No Seat at the Table: Why Talent Alone Isn’t Enough in Documentary Photography
The Invisible Struggle: A Photographer’s Battle Against Erasure
For eight years, I’ve been carrying a camera, a tool that’s both my weapon and my shield. But despite the years I’ve spent perfecting my craft, I’ve learned that in a field that’s supposed to capture truth, there’s little room for my truth to be seen. The world has never been ready for it. And every day, I’m reminded that in the eyes of the global photography wretched industry, I am not enough not by my skill, but because of who I am, where I come from, and the passport I hold. My work has been neglected and dismissed, as if it’s not worthy of the same recognition given to others, even though, in many ways, I’ve worked harder, pushed further, and faced far greater obstacles.
This is the reality of being an Algerian photographer, someone who comes from a place where the odds are stacked against you at every turn. The journey to recognition in this industry, for me, has been filled with constant rejection, marginalization, and an unsettling awareness that your work is seen as less-than, criticized just for the sake of it, no matter how hard you try to break through. But the question I find myself asking is: What is it about my work that scares you so much?
The Hidden Barriers: The Ghosts of Colonialism and Race
I remember when I first picked up a camera well, it wasn’t even a camera, just an old iPhone 4 that I could barely afford. It was more of a forced experiment, a desperate search for an outlet in a country with no real photography scene. I had been consuming cinema for years, and through that, I developed a basic understanding of composition and storytelling. But it wasn’t just about images; it was about confronting a society steeped in political turmoil, daily injustices, and a history of colonial oppression that no one wanted to confront. As I started to document the life around me, my perspective grew not just artistic but deeply political. My lens became an attempt to expose the things most people wanted to keep hidden things that, no matter how hard I tried, would never get the exposure they deserved.
The more I dove into photography, the clearer it became that the world wasn’t interested in the stories I had to tell. Opportunities never came, and the few that did were cold, distant an exercise in tokenism. I applied endlessly for festivals, exhibitions, and educational programs, believing they might offer me a way out. But I soon realized that the industry has a hidden truth: it’s not about the work, it’s about the passport you hold. It’s about whether you’re from the “right” country. I worked tirelessly to perfect my portfolio, but doors that were opened to others slammed shut in my face. You realize that you’re not being rejected because your work isn’t good enough, but because it doesn’t fit into the narrative they’re willing to support.
The Frustration of Being Tokenized
I almost signed with one of the largest documentary photography agencies in the world. It was a moment that could’ve changed my career forever. I got to the final round, my work was strong, and I was told that they were impressed. But in the end, the agency decided that no one from my region would be signed that year. The next year, they ended up signing two photographers from the Middle East. precisely two countries with literally and figuratively ongoing wars in them right now as I’m writing this on January 2025, I was devastated, not because they were signed, but because it felt like they had been chosen not for their work, but because they fit into a narrative a “we care about diversity” narrative that was just another form of tokenism. It wasn’t about the quality of the work, it was about fitting a trend. That moment felt like the purest form of erasure.
Invisible Walls: The Global South’s Silent Exclusion
The global photography scene is designed in such a way that it’s built to keep us out. As photographers from the Global South, we’re constantly being told that we’re not good enough, that we’re not relevant, that our stories don’t matter. But when I look at the work of photographers from the West those who come from places of privilege and power, what I see is not necessarily better work, but work that has been afforded more opportunities, more resources, and more exposure. This industry has been shaped by a specific narrative, one that centers the voices of those who have always had access to the resources, networks, and platforms. The playing field is so uneven, it feels like we’re running a race while others have been handed a head start.
I’ve seen photographers, many of whom are white and Western, praised for doing the same thing we, as photographers from the Global South, have been doing for years. I’ve been told time and again that my work is just as good, but the truth is, being told you’re “good enough” doesn’t matter if the opportunities aren’t there to back it up.
There are too many of us working in the shadows, creating work that’s just as powerful, if not more, than what’s celebrated in Western galleries and institutions. And yet, we remain invisible, our work sitting quietly in the archives of forgotten dreams.
The System is Broken: Challenging the Status Quo
But even in the face of all this erasure, I still believe in the power of art to change the world. And while I can’t change the system on my own, I can challenge it. If the world of photography is ever going to be inclusive, it needs to confront the biases and injustices that continue to plague it. It’s not enough to simply open the door to a few photographers from marginalized regions. The industry must address the systemic inequalities that make it so difficult for people like me to even get a foot in the door.
I’m not asking for charity. I’m not asking for handouts. I’m asking for a system where talent and vision, rather than race, nationality, and privilege, determine who gets the chance to succeed. I’m asking for a world where photographers from Algeria, from Africa, or even the bigger picture from the Global South, aren’t just a token inclusion in a diversity chart, but are allowed to thrive in a way that reflects their true worth and potential.
The Unseen Work
Here, in the streets of Relizane, where I grew up, I photograph the youth who struggle with unemployment, a sense of abandonment, and the daily grind of poverty. But my work doesn’t fall into the traps of poverty porn. It’s not about sensationalizing their lives. I capture them as they are — full of strength, ambition, and untold stories. And yet, even as I capture these moments, I often find myself feeling disconnected. I, too, am one of them. I, too, have felt the despair of being locked in this open-air prison of Africa, unable to break free of the cycles that continue to oppress us.
Some days, I have an exhibition, and I get paid in Euros. On other days, I walk my streets feeling like the biggest unemployed person in the world. My culture, my abilities, my invoices and my photographs do nothing to change the reality of the decline of my mental health or the disconnection I feel from the industry.
A Future Built by Us
The solution doesn’t lie in waiting for the industry to change on its own. It lies in us, the photographers of the Global South, uniting and demanding that our work be recognized, that our voices be heard. We must build our own networks, our own platforms, and our own communities, where we support each other, and where our work is given the space it deserves. The future of photography cannot be left in the hands of those who have always had the power, it must be reclaimed by those who have been left out.
As artists, we must continue to create, to share our stories, and to push for a world where we can truly be seen.
The Only Thing We Can’t Do: Stay Silent
To my fellow photographers, especially those from the Global South, I want to remind you: You are not invisible. Your work matters. Your story matters. And no matter how many doors get slammed in our faces, we will find a way in. We will make space for ourselves. Because in the end, it’s not about waiting for the world to accept us; it’s about making our voices so loud, so undeniable, that they have no choice but to listen.
The Final Word
I don’t have the answers. But I know this: the world is watching, and the time for change is now. We cannot allow the legacy of colonialism, privilege, and tokenism to dictate who gets to tell their story and who gets to be seen. Our work, our truths, deserve to be seen, not because we’re ticking a box, but because we are artists who are creating in a world that desperately needs our vision.
Photography is more than an art form it’s a way of seeing the world, of understanding the truth, and of telling stories that matter. But in this world, the most important stories are often the ones that remain unseen. It’s up to all of us to change that.
Thank you.
