The city is inhabited by two populations: those who live inside the buildings and those who live between them. One represents the 'repressed' of the other and occupies the architectural 'repressed' of the city, resulting from both literal and visual mechanisms of repression. Perhaps this is where photography can establish a bridge between the two populations. Not a solution to their inequality, but a representational rebalancing that can foster comparison and confrontation. To avoid exploiting victims to chase easy sensationalism, the individual must be respected in the minimal intimacy they have. Resorting to reportage would be unfair and ineffective, as the discriminated population is omnipresent and, by definition, forcibly available to the gaze of others: this nullifies the imperative to “make known”, which often serves to justify explicit photography of tragedies far removed from our personal experience. "The imaginary proximity to the suffering inflicted on others that is granted by images suggests a link between the faraway sufferers—seen close-up on the television screen—and the privileged viewer that is simply untrue, that is yet one more mystification of our real relations to power. So far as we feel sympathy, we feel we are not accomplices to what caused the suffering. Our sympathy proclaims our innocence as well as our impotence." Susan Sontag’s reasoning on war photography in "Regarding the Pain of Others" becomes even more indispensable when the "others" are so closely in contact with "us". We are already well-trained to feel a superficial and comforting sympathy; making it explicit would be doubly misguided and counterproductive. What must be addressed then is the city itself, physical manifestation of the social structure that led to the division of populations and denies one of them entry, relegating it to its architectural leftovers. As Sontag reiterates, "compassion is an unstable emotion", and it must be avoided: no human figures to latch onto, no traces of them to empathize with, and not even hostile architecture onto which to project indignation—the polar opposite of compassion, but just as superficial. Only neutral spaces, repeated until suspicion arises that they are not neutral at all, until one notices that the common denominator is that in all of them “someone could fit in there”, and until we realize that we instinctively already knew this and that, in fact, it almost seemed strange that no one was there in the first place. Photography has been tied to the city since its birth, using it as an experimental laboratory and reciprocating with iconic visions, to the point that a city now aspires to be the consolidated image we have of it. But while this corresponds to the privileged population, the other, while living in the same city, lacks an urban imaginary that represents it. Iconic European metropolises, undeniably endowed with an individual soul (to our eyes), become interchangeable. Their cities are unrecognizable: interstices and voids, sometimes mere corners just outside of 'our' flows. Non-places, but not the frenetic and bustling ones described by anthropologist Marc Augé; rather, stagnant pockets of space-time in catalepsy, producing mute images born from the paradoxical attempt to photograph the most inhospitable void as necessarily habitable, in the hope of training the gaze to rest on these corners of the world that, for others, are the entire world.