Much has been said about the “selfie,” and with Philippine cities becoming identified as “selfie capitals” of the world, this kind of photography will surely provoke more analysis in the future. But what of another important kind of photo, the “group shot”?
Needless to say, the group shot is nothing new. Even Rizal and his fellow ilustrados had their own in Madrid. But the rise of mobile phones and their built-in cameras, as well as the Internet-mediated ability to share pictures anytime, anywhere, has exponentially increased the number of group shots we take and upload in social media.
This is especially true in the Philippines. In 2011, a Nokia study showed that Filipinos are among “the world’s most active takers and sharers of mobile phone photos on the web.” We can see tangible signs of this. For instance, because the group shot is often done in restaurants, many waiters have accepted the role of photographer, and when you ask them for a photo, they now take the initiative of offering a second take, or taking the group shot from different angles of your table. Often, several cameras are used to take the same shot, because people want to make sure they have copies. We may not realize it ourselves, but foreigners have always wondered why we Filipinos love to take group photos all the time. Answering them requires looking at the meanings of group shots in our everyday lives.
First, we can look at the boundaries of a group shot. Who gets included and excluded? In social gatherings, several group shots are taken, each corresponding to a particular clustering of people. In a clan reunion, there will be a picture of the original family, then each branch of the clan, all the children, all the men, all the women. Refusing to be part of the group shot has symbolic value. A new employee, or an on-the-job trainee, might be slow to join the group, unsure if he or she can be part of it. A housemaid, no matter how long she’s been part of the family, might continue to show reluctance to join the family picture, but this display of hesitation is then matched with a vigorous insistence from a senior member that she join. These exchanges are informal rituals that test group boundaries and affirm one’s inclusion (or exclusion).
Second, we can look at the anatomy of the group. Who sits in the middle? Who stands at the back and at the peripheries? In class pictures, the class president might be asked to sit in front, beside the adviser. Physical and gender differences form the basis of the rest of the photo: Taller boys are usually at the back, and the girls are in front. In family pictures, the senior members are seated at the center; in companies, it is the CEO and other top officials. Whenever there is a celebrity or a special guest, he or she is also given a prominent place. A group shot can be spontaneous, but often it has different structures according to different contexts. These “anatomies” can allow us to map power relations and group dynamics. This is true throughout the world, even in global politics. In last year’s G20 summit in Brisbane, Vladimir Putin’s “banishment to the edge of the frame” of the group shot was much talked about.
Finally, we can situate the group shot within the temporal profile of the events that it’s part of. In formal occasions, such as weddings, it usually comes at the final part of the program. In social gatherings, because Filipinos often struggle to say goodbye, calling for a group shot is emerging as a way for people to make a smooth exit. However, this is not an assurance that one can leave early. People who want to look their best in group shots might make a quick dash to the restrooms or freshen up, effectively delaying the actual picture-taking. And because no one must be left out, it takes time to assemble the entire group. Often the photographer would keep taking pictures as people keep arriving. I have seen many a guest glancing at their watches, helplessly waiting for the group shots to be finished: They cannot leave because they do wish to be commemorated as part of the event, and they do not wish to be seen as snobbish.
Indeed, the group shot has become an indispensable part of our everyday lives, to the extent that some unwritten rules have formed around it. For one, it is almost impolite not to be part of it, just as it is impolite to leave others literally “out of the picture.” If you’re a junior member of the group, you shouldn’t assert your presence in the middle. And when the photographer says “compress,” people follow. Everyone must fit in one group shot; everyone must be part of it.
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Perhaps what makes the group shot special is that it gives visual form to the social bonds that connect us, even if momentarily. In a country where people often see themselves in relation to others, but where people are geographically mobile, the group shot fixes the togetherness of people at certain moments. It doesn’t matter if it’s just an ordinary day. It is the togetherness itself that is the cause for celebration, and the group shot is there to document it. Sharing and uploading these photos on social media operate in a similar logic, and thus to be tagged in a group shot is to be part of a group. All said, the group shot provides people with tangible signs of belonging.
Surely, not everyone wants to take or post a selfie. But in a country where pakikisama is a paramount virtue, the group shot is not to be missed.
Dr. Gideon Lasco is a graduate of the University of the Philippines College of Medicine and a mountaineer. He is working on his PhD in medical anthropology in Amsterdam.