Shoot, Take, Capture, Subject, Headshot, Trigger…
Have you ever felt uncomfortable with the language of photography? Or even some of the functions such as “master/slave”? In many ways, the words commonly used in the photography industry are rooted in colonialism.
Colonialism and its lasting impacts can be characterized by elements of occupation, settlement, extraction, exploitation, hierarchy, control, patriarchy, white supremacy and militarization.
Why is it that the terms we use in photography are associated with war, violence, militarization, colonialism, extraction and slavery? What relationships do these words evoke between the photographer and the photographed, or even between the photographer and their equipment? Who and what does this language benefit? It’s worth thinking about, especially when there are plenty of other terms to use instead.
Let's consider how the language of photography sprang from colonialism.
“Shoot” “Take” “Capture” “Trigger”
These words indirectly refer to the camera as a weapon that's wielded, almost like a gun. It acknowledges the history of photography, which emerged in the mid-late 1800s, and how some of the earliest popularized images documented the Mexican-American War, the American Civil War and the Crimean War.
An image's ability to shape public perception in wartime and sway opinions of controversial issues continues to this day. Evidence of this can be seen in posed imagery of World War I soldiers who were portrayed as heroes to propagate the draft, through the Iraq war when major media sources visually vilified “enemies” with the intent to harm and polarize, and even in the portrayals of alleged perpetrators of violence, depending on their race. Consider this example highlighting the difference in image choices for white and Black individuals accused of committing similar crimes.
It is no surprise, then, that the language of photography is rife with terms that both weaponize the camera and normalize colonial practices. This ultimately contributes to the continued inequality, exploitation and resource extraction that uphold colonial structures.
The passive acceptance of the power dynamics in the relationship between the photographer and the photographed also normalizes the relationships that are pervasive in colonial systems of oppression: the one with power controls the narrative.
Whose stories are being told and who is telling them?
The field of photography is not immune to the under- or misrepresentation of non-white, non-cis males. Camera companies’ paid ambassador programs—influencers with sponsorship contracts—are overwhelmingly populated by white men:
Canon US has 12 women ambassadors out of 37—seven of which are people of color. Canon Europe has 115 ambassadors, with seven Black photographers and 37 women in the programme.
Sony has 138 ambassadors, 10 of whom are Black and 35 who are women.
Nikon has 37 ambassadors, 15 women and three Black ambassadors, but only after customer criticism did they recruit two additional Black ambassadors.
Throughout the photography industry, there's a great imbalance of who gets hired behind the camera and, therefore, tells the stories. About 75% of photography students worldwide are women, but only 15% manage to turn their skills into a career. In 2020, Dario Calamese photographed Viola Davis for the July cover of Vanity Fair, making him the first Black photographer to make the cover photo in the magazine’s 37-year history.
When there's a singular dominant narrator, the industry falls prey to the danger of the “single story.” As described in Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s TED Talk, the single story cannot capture the totality of a person. Rather, it perpetuates stereotypes and robs individuals (and groups of individuals) of their dignity and personhood. Similarly, a single interpretation of a photograph cannot capture the complexity of the story it depicts, whether it’s that of a person, group or cause. This is why it is imperative to put power in the hands of whose story is being told, and to be mindful of who is telling them.
As storytellers, it's our collective responsibility to do better for communities who continue to experience systemic oppression and violence.
Poverty, inequality, exploitation, resource extraction and depletion all stem from colonialism. Yet, we continue to use language rooted in the colonial warfare that robbed communities of their ways of being, knowledge, traditions and language. If your ancestors were enslaved, what does the term “master” mean to you? If your ancestors’ land was stolen with the use of military force, what does “shoot” evoke?
If we are to do better, we must begin by decolonizing our mindsets and our language for a practice which seeks to “tell their stories.” We have to rid our vernacular of terms which promote the colonial ideals of conquering, domination, entitlement and exploitation; terms which reinforce existing inequities and power dynamics; terms which can re-traumatize.
A decolonized mindset is one which is centred around relationship. It prioritizes listening, empathizing with others and questioning your role in another’s story. Are you the best person to tell it? It's about accepting and pursuing your obligation to give back to try and achieve unity and harmony. By choosing words from a place of empathy, acknowledgement and compassion, we're actively choosing to practice radical love and acceptance by making a small change in ourselves to create a safer, welcoming space for others.
“Coming from a trauma-informed perspective and decolonizing our mindset is the most loving thing we can do. It’s one point of awareness we can start with as a small entryway to the whole decolonization movement, which we value strongly at Photographers Without Borders.”
The colonization of language, practice and power dynamics has become normalized, so how do we disrupt and decolonize?
Initially, change starts from our own mindsets. We must acknowledge, both in our personal practice of photography and in the spaces in which we operate, the effect our words and actions have on those around us. Decolonizing our mindsets requires coming from a trauma-informed perspective. It relies on having empathy and awareness of the lived experiences of others, and being mindful of the potential harm our words and actions may cause.
Practically speaking, there are a number of alternative terms we can exchange for the harmful ones.
Instead of shoot: make, create, document or photograph
Instead of capture: make, create, depict, photograph, express, portray, or record
Instead of take: make, create or document
Instead of subject: photographed, person/animal/landscape, focus or collaborator
Instead of master flash: primary
Instead of slave flash: secondary
Instead of headshot: portrait, close-up or identification photo
Instead of shot: image, photo/photograph or picture
Instead of trigger: shutter or button
The fact is, words matter. We've parted from the socially acceptable uses of ableist, sexist and racist terms—and we can do the same in the realm of photography. We know that words can be harmful. Whether we choose to shift our words and language for the betterment of the industry, is up to us.
Here is another resource from our friends at Diversify Photo.
To learn more about incorporating ethical practices into your storytelling, join us for an upcoming workshop: