No One Owns a Story

On access, exclusivity, and what two decades in photojournalism taught me about ego and impact.

There was a time in my career when I would never have put these thoughts into the public sphere. At the height of my editorial work, I was fully immersed in that world — over 100 assignments covered for The New York Times, my identity tied closely to the outlets that hired me. My reputation and my rent depended on editors trusting me.

Whether we admit it or not, there is real pressure in photojournalism to stay in line. Challenge the world, yes, but do not challenge their world. When your livelihood depends on access and approval, speaking openly about uncomfortable dynamics can feel risky.

That is no longer my position. The majority of my work today is rooted in commercial assignments, running a production company, and teaching photography. That distance has given me independence — and the space to reflect honestly on patterns I've seen throughout my career.

The Myth of Story Ownership

Early in my career, I wanted to document the ongoing impact of Agent Orange in Vietnam. The subject had already been covered powerfully by photographers I deeply respected. I was even told by an editor at TIME to look at the work of James Nachtwey and asked whether I wanted to compete with him. But why was it framed as a competition?

Are stories limited to who covers them first or which major publication publishes them first? When I look back at my 27-year-old self from the perspective of being 47, the idea of egos taking precedence over the story itself feels both silly and deeply wrong.

I went ahead with the story. My work wasn't published in major publications right away — it had a different kind of impact. The photographs reached people who had not yet been deeply engaged with the issue. That experience reshaped how I understand journalism. It is not about being better than someone else. It is about being effective.

When Exclusivity Compromises Journalism

Years later, during a career transitional period, I launched a long-form wildlife photojournalism project. Major publications had covered versions of it. Well-known photographers with large platforms had documented it. I saw room for something different — a new approach, a new audience.

I funded the project myself. The work was eventually published by several international outlets. Then I encountered something I've seen in different forms throughout my career. Behind the scenes, another photographer who had been covering the story longer was discouraging the organization from granting me further access. The stated concern was disruption — but I had already demonstrated professionalism and respect across more than 100 NYT assignments.

I later became aware that this photographer and publication had financially supported the organization in exchange for a form of exclusivity. One of the foundational principles of journalism is that we do not pay for access. The moment money is exchanged for entry, the relationship shifts. Independence is compromised. Objectivity becomes questionable.

Double Standards in the Industry

You see this double standard play out in other ways. Emerging photographers are often scrutinized heavily over minor tonal adjustments, while established names are given far more latitude. The conversation around ethics can feel uneven depending on who is involved.

When rules appear flexible for some and rigid for others, trust in the profession erodes.

Competition itself is not the problem. Competition can push us to do better work. The problem arises when reputation becomes more important than impact, when control becomes more important than awareness, and when ego overshadows the people at the center of the story.

The Story Belongs to Everyone

Journalism is not real estate. We are not staking claims. We are bearing witness. The job is not to own the story, but to serve it — and ultimately to serve the public.

I've seen access blocked, competitors discredited, and informal ownership claimed over subjects. I've also seen ideas repeated and visual approaches echoed. History should not feel gated. No individual or institution owns a story simply because they arrived first or helped finance it.

I am not sharing this to attack anyone. This pattern exists at many levels of the industry — from student days to working with some of the most respected publications in the world. The focus should always remain where it belongs: on the story itself, and on the people it's about.

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