Crises,Tears & Blood: Nicolò Filippo Rosso
Nicolò Filippo Rosso is an acclaimed international photographer renowned for his powerful and evocative documentary work. Born in Italy, Rosso developed a passion for visual storytelling early in his life, which led him to pursue a career in photography and journalism. His work predominantly focuses on social, environmental, and humanitarian issues, capturing the raw emotions and resilience of marginalized and vulnerable communities around the world.
Rosso's photographic journey has taken him to various corners of the globe, from the Middle East to the rural landscapes of Latin America. His images are characterized by their intimate and poignant nature, offering viewers a deep and empathetic understanding of the subjects he portrays. Through his lens, Rosso sheds light on critical issues such as migration, displacement, climate change, and social injustice, aiming to raise awareness and inspire action.
His work has been widely published in leading international media outlets, including Time, Stern, The Washington Post and Bloomberg. Additionally, his photographs have been featured in numerous exhibitions and galleries worldwide, earning him several prestigious awards and accolades for his contributions to documentary photography.
Nicolò Filippo Rosso's commitment to his craft goes beyond capturing images; he is dedicated to telling the stories of those often overlooked or forgotten by mainstream media. His approach is both respectful and immersive, spending extensive time with his subjects to build trust and gain an authentic perspective on their lives. This dedication to ethical storytelling has solidified his reputation as a photographer who not only documents reality but also advocates for change through his art.
@Dania Maxwell
HM: Good To see you, Nicolò! Are you at home?
NFR: No, I'm at the UNHCR headquarters in N'Djamena, Chad.
HM: N'Djamena, the capital of Chad?
NFR: Yes, exactly.
HM: What are you doing there? What is the assignment?
NFR: Last week, I was at the border with Darfur working on an assignment for UNHCR. I decided to stay longer because there's so much to document here. The crisis is largely undocumented and immense. The United Nations has been helping with logistics since I've been working with them for some time now. They extended my visa and I postponed my flight back to Europe, so now I'm here.
HM: What's happening there?
NFR: There's a massive crisis due to the conflict in Sudan that started in April last year. It has displaced around 10 million people, with 600,000 coming into Chad. They are camped in refugee camps near the border, and with the rainy season starting, there's a high risk of cholera and malaria outbreaks. The operation now is to move part of these people inland because there are also gangs from both Chad and Sudan raiding women at night. It's very intense. I'm editing my work and setting up logistics for my next trip. Next week, I’ll return to the border with Darfur and continue working for another month or two.
Sudanese women and children register with Chadian authorities upon arrival in Adre, a border town in the Ouaddaï province. According to UNHCR, the conflict in Sudan has forced over 600,000 refugees and 180,000 Chadian returnees since April 2023. Most of them, women and children, fled into Chad, with more than 115,000 arriving since the start of 2024. This influx shows no signs of abating, with an average of 630 people crossing the Adre border daily over the last month. They are fleeing for their lives from a devastating war that is driving famine-like conditions in Sudan. Overcrowded and unsanitary conditions in Adre have led to a severe health crisis, with over 1,200 cases of Hepatitis E reported, including three fatalities. The impending rainy season, expected between June and September, threatens to exacerbate this crisis, with fears of waterborne diseases such as cholera and impeding humanitarian access. Chad, 2024.
HM: Who is the assignment for?
NFR: Last week's first assignment was for the UNHCR, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. It looks like I might get another assignment next week from another client. I’ve also informed several editors that I’m here, hoping to get more assignments while producing work. If not, I’ll produce the work and build a story to pitch, as I usually do with my other projects.
Marneth Bonibento Epinayu repairs from the rain under her home’s roof in the community Ajumana, in La Guajira’s desert. The region, synonymous in Colombia with extreme poverty and difficult access to water, is home to one of the world’s biggest coal mines, Cerrejón. Its water demand has pushed the indigenous Wayuu people deeper into poverty and precarious living conditions, malnutrition, and high rates of child mortality. In May 2016, after a long drought, the first rain fell, invigorating the desert plants and rudimental crops but also causing epidemics of mosquitos. Children suffering from acute fever during the rainy season are common. Colombia, 2016.
HM: Thank you for this introduction, Nicolò. Tell me about yourself. Where did you grow up, and how did you get into photography?
NFR: I am Italian, born and raised in northern Italy, near the French border. Growing up there, we studied French in addition to English, which has been very useful, especially here in Chad. I pursued classical studies and literature in Turin, where I included Middle Eastern Anthropology and Arabic language. Later, I got involved in photography while traveling across South America, where my journey into photography began.
Maricela Uriana Epiayu, 22, was a mother of two children under 5. Doctors said she had severe malnutrition and diabetes and had gone blind. With the help of a Bogotá-based nongovernmental organization, Epiayu was taken to the hospital until her death from an infection in August 2016. Her children and other family members received support at home until they decided to move to Venezuela. Wayuu are semi nomadic, holding Colombian and Venezuelan nationalities and traditionally moving across the two sister nations. Colombia, 2016.
HM: How did your travels influence your photography career?
NFR: When I finished my studies in literature, I traveled to Mexico, Central America, and Colombia. Initially, I wasn’t thinking of photography as a profession. I worked various jobs, like being a cook in Italy during the summer and loading and unloading baggage at an airport, just to earn enough money to travel. I wanted to live a less structured life compared to the typical European lifestyle. I ended up living in southern Colombia with an indigenous community, which became like a second family to me. It was during these early trips that I started photographing my surroundings. Meeting impoverished communities and seeing their struggles inspired me to tell their stories through photography.
A woman and a child wait for a train to pass. The Cerrejon train transports coal 24/7 from the mine in the city of Albania to Puerto Bolivar, where it takes the route to Europe, the United States, South America, and South Africa. Wayuu advocates affirm that coal dust is causing respiratory diseases, including black lung disease, also known as coal workers' pneumoconiosis (CWP), which is common in the population. Colombia, 2015.
HM: How did you transition from travel photography to professional assignments?
NFR: Back in Italy, I continued working random jobs and did wedding photography while studying photography on my own. I immersed myself in the works of great photographers and aimed to create similar impactful images. I realized that instead of just photographing my travels, I needed to follow a story, choose a topic, and explore it in depth. This approach gradually led me to receive my first assignments in 2016. Since then, one assignment led to another, expanding the geography of my work from Colombia to Central America, Mexico, the United States, and now to Africa and other parts of the world.
Maria Maricela Tomas Aguillon, 21 years old, sits in the church during the funeral of her cousin Santa Cristina Garcia, Rivaldo Jimenez Ramirez, and Ivan Gudiel Pablo on March 14, 2021, in Tuilelen, Comitancillo, Guatemala. Santa Cristina Garcia, 20 years old, had tried to reach the United States to work and save money to afford surgery on her youngest sister’s cleft palate. In her attempt to cross into Texas from the Mexican Tamaulipas state, she and a group of migrants from the same village were killed by Mexican police officers. 12 of them are currently serving manslaughter sentences in jail. Guatemala, 2021.
HM: How has your work expanded geographically, and what are your future plans?
NFR: My work has significantly expanded over the years. I’ve worked on projects in Central America, South America, and now I'm in Africa. Recently, I’ve been in Jordan, and now I'm in Chad. I might be able to enter Sudan and have another assignment in Turkey in October. I’ve always wanted to work in Africa, and I’m glad I waited for the right opportunity. The UN assignment in Chad opened a new door for me, and I’m taking this chance to stay longer and delve deeper into the stories here.
A family sits in a truck in Paraguachón, a Colombian border town, on their way to the central city of Maicao. There, smuggling, theft, extortion, violence, and human trafficking are commonplace. Those who can afford a bus ticket move on to the bigger cities of the northern Colombian coast, such as Barranquilla and Cartagena, or the capital, Bogotá. Others continue the journey on foot. Many end up living in the streets or informal camps on the outskirts of the town, with little access to food, clean water, or health care. Early in 2020, the Colombian government announced two new Special Stay Permits that would allow more than 100,000 Venezuelans to remain and work there. It also ruled that children born in the country to Venezuelan parents could acquire Colombian nationality. Still, vast numbers of people remain dispossessed. Colombia, 2018.
HM: When they invite you for an assignment, do they own the work, or are you free to do as you wish with it?
NFR: Generally, they commission the work, and have specific requests. It varies with each assignment and the terms agreed upon. For instance, the UN uses the work for their specific needs and retains the right over the pictures. But I often stay longer, once the job is done, and produce images for my projects and publish them in other outlets. This flexibility allows me to build and share the stories more widely.
A young girl looks into the empty plastic cup where she collects coins while begging on the streets of the Colombian capital, Bogotá. On the day of this photograph, a group of charitable Colombians handed out Halloween costumes to children living in an informal camp near the Bogotà bus terminal. When the group arrived, the young girl was begging from passing drivers, exchanging coins for candies. She ran to get a costume and immediately put it on as she walked back to the intersection. In November, Colombian authorities dismantled the camp, forcing people to continue their journey to other Colombian cities or the southern border with Ecuador. Others resettled in an official humanitarian shelter, which was dismantled a month later. The photographer was well known in the camp, and the families living there granted him consent to be featured in his work. Colombia, 2018.
HM: So, when they invite you to do an assignment, do they buy the work, or are you free to do as you wish with it?
NFR: It’s usually for their specific needs when assigning a story or coverage. They need pictures for their campaigns to raise funds or to offer images to media outlets, partner agencies, and other NGOs. The crisis between Sudan and Chad is one of the biggest in the world right now, with 10 million displaced people. Media interest in Africa is generally low, and covering such stories is expensive. Organizations like the European Civil Protection and Humanitarian Aid Operations (Echo) and the UNHCR team up for these field missions, inviting journalists and providing logistics to ensure the story gets out.
Venezuelan children hold plastic bottles filled with water while they wait in line for a free meal at a charity refectory. According to UNICEF, of the 1.8 million Venezuelans living in Colombia by 2020, some 430,000 were children and adolescents. Migrant children are often exposed to dangerous conditions, with little access to education and little hope for the future. Still, many children and teens appear to have learned to cope with the seemingly constant danger and are always on the alert. Families from neighboring Venezuela cross into Colombia on foot to eat, collect potable water, and then return home. Many are indigenous Wayuu, who have Venezuelan nationality. Colombia, 2019.
HM: So they invited journalists from Al Jazeera, Denmark, and France and offered a photographer to all of them to ensure the story is covered?
NFR: Sort of. They provided logistics and support because many media outlets don’t have the resources or the interest to cover these stories, and assigned a photographer to get visuals about the crisis to be shared in different ways, including offering the images to the journalists and to media interested in the coverage. This collaboration helps ensure that the important stories are told.
Jessica Rivas, 30, languishes after fainting during clashes between police officers and a northward-bound, 10,000-person-strong migrant caravan. Her 4-year-old son Isaac bawled as his mother went down. Jessica, Isaac, and her older son Juan David, 12, not in the picture, traveled through Guatemala and Mexico to Piedras Negras, on the border with Texas. Fearing expulsion, Rivas decided to send Juan David alone across the border, writing his telephone number on a slip of paper in his pocket, hoping to reunite with a family member in the United States. Jessica lived with Isaac in Piedras Negras in 2021 but was determined to cross the border one day. The photographer documented Rivas' story for two months in 2021. Guatemala, 2021.
HM: I’m planning to launch this year the VISUAL STORYTELLERS FUND, which is dedicated to funding special stories. Major picture editors from top newspapers and magazines around the world will judge the fund. For the first year, we’ll offer two grants of about $12,000 per photographer. What do you think about this initiative?
NFR: That would be tremendously helpful. For example, everything in Chad is costly, from hotels to interpreters to transportation. The VISUAL STORYTELLERS FUND could make it possible to cover important stories that might otherwise go untold.
Relatives mourn their losses as the coffins carrying the victims of the Tamaulipas massacre arrive at their hometown in Comitancillo, Guatemala. On January 22, 2021, nineteen charred bodies were found on a country road in Tamaulipas, Mexico's northeastern state bordering the United States. Sixteen of the victims were Guatemalans, and the others were of Mexican descent. The bodies were inside a pickup truck, hit by 113 bullets, and then burned. The massacre, according to investigators, would be linked to a dispute between criminal groups for control of migrant routes. The bodies of the victims were sent to their relatives in Guatemala and buried in March 2021. Guatemala, 2021.
HM: Thank you for your feedback. I'm also talking to various foundations to raise more money and expand the fund in the future. We hope to support more photographers and important stories next year.
NFR: That's fantastic. Thank you so much for doing that. I've been fortunate to receive several grants, like the Eugene Smith Grant and the Alexia Grant, which was $20,000. This will allow me to continue my Exodus project in the United States, following families I’ve traveled within Central America and Mexico through their integration process. Traveling in the US is very expensive, and no magazine would fund such extensive travel, so these grants are crucial.
Mourners stand in the cemetery during the burial of the victims of the Tamaulipas massacre. Guatemala, 2021.
HM: Who else have you received grants from?
NFR: I've also received Getty editorial grants and a few other Italian and French prizes. These grants were essential for working on the Exodus project and publishing my work in magazines. However, the fees from magazines alone are not enough to cover the costs of such projects.
A railway officer walks along railway tracks in Coatzacoalcos, Mexico. Migrants sometimes try to jump aboard a cargo train known as La Bestia, "The Beast", to head north. There, the risk of kidnapping and assaults makes the path dangerous. In 2021, the photographer engaged in a seven-month journey along the migration routes of Central America, Mexico, and the United States. Mexico, 2021.
HM: So when you’re Chad, it’s quite costly to operate?
NFR: Yes, it's very expensive. Hotels in the capital can cost $100-$150 a day, plus at the border, you need an interpreter, a car, and other logistics. Just flying to the east and back of the country, where I was working last week, is $600. It’s easy to spend $400 a day while doing the job correctly. I also work with a collaborator who helps with the archive and post-production, and of course, I need to pay him too. It’s an investment to produce work that can last and have an impact. Organizations I’ve worked with in the past support me with logistics and I might be able to use some of their interpreters, which helps reduce costs but is still expensive.
A man leads a group of asylum seekers across the Rio Grande while an American soldier points to a docking point. The United States was essentially closed to asylum seekers for most of 2020, with claims often summarily denied based on Title 42, a U.S. statute that allowed for the expulsion of migrants from countries where COVID-19 was present. In 2021, many people seeking humanitarian protection arrived at the border, traveling across Latin America - from Brazil, Venezuela, Ecuador, Haiti, and Central America - and even from African and Asian countries. The photographer used a light source to document nocturnal crossings. People said they’d spent several days or weeks on isolated farms on the Mexican side, waiting for the traffickers to move them across the Rio Grande. The boatman depicted in this picture said he was paid 20 dollars for each person on his dinghy. United States, 2021.
HM: Regarding the grant program, what conditions do you think are fair and appropriate for awarding these funds?
NFR: It's important to support photographers doing humanistic photography because that’s where the money is needed most. Media often focuses on fast news, but committed, long-term visual investigations are crucial. When awarding grants, the coherence between the photos and the accompanying text is vital. Detailed captions turn photographs into documents rather than just beautiful images. Jurors should pay close attention to the text and the story behind the images.
A man looks out from the window of a Customs and Border Protection vehicle as he is taken into custody for entering the United States illegally and guiding a group of migrants through the border in La Joya, Texas. Unites States, 2021.
HM: Should the fund focus exclusively on crisis coverage or support positive stories? For example, should it highlight new technologies addressing climate change, major agricultural breakthroughs that double output with less water, or innovations in energy generation that eliminate the need for coal, gas, or other fuels? How important is it to balance the documentation of urgent crises with stories of positive advancements and solutions?
NFR: The fund should support crisis coverage and positive stories. Documenting crises is essential, but there’s also a need for contemporary photography that covers culture, new technologies, and positive developments that will make a major difference in our lives. This allows photographers to explore new approaches and tell diverse stories. Your fund could become a tradition of celebrating good photography, comprehending different approaches, and supporting various projects.
The fund is crucial because, for example, I want to stay here for a couple of months now, but nobody will give me the money to do that. So, there are a few crises that really need support. That kind of support is essential to document these crises. At the same time, a lot of extremely good contemporary photography covers culture and new technologies. And that's important because when we document crises, it can be challenging to do it innovatively. When you cover new technologies or cultures, the photographers can possibly express themselves with new approaches. Since you are considering multiple funds and grants, maybe that could be something to take into consideration. Some crises need to be documented, but there are also beautiful pieces of work that we can reflect on, even if it's not a crisis, even if someone isn't suffering. That would be nice because, with the BarTur Award, you're setting a tradition of good photography, a grant that celebrates photography. It would be good to include different approaches and stories, as well as different kinds of projects.
A woman and two children cross the Rio Grande. Asylum seekers often turn themselves in to American authorities to begin the process of seeking asylum. Between 2020 and 2023, however, thousands of families were expelled and returned to Mexico. The authorities denied their asylum claims based on Title 42, a U.S. statute that allowed for the summary expulsion of asylum seekers from countries where COVID-19 was present. Mexico, 2021.
HM: Now that you have different projects than before, it's very interesting to hear how you, as a photographer, plan for it. Do you plan anything, or do you just take the camera, get on an airplane, and hope for the best?
NFR: No, I don't hope for the best, but I always try to be lucky.
Asylum seekers from China, who often flee human rights violations, limitations in their religious belief, and political persecution, wait for Customs and Border Protection authorities to process them. As temperatures below 0° Celsius and cold wind blows, people lit fires in bushes to keep warm. However, the cold can be deadly during the journey. In early December, a Mexican migrant died while crossing the desert as temperatures lowered in the same area where this photo was taken. During 2023, 60,000 Chinese migrants have been detained for crossing the United States border illegally. A quarter of them entered from Mexico into California, where the metal border wall ends at different points, as rock formations didn’t allow its construction to be continued. They are guided by local traffickers who are easy to hire on social networks and even through regular travel agencies. United States, 2023.
HM: Nothing like helping your luck with some planning!
NFR: Luck and fortune come when you've been very disciplined in calling it. But for me, I don't plan that much, to be honest. What I do is always a consequence of something I've done before. Of course, there are logistics and contacts, but I think graphically and try to flow with the rhythm of a story. For example, I wanted to expand the geography of my work. I didn't want to work just in the Americas. This work is also an opportunity to know the world and live a life. It's not just about what you document. I don't just say, "Let's do a project in Sudan," and go. I wait for something related to drive me to the next step. For example, for the project Exodus, I started with Venezuelan migrants in Colombia. Then, thanks to a grant, I went to Central America. The two different migrations I was documenting were related and eventually converged into the same narrative. I started following migrants in Central America, which led me to Mexico, then the United States. I met families and became friends with them, so I visited them in San Antonio New York, Los Angeles. From New York, a family will be relocated to Buffalo, and I will follow them. When I had an exhibition in Toronto, I looked for contacts with families settling there. Everything I do leads me to the next step. Sometimes, it's hard to get funding, so I take assignments. For example, I had an assignment in Chile for the United Nations. The trip was paid for, so I did the job relevant to my project and stayed longer. So, I plan, but I flow and let things reveal themselves. The story often reveals itself as I explore it. Do you see what I mean?
People from Colombia and Venezuela cross the Bolivian plateau at 3695msl to enter Chile, hoping to find better living conditions than those they felt forced to flee from other South American nations. For Venezuelans established in Colombia, the economic impact of the pandemic and the rising level of violence and extortion in the cities and the countryside villages made day-to-day life more and more precarious, pushing people in search of peace and regular jobs to Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia and, eventually, Chile. When even Chile fails them, many start another epic journey. This time, they will cross South America back north, Central America, and Mexico, hoping to reach the United States. Chile, 2022.
HM: Yes, absolutely. That makes a lot of sense. Do you have an overall philosophy about how you look at photographs and what you do? Why do you do it? Is it a mission or a job? What are your thoughts?
NFR: Well, the reality is we all have choices. You can photograph beautiful girls, fashion, advertising, weddings, or interior design; everything can be documented with grace and become pedagogical. There are many choices, but I approach photography almost as a science. It starts with observation because you want to understand. The first thing is curiosity. I do this because I like pictures. Good images are almost a physical pleasure to me. The first step into photography is a selfish decision—I want to do this because I like it. I want to explore it and travel, leading a dynamic life. But this process of observing others' lives has become a process of self-knowledge and understanding. At first, I was learning technical aspects—why was I too close, too far, or forgot the context? Over time, I realized I wanted to do stories that made people relate to what they see with something they know. Photography taught me about the universality of feelings. For example, fear, suffering, and sadness are universal. Observing precisely has sometimes given me the sense a picture can actually be a document of undisputable truth, but I have a lot of discussions with my colleagues about that. Reading pictures carefully, you can get a sense of the people in the photograph and the photographer's intent. In the field, It's not about one magic shot but working the situation. I aim to create small improvements and transformations for myself and those around me so that the work becomes a document and can inspire others. If the photographs keep that feeling, they might inspire others. We build a picture of the world's state, with each photographer contributing a piece. It's essential to document crises and celebrate beauty and innovation in photography.
Border crossing on the Chilean-Bolivian plateau. Chile, 2022.
Asylum seekers, mainly from Venezuela, sit on top of a cargo train headed to the northern Mexican border city of Ciudad Juarez. For years, migrants have hitched rides on top of freight trains known as La Bestia "The Beast," named after the dangerous journey many experienced aboard them, where gang assaults, kidnapping, and the risk of falling and dying or being amputated are frequent. Mexico, 2023.
The border wall in Tijuana. Mexico, 2022.
HM: Thank you for sharing your insights, Nicolò. It’s been wonderful talking with you and understanding your work's challenges and significance.
NFR: Thank you for having me. It’s been a pleasure sharing my experiences, and I appreciate the support you’re offering photographers worldwide.