Photojournalist Shahidul Alam on his new book and notorious 101-day incarceration

Shahidul’s first venture into photography was sparked by his impetuous desire for activism. Born in Dhaka, east Pakistan (now modern-day Bangladesh) in 1955, he was raised into a middle-class family as one of three siblings. After boarding school at Jhenidah Cadet College, he went on to pursue his BSc in biochemistry and genetics at the University of Liverpool. Part of the Socialist Workers Party, Shahidul was involved in the rights movement, “race, rights, classifieds, gay rights – all of that,” he recalls. Finding himself in the streets and at the rallies, he soon realised that he could find more value in taking photographs. “I could see how powerful photography was,” he continues. “It was fairly obvious that I could do more for social justice through this medium than I could a research chemist.” So that’s where his initial love affair with photography began.

As for when he first picked up a camera, however, this was a little bit more accidental, or better yet, inevitable. Travelling to the United States as a student, Shahidul had bought a Nikon FM camera, a few lenses, a flash and a “rickety” tripod upon request of his friend in London. “I hitched around with my sleeping bag and tent, hiking with very little money; I took pictures,” he says. “When I came back to London, my friend didn’t have the money to pay for the camera. I was stuck with it and I decided to continue photographing.” This led to many wonderful works published in more or less every national newspaper from the West, his first published work – a series filled with “pretty pictures” of swans, people boating and a young kid on his motorbike– appearing in a local paper from Finsbury, London. It’s a stark contrast to the work that he produces now, but everyone starts from somewhere.

Relocating to London for his Doctor of Philosophy studies at Bedford College, University of London, Shahidul came across an advert in a newspaper for a photographer role – he took it, and began his first job taking pictures of children. “It still wasn’t the type of work that I wanted to do; that happened when I went back to Bangladesh and started dealing with issues of social injustice in my environment,” he tells us. Utilising the medium of photography as a tool for approaching societal issues in his home country, his style soon evolved into one that was more reactive. “The way I always work is by responding to people,” he says, “I think recognising other people, their dignity and finding ways to engage the photography is something that follows.”

Shahidul’s choice in career meant that he found himself in many difficult situations, particularly when it came to photographing people in power – “conflicted situations,” he calls it. “I mean, when you’re photographing the police beating people up, obviously the police aren’t happy about this.”

The stories that he’s dealt with over time have, of course, been highly conflicted, with his more recent work focusing more on “absence” and “people disappearing”, as well as those who have been killed. But because of the subject matter, many of his exhibitions have been shut down. “That has been pretty much part of what we’ve had to deal with – our shows being closed, regulators and the police coming down heavily on us.”

One of his most recent – and most prominent – controversies, as mentioned, developed into his arrest. What’s interesting is that at the same time, he and his wife had been curious as to what actually happens when people disappear. In Bangladesh, it’s not uncommon for journalists to be taken from their homes without a warrant, and there have been countless occasions – one being the arrest and persecution of Abul Asad who, on 19 September 2011, was arrested from his home because of his role as editor of The Daily Sangram, an outlet that’s critical of government policies. Another case saw Hedayet Hossain Mollah, who works for the Dhaka Tribute newspaper, arrested and accused of publishing “false information” about voting in an election won by prime minister Sheikh Hasina.

As for Shahidul’s case, like the others, he was simply doing his job. “I know how things work in Bangladesh,” he adds, “and at that time, my most urgent need was to ensure that I did not go unnoticed.” Shahidul resisted, fought back, screamed and bought himself time for his neighbours to hear his calls. “I’m sure that it contributed to the resistance taking place as quickly as it did – while they handcuffed me, took control of me and took me away, people knew what was happening.” As such, his partner and colleagues went into action and “pressed the buttons,” which was a lucky moment because soon he was to be completely cut off from the external world. That’s when he was tortured and asked to remain silent, but he refused to accept and made sure to stick to his guns. “They were very angry about it and they threatened me with consequences of what might happen if I did refuse,” he says. “I got taken to court and I spoke about it – if someone claims that he or she has been tortured, then it’s the legal requirement that it be investigated. None of that happened.”

Eventually, after his bail was rejected five times, he was released on 20 November. It’s now been over a year and, “this is the crazy thing,” there are no charges yet to be made. “The charges in the bail rulings stipulated the prosecution had been unable to provide evidence of any of the charges made against me,” says Shahidul. “There is nothing that I’ve done which is illegal as a citizen, as a reporter; I was well within my rights to be reporting on what I had been seeing in front of me, so they really have no grounds to suddenly arrest me or harass me in any way.” Yet this harassment prevails to this present day and, as a visiting university professor at the University of Sunderland, the founder of the Drik Picture Library and the Chobi Mela International Photography Festival, this makes his life difficult. What’s kept him utterly afloat is the support and the resistance felt throughout the entire process.