Remember the names behind the grim photo

The image is heart-rending. The bodies of a Salvadoran man and his 23-month-old daughter, facedown in the muddy Rio Grande. The toddler’s head is hidden under her father’s black shirt, her tiny arm wrapped around his neck.

The photo, taken by journalist Julia Le Duc and originally published in the Mexican newspaper La Jornada, is an unflinching portrayal of the desperation of asylum-seekers trying by all means to reach the U.S. border, the tragedy that befalls so many migrants, and the love that bound a father and his little girl in their last, horrifying moments.

The first time the image flashed across my social media stream, I gasped. My blood ran cold as I thought of the unimaginable grief that must be gripping the child’s mother, who saw the drowning.

Then it kept flashing. Popping up again and again onmy Twitter feed. Splashed over and over on CNN.

It is a journalist’s job to stare unflinchingly at the truth — and to report that truth back to the public. No matter how ugly, how controversial, how unpopular. It is our job to show the public what it may not know —and may not want to face

But at what point does that mission of truth-telling cross into exploitation? What is the purpose of exposing a family’s private pain to an often uncaring world?

Certainly, images can move people to action in the face of atrocity. They can prod intransigent hearts in the right direction.

Nick Ut’s photo of a 9-year-old girl running naked and screaming after a napalm attack is often credited with helping turn public opinion against the Vietnam War. Kevin Carter’s 1993 image of astarving Sudanese child stalked by a vulture drew global attention to the scope of deadly hunger in that country.

The mother of Emmett Till insisted on an open casket for her murdered son because she wanted the world to see how he had been mutilated at the hands of white men. The publication of the gruesome death photos in Jet magazine stirred outrage across the country and helped spark the civil rights movement.

But simply papering our computer screens and newspapers with a graphic image of tragedy is not enough. We must guard against sensationalism and insensitivity for the sake of shock value. Especially when those images are all too often of the intimate suffering of people of color.

After the photo of the dead father and daughter circulated, the National Association of Hispanic Journalists issued a statement condemning the “exploitation of the deceased family at the border.”

That is something we must all bear in mind. The 25-year-old father and his tiny daughter are more than their final moments captured with the snap of a shutter. The family grew frustrated by the long wait to ask for asylum at the border before taking the fatal plunge across the river.

There are people behind the photos we click on — and click past. We must do more than gasp in horror. We must say their names and tell their stories. Until their voices are heard.

Kim Phuc. Kong Nyong. Emmett Till.

Óscar Alberto Martínez Ramírez and his daughter, Valeria.

First Word pieces are commentaries by individuals on the Houston Chronicle editorial board. They reflect the board’s values but exhibit the author’s perspective. Rhor is a Chronicle editorial writer.