Raj Patel is an award-winning writer. His works include the book Stuffed and Starved: The Hidden Battle for the World Food System. His second book, The Value of Nothing, was a New York Times and international bestseller. His latest book, co-written with Jason W. Moore, is A History of the World in Seven Cheap Things. He is also working on a soon-to-be-released documentary film project, Generation Food.

An activist and academic, Raj studies the global food crisis and other big-picture issues facing humanity. He is a leading voice on the social and environmental challenges posed by industrial food production. Raj is a visionary and an advocate of paradigm-shifting ideas—around agroecology, food sovereignty, equality, patriarchy, late-state capitalism, and environmental justice. He distinctively tilts toward a premise of the regeneration of our living systems and the way in which we as a society operate in the context of creating a shared and just living future.

We had the opportunity to chat with Raj Patel about his vision for a just and healthy world and his hopes for the future. We are looking forward to hearing him speak at our upcoming Living Future unConference.

Julie Tonroy: What do you see as the biggest challenge(s) for future generations in order to live in a healthy, sustainable world?

Raj Patel: Our planet is undergoing a biospheric state-shift. The hardest part of living in the new world will be to live unencumbered by the bad ideas from the old one. Most humans think that nature and society are separate, that resources are here to be exploited, that we can economically grow our way out of the trouble we’re in at the moment. That kind of thinking isn’t just sloppy—it’s behind the destruction that has caused this state-shift in the first place. For future generations, there’s a lot to reinvent if they—and we—are to live sustainably within a new and different biosphere.

JT: Your political philosophy has been described as libertarian-socialist with anarchistic tendencies. Can you tell me what that means to you?

RP: “Libertarian-socialist with anarchistic tendencies” sounds seditious, but it just means that I think that we can do better than the world we’re in right now. And I suspect you do too. If you like entrepreneurialism and free exchange, as I do, you shouldn’t be a fan of capitalism. The exchange of two people buying and selling at a market or souk is utterly different from a system rigged for monopoly and coercion. If you care for sustainability, you oughtn’t to be a fan of a system that lets corporations exploit the natural world, workers, and their communities. I also suspect that you’re not a fan of a sprawling police state, keeping order, and doing the bidding of its billionaire owners. I’d peg you as a fan of democracy. I think you’d prefer more accountable government, with less money spent on war, more on healthcare, childcare, and programs to end poverty, hunger, and shifts toward agroecology and energy transformation. And if the only way for government to be more accountable is that you have to participate in it more than you do, I think you’d be up for that. Which might mean you’re a libertarian who wants as much freedom as possible, a socialist who wants equality and sustainable democratic control over the economy, and an anarchist who doesn’t particularly like being policed by the government. Turns out you may be a libertarian-socialist with anarchistic tendencies after all. Don’t worry. You’re not alone.

JT: Our mission at ILFI is to further the transformation of communities that are socially just, culturally rich, and ecologically restorative. What does that look like to you?

RP: Every ecology is different, and that’s why every community must be too. But there are patterns. The key word for me in ILFI’s mission is “restorative.” How is it that people in the Global North restore for the privilege that has come unearned to almost everyone living here? No one asked to be born to a society built on slavery, ecological destruction, colonialism and exploitation—but here we are. White people didn’t emerge from the womb asking to receive the dividends of white supremacy, men didn’t ask to be born with the dividends of patriarchy. But we live lives that sit upon a brutal history and that history’s continuation in the present. We appear to be at the beginning of a conversation about what restoration and reparation might look like—reparation for patriarchy, slavery, white supremacy, genocide, ecocide. Of course, these conversations are difficult. But who reading this wants a more sexist society, a more racist one, a more patriarchal one? The process of having these conversations is the very process for a more honest reckoning for how humans live with the rest of the planet. The future is one of conversation and of reckoning.

JT: In your book Stuffed and Starved, you talk about the nature of the world’s food systems. What do you believe is the most critical element that you feel is needed to transform the current system into one that is sustainable and equitable?

RP: There’s no single tilt that can fix a world that’s unequal on so many axes. But the idea of food sovereignty, invented by the 200-million-strong peasant movement, La Via Campesina in the 1990s, is an idea I like a great deal. It has a sprawling definition, but the upshot of it is that every community, region, nation, and biosphere needs to have its own conversations about how to common its resources so that no one goes hungry. Although it may seem like an abstract idea, this process has already had tangible results. Peasant communities that embark on this process have started to observe things like better levels of gender equality. Ecological restoration comes along too.

JT: What does equity mean to you?

RP: From each according to their ability, to each according to their need.

JT: We’re excited to have you as a keynote at Living Future 2018 in Portland, OR. Can you share a bit of what you hope to address with our audience?

RP: I’m very excited to share some new systems thinking from a new book called A History of the World in Seven Cheap Things, co-authored with Jason Moore, and to share some of the footage from a documentary that I’ve co-directed with Zak Piper and Steve James (of Hoop Dreams) fame, which shows a little about how to get from the system we’re in now to a better one.

JT: Tell me about the most exciting idea you’ve uncovered recently.

RP: I can’t stop thinking about the two millennia in which hunter-gatherer societies had domesticated grain, but in which grain had yet to domesticate humans. Most exciting: hunter-gatherer societies were ones where there was gender equality the likes of which we have never known. It’s exciting because it means our relationship to the biosphere isn’t destiny, and our social relationships aren’t either. Just because the crops need something doesn’t mean we have to give it in the way we have for the past few thousand years. We can reinvent. We can reimagine.

JT: What is the most pressing challenge related to the food industry?

RP: That it can’t be sustainable, no matter how hard it tries. It’s the quintessentially destructive industry. According to KPMG, the food industry can’t make enough revenue—not even profit but revenue—to cover its environmental footprint. The food industry knows this already. I learned about this from one of the VPs for sustainability at Nestlé. Better everyone knows now, so no one deceives themselves, or consumers, about “sustainable Big Food.”

JT: What are a few simple changes that people can make that can have a big impact?

RP: Wittgenstein liked to point out the difference between simple and easy. The changes with the biggest impacts are simple—just not easy. Simple is “fight for equality,” “organize for change,” “practice reparation.” Easy is to buy something organic, local, and fair-trade. I’m not saying don’t do easy. But I’m saying don’t delude yourself that it’s going to have a big impact.

JT: What are your hopes for the future?

RP: Despite the difficulties ahead, I’ve seen incredible change happen around the world, pushing back against the big food industry, ending hunger and patriarchy, beginning the conversation about reparations. It’d be wrong to pretend that our trajectory is one bending toward ecological and social sustainability. But it’d betray the many movements I’ve seen, from India to Oakland to Malawi to Peru, to ignore the fierce hope with which they fight to bend that arc toward justice.

There’s a movement in the manufacturing industry to inspire a revolution in the way materials are designed, manufactured and delivered so products are healthy, sustainable, and give more than they take. There is a similar movement and growing trend in the fashion industry—an industry that is the second most polluting industry in the world—to make it more sustainable. Many companies, including the likes of Patagonia, have brought sustainability into their business to further the movement and there is more work to be done.

Tereneh Idia, a fashion designer based in Pittsburgh, PA, is a champion for the sustainable fashion movement and she also wants to take it a step further— making it collaborative, holistic, and circular so it has a positive impact on the planet and people. Her concept can be found in the Global Eco-Design Collaborative. A group she created to bring together Indigenous artisans in a cultural, economic, environmental, and socially supportive system. She works with a group of women artisans in the Maasai community in Kenya and the Oneida Nation in New York.  Their collaborative work culminates in stunning designs inspired and created by Indigenous artisans with the benefits going back to the Indigenous community.

This is a true collaboration rooted in a holistic view that fosters authentic connections and dual inspiration. Imagine if this concept was adopted by the larger manufacturing industry? When I met Tereneh, I was immediately drawn to her work, the story of the Maasai and Oneida women, and the influence this could have on the larger manufacturing industry. The following is an interview about Indigenous design partners, human creativity, and a better concept of globalization—one that benefits the world.

Joanna Gangi: Can you explain more about your concept of the Eco-design Collaborative?

Tereneh Idia: I love connections—between people, design, nature—everything. However, the current fashion system is centralized and closed off. For example, there are specific fashion week capitals, the system is very opaque in terms of how things are created and very hierarchical, from what row an editor sits in at a show to who is the It celebrity. Fashion information is also so very controlled including the dirty big secret—that fashion and clothing production is the second most polluting industry in the world. I knew none of this when I started graduate school for design, but once I learned I decided that if I create anything new in this world it had to be sustainable.

Photo courtesy of Tereneh Idia

Idia’Dega is a global eco-design collaboration and we follow three concepts.

• Creative Force Not Labor Force — the idea of indigenous design partners as equal forces in what we do. So I am not a western designer dictating what the indigenous artisans create. It is a real collaboration.
• Sustain + Ability — sustain human creativity and beauty as well as nature’s and that indigenous innovation and knowledge is relevant today and throughout the future.
• Globalization for Good — round earth thinking. The concept is not flat or one-way influence, power, and dominance but circular holistic that is engaging and benefiting the world. A mentor of mine says I am very idealistic, but all of these concepts are steeped in the natural world and science works.

JG: What are your goals for the collaborative?

TI: Creating a large collective of indigenous artisans in a cultural, economic, environmental, and socially supportive system. This supports the creative community’s economic, political, cultural power. For example, if oil drilling occurs in the Maasai community, in the future we could engage the network to fight as a global community against the drilling. Or on a small scale, which is happening now with the Olorgesailie Maasai Women Artisans of Kenya (OMWA)—the women do a monthly collection of their wages/sales and give it to the family in most need.

There is a saying “Teach a person to fish.” But I went into this process knowing that the women I work with represent the people who invented fishing so it makes more sense to partner as equals together. I am not there to help anyone (in a patriarchal way). We are building this together.

JG: What is the most inspiring thing that you’ve learned from working with the Maasai and the Oneida peoples?

TI: Everything we need we already have, all around us. Also the connections to everything is very prevalent in indigenous cultures. When I was meeting with the Oneida family of The Beading Wolves, to get permission to work with them, I talked about a Maasai creation story. Up to that point in my presentation—no one was responding to anything I was saying. Not a nod or even a blink of the eye. But when I got to the point of the Maasai story, one of the Oneida elders saw a direct parallel with one of their creation stories. He stopped me and said, “Of course! That makes so much sense!” Someone also told me something that I think about everyday, they said, “There is only one body of water on Earth.” We think of separate rivers, lakes, and oceans, but the one water concept, changes how you view, think, and treat everything and everyone. It may sound mystical but a lot of this goes back to nature and science. We are all connected.

Photo courtesy of Tereneh Idia

JG: What can other people and cultures learn from indigenous cultures about resiliency?

TI: Resiliency from what I have seen and learned from the Maasai and Oneida goes back to understanding the connections. Being able to use what you have at hand. Both the Maasai of Olorgesailie in Kenya and the Oneida of the Beading Wolves know what is around them and they have a deep connection to place. For example, when I got really sick in the Maasai village, the Maasai ladies started making me teas to drink in order to feel better. If we cannot heal ourselves or survive with what is around us, how can we be truly resilient? But on a more fundamental level we need to think about how we sustain each other and our connections with our neighbors, family, etc. Both the Maasai and Oneida have extended community with close ties. I see that is so very important.

JG: Pittsburgh has a rich history in manufacturing and has been in the national media lately regarding the city’s commitment to the Paris Climate Accord. As a Pittsburgh native, how do you feel about many people looking at the region as leading the future of the manufacturing industry and the overall sustainability efforts?

TI: I am lucky enough to have lived all over the country and world so I am also thinking about how things connect, work, and influence across many man-made borders. In Pittsburgh, my concern is not connecting racial economic environmental justice to these new efforts. We are losing basic infrastructure like strong public transportation. Unless we have access to affordable housing, clean water, clean air, good public transportation to move our culturally diverse population of Pittsburgh—the growth of Pittsburgh will continue to be unbalanced and fall along racial lines. Pittsburgh can do a lot better.

Photo courtesy of Tereneh Idia

JG: Can you explain what the Maasai Solar project is and how it has impacted the community?

TI: When I began working with OMWA: Olorgesailie Maasai Women Artisans of Kenya, one of the Maasai elders said, “This is deeper than you can imagine.” I kind of brushed it off, thinking, ‘Look, I am just here to make pretty dresses and hopefully we all make some money.’ But then I realized that without basic things—access to water, food security—the indigenous communities have all that much more of a hurdle to climb. Add to this how climate change is impacting their lives now. When that river no longer flows, the long walk to water gets longer which means less water for your family and a much longer walk for livestock. It makes the predator animals more aggressive so you lose more livestock. Drought and famine impact human, livestock and plant life making the ecosystem out of balance.

So, what can I do as a fashion designer? Let’s use design as a solution. Following the global eco-design collaboration, the Maasai Solar project is a project in collaboration with Land Art Generator Initiative (LAGI), now based in Seattle. I had met LAGI when they were based in Pittsburgh to connect indigenous design with renewable energy. Connections again that foster circular solutions. The Maasai project will create renewable energy projects that include Maasai design and use from local and global markets. It will house scale, small community scale, and wearables. We are still in the very beginning phase but the goal is to get solar to the community in 2018, with the right support. And then begin to market products in 2019 for the global market with the goal of revenue generation for the Maasai community. We wanted to make sure that the Maasai women’s customers are not just their village neighbors but the world.

JG: What is the meaning behind the name Idia’Dega?

TI: Idia is actually my name and it means “queen mother,” the origin is Benin. There was a specific queen mother that was very powerful in her son’s reign. Traditionally women were not allowed to go to battle but Queen Idia led troops. The saying goes, “No woman goes to battle, except Idia.” ‘Dega comes from Diondega which is the Seneca Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) name for Pittsburgh.

JG: What can the manufacturing industry learn from the Eco-design Collaborative approach?

TI: I begin the process with research and trying to learn as much as possible. I also say to everyone involved, “When I mess up, tell me.” And they do! Connect and be transparent, add more time to the process so that more than one voice or one direction is being considered. Don’t assume that someone from another country without the same education as you is less talented or less intelligent than you. In the end the product is better. When we begin with ideas and the women I work with add to those ideas, they get better and vice versa.

Photo courtesy of Tereneh Idia

JG: What is one of your favorite designs?

TI: There are two that are my favorites, so far. One from the second collection in 2015 and one from the Spring 2018 Collection we presented during New York Fashion Week in September. The Many As One dress—made from scraps of fabric, hand beaded by OMWA and hand-stitched by me. The HollyTale Necklace was beaded by Holly Gibson of the Oneida Indian Nation, Tale Leah of OMWA and co-designed by me—it represents the strongest melding of all of our global multicultural aesthetic.

JG: What is your message of hope to young people that want to make a positive difference?

TI: I think that young people understand that the time is now. It is the adults that are holding things up. To young people—please know that there is someone in the world born at the exact same day, time, and year as you living thousands of miles away. They have the same desires, hopes, and dreams as you but may not have the same resources and opportunities. But that person is as valuable to this world as you are—we need to see that the world is lopsided but we can do better. If you’re young or old don’t feel overwhelmed with all of the world issues, find one that matters most to you and spend 5 minutes a day on it—call, email, connect to make a difference. It really does make a difference. Also know that we are connected, we are one living family on this planet and we need to sustain each other.

In the past few decades, nearly every large company has adopted the word “sustainability” into its organizational vernacular. The rise in popularity of sustainable practices is in part a business trend but is also a reaction from business and government to assuage human impact on the environment. As a whole, sustainable practices have largely produced incremental positive change toward preserving the earth’s resources and biodiversity. Jason F. McLennan, creator of the Living Building Challenge (LBC) and founding CEO of the International Living Future Institute (ILFI), was tired of faulty environmental practices and wanted to create greater positive change. In 2006, McLennan was leading as the CEO of the Cascadia Green Building Council, and with the idea of a certification program that far exceeded LEED standards, he took the leap toward social entrepreneurship.

Ten years later, ILFI has grown to be a leading organization in regenerative design standards, educational tools and related programs: staff numbers are growing, program uptake is exponential, and three sold-out annual conferences demonstrate that McLennan was never alone in his dream to make a real difference in the way humans interact with the built environment. As a result of ILFI’s growing relationships with the design (AEC) and corporate social responsibility (CSR) communities, architects, engineers, manufacturers, and governments are aligning their work with ILFI’s mission: to create a world that is socially just, culturally rich and ecologically restorative.

Last fall, ILFI underwent a large transition: Jason F. McLennan stepped down as CEO, and his successor, Amanda Sturgeon, is now leading ILFI down the radical path that McLennan first blazed. ILFI further celebrates his leadership and looks forward to his continued service in the field of regenerative design. Current CEO Amanda Sturgeon sat down with McLennan to talk about the transition and reflect upon the goals and challenges of the past ten years.

Amanda Sturgeon: What were some of the greatest initial hurdles in introducing the Living Building Challenge to the architecture community?
Jason F. McLennan: I think initially people thought that the [Living Building Challenge] Standard was too hard, and nobody would be able to achieve it. There were a number of non-believers out there. It was illegal to implement many of the strategies and technologies nearly everywhere in North America due to water and waste regulations.

AS: What drove you to start the Living Building Challenge?
JM: I was impatient with the rate of change. I knew that the industry could do much better than what it was currently doing, but I was not seeing the initiative or the spark needed to push people to go through with it. LEED did a great job in introducing the industry to a wide range of issues, but the LBC was needed to really put a stake in the ground far afield so that the needed direction of the industry was clear.

AS: Why is the Living Building Challenge so critical at this moment in time? How do you see it continuing to scale?
JM: The LBC provides a tangible solution to the majority of the ways that the built environment contributes to environmental degradation. Countering climate change is not just about identifying the atmospheric carbon number that we can’t exceed—we have to begin to reverse the damage that’s been done. The program forces project teams to ask, “What do we actually do that has impact? How do we change our footprints so that we eliminate negative unintended consequences and create good in the world?” We can create more habitat, clean the air and water, and create places of great beauty and elegance. The LBC is living proof of a way of life. We are building solutions for the future now.

AS: How did you know that the time was right to make a transition from CEO of ILFI?
JM: We decided to make the transition slowly so that the timing was just right. I decided that I wanted to start transitioning in 2012 when we hired a new executive director. I wanted to make sure that ILFI was financially whole before I left. I set a goal to have ample resources in the bank and to broaden the leadership team, and I wasn’t going to leave before the organization could stand on its own legs. By 2012, there was a bunch of great people who could represent ILFI beyond myself.
At that point, I was ready to leave personally, too. I wanted to leave cleanly and without a power struggle. I also didn’t want to leave the organization at a point where it would fall into disrepair, which happens with a lot of founders at their departure. The organization could have a life of its own. I crafted the DNA, the framework, the vision, and the path. I wanted to get out of the way and move on to the next thing, while still supporting ILFI when it needed me. I felt great about leaving ILFI in your capable hands.

AS: What is your proudest accomplishment from your time in ILFI?
JM: The growth of the Living Building Challenge. The changes in the market that have been a direct result of the program are really wonderful to see. People no longer just imagine living buildings—they are actually building them and providing inspirational models for others to follow. I remember how many people thought the concept was impossible; except for a few real leaders like Sim Van Der Ryn, Bob Berkebile, Pliny Fisk. The LBC is the first framework and set of tools that shows how regenerative building is possible. Not everyone is ready to create living buildings, but they can see others doing it and can imagine the shift more readily. So my biggest achievement was removing the doubt.

AS: How will projects like the Bullitt Center serve as replicable models around the world?
JM: We’ve achieved the proof of concept and can now begin to scale. We still need to create Bullitt Center–like projects in every climate zone and every building type. Even in the Northwest, we need four or five Bullitt Centers that are office buildings to really sort through the numbers and flesh out the data points to show trends. Each Living Building is a little different aesthetically and uses different materials and technologies. Each project solves the same problem in ways that are applicable to each site.

AS: At ILFI, you worked on removing a lot of barriers to living buildings. Which critical barriers are left to remove?
JM: There are still a lot of materials-related issues, especially at scale. Small projects are really tough on the materials side because you don’t have much leverage with manufacturers when you’re talking about a couple thousand square feet.
In reality, all of the barriers still exist, but they’ve just reduced in magnitude, and now there are good examples to follow.

AS: The ILFI now administers the Living Product Challenge (LPC) and Living Community Challenge (LCC), in addition to other programs. Why is it important to expand the scope of the Living Building Challenge beyond buildings?
JM: The world needs holistic solutions to the complex issues surrounding climate change and other environmental challenges. We create living products to help make the process of creating living buildings more achievable. It creates a halo effect where one industry pulls the other industry forward in different ways, and it attracts interest. We hope that the LPC will have a similar impact on the manufacturing sector as the LBC has made for the construction sector.

AS: What drives you now that you’ve made the steps to start your own firm, McLennan Design?
JM: My motivation hasn’t changed. I am driven by the same fundamental driver to create positive change as before, but just using a different framework. On a personal level, I want to keep learning new things. And I think it’s good to reinvent yourself every decade or so.
When you bring an organization to a certain point, it’s good to then let a fresh set of eyes and a fresh set of hands take it further. On one hand, it’s good for you as a person to learn new things. On the other hand, it’s good for the “material” to have new people who bring their energy and ideas.
So for me it was time to hand over the reins and return to what I love, design, and to create living buildings more directly for people. Now I’m building an architecture and planning firm that I think will do a lot of good in the world. The firm has a special focus on helping people in need.

AS: What’s the most pressing issue facing society today?
JM: It’s multiple issues. Population, climate change, economic inequality, social injustice, the threat of war, pandemic disease; and they’re all interrelated.
There are so many things that could put us into trouble, and it’s hard to predict which one is going to impose the real catastrophe. Our work at ILFI addresses some of these by going to the source—how we build society and the pieces that make up civilization. Big stuff!

AS: Why do you think ILFI and Living Building Challenge have been successful?
JM: An entire community of people signed up for the vision. If they didn’t join me, it would’ve been a pretty lonely party. It would’ve been over. The people make the party. I feel lucky to have sent the invitation. ILFI’s network of people and partners has done amazing things. Fundamentally, our programs have been successful because they offer actionable hope and new models and new ways of thinking built on inspiration rather than guilt and gloom and doom. We don’t spend our time merely pointing out the problems, but instead we focus on identifying the solutions and removing the barriers.

A career in photojournalism has rendered New Zealand native Robin Hammond a seasoned global traveler. Several projects have entailed extended travel in sub-Saharan Africa, and others have required stays in Europe and Asia. With a slate of philanthropic projects that showcase some of the world’s most flagrant and underreported human rights issues, Hammond’s dedication to his career reveals a refreshing sense of empathy and a genuine compassion for the betterment of humanity. The moments captured within each frame are vivid and sometimes haunting, but through this stark imagery, he turns any preconceived disparities between cultures inside out. The more you focus on the differences between yourself and the people in his photos, the more you can see how similar we all are—our smiles, our tears, our hopes, our struggles.

The reality of global inequality is irrefutable—a staggering portion of humanity is undernourished and lacks clean drinking water, and many more don’t have simple liberties such as a safe place to lay their head at night or the freedom to give and receive love. Broad gaps in access are pervasive, and they reach far beyond the borders of the developing world. Even so, it is too easy to take any level of affluence for granted, too easy to turn a blind eye to the global human rights violations that rear their ugly heads in plain sight. Hammond’s photos urge you not only to notice these atrocities, but to take action. The images demand that the observers not hide behind their privilege; injustice in any form, be it abject poverty or bigotry, will not disappear if we close our eyes. As Nobel Prize winner and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel noted in his classic novel, Night, “Wherever men or women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must—at that moment—become the center of the universe.” Robin Hammond’s work  conveys the immediacy that Wiesel knew so well.

As a photojournalist the spotlight of Hammond’s work is in front of the lens. However, in his case, the adjacency of subject and artist poses an unequivocal metaphor of the artist’s intention. He has melded the role of activist with that of photographer in a precise formula to create an effective provision for positive change. Hammond has widened the lens of his work from photojournalist to activist and change maker. In June of 2015, he launched a not-for-profit organization called Witness Change, which advocates for and realizes tangible improvements in the lives of the people whose stories he’s been telling for the last 15 years. In the following interview, Robin shares details about a few of his projects and provides some behind-the-scenes insight into his career.

Krista Elvey: After years of documenting human rights abuse, you helped to start Witness Change, a nonprofit that uses storytelling as a vehicle to effect change through education, advocacy and policy reform. You said, “I realized that if making a difference is my goal, to witness and hope is not enough; change must be at the center of what I do.” 

Robin Hammond: Witness Change is about documenting and recording stories from survivors of seldom-addressed human rights issues. I began working as a photographer to create positive change through my images, but it took me a long time to discover that raising awareness through a magazine or newspaper does not mean that change is sure to follow. Witness Change is a nonprofit that formed with a bunch of really dedicated volunteers who believe in the power of storytelling, but also recognize that a story is not enough—people need a way to take action. We address issues that the media doesn’t cover because we feel that we can have the greatest impact on underreported issues. Witness Change seeks to engage with people who have the power to make a significant difference on those issues.

A posed portrait of 40 year old drag performer and human rights advocate Shelah!!! at home in Kuala Lumpur. Photo Robin Hammond/Panos for Witness Change

KE: Where Love is Illegal began as a photo project, and has become a powerful campaign with a resounding message: “Human rights are universal; persecution based on sexuality or gender identity must end.” Can you share more about the evolution of the project?

RH: Despite some amazing progress, the majority of the world is still far behind on the issue of equal rights for all genders and sexualities. I work in Africa often, but I didn’t meet anyone who was openly gay for nearly 10 years. When I met a gay man in Northern Nigeria, he’d just been released from prison and was facing the death penalty for committing gay acts. When I heard his story, statistics of homophobia and transphobia became very real for me, very human. I saw the power in those personal stories to shift the narrative. The Nigerian man’s experience is the result of homophobic laws and beliefs, and the result of homophobia is—it’s killing people.

Many people grow up in societies where being gay is considered evil, unholy, abnormal or unnatural. When you’re completely surrounded by that message, you also believe it. Where Love is Illegal seeks to let people know that they’re not alone. Through the project, people from some of the most homophobic countries in the world are reaching out to share their story, demonstrating that people everywhere experience homophobia. So many people are reaching out to tell others that they aren’t alone.

When I was taking portraits for the project, I was averaging one per day. The rest of that day was sitting with people, explaining the project, hearing their story, working with them to tell that story, and then eventually taking a picture. I was always working with local grassroots LGBTI groups that helped me find the people, and gain trust from the people I was working with.

Many of the stories are about people who’ve been attacked, imprisoned, or tortured. The more insidious aspect is that in many parts of the world, people in the LGBTI community are desperately poor because they’re thrown out of school, lose their jobs, or are rejected by their families—they are forced to live on the margins of society.

A posed portrait of ‘B’, a 32 year old gay man from Kenya. Photo: Robin Hammond/Panos for Witness Change

I was deeply impacted by a young man who we called B. He eventually died because bigotry made him too poor to access medical care when he needed it. Our intervention came too late to save him. People must know that inaction means that stories like B’s will happen every day. If we believe in a global human community, then we have to take responsibility for one another. We have to take responsibility for what happened to B. I really feel that because I met him, and my work is about connecting people so they can see others like B, read their stories and see him the way that I saw him. B’s friend asked, “There’s not much left to remember B by. Please tell his story so that we have something to remember him, even if it’s a sad memory.”

KE: What was your first human rights project, and how did that experience influence your career?

RH: I covered a story in Turkana, Kenya, about some of the first people impacted by climate change, people who have been scant of resources for hundreds of years, and now will be the ones who are the most impacted. Documenting underreported injustices has always given me purpose in my work; the sense of outrage really motivates me, and also serves as a reminder. When I’m out there on the ground, the little things that many of us worry about disappear. I know every morning why I’m getting up and what I’m doing, and that feels good.

KE: Could you share an anecdote of the day in the life of a photojournalist?

RH: The most important point to make is that there isn’t a typical day. Our world is so diverse. I work a lot in Africa, and a lot of people treat Africa as a single country and a single race of people. Africa contains 54 countries; the continent is hugely diverse. I like working there partly for that reason, but I never ever think that I know a place. I’m there to learn from the people. I come with my prejudices and my stereotypes, but it’s really important for me to stay there for long enough to challenge those ideas.

In general, when I go to a country I will set up meetings with field experts in advance, and spend the first couple of days talking to people and trying to understand the scenario. I’ll start shooting pretty quickly because photographs are a photojournalist’s notebook. It’s crucial to meet the experts, or the people who have the interest in these fields. If I’m documenting human rights issues, I’ll meet with the people who are the survivors of that abuse. It’s also vital that I see the situation for myself because people have good intentions, but often they have their own agendas, too, in terms of how they want their cause to be perceived by the outside world.

There are logistical issues—getting around, translating—but it always depends on the place and what I’m doing. I almost always begin working before sunrise. The best light is usually in the morning, and that’s often the safest time to be shooting as well. When I was in Eastern Ukraine a couple months ago, I was working very closely with Doctors Without Borders. Movement was restricted because they were shelling at different times of the day. It was quite structured, actually; they began shelling promptly at 5:00 p.m. We had to be outside when it was very restricted, and we had to make sure that we weren’t putting anyone at risk.

I spent three weeks working on the Condemned project in Nigeria, and photographed for maybe two hours in total because I was trying either to gain access to certain facilities or to find people who were imprisoned because of their mental illness. In two cases (at least), I was there without the permission from the authorities because they wouldn’t let me photograph. I was able to shoot these so-called psychiatric hospitals, which were effectively prisons. I was in and out within 10 minutes. To have hardly any time to cover an issue is always a struggle because the camera is my notebook, and the more notes taken, the more information absorbed, and the better I can tell the story.

RH: I saw mentally ill people who were incarcerated or left outside chained to a tree for months, in the countries where it can be really cold at night and there are mosquitos and torrential downpours. I was outraged— if they were in prison because of their religion or political stance, there would be an international outcry. But because they have a mental illness, somehow it was justified. However, you have to take this in the context of the place. The project is called Condemned Mental Health in African Countries in Crisis. I went to refugee camps and places that were post-conflict, where there was mass displacement or corruption.

Condemned unofficially began in South Sudan, but I didn’t go there to document mental health. In fact, I went there to work on the South Sudanese referendum for independence. I went into a prison where people with mental health problems were chained to the floor or locked in small cells. I was horrified.

There came a turning point where I was photographing people who were in very vulnerable place, whose rights were denied by the prison and by society. Some of them couldn’t give me their consent to take their picture because they didn’t have the capacity to communicate with me. My first thought was, “This is human rights abuse. I’m here to gather evidence, and it’s the most important thing. That’s why I’m here, and why I must document this.”

I recognized that these are individuals whose rights were already egregiously denied.  Was I further denying their rights by taking a photograph? If they were my relative, father, brother, or son, would I be okay with their image appearing on the front page of a newspaper? I came to the conclusion that the only way that the images were justifiable is if they were taken to make a difference in the lives of vulnerable people like them.

That was a big shift for me. I went from covering 30 to 40 stories a year for newspapers and magazines to covering one issue—mental health. At that point, I’d been working in Africa for five years and I hadn’t seen this issue, even after working with a number of aid agencies. I realized that I could either say, “It’s not my job…I’m a photographer, not an aid worker or a politician,” or I could say, “I have to take responsibility for being a decent human, and do whatever I can with my abilities.”

Native Doctor Lekwe Deezia claims to heal mental illness through the power of prayer and traditional herbal medicines. Photo: Robin Hammond/WitnessChange.org

KE: What are some effective first steps that we could all take to address the global lack of mental health care?

RH: There are many reasons for the lack of empathy, but it comes down to the stigma surrounding mental health. The stigma is not restricted to Africa—this is a global problem. The stigma is the biggest barrier to care. The stigma also removes the ability for people with mental health problems to advocate for their own rights. It’s not that they aren’t capable of advocating for their rights, it’s because when they do, they’re dismissed as “crazy.”

Aid agencies often don’t receive funding to support mental health issues. It’s much easier to receive funding for work around other issues like HIV, tuberculosis, malaria—they’re all really important, but funders want to know if they put in $100,000 that they’ll have x result by x time. With many other diseases, it’s easier to show progress quickly, but it’s not as simple with mental health. Beyond funders, mental health is simply not a sexy topic. Government assistance for people with mental health problems is infrequent. Family members are often the primary caretakers, but they usually don’t have a clear understanding their relative’s illness.

One in four people in the world, 25%, will have some kind of mental health issue in their lifetime. Mental health is the biggest disabling factor in the world. It takes more years off of lives than cardiac disease or cancer. People don’t recognize the reality because it’s complicated, and people think it’s happening to someone else. And when it’s happening to them, they feel alone; that’s a part of my job, and a part of the media’s job—to contribute to how the world is seen, which often dictates how people interact with it. There needs to be a lot more coverage around mental health in the media. We need to create a larger conversation.

KE: Do you often or ever feel paralyzed by the scale of human rights issues that exist today? And if so, how do you deal with those emotions?

RH: I’m an optimist. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing this work. I would fall into a depression if I thought that nothing could be done. When I share my work, I see that people are connected to the people in my stories. That gives me hope. We don’t have to passively watch disasters unfold in front of us. A big part of my job is to remove barriers of distance, race, religion and gender. Personal stories and photographs have that ability to break down barriers, even if it’s only for a fraction of a second. Humans have the capacity for great empathy.

In my opinion, helping others who are less fortunate is a moral obligation. I’ll give you an analogy; If you saw a child drowning in a swimming pool, and you were the only one there, you would jump in and save them. If there were other people standing around and nobody jumped in, you would still feel a moral obligation to jump in and save them. Now, if you were wearing a gold watch and it would cost $500 because it’s an expensive watch, you’d still jump in and save them. It’s not a matter of money. Now, what’s the difference between if that child is in front of you or 1,000 miles away? There is no difference. But because we can’t see it, we don’t act. My job is to have people see it.

If you’re a morally upstanding person, you don’t have another choice but to try to help people less fortunate than you. And there’s millions of different ways that we can do that. If everyone did something, the world could change overnight. We all have to actually stand up. None of these atrocities and abuses need to
happen. We absolutely have the resources to stop them if we wanted to. But, people need to want to.

KE: Oil Rich, Dirt Poor shows stark disparity of extreme wealth and abject poverty in Angola. Can you provide some commentary on that project? 

RH: We live in a terribly unequal world. It’s really easy to illustrate in countries [like Angola] that are resource rich but the government feels very little obligation to support all people through social policies. Inequality is one of the greatest injustices.

There are people obviously out there who have immense wealth, way more than they need, and people who are desperately poor. People die because of that.

But this is a global problem as well; it’s really clear to see it even in [the United States]. There have been many studies to show that more equal societies are happier, and their economies are more prosperous, and they have less crime. But, you have to convince the people at the top that they have to give something up, and that can be a tough argument to have because those people are, not by coincidence, the people with the power.

KE: As an optimist, do you think it’s possible to achieve basic human rights for everyone on earth, as defined by the Universal Declaration of Human Rights? And if so, how do we begin?

RH: There has to be recognition that we’re all in this together—none of us are truly free until we’re all free. That dream may be unlikely, but that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t strive for equality. I really believe that storytelling can contribute toward bringing us closer together if we feel like we know and understand people, and if we started looking for what connects us rather than what divides us.

I’ve had the great fortune of seeing the connections all of the time when I travel. You go to a new place assuming that it will be different, but then you realize that the important things are the same. People speak different languages and enjoy different foods, but they have love for family, a desire for companionship and friendship. Do we pray on Friday or a Sunday, or do we have a beard or wear a skullcap? Those are small differences. The basic human elements are way more common than our separations.

Photo: Robin Hammond. Angola. December 2009/January 2010.

New Years Eve Party at Miami Beach Night club owned by the daughter of the president of Angola. Photo: Robin Hammond. Angola. December 2009/January 2010.

All photos courtesy of Robin Hammond | All photo captions and sidebar content courtesy of robinhammond.co.uk and whereloveisillegal.com