In Person: James Nachtwey

We meet at Fotografiska Berlin, the day before his exhibition Memoria opened. Nachtwey is measured, rational, and sparing with words. While he answers my questions with kindness and compassion, something dawns on me: it is not only that there are no adequate words for what we call “unspeakable” atrocities, cruelties, and pain that humans inflict on one another – but that there exists a language of seeing and feeling that the photographer is able to capture and share and that has no need for many words. As he later puts it, it is about the connection – we understand when we see. Thus, the question the exhibition asks – What does it mean to witness the worst things humans do to one another and still believe in compassion? – remains phonetically unanswered, but is inscribed in the photographs with absolute clarity. As this realisation settles in, something else becomes clear: there is nothing heroic in this work; it is something deeply altruistic, something perhaps slightly insane, but above all something without which the world would likely look very different. And yet, one could argue: has anything changed in the face of ongoing wars? We might not know. Instead, it underlines the importance of these images and, sadly, their continuous relevance. When looking at the literal lifetime span of his career, this becomes fully visible. Talking with the 77-year-old, we only scratch the surface of what must be one of the largest visual archives of human history. An archive that does not merely document separate conflicts, but reveals the same patterns of suffering, systems of power, survival, and dignity repeating across continents and decades. Nachtwey started as a self-taught photographer and went on his first assignment in 1981, covering Northern Ireland. Since then, he has covered almost every major war, conflict, and crisis zone in the world and continues to do so to this day. After all, that is the great invention of photography: it is able to capture life in its complexity, layeredness, and contradictions on one flat surface – we see this in his images, which often seem to fold horror and beauty into one frame. In times when we continue to debate the photographic medium, the stories it holds, and its manipulation through framing, AI, and social media, it feels more important than ever to have people like James Nachtwey continue to bear witness and hold all of us accountable – being informed about what is happening in the world and bearing witness is, as these images remind us, a human necessity.

NISHA MERIT How would you describe your role as a photographer?

JAMES NACHTWEY I’m a photojournalist. The purpose of journalism is to inform the public about issues that they should know about, that they hopefully will care about, and to create constituencies around issues and express their opinions. As they are better informed, public opinion becomes stronger and it’s very influential, and I think through photography in particular people are able to make a human connection with the people in the photographs across boundaries of nationality, culture, religion, and ethnicity, and it becomes a human experience. When that human connection is made across a very broad audience, it empowers the process of change.

NM How have you endured witnessing so many atrocities for so long?

JN It’s actually miraculous that I’m still here. I’m driven by a sense of purpose. I think people have different capacities, different strengths and weaknesses, and I apparently am strong enough mentally to handle what I see. And because I’m doing it for a purpose that I believe in, it pushes me to continue. And whatever I have to internalise, I just deal with it. It takes a toll. There’s no getting around that; it comes with the territory. But it’s part of something you – sooner or later – realise, and you make a decision. My decision was to keep working and deal with the consequences.

NM In an article by your former classmate Denis O’Neill, published in 1987, he wrote: “We never really discussed why he does it. He is not eager to talk about it. He says he relies on his pictures to do that for him.” Has this changed over time?

JN It’s an interesting question to ask because I am talking about it – that’s what this interview is for. But I would say in general I don’t talk about it that much. I can talk about it with colleagues, with people who experience similar things, and we understand each other. People who haven’t had these experiences, I think, have a hard time relating to it. When I first began, I would tell people what I had seen and what was happening. But I just didn’t feel there was a strong connection, so I stopped. I don’t blame anyone; I understand why. People have their lives, they have their responsibilities, and that’s what occupies them. Me talking about it really doesn’t have much of an effect, but the pictures do – that is important. What I record will become a part of the eternal archive of our collective memory. I know that photographs can force those in power to act.

NM Our languages feel limited in the face of something that shows so many complexities and nuances of life – images that are incredibly intense and often horrific.

JN These circumstances that I photograph are very complex. First and foremost, they involve what people are actually going through one by one. And that’s what I try to capture. But that’s in a context of geopolitics and agendas that are impacting this situation. And I guess the picture cuts through that and helps people to see what’s happening to individual human beings. A picture of a mother or father, caring for a child who’s sick or has been injured, is something that any parent anywhere in the world would relate to very directly. You couldn’t help but think: this could be my child. What would I do? Mothers and fathers have become my heroes. Most people who are affected by war are not combatants. It’s civilians that are caught in the middle.

NM In the late ’70s and ’80s, the process was analog, a slower, more technical path from taking a picture to presenting it. Today, with smartphones and the internet, we have real-time coverage and a constant flood of visual information. How do you see this devel- opment in relation to photography?

JN The evidence today is being produced in real time, and that’s powerful. As we speak, there’s an investigation of a immi- gration officer [in the U.S.] having shot a citizen with apparently no just cause. And it was recorded by bystanders with their phones. And this is creating evidence on the spot. It’s not being done by journalists but by fellow citizens. It has a tremendous impact. There are places where photographers and journalists are not allowed to go. And people in those places show us what’s happening. I think in terms of the image itself, they may not be much more effective than evidence, but that’s already a lot. I think a trained journalist achieves more insight, more depth in terms of the image itself, making a more powerful and more eloquent statement. So I don’t think it replaces journalists or photographers. Because how do people trust what they see? It is very important to distinguish social media from the press. The press is obligated by a code of ethics. And if a journalist violates this code, they lose their standing as journalists and they lose their jobs. Because the press relies on credibility. Whereas people who post things on social media have no such obligation. It is extremely important to look at the sources of information and to distinguish what’s valid and what isn’t. People are very confused about it, and AI is making it even more difficult. It is important whose name is on the picture, on the story, and what news organisation produced this information.

NM War zones and areas of crisis are extremely difficult to navigate. How do you ensure your safety while still being able to enter situations where you are, in many ways, an outsider?

JN I am almost always an outsider. And no two situations are the same. There’s no template or programme that you can plug into. You’re improvising all the time. I also rely on local journalists and fixers and drivers from that place, who know and care about what’s going on because it’s their country. And they help me. I need someone who knows what the good questions are to ask. Many times I’ve felt I’m only as good as my driver and fixer. They have to trust that my intentions are good and what we’re doing together might make a difference. And what makes a difference isn’t what any one photographer or any one journalist does. It’s the critical mass of all of us together telling the story from all our different points of view that empowers change. How often have you heard: this war is hopeless, it’s going to go on forever? But most conflicts end. One of the reasons they end is when public consciousness evolves and political leaders don’t own the narrative anymore. I remember when the war in Iraq started. A great percentage of the American public was in favour of the invasion of Iraq because we’d been told by the [George W.] Bush administration that they had weapons of mass destruction, when in fact they didn’t. Fast forward a few years and a great percentage of the American public disfavoured the war and thought we should get out because of the information they received.

NM Your images seem to go beyond observation in documentary photography – they feel intimate, emotionally and physically close. What do you hope viewers see or come to understand through them?

JN I think that intimacy is what viewers relate to. Photography is a visual language, and I try to use that language in a powerful way, in an eloquent way, to inform people of what’s happening. But I do it in a way that allows this human connection to take place. I’m not just making pictures for the sake of pictures. I’m using pictures as a tool for social awareness.

JAMES NACHTWEY (born 1948, USA) is one of the world’s most renowned photojournalists. His exhibition Memoria is on display at Fotografiska, Berlin until 3 May 2026.