Mary F. Calvert: Uncovering Stories Society Overlooks
Photojournalist Mary F. Calvert is dedicated to using photography for meaningful social change, focusing on gender-based human rights issues. She has extensively documented the abuse and relegation of women in the U.S. Armed Forces.
Her project Sexual Assault in America’s Military earned 1st Prize, Long-Term Projects in the 2016 World Press Photo Contest, while its follow-up, Prisoners of War: Male-on-Male Sexual Assault in America’s Military, won the 2016 Getty Images Grant and 2nd Prize in the 2019 World Press Photo Contest. Her series The Battle Within received multiple National Press Photographers Association awards and the 2013 Canon Female Photojournalist Award, culminating in a solo exhibition at Visa Pour L’Image.
Calvert was awarded the 2014 Alexia Foundation Women’s Initiative Grant and the 2015 W. Eugene Smith Memorial Fund Fellowship. She is a two-time Pulitzer Prize finalist in Feature Photography and a two-time recipient of the Robert F. Kennedy Journalism Award.
HM: Hi Mary! Thank you so much for joining me today. I’m excited to learn more about your journey. Let’s start at the very beginning. Where were you born, and what was your childhood like?
MFC: Thank you for having me. I was born in San Francisco, but when I was still very young, my family moved to Hawaii. My father was pursuing his graduate studies there, so we lived on O‘ahu for a couple of years. By the time I was around seven, we moved back to the mainland—this time to the DC, Maryland, Virginia area—because my father took a job at Howard University. It was the 1960s, a very turbulent and exciting time: the Vietnam War, protests, assassinations, civil rights movements. All of that had a big influence on me.
HM: It sounds like your parents had a significant influence on you. Could you tell me more about him and your mother?
MFC: Sure. My father was a biochemist and my mother was a nurse. They actually met during the Korean War, where they were both serving—my father as a medical laboratory technician and my mother as an Army nurse. They had fascinating stories about that period of their lives, though I was too young to fully appreciate them when I was a kid. What I do remember clearly is my father’s passion for photography. He was always taking pictures and he taught me to develop film in the kitchen sink when I was a teenager. That made photography feel accessible and exciting to me from an early age.
HM: That must have been quite the early introduction to the craft. Were you always artistic?
MFC: Yes, absolutely. I’ve been drawing and painting and sculpting since I can remember. In school, I was never particularly strong in math or science—ironic, considering my dad’s profession—but I usually excelled in art class. I also had a keen interest in social issues, which was shaped by the political and cultural climate around me. Growing up in DC during the height of protests and demonstrations really opened my eyes to how powerful images and stories could be.
HM: How did you decide to pursue photography in college?
MFC: It was a bit of a winding road. At first, I couldn’t pick a major, so I started in liberal arts—just dabbling in a bit of everything. Then I briefly switched to Travel and Tourism because a friend was a travel agent, and I thought, Why not see the world? That was short-lived. I realized I wanted to focus more on helping people, so I became a mental health major. But it still didn’t fulfill my craving for a creative outlet.
Eventually, I discovered fine art photography. I loved it. I’d roam Washington, DC, with my camera, especially at night, capturing the city in ways many people never see. But I started worrying about how I’d pay the bills as a fine artist, so I switched to commercial photography. Unfortunately, I found it too monotonous—shooting studio portraits every day didn’t light me up the way documentary or fine art photography did. So I went back to the fine art track.
HM: What ultimately led you to photojournalism?
MFC: It’s actually a pretty dramatic story. My mom and I were at a double-feature movie at an art theater in DC. When we finished and stepped outside, she bumped into a nurse friend from George Washington University Hospital who told us President Ronald Reagan had been shot. I rushed home, grabbed my camera gear, and dashed to the hospital, where the White House press corps was already gathered. I stood there among these seasoned press photographers, and in those four intense hours, I realized this was what I wanted to do. Photojournalism was the perfect combination of everything I loved: capturing real-life drama, being in the thick of history, and using visual storytelling to convey important events. From that point on, I never looked back.
HM: That is quite a turning point! So how did you develop those photojournalism skills?
MFC: After that day, I worked on my associate’s degree and took photojournalism classes with an instructor who worked at The Washington Post. Then I moved to California to attend San Francisco State University. There, I studied under Ken Kobre, who’d recently started running the photojournalism program.
I did summer internships in North Carolina and in Birmingham, Alabama—both places were worlds away from San Francisco in every sense. That was eye-opening and taught me to adapt and connect with people from different backgrounds. After graduating, I landed my first newspaper job at a local paper in the Bay Area. It was an exciting time: racing from one story to the next, learning from seasoned journalists, building my portfolio, and discovering how newsrooms operated.
HM: What eventually brought you back to Washington, DC?
MFC: A job opportunity arose to join a paper in DC, and it felt like coming full circle, returning to the place that had shaped so much of my early life. I worked there for about 11 years. It was an incredible experience—covering political news, local stories, protests, and everything in between. Unfortunately, the paper later laid off its entire photography staff, and I suddenly found myself without a job in a field that had been my identity for so long.
HM: That must have been difficult. How did you transition to your next step?
MFC: It was terrifying at first, I won’t lie. I’d always been a “newspaper person.” Losing that job felt like losing part of who I was. But I gradually embraced independent photography. I don’t like to say “freelance” because, as I joke, I don’t want the word “free” anywhere near my name! I learned how to build relationships with various publications, nonprofits, and other clients. It wasn’t easy, but I’ve found a new sense of freedom in choosing my own projects and diving deeper into the long-form photojournalism that really speaks to me.
HM: Looking back, how do you feel about your journey?
MFC: It’s been a whirlwind. From developing film in the kitchen sink with my dad, to discovering my calling in the middle of a presidential shooting, to working for newspapers in different parts of the country—it’s all shaped me into the photographer I am today. While losing my newspaper position was tough, I’ve discovered that independence has its rewards: I can focus on stories I genuinely care about, and I have more creative control over my work.
HM: What advice would you give aspiring photographers who want to follow a similar path?
MFC: First, learn the fundamentals of journalism and ethics—whether in a classroom or through online resources—and practice constantly. Get your camera out of “auto,” experiment with lighting, composition, and manual settings, and study the work of photographers you admire. Second, seek out internships or mentorship opportunities. There’s no better way to grow than working in real-world conditions, getting constructive feedback, and learning to adapt on the fly. Lastly, be prepared to hustle; the industry has changed dramatically, and you need a robust skill set and a good business sense to thrive.
HM: Mary, in our previous conversation, you mentioned your work in Ethiopia and how it sparked an interest in covering underreported or neglected stories—particularly those involving human rights issues and the experiences of women around the world. Could you walk us through the moment you decided to make these kinds of stories your focus?
MFC: Of course. My trip to Ethiopia was pivotal. I originally went to cover one story, but I ended up photographing a hospital in Addis Ababa that treated women suffering from obstetric fistula—a childbirth injury that often goes ignored. That experience opened my eyes to just how many vital stories never make the news. It also pushed me to keep seeking out underreported issues, so I went on to cover other difficult topics, like the use of rape as a tool of war in eastern Congo.
HM: Those are incredibly challenging subjects. How did people around you react when you started sharing this kind of work?
MFC: Reactions were mixed. A friend once told me, “You shouldn’t have all that terrible stuff on your website; people don’t want to see it.” I understood where that sentiment came from—these are dark, painful stories, and it’s uncomfortable to face them. But I felt compelled to give a voice to people who didn’t have one. These abuses were happening under the radar, and I believe that journalists have a duty to provide a mirror for society to examine itself.
HM: You also mentioned that you were laid off from your newspaper job. How did that experience affect your path?
MFC: It was shocking at first; I’d built my entire career around newspapers. After being laid off, I had to reinvent myself. In that first year, I took whatever assignments came my way—shooting for The New York Times, The Washington Post, smaller publications, even weddings, just to pay the bills. It was daunting, but over time I found my groove and started to think more strategically about long-term projects I could pursue close to home.
HM: And that’s when you discovered the issue of military sexual assault.
MFC: Yes. My husband—who remained on staff as an interim photo editor at the paper—came home one day and said, “You should really look into military sexual assault; it’s a huge problem and no one is doing anything about it.” So I did some research and found a Department of Defense report from 2012 estimating 26,000 sexual assaults in the military that year. I was floored. I’d been teaching workshops on military bases, and I’d seen hotlines and posters about sexual assault, but I honestly thought, ‘Surely that is not happening here.’ It turned out to be much bigger than I ever imagined.
HM: How did you begin connecting with survivors and gaining their trust?
MFC: In the beginning, it was tough—no one wanted to talk to me. But I started attending hearings on Capitol Hill where survivors were sharing their stories with lawmakers. I think people saw me there consistently, and that helped prove my sincerity. Eventually, one survivor introduced me to another, and that’s how the network grew. I relied on word of mouth, personal recommendations, and simply showing up and listening to survivors’ experiences.
HM: What was the turning point that made you realize this project was a calling rather than just another assignment?
MFC: It happened in a House hearing room. A group of women was testifying about their personal experiences of assault within the military. I noticed how few lawmakers were in the room—maybe four or five. I also realized I was one of only two photographers there, which shocked me because I remembered this same room being packed when professional baseball players testified about steroid use. That stark contrast infuriated me. It was like society didn’t care about these women’s stories. At that moment, I decided nothing could drag me away from covering it.
HM: Did you face challenges getting editors or publications interested in your findings?
MFC: Definitely. Initially, I had no financial backing. No one was assigning these stories. So I dipped into my own savings, self-funding the research and travel. I applied for grants—sometimes getting close, sometimes missing out. In fact, I was a finalist for the Alexia Foundation grant but didn’t win. Two years later, they opened the Women’s Initiative Grant. I had to rewrite my proposal because the rules said I couldn’t submit the same idea. That actually pushed me deeper: I found out that women veterans are the fastest-growing group of homeless women in the U.S., and about 60% of them report military sexual assault. That angle earned me the grant, which helped expand the project.
HM: You also discovered that men comprise a significant portion of survivors. How did that change your approach?
MFC: It was eye-opening. Once parts of my work started getting published, I received emails from men saying, “We’re 52% of the cases—when will you cover our stories?” I was stunned. It made sense that men would be even more reluctant to come forward due to stigma and shame. Some told me they waited 30 or 40 years before telling anyone. Finding them wasn’t as hard as I feared, though, because I’d gained credibility in survivor communities by then. People felt they could trust me to handle their stories with care.
HM: You mentioned survivors found your work therapeutic. How did that feedback affect you?
MFC: It was incredibly humbling. Survivors told me things like, “Thank you for your honest pictures,” or “Thank you for showing me that I wasn’t present in my own life and I wasn’t present in my children’s lives.” I started realizing I might not be able to change the entire system overnight—the military-industrial complex is massive—but I could make a difference on an individual level. Every time a photo essay was published, people who thought they were alone reached out. They sought therapy or formed support networks. It was healing, both for them and, in a sense, for me as a storyteller.
HM: Hearing such stories must be both uplifting and emotionally draining. Have you come to terms with the scope of what you can achieve?
MFC: I have. Early on, I hoped to bring about meaningful social change but over time, I realized meaningful change in these large institutions can take generations. But every person who says, “I felt seen because of your work,” is a victory. That’s the power of photojournalism: it can’t fix everything, but it can spark conversations, alter perceptions, and give people a voice. I’ve made peace with that one-step-at-a-time approach.
HM: Thank you, Mary, for sharing this journey with us.
MFC: Thank you for giving me the opportunity. I’m looking forward to continuing the conversation.