From photographing Black Lives Matter protests to being the first Black photographer to shoot the front cover of British Vogue, Misan Harriman’s work reflects on the power of art to confront trauma, inspire activism, and redefine narratives. In an interview with E. Nina Rothe, the Oscar-nominated filmmaker discusses his journey, his creative mantra, and why he believes art must always reflect the times. Culture is something that requires knowledge and sometimes learning that can only be done with time. On the opening night of the annual Ajyal Film Festival (Ajyal means “generations” in Arabic) in Doha, I was in the lobby of my hotel awaiting a transfer to the theatre. Also staying there was the wondrous photographer and Oscar-nominated filmmaker Misan Harriman, who hails from a royal lineage of the Nigerian Itsekiri tribe. I observed him sitting in a corner of the lobby and watched a young Qatari approach him, a few meters behind me. I overheard the young man ask Harriman to take a photo of him with the Leica camera hanging around his neck. "I’m sorry,” I heard Harriman say with kindness, “This is a camera with film and I won’t be able to share the photo with you.” The young Qatari took a beat and by then I’d been informed that my ride had arrived, so in all honesty I’ll never know the end of that exchange. But the moral of the story is that if you’ve grown up in the age of digital, cameras that use actual rolls of film seem like a magical instrument, almost impossible to comprehend. Also, that kindness is a virtue, always.
Misan Harriman
When I sat down with Harriman a few days later, the photographer, famous for capturing that image of a pregnant Megan Markle, told me how he remembered meeting Steven Spielberg at the Oscars brunch and feeling overwhelmed when he learned the celebrated filmmaker had watched his Oscar-nominated short The After. But he also mentioned his mantra for capturing what have turned out to be some of the most iconic images of our modern, turbulent times: “When there is injustice I turn my lens towards it and do what I can to help.”
'The After' is an incredible film in the way it teaches us that we need to deal with grief. And that we can’t push it aside because it will eventually catch up with us. What was the inspiration for it and why did you decide to make it?
Coming out of lockdown, we had this really rare period when the whole world experienced what I call a zombie apocalypse moment; where we were all forced to be at home and have this time of deep retrospection. None of our operating systems were prepared for this act of God, if you like. And then during that time, George Floyd was killed and then there was this global Civil Rights movement that was akin to something I’d only read about in the 60s. I think the combination of all those things meant that, especially for people of colour, we couldn’t hide our grievances, our trauma. I remember having many phone calls with friends from all over the world where we would cry and not know why. What we saw on the news combined with us being forced to not busy our lives made our traumas climb out of us. I knew then that none of us were okay. So, when I had the opportunity to collaborate with Netflix on my first piece of moving image, I wanted to make something that let anyone who was going through something know that it was okay to not be okay. Also, men of colour are portrayed, sadly, in ways that do a disservice to us, so I wanted to show the character in a way that allowed the grace to be broken. And the ability to build himself up, brick by brick.
It’s also amazing that the world then recognised this beautiful thing that you had put out there and you were nominated for an Oscar!
The thing is, when you go on this journey, I just didn’t want to embarrass myself and then we started getting whisperings…Ava DuVernay was saying amazing things, and Barbara Broccoli was like “this is incredible” and these are real names! And at that point I didn’t know them, so they weren’t doing me a favour. We did lose on the big day to an icon — Wes Anderson.
But you’ll be Oscar nominated for life! So what would you tell your ten year old self?
That which was taken was never theirs to take and that your cup will be refilled plentifully if you recognise that you should be brave enough to love yourself.
What brought you into activism as a photographer?
I think my career has been so rocket-ship-like, and I guess I could have just been the guy who shot the Vogue cover and then GQ Man of the Year with Lewis Hamilton, the Royal Family, Kate Winslet, Angelina Jolie, and so on. I could be that; I could have been running from yacht to castle to afterparty, from Cannes to Venice. But what would I tell my daughters, when they become young women? That I was just doing that when the world was burning? That it was enough to just accumulate wealth and fame in an industry that unfortunately is becoming more and more vacuous in its nature? My heroes are artists who know what the job of an artist is, like Nina Simone. She said: “An artist's duty, as far as I'm concerned, is to reflect the times.” Mohammed Ali lost three or four years of his best fighting shape because he believed in something. I’ve lost all my heroes — Quincy (Jones) is gone, Sidney Poitier is gone, Harry Belafonte is gone. I stand on their shoulders. Those are the famous people that I look up to, who risked so much to bear witness, to speak truth to power. My family, Uncle Leslie [Nigerian Ambassador Leslie Harriman, Chairman of the Special Committee against Apartheid and Nigerian permanent representative at the UN] and my father, Chief Hope Harriman, were always involved in politics and community development. This has been near me and I guess I’ve soaked it up.
It all goes back to being a father. Whatever time I have on this earth, I want my children to know that I did what I could to help us understand that we can be better than what we are today.
When did you figure out that photography was something you wanted to pick up?
A big part of my success is failure. I’m dyslexic. I struggled at school. I’ll say this, my wife fell in love with the parts of myself that I was ashamed of. And then my daughter was born premature and I thought, “How do I look after something so small?” And so I started to photograph this little thing that became this big. And when you’re shooting something you love you begin to understand the magic between the highlights and the shadows of photography. Robert Frank said: “The eye should learn to listen before it looks,” and I think my eye, throughout the trials and tribulations of my life, has been listening to the human condition. Now when someone puts that tool in my hand, I know exactly when the decisive moment is.
That’s possibly why the protest images I took stood out. Because I can tell you I wasn’t the only photographer there. Some of my most iconic images, there were fifty photographers standing in the same place as me. So, it’s not about where you are, but how you digest and take in the decisive moment.
I don’t know how much you can teach that, but you can prepare yourself by watching film, and understanding what a great privilege it is to hold a camera by looking at all the great photographers who came before.
Did you know how iconic your BLM images would be?
That was shooting my own trauma. Do you know what it’s like to look at a Black man who is utterly broken and I recognise his invisible scars?
And finally, which five people, living or dead, would you like to have dinner with?
Kwame Nkrumah, Patrice Lumumba, Pablo Neruda, Harry Belafonte, and Stanley Kubrick.
By E. Nina Rothe. Check out all of her amazing platforms! https://www.eninarothe.com/
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