferentiated mass who fill the b...