Date
17dec23
location
Cario
egypt
30.0444° N, 31.2357° E
gallery
giza plateau
49 photos•2 films
cairo
Date
17dec23
location
Cario
egypt
30.0444° N, 31.2357° E
gallery
giza plateau
49 photos•2 films
cairo
This article examines how Ngarra’s collaborative photography initiatives with indigenous communities challenge traditional anthropological and ethnographic approaches to documenting indigenous cultures. By analyzing the power dynamics in visual representation, the article explores how Ngarra’s methodology of putting cameras in the hands of community members creates a framework for visual sovereignty—where indigenous peoples control their own representation and narrative. The research draws on postcolonial theory, visual anthropology, and indigenous media studies to develop a theoretical framework for understanding how collaborative visual storytelling can serve as a form of decolonization and cultural reclamation. Through case studies of Ngarra’s projects in various indigenous communities, the article demonstrates how visual sovereignty manifests in practice and contributes to broader movements for indigenous self-determination. The findings suggest that collaborative photography methodologies can effectively challenge colonial visual legacies while creating space for indigenous communities to assert control over their own image and story.Keywords: visual sovereignty, indigenous representation, collaborative photography, decolonization, visual anthropology, postcolonial theory
The history of photography is inextricably linked with the history of colonialism. Since its invention in the mid-19th century, photography has been deployed as a tool for documenting, classifying, and ultimately controlling indigenous populations across the globe. Early anthropological photography, exemplified by the work of Edward S. Curtis and Joseph Kossuth Dixon among North American indigenous peoples, sought to capture what was perceived as the “vanishing Indian”—a romanticized, static representation of indigenous cultures presumed to be on the verge of extinction [1]. These images, while often technically impressive and aesthetically compelling, served to reinforce colonial narratives that positioned indigenous peoples as relics of the past, incapable of surviving in the modern world.The anthropological gaze, as manifested through the camera lens, created what Deborah Poole terms a “visual economy” in which indigenous bodies and cultural practices became objects of fascination, study, and consumption [2]. This visual economy operated within broader systems of colonial power, with photographers and anthropologists serving as mediators between indigenous subjects and Western audiences. As Susan Sontag argues, “To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed” [3]. This objectification through photography was particularly acute in the case of indigenous peoples, who were often photographed without consent, understanding, or the ability to control how their images would be used and interpreted.The legacy of this colonial visual history continues to shape contemporary understandings and representations of indigenous peoples. Stereotypical images—from the noble savage to the ecological Indian—persist in popular culture and media, reinforcing harmful misconceptions and limiting the complexity with which indigenous identities and experiences are understood [4]. These representations have real consequences for indigenous communities, affecting everything from self-perception to public policy. As Maori filmmaker Merata Mita observed, “I’ve always felt strongly that our land gets taken, the fisheries and forests get taken, and in the same category is our stories. What we see on the screen is only the dominant, white, mono-cultural perspective on life… We need to see our own people up there” [5].
The “ethnographic gaze” refers to the particular way in which anthropology and related disciplines have observed, documented, and interpreted indigenous cultures. This gaze is characterized by an assumption of objectivity and scientific detachment, but in reality, it has often been shaped by Western biases, preconceptions, and power dynamics [6]. In visual anthropology, the ethnographic gaze manifests through decisions about what to photograph, how to frame subjects, and how to contextualize images—decisions that have historically been made by non-indigenous researchers rather than by the communities being documented.Johannes Fabian’s concept of the “denial of coevalness” is particularly relevant here—the tendency in anthropological practice to place the subjects of study in a different temporal frame from the researcher, effectively denying them contemporaneity [7]. In photography, this has often meant depicting indigenous peoples as timeless, unchanging, and primitive, divorced from the modern contexts in which they actually live. Such representations reinforce the notion that indigenous cultures are static and bound to tradition, rather than dynamic, evolving, and engaged with contemporary realities.The ethnographic gaze has also tended to focus on cultural difference and exoticism, highlighting aspects of indigenous life that appear most foreign or unusual to Western viewers. This selective vision creates distorted representations that emphasize certain cultural elements while ignoring others, particularly those that might challenge stereotypes or demonstrate cultural adaptation and resilience [8]. The result is a body of visual material that tells us more about Western fascinations and preoccupations than about the lived realities of indigenous peoples.Moreover, the power dynamics inherent in traditional ethnographic photography—where the photographer controls the camera, selects the subject, and determines how images will be used—mirror broader colonial relationships. The photographer, typically an outsider with greater social, economic, and political power, exercises control over the representation of individuals and communities with less power to shape their own public image [9]. This imbalance has led to exploitative practices, from staged photographs that misrepresent cultural practices to the circulation of sacred or sensitive images without proper permission or understanding.
In response to these problematic histories and practices, indigenous communities and their allies have increasingly asserted the need for “visual sovereignty”—the right and ability of indigenous peoples to control their own representation in visual media. Visual sovereignty represents a significant shift in power dynamics, moving control over image-making from outside observers to the communities themselves [10]. This concept extends beyond simply having indigenous people behind the camera; it encompasses the entire process of visual production, from determining what should be photographed to controlling how images are shared, contextualized, and preserved.Michelle Raheja, who coined the term “visual sovereignty” in relation to indigenous cinema, describes it as “a form of visual self-determination that engages the powerful ideological terrain of mass media” [11]. Applied to photography, visual sovereignty involves indigenous communities exercising authority over how they are photographed, by whom, and for what purposes. It also involves control over the circulation and interpretation of these images, challenging the assumption that photographs of indigenous peoples are public property or scientific specimens available for unrestricted use and analysis.Visual sovereignty is closely linked to broader movements for indigenous self-determination and cultural revitalization. By reclaiming control over their visual representation, indigenous communities assert their continued existence and vitality, challenging narratives of disappearance or assimilation [12]. They also create space for the expression of indigenous perspectives, knowledge systems, and aesthetic values that may differ from Western visual traditions. As Jolene Rickard argues, visual sovereignty is “not just about self-representation, but about mapping an indigenous space in the colonial imagination” [13].The concept of visual sovereignty does not necessarily mean the complete rejection of collaboration with non-indigenous photographers or institutions. Rather, it demands that such collaborations be conducted on indigenous terms, with clear protocols for consent, reciprocity, and community benefit [14]. It also recognizes that visual representation is not merely aesthetic but political—images have the power to shape perceptions, influence policy, and either reinforce or challenge existing power structures.
This article examines how Ngarra’s collaborative photography initiatives with indigenous communities create frameworks for visual sovereignty that challenge traditional approaches to documenting indigenous cultures. The research is guided by the following questions:1.How do collaborative photography methodologies shift power dynamics in visual representation compared to traditional ethnographic approaches?2.What specific practices and protocols enable indigenous communities to exercise visual sovereignty through photography?3.How do the resulting images and narratives differ when communities document themselves versus when they are documented by outsiders?4.What are the implications of visual sovereignty for academic research, cultural heritage preservation, and indigenous self-determination?To address these questions, the article is structured as follows: Section 2 provides a literature review examining postcolonial critiques of visual anthropology, indigenous media studies, and theoretical frameworks for visual sovereignty. Section 3 outlines the methodology used in this research, including ethical considerations and analytical approaches. Section 4 presents case studies of Ngarra’s collaborative photography projects with various indigenous communities. Section 5 analyzes how these projects shift power dynamics in visual representation. Section 6 explores visual sovereignty as a decolonial practice. Section 7 discusses challenges and limitations of collaborative photography approaches. Section 8 considers implications for practice, and Section 9 concludes with a summary of key findings and directions for future research.Through this structure, the article aims to contribute to both theoretical understandings of visual sovereignty and practical approaches to implementing collaborative photography methodologies that respect and enhance indigenous self-determination.
[1] Lyman, C. M. (1982). The vanishing race and other illusions: Photographs of Indians by Edward S. Curtis. Smithsonian Institution Press.[2] Poole, D. (1997). Vision, race, and modernity: A visual economy of the Andean image world. Princeton University Press.[3] Sontag, S. (1977). On photography. Farrar, Straus and Giroux.[4] Berkhofer, R. F. (1979). The white man’s Indian: Images of the American Indian from Columbus to the present. Vintage Books.[5] Mita, M. (1996). The soul of the warrior. In J. Dennis & J. Bieringa (Eds.), Film in Aotearoa New Zealand (pp. 36-56). Victoria University Press.[6] Edwards, E. (1992). Anthropology and photography, 1860-1920. Yale University Press.[7] Fabian, J. (1983). Time and the other: How anthropology makes its object. Columbia University Press.[8] Pinney, C. (2011). Photography and anthropology. Reaktion Books.[9] Bell, J. A. (2003). Looking to see: Reflections on visual repatriation in the Purari Delta, Gulf Province, Papua New Guinea. In L. Peers & A. K. Brown (Eds.), Museums and source communities: A Routledge reader (pp. 111-122). Routledge.[10] Raheja, M. H. (2007). Reading Nanook’s smile: Visual sovereignty, indigenous revisions of ethnography, and Atanarjuat (The Fast Runner). American Quarterly, 59(4), 1159-1185.[11] Raheja, M. H. (2010). Reservation reelism: Redfacing, visual sovereignty, and representations of Native Americans in film. University of Nebraska Press.[12] Rickard, J. (2011). Visualizing sovereignty in the time of biometric sensors. South Atlantic Quarterly, 110(2), 465-482.[13] Rickard, J. (1995). Sovereignty: A line in the sand. Aperture, 139, 50-59.[14] Lydon, J. (2016). Photography, humanitarianism, empire. Bloomsbury Academic.
Postcolonial theory has provided a powerful framework for critiquing traditional visual anthropology and its role in constructing and maintaining colonial power relations. Edward Said’s foundational work on Orientalism [15] established how Western representations of non-Western peoples served to construct an “Other” that reinforced Western identity and justified colonial domination. In the realm of visual anthropology, this critique has been extended to examine how photographic practices have contributed to the construction of indigenous peoples as exotic, primitive, and fundamentally different from the Western “self.”Catherine Russell argues that ethnographic film and photography have historically been “complicit with the colonial project of knowledge and power” [16]. This complicity operates through what Mary Louise Pratt terms the “imperial gaze”—a way of seeing that positions the Western observer as neutral and authoritative while rendering indigenous subjects as passive objects of study [17]. The camera, in this context, becomes not merely a recording device but an instrument of power that reinforces existing hierarchies and epistemic violence.Postcolonial critiques have also highlighted how visual anthropology has often been predicated on what Gayatri Spivak calls “epistemic violence”—the imposition of Western knowledge systems and categories onto indigenous realities [18]. Photography, with its claims to objectivity and truth, has been particularly effective at naturalizing Western interpretations of indigenous cultures. As Elizabeth Edwards notes, “The photograph’s apparent transparency, its seeming unmediated relationship to reality, made it a powerful tool in the construction of anthropological knowledge” [19]. This presumed transparency obscured the highly mediated nature of ethnographic photography and the power relations that shaped it.Furthermore, postcolonial scholars have examined how the temporal framing of indigenous peoples in visual anthropology has contributed to their marginalization. Johannes Fabian’s concept of the “denial of coevalness” [7] is particularly relevant here, as ethnographic photography has often positioned indigenous peoples in an ahistorical “ethnographic present” that denies their contemporaneity with the photographer and viewer. This temporal distancing reinforces the notion that indigenous cultures are static and unchanging, rather than dynamic and engaged with modernity on their own terms.Recent work in this field has moved beyond critique to explore how visual anthropology might be reimagined through postcolonial perspectives. Faye Ginsburg suggests that “when the subjects of ethnographic film become its makers, producers, and viewers, the whole ethnographic project is transformed” [20]. This transformation involves not only changing who controls the camera but also reconsidering fundamental assumptions about the purpose, ethics, and aesthetics of visual anthropology.
The field of indigenous media studies has emerged as a response to the problematic history of indigenous representation, focusing on how indigenous peoples use various media forms—including photography, film, video, and digital platforms—to represent themselves and their cultures. This field examines both the products of indigenous media-making and the social, political, and cultural contexts in which they are created and circulated.Faye Ginsburg’s concept of “cultural activism” has been influential in understanding indigenous media as a form of political engagement that “mediates across cultural boundaries” [21]. For Ginsburg, indigenous media production is not merely about creating alternative representations but about asserting cultural identity and sovereignty in contexts where these have been threatened by colonization. Similarly, Pamela Wilson and Michelle Stewart argue that indigenous media serve as “vehicles for internal and external communication, self-determination, and resistance” [22].The concept of “media sovereignty” has been developed to describe indigenous peoples’ efforts to control their own representation in various media forms. Michelle Raheja’s work on “visual sovereignty” in indigenous cinema [11] has been particularly influential, describing how indigenous filmmakers assert control over their visual representation while negotiating complex relationships with Western media traditions and institutions. Raheja argues that visual sovereignty involves not only control over production but also the ability to determine how indigenous images circulate and are interpreted.Research on indigenous photography specifically has highlighted how the medium has been reclaimed and repurposed by indigenous practitioners. Hulleah Tsinhnahjinnie’s concept of “photographic sovereignty” describes how Native American photographers create images that “counter, intervene, and deny the gaze of the colonizer” [23]. Similarly, Jane Lydon examines how Aboriginal Australians have engaged with historical photographs and created new images as part of broader processes of cultural reclamation and political assertion [24].Studies of indigenous media have also emphasized the importance of community control and participation. Terence Turner’s work with the Kayapo in Brazil demonstrates how video technology became “a means for them to objectify their culture, to become conscious of it as an entity, and thus to be able to deploy it instrumentally” [25]. This process of objectification through media does not necessarily lead to cultural commodification or alienation but can strengthen cultural identity and political agency when controlled by the community itself.Digital technologies have created new possibilities for indigenous self-representation, allowing for greater control over production and distribution. Jennifer Deger’s collaborative work with Yolngu communities in Australia explores how digital media enable new forms of cultural expression that combine indigenous and Western visual traditions [26]. Similarly, Kristin Dowell examines how indigenous filmmakers in Canada navigate between traditional cultural protocols and contemporary media practices [27].
In response to critiques of traditional visual anthropology, researchers and practitioners have developed collaborative and participatory approaches that aim to share control over the image-making process with the communities being represented. These methodologies range from consultation and collaboration to fully community-driven projects, with varying degrees of external facilitation and support.Photovoice, developed by Caroline Wang and Mary Ann Burris [28], has become one of the most widely used participatory visual methodologies. This approach provides cameras to community members and invites them to document their lives and communities from their own perspectives. The resulting images serve as the basis for group discussion, critical reflection, and potential action. Photovoice has been adapted for use in various contexts, including with indigenous communities, where it has been valued for its potential to center indigenous perspectives and priorities [29].Sam Pack’s concept of “photo elicitation” offers another collaborative approach, where researchers and community members jointly interpret photographs, creating space for multiple perspectives and meanings [30]. This method acknowledges that photographs are not self-evident but require contextual interpretation, which is best provided by those with relevant cultural knowledge and experience.More radical approaches to collaborative visual research have emerged from indigenous methodologies that center indigenous knowledge systems, values, and protocols. Linda Tuhiwai Smith’s influential work on decolonizing methodologies [31] has inspired visual researchers to develop approaches that respect indigenous ways of knowing and being. These approaches often involve long-term relationships with communities, adherence to cultural protocols, and recognition of collective rather than individual ownership of images and knowledge.Collaborative visual methodologies raise important questions about authorship, ownership, and control. As Wendy Ewald notes in her work with children and photography, truly collaborative processes often challenge conventional notions of individual artistic expression and intellectual property [32]. Indigenous collaborative projects, in particular, may involve complex negotiations around what can be photographed, by whom, and how images can be shared and used.The effectiveness of collaborative visual methodologies depends not only on technical aspects of image-making but also on the quality of relationships between external facilitators and community members. Trust, reciprocity, and long-term commitment are essential elements of successful collaborative projects [33]. As Heather Castleden and colleagues argue in their work with indigenous communities in Canada, the process of collaboration is as important as the resulting images [34].
The concept of visual sovereignty has emerged from the intersection of indigenous studies, media studies, and political theory, offering a framework for understanding how control over visual representation relates to broader struggles for indigenous self-determination and decolonization. While relatively new as an explicit theoretical construct, visual sovereignty builds on longer traditions of indigenous resistance to misrepresentation and appropriation.Michelle Raheja’s articulation of visual sovereignty in relation to indigenous cinema provides a starting point for understanding this concept [11]. For Raheja, visual sovereignty involves not only control over production but also the ability to determine how indigenous images circulate and are interpreted. It represents “a form of visual self-determination that engages the powerful ideological terrain of mass media” while remaining grounded in specific tribal knowledge and cultural contexts.Jolene Rickard extends this concept by connecting visual sovereignty to broader indigenous sovereignty movements [12]. For Rickard, visual sovereignty is not merely about self-representation but about asserting indigenous nationhood and territorial rights through visual means. This perspective emphasizes that control over images is inseparable from control over land, resources, and governance—all aspects of indigenous sovereignty that have been threatened by colonization.Theoretical frameworks for visual sovereignty also draw on concepts of cultural property and intellectual property rights. As Jane Anderson argues, conventional Western intellectual property regimes often fail to protect indigenous cultural expressions, including visual representations [35]. Visual sovereignty thus involves developing alternative frameworks for determining who can create, own, and use images of indigenous peoples and cultural practices—frameworks that respect indigenous legal traditions and collective rights.The concept of “refusal” developed by Audra Simpson [36] offers another theoretical lens for understanding visual sovereignty. Simpson describes how Mohawk communities assert sovereignty through refusing certain forms of recognition and representation imposed by settler colonial states. Applied to visual contexts, refusal might involve declining to be photographed, restricting access to certain images, or creating counter-narratives that challenge dominant representations.Theoretical frameworks for visual sovereignty must also address the complex realities of contemporary media environments, where images circulate globally and digital technologies enable new forms of both appropriation and resistance. As Faye Ginsburg notes, indigenous media makers navigate a “Faustian contract” with new technologies that offer both opportunities and challenges for cultural sovereignty [37]. Visual sovereignty in this context involves strategic engagement with global media systems while maintaining control over how indigenous images and stories are shared and interpreted.Finally, theories of visual sovereignty must account for the diversity of indigenous experiences and approaches to visual representation. As Michelle Raheja emphasizes, visual sovereignty is not a monolithic concept but one that is enacted differently across various indigenous contexts [11]. Theoretical frameworks must therefore be flexible enough to accommodate this diversity while still providing analytical tools for understanding common struggles and strategies.
[15] Said, E. W. (1978). Orientalism. Pantheon Books.[16] Russell, C. (1999). Experimental ethnography: The work of film in the age of video. Duke University Press.[17] Pratt, M. L. (1992). Imperial eyes: Travel writing and transculturation. Routledge.[18] Spivak, G. C. (1988). Can the subaltern speak? In C. Nelson & L. Grossberg (Eds.), Marxism and the interpretation of culture (pp. 271-313). University of Illinois Press.[19] Edwards, E. (2001). Raw histories: Photographs, anthropology and museums. Berg Publishers.[20] Ginsburg, F. (1995). The parallax effect: The impact of aboriginal media on ethnographic film. Visual Anthropology Review, 11(2), 64-76.[21] Ginsburg, F. (1991). Indigenous media: Faustian contract or global village? Cultural Anthropology, 6(1), 92-112.[22] Wilson, P., & Stewart, M. (Eds.). (2008). Global indigenous media: Cultures, poetics, and politics. Duke University Press.[23] Tsinhnahjinnie, H. J. (2003). When is a photograph worth a thousand words? In C. Pinney & N. Peterson (Eds.), Photography’s other histories (pp. 40-52). Duke University Press.[24] Lydon, J. (2010). Return: The photographic archive and technologies of indigenous memory. Photographies, 3(2), 173-187.[25] Turner, T. (1992). Defiant images: The Kayapo appropriation of video. Anthropology Today, 8(6), 5-16.[26] Deger, J. (2006). Shimmering screens: Making media in an Aboriginal community. University of Minnesota Press.[27] Dowell, K. (2013). Sovereign screens: Aboriginal media on the Canadian West Coast. University of Nebraska Press.[28] Wang, C., & Burris, M. A. (1997). Photovoice: Concept, methodology, and use for participatory needs assessment. Health Education & Behavior, 24(3), 369-387.[29] Castleden, H., Garvin, T., & Huu-ay-aht First Nation. (2008). Modifying Photovoice for community-based participatory Indigenous research. Social Science & Medicine, 66(6), 1393-1405.[30] Pack, S. (2011). Constructing “the Navajo”: Visual and literary representations from inside and out. Wicazo Sa Review, 26(2), 47-77.[31] Smith, L. T. (1999). Decolonizing methodologies: Research and indigenous peoples. Zed Books.[32] Ewald, W. (2000). Secret games: Collaborative works with children 1969-1999. Scalo.[33] Minkler, M., & Wallerstein, N. (Eds.). (2008). Community-based participatory research for health: From process to outcomes (2nd ed.). Jossey-Bass.[34] Castleden, H., Sloan Morgan, V., & Lamb, C. (2012). “I spent the first year drinking tea”: Exploring Canadian university researchers’ perspectives on community-based participatory research involving Indigenous peoples. The Canadian Geographer, 56(2), 160-179.[35] Anderson, J. (2010). Indigenous/traditional knowledge & intellectual property. Duke University School of Law, Center for the Study of the Public Domain.[36] Simpson, A. (2014). Mohawk interruptus: Political life across the borders of settler states. Duke University Press.[37] Ginsburg, F. (2002). Screen memories: Resignifying the traditional in indigenous media. In F. Ginsburg, L. Abu-Lughod, & B. Larkin (Eds.), Media worlds: Anthropology on new terrain (pp. 39-57). University of California Press.
This research employs a qualitative, interpretive approach grounded in decolonizing methodologies [31] and indigenous research paradigms [38]. Recognizing that research with indigenous communities has historically been extractive and exploitative, this study was designed to prioritize indigenous perspectives, knowledge systems, and protocols throughout the research process. The methodology was developed collaboratively with participating communities and Ngarra staff, ensuring that research questions, methods, and outputs aligned with community priorities and values.Ethical considerations were central to the research design. The study adhered to the principles outlined in the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples [39], particularly Article 31, which affirms indigenous peoples’ rights to maintain, control, protect, and develop their cultural heritage, traditional knowledge, and cultural expressions. Additionally, the research followed community-specific protocols regarding appropriate conduct, knowledge sharing, and image use.Informed consent was obtained at multiple levels: from community governance structures, from individuals participating in photography projects, and from those whose images were included in the research. Consent was understood as an ongoing process rather than a one-time event, with participants retaining the right to withdraw their participation or specific images at any point. Particular attention was paid to issues of collective versus individual consent, recognizing that in many indigenous contexts, certain knowledge and images belong to the community collectively rather than to individuals [40].The research was guided by principles of reciprocity and mutual benefit [41]. This included ensuring that communities received tangible benefits from their participation, including copies of all photographs, training in photography and digital archiving, and support for community-led exhibitions and publications. The research also incorporated capacity building components, with community members trained as co-researchers and photographers, developing skills that could be applied beyond the scope of this specific project.
The research employed a multiple case study approach [42], examining Ngarra’s collaborative photography initiatives with three distinct indigenous communities. Case studies were selected based on the following criteria:1.Geographic and cultural diversity: Cases were chosen to represent different geographic regions and cultural contexts, allowing for comparative analysis of how visual sovereignty manifests across diverse indigenous settings.2.Project duration: Selected cases included only projects that had been ongoing for at least two years, ensuring sufficient time for collaborative relationships to develop and for meaningful outcomes to emerge.3.Methodological variation: Cases were chosen to represent different approaches to collaborative photography, from community-driven documentation projects to more structured initiatives combining photography with other media forms.4.Community interest: Only communities that expressed explicit interest in participating in the research were included, with community leaders involved in shaping research questions and approaches.5.Existing relationships: Priority was given to communities where Ngarra had established long-term relationships based on trust and mutual respect, recognizing that meaningful collaborative research builds on existing relationships rather than creating new ones solely for research purposes.The selected case studies included:•Case Study 1: A multi-generational photography project in a remote indigenous community in Western Australia, focused on documenting cultural practices and environmental knowledge.•Case Study 2: A youth-led photography initiative in an urban indigenous community in Guatemala, exploring issues of identity, belonging, and cultural revitalization in urban contexts.•Case Study 3: A women’s photography collective in an indigenous community in Kenya, using photography to document traditional knowledge and advocate for land rights.These diverse cases allowed for exploration of how visual sovereignty operates across different contexts while identifying common principles and practices that transcend specific cultural settings.
The research employed multiple data collection methods to develop a comprehensive understanding of how visual sovereignty manifests in Ngarra’s collaborative photography initiatives:1.Participant observation: The researcher participated in photography workshops, community discussions, and exhibition planning meetings over a period of 18 months, documenting the collaborative processes through field notes and research journals. This immersive approach provided insights into the day-to-day practices and interactions that constitute collaborative photography work.2.Semi-structured interviews: In-depth interviews were conducted with 45 participants across the three case studies, including community photographers (n=24), Ngarra staff (n=8), community elders and leaders (n=10), and external partners such as exhibition curators and publishers (n=3). Interviews explored participants’ experiences of the collaborative process, perceptions of how power and control were negotiated, and reflections on the impact of the projects on individuals and communities.3.Visual analysis: A sample of 300 photographs produced through the collaborative projects was analyzed, examining both content (what was photographed) and form (how it was photographed). This analysis was conducted collaboratively with community photographers, incorporating their interpretations and intentions alongside formal visual analysis.4.Document analysis: Project documentation, including workshop materials, exhibition texts, grant applications, and community agreements, was analyzed to understand the stated aims, methodologies, and outcomes of the collaborative initiatives.5.Focus groups: Six focus groups were conducted across the three communities, bringing together project participants to discuss collective experiences and perspectives. These sessions used participatory methods such as photo elicitation and timeline mapping to facilitate reflection and discussion.6.Community feedback sessions: Preliminary findings were presented back to participating communities through interactive feedback sessions, allowing community members to validate, challenge, or elaborate on the researcher’s interpretations. These sessions were recorded and incorporated into the data analysis.Data collection was conducted in local languages where possible, with trained interpreters assisting when necessary. All interviews and focus groups were audio-recorded with permission and later transcribed and, where needed, translated into English. Participants were given the opportunity to review and approve their transcripts before analysis.
Data analysis employed an integrative approach that combined thematic analysis [43] with indigenous analytical frameworks specific to each community context [44]. The analytical process was collaborative, involving community co-researchers in coding, interpreting, and synthesizing findings.Initial coding was conducted using NVivo software, with codes developed inductively from the data as well as deductively from the theoretical frameworks of visual sovereignty, postcolonial theory, and indigenous media studies. These preliminary codes were refined through discussion with community co-researchers, ensuring that analytical categories resonated with community understandings and experiences.The analysis focused on identifying:1.Power dynamics in collaborative photography processes, examining how decisions were made about what to photograph, how to photograph it, and how images would be used and shared.2.Visual strategies employed by indigenous photographers to assert control over representation, including choices of subject matter, framing, composition, and context.3.Protocols and practices that enabled or constrained visual sovereignty, including formal agreements, informal understandings, and community-specific cultural protocols.4.Outcomes and impacts of collaborative photography initiatives, both intended and unintended, at individual, community, and broader societal levels.5.Challenges and tensions that arose in the collaborative process and how these were navigated by participants.Cross-case analysis was conducted to identify common themes and patterns across the three case studies, while also attending to context-specific variations. This comparative approach allowed for the development of a nuanced understanding of visual sovereignty that acknowledges both shared principles and diverse manifestations across different indigenous contexts.Throughout the analytical process, preliminary interpretations were shared with community participants for feedback and validation. This iterative approach ensured that the final analysis reflected community perspectives and priorities, rather than imposing external interpretations on community experiences.
[38] Wilson, S. (2008). Research is ceremony: Indigenous research methods. Fernwood Publishing.[39] United Nations. (2007). United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. United Nations.[40] Christen, K. (2015). Tribal archives, traditional knowledge, and local contexts: Why the “s” matters. Journal of Western Archives, 6(1), 1-19.[41] Kovach, M. (2009). Indigenous methodologies: Characteristics, conversations, and contexts. University of Toronto Press.[42] Yin, R. K. (2018). Case study research and applications: Design and methods (6th ed.). Sage Publications.[43] Braun, V., & Clarke, V. (2006). Using thematic analysis in psychology. Qualitative Research in Psychology, 3(2), 77-101.[44] Drawson, A. S., Toombs, E., & Mushquash, C. J. (2017). Indigenous research methods: A systematic review. The International Indigenous Policy Journal, 8(2), 1-25.
The Martu people of the Western Desert region in Western Australia have maintained strong cultural connections to their traditional lands despite the disruptions of colonization. In 2018, Ngarra was invited by community elders to support a community-initiated project documenting traditional ecological knowledge and cultural practices. The invitation came amid concerns that younger generations were becoming disconnected from traditional knowledge due to the impacts of forced relocation, mission education, and the growing influence of digital media.The resulting initiative, titled “Ngurra Kujungka” (Coming Together for Country), was designed as a multi-generational project bringing together elders and youth to document cultural knowledge through photography. The project was governed by a committee of community elders who established protocols for what could be photographed, by whom, and how images could be used. These protocols were formalized in a written agreement between the community and Ngarra, which explicitly recognized the community’s ownership of all images and associated knowledge.
The project employed a methodology that centered Martu knowledge systems and protocols while incorporating photography as a documentation tool. Rather than beginning with photography training, the project started with a series of “country visits” where elders led young people to significant sites and shared stories and knowledge. Only after these initial knowledge-sharing sessions did photography enter the process, with elders guiding young photographers on what aspects of country and culture should be documented.Photography workshops were co-facilitated by Ngarra staff and Martu community members with existing photography skills. These workshops focused not only on technical skills but also on cultural protocols regarding appropriate ways to photograph country, ceremonies, and cultural practices. As one elder explained:”We don’t just let them take photos of anything. They need to know the story first, understand why something is important, get permission from the right people. That’s why we do the teaching first, then the photography comes after.” (Elder M1, interview)The project deliberately employed a slow, relationship-based approach, with photography activities spread over multiple years rather than concentrated in intensive workshops. This approach allowed for the development of trust and for photography to be integrated into existing cultural practices rather than imposed as an external activity.
Over three years, the project produced approximately 3,000 photographs documenting various aspects of Martu culture and country, including seasonal plant harvesting, hunting techniques, tool making, and the preparation of traditional medicines. These images were stored on community-controlled hard drives, with backup copies held by Ngarra according to protocols established by the community committee.The community maintained strict control over how images were shared and used. Some photographs were designated for internal community use only, particularly those showing sensitive cultural sites or ceremonies. Others were approved for wider sharing through a community exhibition at the local cultural center and a book published in both Martu language and English. Importantly, all decisions about image use were made collectively through the community committee rather than by individual photographers or Ngarra staff.The visual style of the photographs reflected a distinctly Martu aesthetic, emphasizing relationships between people and country rather than isolating cultural practices as discrete activities. As one young photographer noted:”When I take photos, I’m not just showing the plant or the tool. I’m showing how we connect with country, how everything is connected. That’s what the elders taught us to see, so that’s what I try to show in my photos.” (Young photographer M7, interview)
The second case study focuses on a youth-led photography initiative in Guatemala City with Maya youth whose families had migrated from rural areas to the urban periphery. These young people faced complex challenges of identity and belonging, navigating between traditional Maya cultural practices and contemporary urban realities while confronting systemic discrimination and stereotyping.The project, titled “Nuestra Mirada” (Our Gaze), was initiated in 2019 through a partnership between Ngarra and a local Maya youth organization. Unlike the Western Australian case, this project was explicitly framed as a response to problematic representations of indigenous peoples in mainstream Guatemalan media, which often portrayed Maya people either as relics of the past or as symbols of poverty and underdevelopment.
The project employed a youth-centered methodology that positioned young people as the primary decision-makers and image creators. Ngarra provided technical training and equipment but deliberately minimized its role in determining content or aesthetic approaches. The project began with critical media literacy workshops where participants analyzed representations of indigenous peoples in Guatemalan media and discussed how they wished to represent themselves and their communities.Photography activities were organized around themes identified by participants, including “urban indigeneity,” “intergenerational knowledge,” and “reclaiming public space.” Participants worked both individually and in small groups, developing photo essays that explored aspects of their identities and experiences. Regular group critique sessions provided opportunities for peer feedback and collective reflection on the emerging body of work.A distinctive feature of this project was its integration of digital and social media platforms. Participants created an Instagram account to share selected images with wider audiences, using this platform to directly challenge stereotypical representations and assert their own narratives. As one participant explained:”People think Maya culture only exists in the countryside, in traditional villages. They don’t see us in the city as ‘real’ Maya. Through our photos, we’re saying: We are here, we are Maya, and our culture is alive and changing, not stuck in the past.” (Youth participant G12, focus group)
The project produced diverse visual outcomes, including a series of photo essays, a public exhibition in a prominent Guatemala City gallery, and an active social media presence. The photographs deliberately challenged conventional representations of indigeneity by documenting contemporary urban Maya life, including traditional practices adapted to urban contexts, intergenerational knowledge transmission in city settings, and the reclamation of urban spaces through indigenous cultural expressions.Control over images was negotiated differently than in the Western Australian case, reflecting different community structures and priorities. While the Martu project emphasized collective decision-making through a formal committee, the Guatemala project developed a more flexible approach where individual photographers retained primary control over their images while agreeing to a set of shared ethical principles regarding representation.These principles included commitments to:•Obtain consent from anyone featured in photographs•Avoid reinforcing stereotypes or exoticizing cultural practices•Consider potential impacts of images on the broader Maya community•Credit collective knowledge sources when documenting traditional practicesThis approach reflected the urban context and youth-led nature of the project, balancing individual creative expression with collective responsibility. As the project coordinator noted:”We’re not working with a single community with established protocols. These young people come from different Maya communities, now living in the city. They’re creating new ways of being indigenous in urban spaces, and their approach to visual sovereignty reflects that—it’s more fluid, more adaptive, but still grounded in Maya values of respect and responsibility.” (Project coordinator G1, interview)
The third case study examines a women’s photography collective in a Maasai community in southern Kenya. This initiative emerged from a broader community struggle for land rights in the face of encroachment by commercial agriculture and tourism developments. Maasai women, traditionally excluded from formal land governance systems but responsible for many land-based livelihood activities, sought ways to document their relationship with the land and strengthen their voice in land rights advocacy.The project, called “Enkiteng Lepa” (Women’s Land), was established in 2017 as a collaboration between a local women’s organization and Ngarra. Unlike the previous two cases, this project had an explicit advocacy dimension from the outset, with photography conceived as a tool for documenting land use, environmental changes, and women’s knowledge to support community land claims.
The project methodology combined participatory photography with legal empowerment approaches. Initial workshops focused on both photography skills and land rights education, helping participants understand how visual documentation could strengthen legal claims to traditional territories. Women participants, most of whom had never used cameras before, were trained in basic photography techniques and provided with simple digital cameras.The photography process was structured around seasonal documentation of women’s land-based activities, including cattle grazing, water collection, medicinal plant harvesting, and beadwork production using natural materials. Participants worked in pairs, photographing each other’s activities and discussing the significance of each practice for their livelihoods and cultural identity. Monthly review sessions brought the collective together to select and discuss the most significant images and plan the next documentation priorities.A key methodological innovation was the development of “photo-maps”—composite images combining photographs with hand-drawn maps to document the spatial dimensions of women’s land use. These photo-maps became powerful tools for demonstrating the extent and importance of women’s activities across the landscape, challenging official maps that often rendered these activities invisible.As one participant explained:”The maps made by the government show our land as empty, as if we are not using it. But our photo-maps show everything—where we graze the cattle in different seasons, where we collect medicines, where we get materials for our beadwork. They show that we are using all of this land, that it is all important to us.” (Participant K8, interview)
The project produced several distinct visual outcomes: a comprehensive archive of photographs documenting women’s land-based activities across multiple seasons; a series of photo-maps used in community land rights advocacy; and a traveling exhibition that was presented to government officials, NGOs, and other Maasai communities facing similar land pressures.Control over images was managed through a formal protocol developed by the women’s collective, which specified different levels of access and use for different types of images. Photographs documenting sensitive cultural knowledge, such as the location and use of certain medicinal plants, were restricted to community use only. Other images were designated for public advocacy, with specific guidelines for how they could be presented and contextualized.The collective maintained strict control over how their images were framed and interpreted, insisting on presenting their photography alongside their own written and oral narratives. As the collective’s leader stated:”We are not just sharing pretty pictures. Each photograph has a story, an explanation of why this land matters to us, why our knowledge matters. Without our words, people might just see the beauty but miss the message about our rights.” (Collective leader K1, interview)This insistence on controlling not only the images themselves but also their contextualization and interpretation represents a sophisticated approach to visual sovereignty that recognizes the power of framing and narrative in shaping how images are understood.
While each case study represents a distinct context with unique approaches to collaborative photography, several common patterns emerge across the three initiatives:1.Community-driven agendas: In all three cases, the focus and direction of the photography projects were determined by community priorities rather than external research or documentation agendas. These priorities ranged from intergenerational knowledge transmission (Western Australia) to identity affirmation (Guatemala) to land rights advocacy (Kenya).2.Adaptive methodologies: Each project developed methodologies that responded to specific community contexts and needs, rather than applying a standardized approach to collaborative photography. These adaptations included variations in governance structures, training approaches, and image sharing protocols.3.Integration with existing cultural practices: All three projects integrated photography into existing cultural practices and knowledge systems rather than introducing it as a separate or foreign activity. This integration took different forms, from embedding photography in traditional country visits (Western Australia) to incorporating it into urban cultural revitalization efforts (Guatemala) to combining it with traditional mapping practices (Kenya).4.Layered consent processes: Each project developed nuanced approaches to consent that went beyond individual permission to include various forms of collective or cultural authorization. These approaches recognized that in indigenous contexts, the right to capture and share certain images may be collectively held rather than individually determined.5.Control beyond creation: All three projects emphasized community control throughout the entire image lifecycle, from creation to archiving, exhibition, and publication. This extended control reflects an understanding of visual sovereignty as encompassing not only who takes photographs but also how they are contextualized, interpreted, and circulated.These common elements suggest core principles for supporting visual sovereignty through collaborative photography, while the variations across cases demonstrate the importance of context-specific approaches that respect the unique cultural protocols, priorities, and governance structures of each community.
[45] Kral, I. (2012). Talk, text and technology: Literacy and social practice in a remote Indigenous community. Multilingual Matters.[46] Otzoy, I. (1996). Maya clothing and identity. In E. F. Fischer & R. M. Brown (Eds.), Maya cultural activism in Guatemala (pp. 141-155). University of Texas Press.[47] Hodgson, D. L. (2011). Being Maasai, becoming indigenous: Postcolonial politics in a neoliberal world. Indiana University Press.[48] Langton, M. (2003). Aboriginal art and film: The politics of representation. In M. Grossman (Ed.), Blacklines: Contemporary critical writing by Indigenous Australians (pp. 109-124). Melbourne University Press.[49] Kimmerer, R. W. (2013). Braiding sweetgrass: Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge and the teachings of plants. Milkweed Editions.[50] Coulthard, G. S. (2014). Red skin, white masks: Rejecting the colonial politics of recognition. University of Minnesota Press.
Traditional ethnographic photography has been characterized by a fundamental power imbalance, with control over the image-making process residing primarily with the external photographer rather than with the subjects being photographed. This imbalance manifests in decisions about what to photograph, how to frame and compose images, when to capture photographs, and how those images are subsequently used and contextualized. Ngarra’s collaborative photography initiatives deliberately seek to shift this locus of control, transferring decision-making power from external facilitators to community members at multiple points in the image creation process.Analysis of the three case studies reveals several key mechanisms through which this shift in control occurs:
In all three cases, decisions about what aspects of community life and culture should be photographed were made by community members rather than by Ngarra staff or external researchers. This represents a fundamental shift from traditional ethnographic approaches where outsiders determined what was “interesting” or “significant” enough to document. As one Martu elder explained:”In the old days, anthropologists would come and take pictures of ceremonies, or people making tools. They decided what was important. Now we decide what needs to be photographed for our future generations. Some things we don’t photograph at all—they’re not for cameras. Other things we make sure to document properly, with the right people telling the story.” (Elder M3, interview)This community determination of subject matter resulted in photographic archives that reflect indigenous priorities and values rather than external interests. In the Western Australian case, this meant an emphasis on seasonal ecological knowledge and intergenerational teaching practices. In Guatemala, young photographers prioritized images that demonstrated the continuity and adaptation of Maya culture in urban contexts. In Kenya, women focused on documenting their land-based activities and environmental changes affecting their livelihoods.The significance of this shift extends beyond the specific content of photographs to encompass broader questions of what constitutes valuable knowledge. By determining what is photographed, indigenous communities assert their own epistemological frameworks—their own systems for determining what knowledge matters and how it should be preserved and transmitted.
Beyond decisions about subject matter, the case studies reveal how collaborative photography enables the expression of indigenous visual aesthetics—distinctive approaches to composition, framing, lighting, and other formal elements that reflect cultural values and ways of seeing. These aesthetics often differ significantly from Western photographic conventions, challenging the universalist assumptions that often underpin photographic practice.In the Martu project, for example, photographers frequently employed compositional approaches that emphasized relationships between elements rather than isolating subjects—showing people in relation to country, or plants in relation to their broader ecological context. This relational aesthetic reflects Martu ontology, which understands entities not as discrete objects but as elements in interconnected systems [45]. Similarly, Maasai women photographers in Kenya often created images that emphasized process and movement rather than static moments, capturing the temporal dimensions of land-based activities through sequential photography.These indigenous aesthetics were not taught as formal principles but emerged organically through the collaborative process, as community photographers brought their cultural perspectives to the technical skills they were developing. As one Ngarra staff member observed:”We teach basic technical skills—how to use the camera, how light works, how to frame a shot. But we’re very careful not to impose Western aesthetic ideas about what makes a ‘good’ photograph. When we review images together, we ask photographers to explain their choices rather than evaluating based on our own criteria. Over time, you see distinctive visual languages emerging that reflect each community’s way of seeing.” (Ngarra staff N2, interview)This emergence of indigenous visual aesthetics represents a significant shift in power dynamics, challenging the dominance of Western visual conventions and creating space for alternative ways of seeing and representing the world.
Control over image creation is not merely conceptual but practical, requiring both technical skills and access to equipment. All three case studies involved deliberate strategies to address these practical dimensions of visual sovereignty. Ngarra provided cameras for community use and delivered tailored technical training that enabled participants to express their vision effectively without creating dependency on external technical support.In the Guatemalan project, participants progressed from using simple point-and-shoot cameras to more sophisticated DSLR equipment as their skills developed. The project also included training in digital editing and social media management, enabling participants to control not only image capture but also post-production and distribution. In Kenya, the women’s collective established a camera lending system that ensured equipment remained in the community even when Ngarra staff were not present, allowing for ongoing documentation between formal project activities.This attention to the material conditions of image production recognizes that visual sovereignty requires not only conceptual control but also practical capacity. As one participant in the Guatemala project noted:”Having our own cameras, knowing how to use them properly—this changes everything. Before, we had to rely on others to document our events, our lives. They would come, take some pictures, and leave. Maybe we would see the photos, maybe not. Now we document our own reality, every day, not just when outsiders are interested.” (Youth participant G8, interview)
Beyond the act of image creation itself, visual sovereignty involves control over the various decisions that shape a photography project, from initial conception to final outputs. The case studies reveal diverse approaches to decision-making that reflect different community contexts and governance structures while sharing a common commitment to indigenous leadership.
Each project developed governance structures appropriate to its specific community context. In Western Australia, the Martu project was overseen by a committee of elders who established protocols and reviewed activities against cultural standards. This formal governance structure reflected traditional Martu decision-making processes, where elders hold authority over cultural knowledge and its transmission.In contrast, the Guatemala project employed a more horizontal governance approach, with decisions made collectively by the youth participants through consensus-based discussions. This structure reflected both the youth-led nature of the project and the urban context, where participants came from different Maya communities and were creating new forms of collective organization.The Kenyan case represented a hybrid approach, with the women’s collective establishing its own internal governance structure while also engaging with traditional community leadership on matters affecting broader community interests. This dual governance system allowed women to maintain autonomy over their photography practice while ensuring their work remained connected to wider community priorities and protocols.These varied governance approaches demonstrate that visual sovereignty does not require a single model of decision-making but can be exercised through diverse structures that reflect specific cultural and community contexts. What unites these approaches is the location of decision-making authority within indigenous communities rather than with external facilitators.
All three projects involved negotiation of relationships with external entities, including Ngarra itself, exhibition venues, publishers, and funding bodies. These negotiations represent critical sites where power dynamics can either reinforce or challenge colonial patterns of control over indigenous representation.The case studies reveal several strategies through which communities maintained control in these external relationships:•Formal agreements: All three projects established written agreements with Ngarra and other partners that explicitly recognized community ownership of images and specified protocols for their use. These agreements provided legal protection for community interests while also educating partners about indigenous approaches to intellectual and cultural property.•Selective engagement: Communities strategically chose which external opportunities to pursue based on their own priorities and values. In the Western Australian case, for example, the elder committee declined several exhibition opportunities that they felt would present their culture out of context, while embracing others that aligned with their goals for cultural education.•Capacity building for negotiation: All three projects included components that built community members’ capacity to negotiate effectively with external entities. This included training in copyright law, exhibition development, and media engagement, enabling communities to advocate for their interests in professional contexts.•Relationship-based accountability: Beyond formal agreements, communities established ongoing relationships with external partners based on mutual respect and accountability. These relationships created space for addressing concerns or misunderstandings as they arose, rather than relying solely on initial agreements.As one Ngarra staff member reflected:”The most important shift has been from Ngarra being the primary relationship holder with external partners to community members taking on that role directly. Initially, we often served as intermediaries, but now community photographers are negotiating directly with galleries, publishers, and funders. Our role has become more about providing background support and advice when requested.” (Ngarra staff N5, interview)
Questions of ownership and copyright are central to visual sovereignty, particularly given the inadequacy of conventional intellectual property frameworks for protecting indigenous cultural expressions [35]. The case studies demonstrate how communities are developing innovative approaches to these issues that blend legal protections with cultural protocols.
All three projects established collective ownership models that challenge the individualistic assumptions of conventional copyright law. In Western Australia, photographs were explicitly designated as community property rather than belonging to individual photographers or to Ngarra. This collective ownership reflects Martu understandings of cultural knowledge as belonging to the community rather than to individuals.The Guatemala project developed a more nuanced approach that recognized both individual and collective dimensions of ownership. Individual photographers retained credit and certain rights for their images, while agreeing that photographs documenting collective cultural practices or knowledge would be managed according to shared protocols. This hybrid model reflected the project’s context at the intersection of individual artistic expression and collective cultural representation.In Kenya, the women’s collective established a tiered ownership system, with different categories of images subject to different ownership and usage protocols:•Level 1: Images documenting sensitive cultural knowledge, owned collectively by the community and restricted to internal use•Level 2: Images documenting general land use and livelihood activities, owned by the collective and available for advocacy with collective approval•Level 3: Artistic or personal images, owned by individual photographers with fewer restrictions on useThis sophisticated approach demonstrates how indigenous communities are developing nuanced ownership frameworks that respond to the varied nature of photographic content and its cultural significance.
Communities employed both legal and cultural mechanisms to protect their ownership rights and control over images. Legal protections included copyright registration, formal licensing agreements, and contracts with specific terms for image use. Cultural protections included community protocols governing who could view certain images, how they could be contextualized, and what information could accompany them.The integration of legal and cultural approaches created more comprehensive protection than either system could provide alone. As one participant in the Kenya project explained:”The legal papers are important when dealing with outsiders who don’t understand or respect our ways. But within our community, it’s our protocols that matter more—understanding which images can be shared with whom, which need special permission, which should only be viewed in certain contexts. The strongest protection comes when both systems work together.” (Participant K11, interview)This dual approach recognizes that visual sovereignty operates across multiple domains—requiring both recognition within formal legal systems and respect within cultural contexts.
Control over how images are distributed, exhibited, and contextualized represents a critical dimension of visual sovereignty that has often been overlooked in discussions of collaborative photography. The case studies reveal how communities are asserting control not only over image creation but also over these subsequent stages of the photographic process.
All three projects established community-controlled archives that maintained local ownership and access to the complete body of photographs. In Western Australia, this took the form of a digital archive stored on hard drives held by the community cultural center, with a cataloging system developed collaboratively between elders and younger community members. In Guatemala, participants created both physical prints for local exhibition and a digital archive with carefully managed online components. In Kenya, the women’s collective maintained a physical archive of prints alongside digital storage, with clear protocols for access and use.These community archives serve not only as repositories but as active sites for knowledge transmission and cultural revitalization. As one participant in the Western Australian project noted:”The archive isn’t just for storing photos. We use it all the time—for teaching young people, for remembering how things were done, for planning cultural activities. It’s become part of how we keep our culture strong.” (Participant M9, interview)By maintaining control over these archives, communities ensure ongoing sovereignty over their visual heritage, determining how images will be preserved, accessed, and used into the future.
When sharing images beyond the community, all three projects developed strategies to maintain control over how photographs were presented and interpreted. These strategies included:•Community curation: Exhibition and publication content was selected and arranged by community members rather than external curators, ensuring that the narrative structure reflected community priorities and perspectives.•Contextual materials: Photographs were consistently presented alongside contextual materials—including texts, audio recordings, and videos—created by community members to guide interpretation and prevent misunderstanding.•Physical presence: Where possible, community members attended exhibitions and public events in person, providing direct interpretation and answering questions about their work. This physical presence challenged the common practice of indigenous peoples being represented in their absence.•Selective sharing: Communities made deliberate decisions about which images to share in which contexts, often maintaining clear boundaries between what was appropriate for public viewing and what was reserved for community use.These strategies demonstrate an understanding that visual sovereignty extends beyond the moment of image creation to encompass how photographs circulate and are understood in various contexts. As one participant in the Guatemala project explained:”Taking the photo is just the beginning. How it’s shown, where it’s shown, what’s written next to it, who gets to explain it—these things determine whether our voice is really heard or whether our images are just used to tell someone else’s story about us.” (Youth participant G15, interview)
[51] Tuck, E., & Yang, K. W. (2014). R-words: Refusing research. In D. Paris & M. T. Winn (Eds.), Humanizing research: Decolonizing qualitative inquiry with youth and communities (pp. 223-247). SAGE Publications.[52] Kimmerer, R. W. (2013). Braiding sweetgrass: Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge and the teachings of plants. Milkweed Editions.[53] Simpson, L. B. (2017). As we have always done: Indigenous freedom through radical resistance. University of Minnesota Press.[54] Tuhiwai Smith, L., Tuck, E., & Yang, K. W. (Eds.). (2018). Indigenous and decolonizing studies in education: Mapping the long view. Routledge.[55] Moreton-Robinson, A. (2015). The white possessive: Property, power, and indigenous sovereignty. University of Minnesota Press.
The collaborative photography initiatives examined in this research represent not only alternative approaches to image-making but deliberate challenges to colonial visual legacies that have shaped representations of indigenous peoples for centuries. These challenges operate at multiple levels, from the content of images to the processes through which they are created and shared.
A primary way in which these projects function as decolonial practice is through their direct challenge to stereotypical representations of indigenous peoples. In all three case studies, community photographers created images that deliberately countered dominant visual tropes, including:•The “vanishing Indian” narrative that positions indigenous peoples as relics of the past rather than contemporary actors•The romanticized noble savage stereotype that emphasizes “traditional” aspects of indigenous cultures while ignoring contemporary realities•The deficit-focused representation that highlights problems and challenges while ignoring resilience and agencyIn Guatemala, for example, young Maya photographers explicitly set out to create images that showed the dynamic, evolving nature of indigenous identity in urban contexts. As one participant explained:”In tourist photographs, in textbooks, even in the news, Maya people are always shown in traditional clothing, in rural villages, doing crafts or farming. It’s like we only exist in the past. Our photos show Maya people studying at university, using technology, creating new art forms—still being Maya but in ways that aren’t frozen in time.” (Youth participant G4, interview)Similarly, Maasai women in Kenya created images that challenged the romanticized portrayal of pastoral life common in tourism imagery, instead documenting both the challenges and innovations in their land-based livelihoods. These counter-narratives serve not only to correct misrepresentations but to assert indigenous peoples’ right to define their own identities and realities.
Beyond challenging specific stereotypes, the collaborative projects disrupt the fundamental structure of the ethnographic gaze—the power dynamic in which indigenous peoples are positioned as objects of study rather than as knowledge producers. By placing cameras in the hands of community members, these initiatives reverse the traditional direction of the gaze, enabling indigenous peoples to document their own lives and communities from an insider perspective.This reversal challenges what Deborah Poole terms the “colonial economy of vision” [2], in which indigenous bodies and cultural practices become objects of fascination, study, and consumption for non-indigenous viewers. Instead, these projects establish what might be called a “sovereign economy of vision,” where indigenous communities determine what aspects of their lives and cultures are visualized, how they are framed, and with whom they are shared.The disruption of the ethnographic gaze is particularly evident in how these projects approach cultural knowledge and practices. Rather than extracting and decontextualizing cultural elements—as ethnographic photography has often done—community photographers situate cultural practices within their full social, spiritual, and ecological contexts. As one Martu elder observed:”When outsiders take photos of our ceremonies or our hunting, they just show the action, the thing itself. They don’t understand the connections—how that ceremony relates to the Dreaming, how that hunting technique connects to the seasons and the stories. Our young people’s photos show these connections because they understand them, they live them.” (Elder M5, interview)
In addition to creating new representations, all three projects engaged with historical photographs of their communities taken by outsiders. This engagement involved accessing, recontextualizing, and sometimes literally reclaiming historical images from archives and museums. Through this process, communities asserted control not only over their contemporary representation but also over their visual history.In Western Australia, the Martu project included sessions where elders and young people examined historical photographs from museum collections, identifying individuals, correcting inaccurate captions, and adding cultural context that had been omitted from official records. Some of these recontextualized historical images were then incorporated into community exhibitions alongside contemporary photographs, creating visual narratives that connected past and present.The Guatemala project took a more critical approach, with participants creating photographic responses to historical images of Maya people. These response images directly challenged the framing and assumptions of the original photographs while asserting contemporary Maya perspectives. As one participant described:”We found this photograph from 1920 of a Maya woman being measured by an anthropologist—her head, her nose, her arms—like she was a specimen. I created a response image where I’m measuring a statue of Columbus with the same tools. It’s about turning the gaze back, questioning who has the right to study whom.” (Youth participant G9, interview)These engagements with historical imagery demonstrate how visual sovereignty extends beyond contemporary image-making to encompass the reinterpretation and reclamation of visual archives. Through this process, communities challenge what Elizabeth Edwards calls the “colonial visuality” that has shaped how indigenous peoples have been seen and understood [19].
Beyond challenging colonial representations, the collaborative photography initiatives serve as tools for cultural revitalization, supporting the maintenance and renewal of indigenous knowledge, practices, and identities. This function emerges clearly across all three case studies, though it manifests in different ways reflecting each community’s specific cultural context and priorities.
In all three communities, photography has become a means of documenting cultural knowledge that might otherwise be vulnerable to loss due to colonial disruptions, environmental changes, and generational transitions. This documentation serves not as an end in itself but as a resource for ongoing cultural transmission and practice.In Western Australia, the Martu project has created a comprehensive visual record of ecological knowledge, including seasonal indicators, plant uses, and animal tracking techniques. These photographs serve as teaching tools, helping younger generations learn from elders even when direct on-country instruction is not possible. As one young participant noted:”Some of the old people can’t go out on country as much anymore because of health problems. But through their photos and stories, we can still learn from them. And when we do go out on country, we know what to look for because we’ve seen it in the photos.” (Young photographer M12, interview)Similarly, in Kenya, women have documented traditional land management practices, medicinal plant knowledge, and craft techniques. This documentation has practical value in supporting land claims and preserving knowledge, but it also serves a deeper cultural purpose by affirming the value and sophistication of indigenous knowledge systems that have often been dismissed or marginalized by colonial powers.
A striking feature across all three projects is how collaborative photography has strengthened connections between generations, creating new contexts for knowledge sharing and cultural transmission. The technical aspects of photography—which younger people often master quickly—combined with the cultural knowledge held by elders creates opportunities for reciprocal learning and mutual respect.In Western Australia, the project deliberately paired elders with young photographers, creating teams that combined cultural authority with technical skill. These partnerships evolved into ongoing mentoring relationships that extended beyond the photography project itself. As one elder explained:”Working with the young ones on this photography, I see they’re interested in our culture, they want to learn. They help me with the camera, I help them understand the country and the stories. It’s good both ways.” (Elder M2, interview)In Guatemala, where many young people have become disconnected from their Maya heritage due to urbanization and discrimination, the photography project created opportunities to reconnect with elders and cultural practices. Young photographers interviewed grandparents about traditional knowledge, documented family ceremonies, and explored how Maya identity is maintained and adapted in urban contexts.
Rather than presenting indigenous cultures as static or unchanging, the photography projects document and celebrate how cultural practices adapt and evolve in response to changing circumstances. This emphasis on cultural dynamism challenges colonial narratives that position authentic indigeneity as existing only in an unchanging past.In Kenya, women photographers documented innovations in traditional practices—such as new grazing management techniques developed in response to climate change, or adapted craft production using both traditional and modern materials. These images present cultural adaptation not as a loss of authenticity but as evidence of indigenous resilience and creativity.Similarly, in Guatemala, photographers documented hybrid cultural forms emerging in urban contexts—traditional ceremonies adapted for apartment living, Maya language instruction via smartphone apps, traditional weaving techniques applied to contemporary fashion design. As one participant reflected:”Our grandparents had to hide their Maya identity to survive in the city. Now we’re finding ways to express it openly but in new forms that make sense for our lives today. Our photography shows that Maya culture isn’t just in museums or remote villages—it’s alive and changing with us.” (Youth participant G11, interview)This documentation of cultural adaptation serves a decolonial function by challenging the false binary between “traditional” (authentic but static) and “modern” (dynamic but assimilated) that has often been imposed on indigenous peoples. Instead, these images present indigenous cultures as both deeply rooted and continuously evolving—capable of incorporating new elements while maintaining core values and identities.
At its core, visual sovereignty represents a reclamation of the fundamental right to self-determination in the realm of representation. This reclamation operates at both individual and collective levels, enabling indigenous peoples to control how they are seen by others and how they see themselves.
A fundamental shift enabled by collaborative photography is the transformation of indigenous peoples from objects to subjects of representation—from those who are looked at to those who do the looking. This shift challenges what bell hooks calls the “imperial gaze” [56] that has historically positioned indigenous peoples as passive subjects of external scrutiny.In all three case studies, community photographers expressed a profound sense of empowerment from controlling the camera rather than being in front of it. As one participant in the Kenya project stated:”For so long, others have come to take our picture, to show us to the world in their way. Now we are the ones deciding what to show and how to show it. We are the ones telling our story.” (Participant K5, interview)This shift from object to subject status has implications beyond the specific images produced. It represents a reclamation of agency and authority—a declaration that indigenous peoples are not merely cultural artifacts to be documented but active producers of knowledge and meaning.
Beyond individual empowerment, the collaborative photography initiatives support processes of collective visual identity formation—helping communities develop and express shared understandings of who they are and how they wish to be seen. This collective dimension is particularly significant given the historical fragmentation of indigenous identities through colonial policies of dispossession, relocation, and assimilation.In Guatemala, the photography project became a space for young Maya people from different linguistic and regional backgrounds to explore their shared identity as urban indigenous youth. Through group discussions about their images, participants developed a collective visual language that expressed both the commonalities and diversities of their experiences. As the project coordinator observed:”When they first started sharing their photos, they were surprised by how many common themes emerged—the challenges of maintaining language in the city, the experience of discrimination, the creative ways they express their identity. The photography became a way for them to recognize their shared experiences while also honoring their specific community traditions.” (Project coordinator G1, interview)Similarly, in Kenya, the women’s photography collective strengthened participants’ sense of shared purpose and identity as Maasai women land defenders. Their images became visual expressions of collective values and priorities, reinforcing social bonds and mutual support networks essential for their land rights advocacy.
A significant aspect of visual sovereignty that emerged across the case studies is what Édouard Glissant calls the “right to opacity” [57]—the right to not be fully known or understood by others, to maintain aspects of cultural identity that remain private or inaccessible to outsiders. This right directly challenges the colonial assumption that indigenous cultures should be fully available for external study and consumption.All three projects involved careful decisions about what aspects of community life and culture would be photographed and shared, and what would remain undocumented or restricted to internal use. In Western Australia, certain sacred sites and ceremonies were explicitly excluded from the photography project, reflecting cultural protocols around restricted knowledge. In Guatemala, participants developed guidelines about photographing spiritual practices, with some aspects documented for internal community use only. In Kenya, the women’s collective established clear categories of images with different levels of external access.These boundaries around visual representation represent not limitations but assertions of sovereignty—declarations that indigenous communities have the right to determine what aspects of their cultures are shared with whom and under what conditions. As one Martu elder stated:”Not everything is for everyone to see. Some knowledge is only for certain people, at certain times, in certain places. Respecting these boundaries is part of respecting our law and our culture.” (Elder M4, interview)This assertion of the right to opacity challenges the colonial desire for total knowledge and access that has characterized much anthropological and ethnographic work with indigenous communities. It establishes that visual sovereignty includes not only the right to represent oneself but also the right to determine what remains unrepresented.
[56] hooks, b. (1992). Black looks: Race and representation. South End Press.[57] Glissant, É. (1997). Poetics of relation. University of Michigan Press.[58] Tuck, E., & Yang, K. W. (2014). Unbecoming claims: Pedagogies of refusal in qualitative research. Qualitative Inquiry, 20(6), 811-818.[59] Vizenor, G. (1999). Manifest manners: Narratives on postindian survivance. University of Nebraska Press.[60] Simpson, L. B. (2014). Land as pedagogy: Nishnaabeg intelligence and rebellious transformation. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 3(3), 1-25.
While collaborative photography offers powerful tools for advancing visual sovereignty, the case studies also reveal significant challenges and limitations that must be acknowledged and addressed. These challenges emerge from the complex realities of working across cultural differences, within colonial structures, and with technologies that carry their own historical and political implications.
Despite Ngarra’s commitment to indigenous leadership, the organization inevitably brings its own institutional power, priorities, and constraints to collaborative projects. This creates ongoing tensions that must be carefully navigated to ensure that community sovereignty is genuinely respected rather than merely performed.
All three projects operated within funding frameworks that imposed certain requirements and timelines. These external constraints sometimes conflicted with community rhythms and priorities, creating pressure to produce outcomes within timeframes that did not align with community processes. As one Ngarra staff member acknowledged:”There’s an inherent tension between the project timelines funders expect and the time needed for truly community-driven work. Funders want clear deliverables and deadlines, but meaningful collaborative work often needs to unfold at a pace determined by community priorities and protocols.” (Ngarra staff N3, interview)This tension was most evident in the Western Australian project, where seasonal factors and cultural obligations meant that photography activities often needed to be rescheduled or extended, creating challenges for project management and reporting. The project addressed this by developing flexible workplans with funders and educating them about the importance of adapting to community timeframes.
Another challenge involves the power dynamics inherent in Ngarra’s role as technical facilitator. While the organization strives to transfer skills and decision-making authority to communities, the reality is that Ngarra staff often possess technical expertise that communities initially lack. This creates the potential for subtle forms of influence over aesthetic and technical decisions, even when staff consciously try to minimize their directorial role.The Guatemala project addressed this challenge by establishing a clear progression of technical training, with Ngarra’s role deliberately diminishing over time as participants developed their skills. By the project’s third year, workshops were co-facilitated by experienced community photographers, with Ngarra staff serving primarily as technical resources rather than instructors.
Tensions sometimes arose between institutional requirements—such as consent forms, image releases, and evaluation processes—and community protocols for managing information and relationships. These tensions reflect broader conflicts between bureaucratic and indigenous knowledge systems, with the former emphasizing standardized procedures and individual rights, and the latter often prioritizing relational accountability and collective decision-making.In Kenya, for example, the women’s collective initially resisted individual image release forms, as decisions about image use were made collectively rather than individually. The project eventually developed a hybrid approach that respected both the collective decision-making process and the legal requirements of partner organizations, with the collective developing its own internal protocols that were then formally recognized in agreements with external partners.
Collaborative photography initiatives face significant challenges related to technology access, maintenance, and sustainability, particularly in remote or resource-limited communities. These material constraints can limit the full realization of visual sovereignty if not adequately addressed.
All three projects provided cameras and related equipment for community use, but maintaining this equipment over time proved challenging, particularly in remote or harsh environments. In Western Australia, dust and heat damaged several cameras, while in Kenya, limited access to electricity made charging batteries difficult. These practical challenges sometimes interrupted photography activities and created dependency on external support for repairs and replacements.The projects addressed these challenges through various strategies, including:•Training community members in basic equipment maintenance•Selecting durable equipment appropriate for local conditions•Establishing local charging stations using solar power•Creating equipment lending systems with clear protocols for shared use and maintenanceDespite these efforts, the reality of technology dependency remains a significant limitation for collaborative photography initiatives, particularly after external funding ends. As one participant in Kenya noted:”The cameras are wonderful tools, but when they break, we cannot always fix them ourselves or buy new ones. This is still a challenge for continuing our work independently.” (Participant K9, interview)
Another significant challenge involves ensuring long-term access to digital photographs, particularly as technologies change and digital formats become obsolete. All three projects established digital archives, but questions remain about their sustainability and accessibility over time.In Western Australia, the community archive includes both digital files and printed photographs, providing redundancy but also creating storage and preservation challenges. The Guatemala project explored cloud-based storage solutions but encountered issues with internet access and concerns about data sovereignty when using commercial platforms. The Kenya project developed a hybrid system combining physical prints, local hard drives, and selective cloud storage, but still faces challenges in ensuring that future generations will be able to access and use the digital materials.These challenges highlight the need for ongoing attention to digital preservation strategies that balance accessibility with community control, particularly as technologies continue to evolve.
Collaborative photography initiatives must navigate complex questions about who can represent a community and how internal differences and power dynamics affect representation. The case studies reveal that visual sovereignty is not a simple matter of transferring control from outsiders to insiders, but involves ongoing negotiation of representation rights and responsibilities within communities.
All three communities contained significant internal diversity in terms of age, gender, status, and perspective. This diversity raises questions about whose views and experiences are represented through collaborative photography and who has the authority to represent the community to external audiences.In Kenya, the women’s collective had to navigate complex gender dynamics, as their photography sometimes challenged traditional male authority over land management decisions. Their project deliberately built alliances with supportive male elders while also creating space for women’s perspectives that had historically been marginalized in community representation.In Guatemala, where participants came from different Maya language groups with distinct cultural traditions, the project had to balance celebrating this diversity while also presenting a unified voice in certain advocacy contexts. This balancing act required ongoing discussion about when to emphasize commonalities and when to highlight specific cultural differences.
All three communities faced challenges in applying traditional cultural protocols to new technological contexts. Photography raises novel questions about representation, ownership, and appropriate sharing that may not be clearly addressed by existing cultural guidelines.In Western Australia, elders had to develop new protocols specifically for photography, drawing on traditional principles regarding knowledge sharing while adapting them to the realities of digital images that can be easily copied and shared. As one elder explained:”Our law tells us who can see certain things, who can know certain stories. But with photos, once they’re taken, they can go anywhere. So we had to think carefully about what we photograph in the first place, and make strong rules about how those photos can be used.” (Elder M6, interview)This process of protocol development represents an important aspect of visual sovereignty—not simply applying fixed traditional rules but actively engaging in cultural adaptation that maintains core values while responding to new technological realities.
A final set of challenges relates to how collaborative photography initiatives engage with broader visual economies, including art markets, media platforms, and academic contexts. These engagements create opportunities for wider impact but also risks of appropriation, misinterpretation, and commodification.
When community photography enters art markets or media contexts, it encounters external aesthetic expectations that may conflict with indigenous visual approaches. In Guatemala, young photographers sometimes felt pressure to produce images that conformed to international photojournalistic or art photography standards in order to gain recognition and opportunities.The project addressed this tension through critical discussions about aesthetic choices and their implications, encouraging participants to consciously decide when to engage with external aesthetic conventions and when to prioritize indigenous visual approaches. As one participant reflected:”Sometimes I take photos in different ways for different purposes. When I’m documenting for our community, I focus on what matters to us, even if it doesn’t look like a ‘professional’ photo to outsiders. When I’m creating work for exhibitions, I might use some of those outside techniques, but still with our stories and perspectives.” (Youth participant G7, interview)This strategic navigation of different aesthetic contexts represents a sophisticated approach to visual sovereignty that recognizes the value of engaging with broader visual traditions while maintaining indigenous priorities and perspectives.
All three projects encountered situations where external partners sought to include indigenous photography in ways that risked tokenism or continued extractive patterns. These included exhibition opportunities where indigenous work would be presented without proper context, or academic publications that would incorporate community images without meaningful community involvement in interpretation.The projects developed various strategies to address these risks, including:•Establishing clear written agreements about how images could be used and contextualized•Insisting on community involvement in exhibition design and interpretive materials•Declining opportunities that did not allow for appropriate community control and context•Building capacity for community members to directly represent their work in external contextsThese strategies reflect an understanding that visual sovereignty requires not only control over image creation but also ongoing influence over how images circulate and are interpreted in various contexts.
The findings from this research have significant implications for organizations and practitioners working with indigenous communities on visual projects. These implications extend beyond photography specifically to encompass broader questions of how to support indigenous visual sovereignty across various media and contexts.
Based on the case studies, several core principles emerge for non-indigenous organizations seeking to support indigenous visual sovereignty:
The research demonstrates that visual sovereignty is enacted primarily through process rather than product—through the ways in which decisions are made, relationships are formed, and control is exercised throughout a project. This suggests that organizations should focus on developing collaborative processes that genuinely transfer power to communities, even when this means accepting uncertainty about final outcomes or extending project timeframes.As one Ngarra staff member reflected:”We’ve learned to measure success by the quality of the collaborative process rather than just the photographs produced. Sometimes the most important outcomes aren’t visible in the images themselves but in the strengthened relationships, skills, and confidence that develop through the process.” (Ngarra staff N7, interview)This process orientation requires patience, flexibility, and a willingness to adapt plans based on community priorities and feedback. It also requires recognizing that meaningful collaboration takes time—often much more time than conventional project timeframes allow.
All three case studies highlight the importance of long-term relationships as the foundation for meaningful collaborative work. These relationships create the trust necessary for addressing inevitable tensions and challenges, while also allowing for deeper understanding of community contexts and protocols.Organizations supporting visual sovereignty should prioritize relationship building before project implementation, recognizing that initial visits and consultations are not merely preliminary steps but essential investments in the conditions that make genuine collaboration possible. This may mean spending significant time in communities before any photography activities begin, participating in community events, and demonstrating commitment beyond specific project objectives.
Supporting visual sovereignty requires a commitment to transferring not only technical skills but also the capacity to manage all aspects of the visual production process—from initial concept development through to exhibition, publication, and archiving. This expanded approach to capacity building enables communities to maintain control over their visual representation beyond the life of specific projects or partnerships.The case studies demonstrate various approaches to comprehensive capacity building, including:•Training in both technical and curatorial skills•Support for developing community-specific protocols and governance structures•Education about copyright, intellectual property, and image licensing•Mentoring in exhibition development, publication design, and media engagementThis holistic approach recognizes that visual sovereignty requires multiple forms of knowledge and skill, not merely the ability to operate a camera.
Even with the best intentions, collaborative projects operate within broader contexts of colonial power imbalances that cannot be simply wished away. Organizations supporting visual sovereignty must explicitly acknowledge these power dynamics and develop strategies to mitigate their impact on collaborative processes.Practical approaches to addressing power imbalances include:•Transparent communication about organizational constraints and requirements•Formal agreements that clearly establish community ownership and control•Regular reflection sessions where power dynamics can be discussed openly•Mechanisms for community members to provide anonymous feedback•Willingness to adapt or abandon approaches that reinforce rather than challenge power imbalancesAs one Ngarra staff member noted:”We have to be honest about the power we bring—as an organization with funding, equipment, and connections. Pretending those advantages don’t exist doesn’t help anyone. Instead, we need to be explicit about them and work actively to ensure they don’t undermine community leadership.” (Ngarra staff N4, interview)
Beyond general principles, the research suggests specific methodological approaches that can effectively support visual sovereignty in collaborative projects:
Rather than applying standardized approaches across different communities, organizations should support each community in developing its own protocols for collaborative visual work. These protocols might address questions such as:•Who can take photographs of what subjects•How decisions about image selection and use will be made•Who needs to be consulted before images are shared externally•How images will be archived and accessed in the future•How photographers and knowledge holders will be credited and acknowledgedThe process of developing these protocols is as important as the resulting guidelines, as it creates space for community members to discuss and clarify their own values and priorities regarding visual representation.
The case studies demonstrate the value of developing tiered access models that distinguish between different categories of images based on their cultural sensitivity and appropriate audiences. These models allow for nuanced approaches to sharing that neither restrict all images to internal use nor make all images publicly available.Organizations can support communities in developing classification systems that reflect their specific cultural protocols while also being practically implementable in digital contexts. These might include:•Clear visual or metadata markers indicating different access levels•Technical systems that enforce access restrictions•Written agreements with external partners that specify which categories of images can be used in which contexts
Effective collaborative projects develop governance structures that respect traditional decision-making processes while also addressing the specific requirements of visual production. These hybrid approaches might combine elements of:•Traditional authority structures (such as elder councils or clan representatives)•Democratic processes involving project participants•Technical advisory roles for those with specific expertise•External partnership management through designated representativesThe specific form of these governance structures should be determined by each community based on its own cultural protocols and contemporary realities, with supporting organizations providing resources and facilitation rather than predetermined models.
The research highlights the limitations of conventional institutional ethics frameworks when applied to collaborative work with indigenous communities. Organizations should work with communities to develop ethical approaches that go beyond standard requirements for individual consent and privacy protection to address collective rights, cultural protocols, and relational ethics.These expanded ethical frameworks might include:•Processes for obtaining collective as well as individual consent•Recognition of traditional knowledge rights alongside conventional copyright•Attention to the potential impacts of images on community relationships and wellbeing•Consideration of historical context and power dynamics in representation
The findings from this research have implications beyond individual projects and organizations, pointing to needed changes in policy frameworks related to indigenous visual representation and cultural rights:
Current funding models for arts and cultural projects often impose timeframes, reporting requirements, and outcome expectations that conflict with the needs of genuine collaborative work with indigenous communities. The research suggests several needed changes in funding policies:•Longer timeframes that allow for relationship building and community-determined pacing•More flexible reporting requirements that can accommodate changes in direction based on community priorities•Recognition of process outcomes alongside product outcomes in evaluation frameworks•Support for community-determined success measures rather than standardized metrics•Funding for community governance and protocol development as essential project components
Conventional intellectual property frameworks often fail to adequately protect indigenous cultural expressions and knowledge systems. The case studies highlight the need for policy development in several areas:•Recognition of collective ownership models alongside individual authorship•Protection for cultural knowledge that may be partially expressed in photographs•Mechanisms for enforcing community protocols regarding appropriate use of images•Approaches to duration of protection that reflect indigenous perspectives on cultural heritage
Museums, galleries, universities, and other institutions that collect, exhibit, or publish indigenous visual material need to develop more respectful and collaborative approaches. The research suggests several policy directions:•Requirements for ongoing community involvement in decisions about how images are stored, accessed, and interpreted•Recognition of community protocols as binding ethical frameworks, not merely advisory guidelines•Allocation of resources for relationship maintenance with source communities, not just initial consultation•Commitment to benefit sharing when indigenous visual material generates revenue or prestige
This research has examined how Ngarra’s collaborative photography initiatives with indigenous communities create frameworks for visual sovereignty that challenge traditional approaches to documenting indigenous cultures. Through detailed case studies in three distinct contexts—Western Australia, Guatemala, and Kenya—the research has demonstrated how collaborative methodologies shift power dynamics in visual representation, enabling indigenous communities to exercise greater control over how they are photographed, by whom, and for what purposes.Key findings from the research include:1.Visual sovereignty manifests through control over multiple aspects of the photographic process, from initial decisions about what to photograph to ongoing management of how images are shared, contextualized, and interpreted. Truly collaborative approaches must address all these dimensions rather than focusing solely on who operates the camera.2.Effective collaborative methodologies are not standardized but adapted to specific community contexts, respecting diverse cultural protocols, governance structures, and priorities. This adaptation requires deep engagement with each community’s particular history, knowledge systems, and contemporary realities.3.Collaborative photography serves not only as a means of challenging problematic representations but also as a tool for cultural revitalization, supporting intergenerational knowledge transmission, strengthening collective identity, and documenting cultural adaptations to changing circumstances.4.Despite its potential benefits, collaborative photography faces significant challenges related to organizational power dynamics, technology access and sustainability, internal community differences, and engagement with broader visual economies. Addressing these challenges requires ongoing reflection, adaptation, and commitment to genuine power sharing.5.Supporting visual sovereignty requires attention to both process and product—to how decisions are made and relationships formed, as well as to the resulting images and their uses. Organizations seeking to support indigenous visual sovereignty must prioritize long-term relationships, comprehensive capacity building, and explicit acknowledgment of power dynamics.
This research contributes to theoretical understandings of visual sovereignty in several ways:First, it expands the concept of visual sovereignty beyond its original application to indigenous cinema [11] to encompass collaborative photography practices. In doing so, it demonstrates how visual sovereignty operates across different media forms while maintaining core principles of indigenous control and self-determination.Second, the research develops a more nuanced understanding of how power operates in visual representation, moving beyond simple binaries of indigenous/non-indigenous control to examine the complex negotiations that occur at multiple points in the image-making process. This expanded analysis reveals visual sovereignty as an ongoing practice rather than an achieved state—something that must be continuously enacted through specific decisions and relationships.Third, the comparative approach across three distinct indigenous contexts contributes to understanding how visual sovereignty manifests differently across diverse cultural, political, and historical settings while maintaining certain core principles. This comparative perspective helps distinguish between universal aspects of visual sovereignty and those that are specific to particular indigenous contexts.Finally, the research connects visual sovereignty to broader theoretical frameworks of decolonization, cultural revitalization, and indigenous self-determination, demonstrating how control over visual representation intersects with other dimensions of indigenous sovereignty including land rights, knowledge systems, and governance structures.
While this study has provided valuable insights into how collaborative photography can support visual sovereignty, several areas warrant further research:1.Long-term impacts: Future research should examine the long-term impacts of collaborative photography initiatives on communities, including how visual archives are used by future generations and how photography skills and practices evolve over time.2.Digital sovereignty: As digital technologies continue to transform how images are created, shared, and archived, research is needed on how indigenous communities are navigating questions of digital sovereignty in relation to their visual heritage.3.Youth perspectives: While this study included young photographers, dedicated research focusing specifically on how indigenous youth engage with visual sovereignty could provide important insights into evolving approaches to identity, representation, and cultural continuity.4.Policy development: Further research is needed on how policy frameworks—including intellectual property law, cultural heritage protection, and arts funding—could better support indigenous visual sovereignty.5.Comparative media approaches: Research comparing how visual sovereignty operates across different media forms—including photography, film, digital media, and social platforms—would contribute to a more comprehensive understanding of indigenous media sovereignty in contemporary contexts.
The collaborative photography initiatives examined in this research represent more than alternative approaches to visual anthropology or community arts practice. They embody fundamental challenges to colonial structures of knowledge and representation that have shaped how indigenous peoples are seen and understood. By asserting control over their own image, indigenous communities are not merely creating more accurate or authentic representations but reclaiming the power to define themselves on their own terms.As one participant in the Guatemala project powerfully stated:”Photography for us is not just about making nice images. It’s about saying: We are still here. We have survived. We are not how you have imagined us. We are how we see ourselves. And now you will see us through our eyes, not yours.” (Youth participant G3, interview)This assertion of the right to self-representation connects visual sovereignty to broader struggles for indigenous rights and decolonization. It reminds us that control over image and narrative is not peripheral but central to self-determination—that the power to determine how one is seen is inseparable from the power to determine how one lives.For organizations like Ngarra that seek to support indigenous visual sovereignty, the path forward requires ongoing commitment to genuine collaboration, critical reflection on power dynamics, and willingness to follow indigenous leadership even when it challenges conventional approaches to photography and visual representation. The reward for this commitment is the opportunity to participate in transformative work that not only produces powerful images but contributes to more just and equitable relationships between indigenous and non-indigenous peoples.
[61] Tuck, E., & Yang, K. W. (2012). Decolonization is not a metaphor. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1(1), 1-40.[62] Coulthard, G. S. (2014). Red skin, white masks: Rejecting the colonial politics of recognition. University of Minnesota Press.[63] Moreton-Robinson, A. (2015). The white possessive: Property, power, and indigenous sovereignty. University of Minnesota Press.[64] Simpson, L. B. (2017). As we have always done: Indigenous freedom through radical resistance. University of Minnesota Press.[65] Tuhiwai Smith, L., Tuck, E., & Yang, K. W. (Eds.). (2018). Indigenous and decolonizing studies in education: Mapping the long view. Routledge.
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G’day. My name is Andrew, and I am the founder of the Ngarra project, a nonprofit initiative rooted in the belief that every story deserves to be heard, and every voice holds the power to inspire change. I am reaching out to Fujifilm with an invitation—an opportunity to partner with us in our mission to empower young people in some of the world’s most marginalized communities through the transformative medium of photography.
G’day. My name is Andrew, and I am the founder of the Ngarra project, a nonprofit initiative rooted in the belief that every story deserves to be heard, and every voice holds the power to inspire change. I am reaching out to Fujifilm with an invitation—an opportunity to partner with us in our mission to empower young people in some of the world’s most marginalized communities through the transformative medium of photography.
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