Chasing “The Purpose of Light”: A Conversation with Civil Rights Photographer Misan Harriman
On the power of protest photography, the responsibility of art, and finding humanity in the shadows
"I am someone that is always chasing that lady called Light. She's elusive, but she shows what truth is. And once in a while, she gazes upon us, and I'm there to capture the human condition."
These aren't the words you'd expect from someone who learned photography through YouTube tutorials just seven years ago. But Misan Harriman has never followed expected paths. In the span of those seven years, he's become the first Black man to shoot the cover of British Vogue in its 104-year history, documented some of the most significant civil rights movements of our time, and earned an Oscar nomination for his filmmaking. Now, he's preparing for his first major gallery exhibition at Hope 93, where he'll showcase five years of protest photography that has moved millions.
Watch our full interview with Misan Harriman.
The Moment Everything Changed
Harriman's journey began with a birthday gift from his wife—a camera that would become his passport to understanding the world. But his artistic vision was shaped much earlier, at age 10 or 11, when he saw a portrait by Moneta Sleet Jr. of Coretta Scott King at her husband's funeral.
"I remember seeing this woman that somehow looked graceful in the most awful day, and she had her baby girl just here, Bernice, looking up at her. And I remember then, that's when I realized photography wasn't birthdays and holidays."
That seed planted by the American civil rights movement would later bloom when George Floyd was killed, and Harriman saw someone who looked like him "lying in his own piss, still calling the officers 'Sir,' as his life was distinguished." Out of tears and overwhelmed by grief, his wife told him to "look to your friend, the camera."
The Streets Do the Talking
What followed was unprecedented. Harriman took to the streets of London during the Black Lives Matter protests, capturing images that would resonate around the world. But his approach to protest photography is unique—he doesn't plan, doesn't bring assistants or lighting equipment. "I take myself with my backpack, no assistance, no lighting aids, just my camera as an eye and I walk. And the streets do the talking and my lens does the listening."
This intuitive approach has led him to document not just the movements he supports, but also those he disagrees with. "I've shot people that have spat in my face. I have shot people that don't see me as a human being," he explains. This commitment to bearing witness, regardless of personal comfort, gives his work a rare balance in our polarized world.
Beyond the Echo Chamber
In an age of confirmation bias and algorithmic rage, Harriman's work serves as what he calls a "human algorithm"—showing pictures that prove most people are actually well-meaning. He recalls a powerful moment at Piccadilly Circus, where his images were displayed in the square. A young woman approached him, explaining that her father was "really racist" but had been moved by the photographs.
When the father approached, he said simply: "I love your pictures, mate. I just didn't know. I grew up in a little town and my dad didn't know anyone that looked like you. And I was told that you guys were a certain way." The encounter ended with tears and a hug—proof that art can indeed build bridges between strangers.
The Weight of Witness
The emotional toll of this work is significant. Harriman admits to "a lot of weeping, a lot of wailing" during late-night editing sessions at 2 AM. He describes shooting "his own trauma" while documenting anti-racism protests, tears falling as he works. But he sees this as essential—being "at the tip of the spear of human beings figuring out the wrongs of this world on their streets and trying to do better by it."
One image that particularly moved him shows a rabbi and an imam holding a sign begging for peace. "The world has told us that these two people are supposed to hate themselves, and they're holding a sign begging for peace. And I was like, Christ... they're trying, and our politicians and our news media are telling us that they're not trying, and my work is saying they are trying and I have proof."
Art as Resistance
For Harriman, art isn't entertainment—it's resistance. "Nina Simone said it best. How can you be an artist if you don't reflect the times that we live in?" This philosophy guides his decision to finally exhibit his work commercially, not for validation, but to prove that protest photography deserves a real market.
As one of the few prominent Black photographers working at this level, he feels a responsibility to show that there can be a "circular economy that supports voices that are utterly unapologetically outspoken." The goal is to make other artists braver, to show them they can earn a living while being "truly radical storytellers."
The Responsibility of the Lens
When asked what he owes his subjects, Harriman points to his voice—the platform that reaches over 20 million people monthly on social media. Unlike the Black photographers of the civil rights era who "weren't really given a voice," he's taking that voice and using it to force change through art.
"That's a baton that they gave me to force change through art. And that's the responsibility I have not just for the subject but for the legacy of this art form and how it has been reduced."
Looking Forward
His upcoming exhibition will feature over 100 images selected from approximately 12,000, covering seven years of protests across three continents—from Nigerian protests to Grenfell Tower commemorations, from Black Lives Matter to trans rights demonstrations. It's a comprehensive look at what he calls "some of the most important art that's being created"—the observation of our lives right now.
But perhaps the most telling moment in our conversation came when Harriman described a recent scene at a protest: a Muslim woman struggling with her children, helped by a woman wearing a "Queers for Palestine" badge. Watching this stranger care for another's child while differences melted away, Harriman couldn't even take a picture—he just stood there witnessing pure humanity.
"That's protest for you. It's the very best of humanity. And there is no world I know that that should be unimportant. I just bear witness."
In a world that often feels divided beyond repair, Misan Harriman's lens reminds us of what's possible when we look beyond our differences and see each other's humanity. His images don't just document history—they offer hope that we can still "do better than we have done."
Misan Harriman's exhibition will be open at Hope 93 Gallery from 11 July - 18 September and will showcase five years of civil rights and protest photography from around the world.