Cezanne once said, "I owe you the truth in painting." As Cezanne was a great painter, let us assume that he paid up. The truth in photography is a different matter. We are so used to receiving the truth in photographic form that we are also good at telling when we are being cheated. The catalogue for "Confronting Views" at the Photographers' Gallery in London claims to be of work by "nine photographers on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict". Not one of them is Palestinian; instead, we have one North American, six Europeans and two Israelis.
The worst offender is Henrik Saxgren with his series Landscapes of War. Saxgren cites Susan Sontag's assertion that the artist looks for truth and beauty, but then insists that his only interest is truth. He shows the damage caused by endless Israeli incursions: buildings shorn in two, walls so scarred with bullets that one can scarcely believe there is so much firepower in the world. But where is the truth? Saxgren is in Gaza, the most densely populated place on earth, yet his landscapes are empty. Moreover, he favours the triptych and photographs in monochrome only. This is not truth, it is artifice, the kind a photojournalist grabs when he is reaching for profundity.
The remaining photographers can similarly be divided between those who stick to photojournalism and the few striving towards their own notions of art. Harry Cock, who comes from the "chirpy incongruity" school of photography, shows Palestinian youths wearing T-shirts with pictures of Diana, Princess of Wales, or stepping out of beach huts and going for donkey rides. Paolo Pellegrin and Bruno Stevens provide more serious reportage. Pellegrin went on night manoeuvres with the Israeli occupation forces and shows how these jollies have become a highly ritualised form of brutality. Stevens shows the Palestinian dead and the attempts to lend dignity to the young corpses.
But no matter how amusing or incisive one finds the reportage of Cock, Pellegrin and Stevens, one has to ask why there are no Palestinian views. After all, there are scores of Palestinian photojournalists. The images seen in newspapers or on television are often taken by Palestinians working for the Associated Press and Reuters, or freelance for the BBC, ITN, CNN and even Sky, as well the Arab-owned news organisations. The most memorable images of the conflict have been taken by Palestinians - for instance, Talal Abu Rahma's unforgettable pictures of the child Mohammed al-Durrah, shot as he cowered behind a wall with his father.
The two Israeli photographers veer away from photojournalism. It is hard to see why Dinu Mendrea has been included at all. Mendrea argues that depicting violence only perpetuates the situation. This may be true. But given the title and proclaimed aim of the exhibition, it seems odd to include photographs that have nothing to say about the conflict. His series is called Twenty in Jerusalem; it might easily be retitled Jewish and Arab Girls Who Are Quite Foxy.
Didier Ben Loulou's work is the most "poetic" and, I find, the most disturbing. Apparently starting from the Judaic belief that our world lies in fragments that will become whole only with the end of history, Ben Loulou brings a lurid devotional focus to broken brickwork, a tattered bill printed with Hebrew phrases, a broken finger and chipped knives. It is one thing to show stoicism in the face of strife, quite another to find spiritual succour in this divided world - an ecstatic vision, even.
The curator has a special role in guarding an artwork's context - in fact, a double responsibility: to respect the works they have chosen to hang, and keep the space open for emerging artists. At a time when Palestinians are unable to move freely, when they live under perpetual lock-down, it is indefensible that the curators of this exhibition have found room only for the views of Israelis or distant westerners.
"Confronting Views: an international photography exhibition on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict" is at the Photographers' Gallery, London WC2 (020 7831 1772) until 4 May
