In 2014, I planted a seed.

That seed grew into Tales of Moroccan Amazons, the first in-depth documentation of Morocco’s women Tbourida riders
—a story of resistance, trust, and breaking traditions. For years, I nurtured this project, building relationships, earning trust,
and opening doors. It was exhibited and published internationally, supported by institutions that believed in its power,
and—most importantly—it gave voice to women who had been invisible in mainstream narratives.Then, a decade later,
I watched as similar narratives were celebrated as ‘original’—without a word about the tree that bore the fruit.

But in 2026, when a similar project was celebrated by World Press Photo without any mention of the decade of work
that preceded it, I spoke up. Not to attack, but to ask: *Why is pioneering work erased when it’s retold by others?
Why is the context of who told the story first so easily forgotten? »

This isn’t just about Tales of Moroccan Amazons. It’s about a systemic issue in documentary photography: Visual colonialism.

Who gets to tell a story? When a Western photographer ‘discovers’ a narrative already documented by a local artist,
why is the latter’s work ignored?

What does ‘original’ mean? If a project repeats a story told years earlier—without acknowledgment—is it truly original?

How do we credit pioneering work? Institutions like WPP have the power to set ethical standards. Why don’t they include
historical context in their captions or jury assessments?
This isn’t about taking credit away from anyone. It’s about adding context. It’s about ensuring that the women who trusted me first
—the artists who opened doors—aren’t written out of the story. »

A decade ago, I planted a seed. I watered it, protected it, and watched it grow into a tree. Today, its fruits are celebrated
—but the tree is invisible.

I’m not here to take fruits away from anyone. I’m here to say: See the tree. Acknowledge the roots.

Share this statement to raise awarness about visual colonialism in photography.