The more I've looked at the picture of Aisha this week, the more I've found something that's as disturbing as her mutilation and
Time's call to war:
the beauty of the image.
In the cover photograph, Aisha's hair is thick and wavy as if it had been carefully arranged in a New York studio. The camera has captured her at a moment when she's staring at us from the corner of her eyes, her lips slightly parted as if she's about to speak. The light falls across her pale brown cheeks, picks up the contrast in the shawl covering her dark hair. The nose, cut away, the flesh having healed as one commentator wrote into a "heart shape," is the only indication that this young woman's life is endangered.
It's a photograph in the tradition of the National Geographic, where brown and black women and men and even children are rendered in bright colors, made exotic, almost desirable, and placed alongside images of whales and polar bears.
The pain of hunger or war or disease is eerily absent. The images -- out of context -- are made more palatable to audiences.
It was National Geographic whose editors put an Afghan girl on their cover in the 1980s.
Sharbat Gula was photographed in a refugee camp and this became "the" image of the war along the Afghan border at the time, even though the photographer never recorded her name.
Sharbat's picture, like that of Aisha's, was a palette of rich colors: the haunting green of her large eyes, the light brown hues of her face, the dark cherry red of the shawl. With a nose intact, Sharbat could have appeared on the cover of Vogue as Afghan chic.
What were the photographers thinking?