We have this facile belief that what the face does, as the operative currency of (many kinds of) photography, is to “humanize” an other, to give access to a person separated from us by time, geography, experience, suffering. But in the case of many photographs whose subjects suffer, the face offers a false familiarity, an illegitimate passport into that alien reality. We trust our guts too much, too easily. We refuse to believe in alterity, in an experience viewed but not understood. On the emotional tourism of the photographic journey, we can own anything we can look at, including the experience of another person.