Opinion
Official portraits show Israeli soldiers turning their backs on the camera, ostensibly to protect them from prosecution for war crimes. The gesture is a tacit admission of guilt.
IDF soldiers’ official portraits, released in May 2025 (images via IDF Press Releases)
The act of hiding facilitates abuse, epitomized by the official portraits of Israeli soldiers with their backs turned to the camera. This action mirrors their disregard for human rights, symbolizing a literal cover-up. By avoiding identification and potential prosecution for war crimes in the occupied Palestinian territories, these soldiers exploit the same surveillance and facial recognition technologies they use against others, shielding the perpetrator while exposing the victim.
These technologies have transcended military and government use, infiltrating everyday life. Individuals worldwide misuse these innovations, wearing smart glasses that infringe on privacy and consent. With a simple recording, strangers can become unwilling public figures. Faces, once unique reflections of emotion, are now akin to personal data, biometric codes, or even home addresses. As private and public spheres merge, distinctiveness poses risks. The psychological and social costs of constant surveillance elevate the act of looking and being looked at to a form of crime and punishment. Vulnerability is no longer something to be earned but is forcibly intruded upon.
The consequences are significant. The way we present ourselves is influenced by technological threats and beauty standards. Unlike the Israeli soldiers’ portraits, most images offer a rare chance to observe others without intrusion, allowing viewers to piece together information about them. However, this raises concerns about who is highlighted and who remains unseen, a core issue of control.
Our natural inclination to face away is now an element of control and oppression. The right to conceal one’s identity is crucial for safeguarding digital and civil rights. For Israeli soldiers, this concealment implies guilt, creating a sea of unknowns that intimidates. Similar dynamics are evident in images from American ICE detention centers in El Salvador or masked police at protests: vulnerable detainees are exposed, while the agents remain hidden. These unidentified abusers could be anyone.
Counter-portraiture brings to light those who remain unseen while observing others. By turning their backs and lacking discernible traits, these soldiers’ portraits depict not specific oppressors but a faceless group, a general social class. Shielded from scrutiny and offering no reciprocal gaze, the particular becomes general; anonymity turns into a warning. Unlike traditional portraits that celebrate individual distinction, counter-portraits establish uniformity. Observing these soldiers from behind offers the basic elements of portraiture without its essence—intimate engagement between viewer and subject. Unlike conventional portraits that connect the self with the public, counter-portraits serve as a fortress. To dismantle the Israeli military’s violent operations, it must first face itself. Until then, there can be no turning back.
