“If we have more working women photographers in Iraq, we don’t just achieve greater gender equality within Iraq’s photography industry, we also gain greater equity in storytelling”

Over two intensive workshop days in Baghdad in November 2024, Garthwaite worked closely with IFP members on everything from image sequencing and pitching, to navigating identity through the camera. “We had women joining from around Iraq, supported by family members,” she says. “When women gather, we uplift one another, and we seek solutions. We soothe one another. Creativity is not reserved for the lucky few; it’s within us all. What we often need is the confidence to pursue it, and this is a driving force within IFP.”

For Raghad Kisam, a film-maker and storyteller with over eight years of experience, IFP offered “a real boost of confidence” and a community rooted in a shared mission. “I deeply believe in the power of visual storytelling to create change, challenge stereotypes and celebrate resilience,” she says.

Her work often draws on memory, culture and identity, creating personal narratives that speak to larger truths. One of her most poignant projects, Unseen Bonds, explores the impact of decades of war on family relationships in Iraq. “I have only one digital photograph with my late father,” Kisam says. “Because of the wars, our shared memories were never captured and that absence stayed with me.”

She reimagines a family album that never was, constructing images from light, objects, and the quiet spaces of memory. “Unseen Bonds reflects how conflict doesn’t just destroy infrastructure, it quietly reshapes how we remember, connect and grieve across generations.”

This kind of intimate, emotionally layered storytelling is emblematic of IFP’s ethos. For Salam, her first documentary project Shadow – developed during a visual journalism workshop with VII Academy – marked a milestone in her practice. 

“It explores what is expected from women versus what they truly want to pursue,” she explains. “I love this project deeply, it was my very first documentary work.” While the creative energy is palpable, the challenges remain stark. “One of the main challenges is the lack of genuine support and trust among individuals,” Kisam points out. “We need to build real connections based on encouragement rather than competition or undermining each other’s work.” She also stresses the “major need for financial support, especially for long-term projects”.

Garthwaite explains that greater opportunities for women create a ripple effect for Iraqi storytelling on the international stage. “Male photographers are unable to enter many parts of homes in Iraq, but women photographers are permitted to do so,” she notes. “If we have more working women photographers in Iraq, we don’t just achieve greater gender equality within Iraq’s photography industry, we also gain greater equity in storytelling.”

And storytelling is at the core of everything IFP does. “Our discussions and the advice we exchange have been truly valuable,” Salam says. “Through the IFP workshop and exhibition, I was able to present my very first documentary project.” As the collective moves forward, armed with resources and female solidarity within a blooming industry, the women of IFP are shaping not only how Iraq is seen, but who gets to do the seeing.

@ifp_iq_

For Bejaoui and Douagi, Islam is “a powerful weapon against colonialism, capitalism, and supremacy, the way for global revolution. For centuries,” they tell me, “Islam has been targeted by various powers because they recognise the threat it poses to economic and political systems built on exploitation and oppression.”

At its core, Bejaoui and Douagi believe that Islam emphasises love, community, and divine justice. For many, it has been an anchor in the face of injustice, offering strength where systems fail. For Bejaoui and Douagi, Islam is not static but alive, “a powerful weapon against colonialism, capitalism, and supremacy,” they say, “the way for global revolution.”

They describe UMMAH as an ijtihad, an opening for diverse interpretations of faith that resists the flattening gaze of Western frameworks. “We deliberately avoided aligning with dominant Western or white-centric narratives,” they explain, “especially regarding queerness or identity politics that often try to govern and instrumentalise our experiences. We refuse to be reduced to frameworks that serve colonial agendas, or to have our identities co-opted for others’ purposes.” Instead, the book grounds itself in the Global South and reflects the lived, nuanced realities of Muslim communities across the world.

The aim was never to represent Islam in its entirety, but to hold space for its plurality. “Islam is as plural as the people who live it, love it, and carry it in their hearts,” they tell me. Each contribution reflects a particular encounter with the dunya – shaped by history, culture, migration, and personal spirituality – together forming a chorus that resists any singular representation.

Funding was one of the hardest challenges. In the West, Islam is still seen as “too risky” or “too radical,” which makes projects like this nearly impossible to sustain. “This reflects a wider societal issue,” the duo note, “the persistent fear and misunderstanding surrounding Islam.” Pre-orders have become the main way to cover costs, a reminder of how often Muslim artists and communities are forced to support themselves when institutions turn away.

But what might have been a limitation also became the book’s strength. The open call expanded the conversation far beyond their immediate networks, drawing in people they may never have reached otherwise. “It was inspiring to witness how people reclaimed Islam with pride and joy,” Douagi and Bejaoui recall. “The solidarity it generated showed us the beauty of shared struggle and hope. It reminded us that faith is alive, dynamic, and can be a source of strength and healing in difficult times.”

Collaboration shaped not just the content but the look and feel of the book. Working with Marie-Mam Sai Belier and Moustafa Kridly, close friends and long-time collaborators, the design process was playful and deeply communal. “We shared ideas, inspirations, and had a lot of fun crafting the visual identity,” they say. The bold typographic treatment became the review’s visual signature – another refusal of standardisation.

UMMAH is only the beginning. Uncivilized Collective’s first standalone book, République Indépendante des Immigré.e.s de Marseille, is a portrait of the city told through the voices of its immigrant communities. A mosaic of stories, poems, and fragments, it speaks frankly of Marseille’s contradictions: its beauty, its poverty, its unyielding vitality. The launch will unfold in the city itself with live performances, turning the book into a communal event.

This September comes Crash System: Decolonial Arcade, where the act of play becomes a political tool. Through works by Issam Smiri, Kmar Douagi, and Rayane Jemaa, the exhibition dismantles the colonial mechanics embedded in mainstream video games. Jemaa’s Is This the Middle East? dissects stereotypes of the region, Smiri’s Syncretisme invites players to co-create stories, and a new collaborative game designed by Smiri and produced by Bejaoui incorporates handmade objects as integral components. Here, gaming becomes both imaginative resistance and care.

Looking further ahead, a new collective volume provisionally titled Spiritual Politics will take shape under the direction of Musa Shadeedi. Beginning from the premise that the public realm is never neutral, it draws on Islamic spiritual traditions, among others, to ask how belief can inform governance, ethics, and resistance. Contributions will explore themes such as ethical disobedience, ecological responsibility, and the metaphysics of liberation, with an open call due later this year.

Uncivilized Review Issue 0: UMMAH: Divine Oneness, Worship Plurality is available for pre-order now

“Many Black and African women photographers are unfortunately typecast into covering topics solely related to Black culture, social justice, or race”

The database now serves as a resource for industry gatekeepers, including photo editors, directors, curators and art buyers. But it also provides members with community, funding, mentorship and professional development, including free webinars, workshops and portfolio reviews. That sense of community matters, says Irungu, who admits that, “At times, there’s a feeling that I have to ‘prove myself’ more than others, or that my work is underestimated based on my race.” BWP also launched the free annual Black Women Photographers Summit and the Black Women Photographers Podcast Network, and has partnered with brands including Adobe, Flickr, Live Nation and World Athletics. 

One of the big prevailing problems in the industry is pigeonholing, which limits both what Black and African women photographers are asked to shoot, and when. “Many Black and African women photographers are unfortunately typecast into covering topics solely related to Black culture, social justice, or race,” says Irungu. “Often, they’re only recognised during Black History Month and overlooked during Women’s History Month. This limited perspective hinders broader recognition of their skills and versatility as photographers. Black and African women photographers excel in a wide range of assignments, including outdoors, sports, music, fashion, editorial and commercial work.” 

The historic lack of representation also means stories relevant to Black communities or Black women have often been told by white or male (or both) photographers, usually with an outsider’s perspective. “The value of having Black women photographers document stories within the Black community, or African women photographers cover issues on the continent, can’t be overstated,” Irungu argues. “Their deep cultural understanding and lived experiences bring an authenticity and nuance that often fosters a more respectful and intimate approach to storytelling. This perspective results in narratives that are not only more accurate, but also resonate with a depth that might be overlooked by someone without the same background or cultural connection.” To date, BWP has also provided over $185,000 in financial grants, as well as $60,000 in new camera gear. Grace Ekpu, a Nigerian photojournalist and documentary film-maker, based in Lagos, was the recipient of a $10,000 BWP and Nikon grant for her Bridging Pain project, which focused on people with sickle cell anaemia and the disparities in healthcare access in different regions. “Being part of BWP has helped me feel part of a community of like-minded creatives,” Ekpu tells me. 

“It’s strengthened my views on how important it is to tell our stories and my resolve to continue to be a voice of change through my art.” Ekpu is particularly interested in socially-driven stories, including the impact of climate change on vulnerable people, especially women and children. “It’s important that as a Black woman, I’m able to freely tell the stories that affect me,” she says. “Stories about women’s issues, for instance, can only be told from the lens of a woman who can relate and can give it the best attention, and can also make the subject comfortable sharing their experiences. In my work around women who were former brides of Boko Haram terrorists, the women were able to share their stories to us fellow women and were comfortable in front of my camera. We need to eliminate the male gaze and do more stories that speak to the soul of our characters. We, as women, can also document historical events and shouldn’t be boxed into one corner. There’s a lot we can offer as Black women.” 

Tobi Sobowale, a British-Nigerian photographer based in London, found that joining BWP opened her eyes to the wide range of career opportunities. “Seeing people who looked like me in these roles inspired me to expand my perspective, helping me refine my focus and clarify how I wanted to evolve both my creative vision and my work,” she says. Community membership has brought many practical benefits, including Capture One sponsorship. “The software’s become an essential part of my creative process, especially in experimenting with and enhancing the use of colour in my work,” she says. “For the past three years, I’ve also had biweekly accountability sessions with Whitley Isa, a photographer from Belgium, who I met through the community. We set goals, support each other in achieving them, and reflect on our progress at the end of each year.” 

Sobowale strives to redefine Black beauty in commercial and fashion spaces. “Mainstream media often limits the portrayal of Black women, but through my photography I aim to highlight their vulnerability, strength, power and youthfulness,” she explains. “One example is my series Efflorescence, which explores the softness and delicacy of Black women, symbolising the transformation from a seed to a flower in bloom. As a Black woman myself, I approach photographing other Black women with intention and care.” 

Irungu has also had a busy period. Alongside running BWP, she worked at the White House for three years as the official photo editor for Vice President Kamala Harris, and as a photographer in the Biden-Harris administration. “Photographing in such a prestigious and high-profile environment has been the honour of a lifetime,” she says. “It’s been an opportunity to break barriers and be part of history, but it also comes with the weight of representation. Every time I walked through the doors of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building or the West Wing, it was a reminder of how far we’ve come. Before myself and Cameron Smith, there had only been one Black woman photographer at the White House Photo Office: Sharon Farmer [hired in the early 1990s to photograph President Bill Clinton and First Lady Hillary Clinton].” 

BWP started out with a focus on photographers, but its membership has evolved, and it is now organising “two new verticals” – Black Women Videographers and Black Women Cinematographers. And Irungu has other big plans. “I’m excited about the future of Black Women Photographers and its continued growth as a global resource,” she says. “By our fifth anniversary in July, we anticipate BWP will have distributed $240,000 in grants and $80,000 in equipment. My aspiration is to reach the one million dollar mark in the near future. I’m committed to scaling our initiatives and fostering a thriving community for Black and African women creatives in every way possible.” 

blackwomenphotographers.com

Better Entry has partnered with graphic designer Bráulio Amado, known for his work with Frank Ocean, Danny Brown, and Charli XCX, to create a campaign flyer announcing the raffle. Additionally, each disposable camera has been decorated by the participating artists, making each piece a collectible work of art.

For the live raffle, all entries will be collected online via BetterUnite. Supporters can participate by purchasing entries for any of the six disposable cameras, making donations to support the cause, or sharing the initiative to raise awareness.

BJP catches up with Better Entry founders Jared Witherspoon and Chanel Ghazi Alorsan to learn more about the initiative.

BJP: Could you tell us how the project was launched and how it came to fruition?

Jared Witherspoon and Chanel Ghazi Alorsan: Through our collective, Better Entry, we often work to facilitate projects centered on public service and bridging the gap between established creatives and those aspiring towards the creative industry. The two of us also work as freelancers within the editorial fashion space and have a deep passion for photography. Considering the Gaza–Israel conflict is one of the most significant humanitarian crises facing modern media, paired with Chanel’s personal experience as a Palestinian-American, we felt that this project would be a viable way for us to show solidarity to a noble cause in connection with our passions and resources as artists. 

BJP: What is the role of the camera in the daily lives of Gazans today?

JW & CGA: The camera serves as one of the most compelling tools for communicating the everyday experiences of Gazans today. Aside from the Gaza crisis being one of the most significant catastrophes in the world, it is also one of the most censored crises in Western media. This is why it was vital for us to include Fathi as a contributing artist for this project. 

BJP: What do you hope the disposable cameras capture?

JW & CGA: Through the artists we’ve brought together, we hope that their disposable cameras will provide a deeper insight into their day-to-day processes, inspirations, creations, and personal experiences as artists. It’s a window into their world, similar to how Fathi is providing a window into his.

BJP: And what impact will this project have?

JW & CGA: Aside from raising funds to help support mutual aid efforts surrounding the crisis, we hope that this project will inspire others to consider new ways to combine community and personal interests to help navigate feasible options for supporting initiatives greater than themselves.

Enter the raffle via BetterUnite here
@better.entry 

All images © Agnieszka Sejud.

Agnieszka Sejud

HOAX

“This is a country where European political standards are considered radical,” states Agnieszka Sejud in her introduction to HOAX, which combines documentary, collage and installation to throw what’s real and what’s not into doubt. There are convincing trompe d’oeil bags of potatoes, ever-multiplying flowery headscarves, lenticular prints in which priests are transposed with rolls of cash; Sejud’s style is hyperactive but also deadly focused. In Poland some members of society are not considered full citizens, she says, reserving special ire for religious hypocrisy; she describes HOAX as a story of self-delusion, adding that the Polish media offers information that differs so drastically, “We must ask ourselves again, each and every day, ‘Where lies the truth?’”. Sejud’s other work also probes photography as a medium (Memesis), skewers the Vatican (I want to be a priest like my father), and raises funds for the queer community (the collaboration KWAS x LGBT); based between Wroclaw, Poland, and Hamburg, Germany, she graduated from the Faculty of Law, Administration and Economics of the University of Wrocław before studying at the Institute of Creative Photography, Silesian University, Opava.

All images © Zsuzsi Simon.

Zsuzsi Simon

And yet we still keep on living…

A broom is a simple, everyday tool with a complicated cultural history, associated with witches and thereby with female power and sexuality. In And yet we still keep on living… Zsuzsi Simon plays with both aspects, photographing her grandmother sweeping with a conventional brush, her mother dancing with a wilder besom, and herself straddling a long-haired broom, naked and seemingly in ecstasy. The work also includes videos of the trio of women talking through transgenerational traumas and taking part in rituals and, in a group show devoted to witches and alternative faith at Budapest Gallery, Simon hung actual brushes and brooms alongside her images. Born in 1988 and based in Budapest, Simon is a graduate of the Hungarian University of Fine Arts and makes work revolving around feminism, body image, and activism, using humor, provocation, irony “or even honesty” to break down taboos. For Simon a broom symbolises purification and liberation, and relates to a longer women’s history in Hungary, which includes witch hunts which took place from the 15th-18th century, a much longer period than most other European countries. 

European Kinship is on show at the Robert Capa Contemporary Photography Center, Budapest, from 12 March 2025.

This article first appeared in a special project of the same name, published alongside BJP Issue 7921 and co-organized with the Robert Capa Contemporary Photography Center, Budapest and with the Adam Mickiewicz Institute as part of the international cultural program of the Polish Presidency of the Council of the European Union, 2025.

The project was co-financed by the Polish Ministry of Culture and National Heritage.

All images © Karolina Wojtas.

Karolina Wojtas

Made in Poland

Made in Poland is scrawled on a woman’s behind, the ‘i’ dotted with a love heart; it is messy, irreverent and funny, like Wojtas’ images. But Wojtas’ practice is also underpinned by an anarchic defiance of contemporary power structures in Poland which is rooted in deep-felt irreverence. Inspired by colour and experimentation, by what she describes as a childish desire to play, Wojtas’ work is at odds with tradition and authority. Her previous project Abzgram (“a nonsense word”) takes on Polish education, reconfiguring classrooms, or showing cage-like fences, or collaging formal class portraits into infinity and absurdity. Meanwhile, Made in Poland satirises stereotypes around food, religion and femininity in the country. Installation is an important aspect of Wojtas’ work and, like her images, hinges on the overwhelming and borderline ridiculous; she has made huge books, within which visitors can literally immerse themselves, and installed a tiny museum inside an outsize cola bottle in her home village. Born in 1996 in Jarosław, south-eastern Poland, Wojtas studied at Lodz Film School and the Opava Institute of Creative Photography, Czech Republic. 

All images from the project Kinky Concrete © Júlia Standovár.

Júlia Standovár

Kinky Concrete

Born in Budapest but based in New York City for the last 10 years, Júlia Standovár has found that being an immigrant has thrown her experience as a woman into relief. “I realised that being a woman doesn’t feel and doesn’t mean the same in New York and Hungary,” she explains. This insight led her to make Hungry Hungarians, a project about female migrants in the US, and A Kék Melleken Túl (‘Over The Blue Nipple Hills’), a book in which she discusses female sex and sexuality in Hungary with her mother, a sexual psychologist. Kinky Concrete also draws on “internal emotional movements and female issues”, though it is also informed by the post- communism architecture Standovár grew up with. Shaping concrete into sculptures themed around sexuality, everyday feelings and social pressures, she turns something brutal into softer shapes, she says, and materialises her emotions; she then photographs her creations, developing an interplay between the actual and the unworldly. Represented by TOBE Gallery, Budapest, Standovár has a BA in Photography from Moholy-Nagy University of Art and Design, and an MA in Photo, Video and Related Media from the School of Visual Arts, New York.

European Kinship is on show at the Robert Capa Contemporary Photography Center, Budapest, from 12 March 2025.

This article first appeared in a special project of the same name, published alongside BJP Issue 7921 and co-organized with the Robert Capa Contemporary Photography Center, Budapest and with the Adam Mickiewicz Institute as part of the international cultural program of the Polish Presidency of the Council of the European Union, 2025.

The project was co-financed by the Polish Ministry of Culture and National Heritage.

juliastandovar.com, karolinawojtas.com

“Every person has a duty to leave a trace of themselves, both through ideals and tangible outcomes”

Observing the world has been Keita’s starting point and he applied the same logic to Studio KENE, which he set up in 2017 in Kanadjiguila, a neighbourhood in the province of Bamako, Mali. Kanadjiguila is a vast cluster of concrete and brick buildings which rapidly grew over the last decade as migrant communities arrived from the Ivory Coast, Guinea and other sub-Saharan regions. Travelling to Mali to visit his brother, Keita was struck by the boredom annihilating the youngsters there, and recognised his past self in them.

Supported by Rome-based organisation Fondazione Pianoterra, he decided to pay back what he had learnt to locals aged 12 to 22 years old. Keita wanted to give these students the chance to be passionate about photography, and set up a workshop. Initially it was not easy to get them interested and later, when Studio KENE opened, it was difficult to get the community on board with having the youngsters – and educators – in the street with their cameras.

KENE had to get closer to those living nearby, to connect so that they could express both their own stories and others’ point of view, a process which took nearly a year. KENE is now a permanent space for photography, education, communal living, and care, centred on teamwork and non-hierarchical teaching.

It is a collaborative approach literally constructed from the ground up, when Keita and others physically built the studio. “The group formed organically and gradually,” he explains. “In the morning, I used to fetch water and transport bricks with a group of older youngsters, to help out with the construction works. In the afternoon I then gathered those curious to know more about photography and the camera, and taught them in a different space. From two assistants to five students, the group grew in a few days. Another five students joined as the community started to notice what we were doing and be genuinely intrigued.”

Keita’s first thought was to use street photography so these individuals could better understand their neighbourhood, but he has found that studio photography helps them too. Encouraging the students to build a firm technical knowledge, it also allows them to portray themselves and others, building trust and self-determination. In addition KENE aims to equip its students for work, often offering its alumni teaching work, and training them in both photography and film so that they can become photographers in their diverse communities, shooting weddings and other special events.

KENE also offers courses in theory, and group reviews, as well as a processing lab; in short, its students are given the instruments to narrate their reality, and understand themselves in relation to it. Making images and stories nurtures critical thinking, and fosters interplay between individual expression and collective action. And together, the students’ work creates a combined portrait of Kanadjiguila, an area often overlooked even by other Bamako inhabitants. In documenting it, Studio KENE is helping form some kind of collective memory, and a better sense of cultural identity. “Every person has a duty to leave a trace of themselves,” says Keita, “both through ideals and tangible outcomes.”

In 2022, Studio KENE opened another outpost in Rome’s multicultural Esquilino district. This time pitched at adults, its main objective is to create a place for learning around photography via teamwork, reciprocal listening and support. Theoretical classes and practice sessions alternate, and students are encouraged to depict and engage with the surrounding area. The Rome location also allows other collaborators to get involved, some of whom are professional teachers in wider disciplines such as publishing, studio and street photography, and editing tools.

Keita now divides his time between Bamako and Rome, and continues his own photographic practice while promoting learning about photography as a root to self-determination, confidence, cultural understanding and basic visual literacy. KENE students are winning recognition for their work, their images circulating through exhibitions in Rome, Naples, and Prato, Tuscany, where Centro Pecci hosted an exhibition narrating the first years of the Bamako space, right before the new iteration in Rome opened.

For Keita, photography can generate transformative practices of mutual care, and help redistribute knowledge and opportunities for change – whether in Mali or Italy. “When we are living in difficult conditions, we are brought to think that our thoughts don’t matter to others and we feel stuck in isolation, incapable of communicating,” he says. “Photography taught me that we can always be useful and our voice does matter, always.”

 studiokene.org

“There are so many incredible books and dummies produced by photographers in the region that do not find their way out, because of the lack of interest from established western publishing houses”

Funding support

Eldalil and Shanan are alumni of the Arab Documentary Photography Program (ADPP) – a scheme developed by the Arab Fund for Arts and Culture (AFAC), with Dutch NGO the Prince Claus Fund, in partnership with Magnum Foundation in New York. ADPP is a gem of the photographic industry, pledging continuous support to cultural practitioners and alumni alike in the Arab region.

The Beirut-based AFAC was founded in 2007 as an independent foundation, an initiative of Arab cultural activists to support photographers and organisations from the Arab region. Focusing on the broad spectrum of the cultural and artistic fields, AFAC has so far supported well over 2000 projects, covering cinema, photography, visual and performing arts, creative and critical writing, music and documentary film, in addition to the special programmes, North Africa Cultural Program and Arts and Culture Entrepreneurship Program, granting a rough total of $44million over 15 years.

“Our goal is to be a supporting institution, rather than a controlling one,” AFAC director Rima Mismar says. “Our grantees have complete freedom in developing their projects, and we strive to be there should they need us. We provide guidance and mentorship when it comes to skills and practices, with the long-term goal of also creating a network of practitioners in the region. It is a reason of pride for us that previous grantees take part in the jury sessions for the future cohorts; it contributes to creating a legacy.”

AFAC’s focus on photography developed in more depth after 2014, when the ADPP was founded following a proposal from Susan Meiselas, Magnum photographer and president of the Magnum Foundation. Yet, as Meiselas and Kristen Lubben, executive director, state: “Since the programme’s founding 10 years ago, we have developed deep and ongoing relationships with the ADPP photographers. Through the programme, they develop as artists and also become members of a mutually supportive and sustaining creative community. Magnum Foundation’s goal is to extend that community by sharing opportunities and trusting the photographers when they come to us with new and innovative ideas to activate their own projects or amplify the voices of fellow storytellers from the region.”

The Prince Claus Fund has a similar approach, supporting arts and culture in countries in which cultural expression is under pressure, but taking a hands-off approach. It did not have a specific role in the extra funding for Tarweedeh but, Tessa Giller, head of programmes, says: “We have been supporting AFAC, and specifically the ADPP programme, for years now – and it is our intention to continue doing so. We are very happy with the outcomes of it. We tend to look at eventual additional support when practitioners reach out to us, and we evaluate them case by case.”

Creating aka TAWLA

The ADPP yearly grant is open to documentary photographers who work with creative photography practices in the Arab world. It provides up to eight photographers with a $7000 grant to work on projects in their country of residence over a period of 10 months, during which they participate in three workshops plus benefit from one-on-one mentorship. AFAC’s Rima Mismar continues: “We realised how important it is to follow up and be there for them after their project is completed. Diffusion and dissemination are important aspects, and we want to be active in that sense as well.” For this reason, and in celebration of its 10th year of activity in 2023, ADPP launched the Arab Documentary Photography Program Alumni Fellowship, committed to “accelerating the careers of the programme alumni by providing them with the support and resources they need while facilitating further regional and international exchanges between established and emergent photographers”.

Before this new programme was launched, in summer 2023, Eldalil and Shanan thought of reaching out to ADPP and Magnum Foundation to see if they would financially support them in getting a table at Polycopies (after the encouragement of Jessica Murray, ADPP coordinator). The original idea was to present their own books, but they opted to also invite photographers from the ADPP community and beyond. They then decided to present themselves as a collective – aka TAWLA.

“There are so many incredible books and dummies produced by photographers in the region that do not find their way out, because of the lack of interest from established western publishing houses, but also support in diffusion and distribution. Aka TAWLA was born with the desire to fill in for such a need, and create our own platforms and opportunities,” Shanan tells me. “When we created it,” continues Eldalil, “we did not know if fellow colleagues would trust us in presenting their books. In December, in Cairo, we had to have a double table to be able to include all the publications given to us.”

During that rainy November day, seeking refuge in the welcoming Polycopies barge, I heard Eldalil introducing Tarweedeh during one of the programmed talks. The publication was created out of the urgency to address the devastating war on Gaza, and the need to support the photographers in the field. Featuring works by Maen Hammad, Randa Shaath, Samar Abu Elouf, Sameh Rahmi, Tanya Habjouqa, Samar Hazboun, Ameen Abo Kaseem, Lina Khalid and Nadia Bseiso, its purpose is to be a “tool of resistance, hope, and solidarity that came to exist through our belief in the power of images and self-representation to create connections”. Its title is explained on its first page; it refers to “an encrypted style of Palestinian folk song used to help families communicate across occupier prisons. This type of folk song was first developed during British colonisation of Palestine, and continued after the Nakba in 1948”.

In September 2023 violence in Gaza and the West Bank was escalating, before the tragic attacks of 07 October. In response to the deteriorating situation in Gaza, especially in relation to the safety of journalists and photographers in the area, aka TAWLA decided it urgently needed to put “something out there”, a visual testimony of the stories and practices of Palestinian photographers. The alarming death toll since has only served to illustrate how prescient aka TAWLA’s initiative was, underlining the need to allow the space for on-the-ground narratives.

Aka TAWLA reached out to ADPP and Magnum Foundation again, and both were happy to provide additional funding. Having secured the money for printing, Tarweedeh was officially in-the-making. Eldalil took care of the editing, often having to use images already in the ADPP database because it was impossible for the Palestinian photographers to send new files. “It was an enormous gesture of trust. They gave us their works, giving us carte blanche, trusting that we would give justice to their stories. But it was all very quick, very urgent,” she explains.

“Our goal is to be a supporting institution, rather than a controlling one… Our grantees have complete freedom in developing their projects, and we strive to be there should they need us”

Visual testimony

The nine featured portfolios take the viewer through the personal stories, aspirations and narratives of the photographers, in pages designed by Reem Attia and also including drawings by Sabbagh and Maggie Ashraf. War and destruction is always in the background, an unavoidable constant causing displacement and shattering lives. Yet what stands out is a longing for normality, for a sense of place that resembles home, and a sense of being able to restore, in a precious, delicate way, some form of civil contract of photography.

Maen Hammad’s images are “inspired by the profound connection between skateboarding and space”, for example, highlighting the “juxtaposition of violence and joy for young people in Palestine”. He is also one of the photographers documenting the situation in the occupied West Bank since 07 October. Lina Khalid documents her time battling cancer, capturing “the ghosts that haunt her in the form of pain, love, loss and death”. Ameen Abo Kaseem reflects on the trauma of displacement, and on the helpless status of refugees, treated as strangers wherever they go.

Randa Shaath’s images from the turn of the century show a routine we almost cannot fathom today. Samar Hazboun focuses on the stories of some 67 Palestinian women forced to give birth at checkpoints between 2000 and 2005, “by pairing portraits with relevant belongings of the subjects involved”, including premature death certificates and clothes prepared for children who never wore them. Samar Abu Elouf depicts life under constant power outage, and lack of electric light. Sameh Rahmi reflects on the everyday life of some of the 1600 amputees living in Gaza; numbers that will have undoubtedly changed since October. Abu Elouf and Rahmi had been residing in Gaza; while Abu Elouf was recently evacuated, Rahmi remains in Gaza with his two daughters.

Tanya Habjouqa creates a collective portrayal of humanity’s ability to seek pleasure and joy under the most testing circumstances, and Nadia Bseiso documents the landscape of several villages along the borders of Palestine, Iraq, Syria and Saudi Arabia – reflecting on the relation between humans and land, and the latter’s challenged fertility due to water scarcity. Through these pages are many elements speaking of the function of photography and image-making, their power in conveying narratives and addressing complex matters, and as tools of resistance and empowerment.

Produced at speed, with 200 copies printed in Paris given away by donation and proceeds entirely going to support the featured photographers in Gaza, Tarweedeh quickly sold out. It was reprinted for subsequent showings of the aka TAWLA table at the Cairo International Book Fair and Magnum Foundation in New York for the latter’s December public programme (where it remains available, and is now in its second printing), along with further editions and events in the works in other cities, such as Barcelona and Dubai.

Eldalil and Shanan say they were not expecting the solidarity and support they received from Polycopies onwards, either in the Arab region or the west. “There are monetary resources, which are absolutely necessary for allowing any project to take off the ground, and for which we are grateful, and there’s other resources – trust, solidarity, support, making space and creating spaces,” Shanan states. “All of this is wealth, and we all can benefit from it, if we start understanding its power and potential.

“It’s about shifting dynamics and creating new strategies with human relations at their core. Since Polycopies, aka TAWLA collective has been joined by two new members, Mohamed El Mahdy (from Egypt) and Fethi Sahraoui (from Algeria). The aka TAWLA collective community also keeps growing across the region, as more visual artists share interest in showcasing their work with us.” As Shanan says, it is about starting with tables and letting them become bigger.