Visual history is tricky. Most people scrolling through images of a colony—whether it’s British India, French Algeria, or the Dutch East Indies—expect to see a clear window into the past. We want the truth. We want to see how people lived, what they wore, and how the streets looked before the modern world paved them over with concrete and neon. But photos lie. Or, at the very least, they perform.
Early photography wasn't a "point and shoot" hobby for the masses. It was expensive. It was heavy. It was deliberate. When you look at an old sepia-toned print of a colonial marketplace, you aren't seeing a candid moment; you’re seeing a staged production. The photographer had to lug a massive wooden camera, a tripod, and glass plates coated in chemicals across rough terrain. They weren't there to capture "real life" in the way we do with our iPhones today. They were there to build a narrative.
Why images of a colony usually look so "perfect"
Ever notice how clean the streets look in late 19th-century colonial photography? There’s a reason for that. Colonial administrations used photography as a PR tool. If you were an official in the British Raj, you wanted the folks back in London to see order. You wanted them to see grand neoclassical buildings, manicured gardens, and disciplined locals. You certainly didn't want them seeing the open sewers, the poverty, or the simmering resentment in the eyes of the occupied.
The lens was a filter.
Take the work of Samuel Bourne, for example. He’s one of the most famous photographers of the colonial era. His images of a colony—specifically India in the 1860s—are breathtaking. They are also incredibly empty. He loved high-altitude landscapes and architecture. When he did include people, they were often positioned as "types" rather than individuals. A "water carrier," a "sepoy," a "merchant." They became part of the scenery. This wasn't an accident. By stripping away the messy reality of human life, these images made the colony look like a vast, beautiful, and empty estate waiting to be managed by a "superior" power. It’s basically the 1800s version of a real estate brochure.
The technical struggle behind the frame
It’s hard to wrap our heads around how difficult it was to take these pictures. Modern digital sensors have an ISO range that handles low light like a dream. In 1870? You were dealing with the "wet plate" process.
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Basically, you had to coat a piece of glass with a chemical called collodion, dip it in silver nitrate, and then—while it was still wet—run it to the camera to take the photo. If the plate dried out before you finished, the image was ruined. Now imagine doing that in the 100-degree humidity of a tropical jungle or the dust of a desert outpost. It was a nightmare.
Because of this, "candid" shots were impossible. Exposure times were long. If a person moved even slightly, they became a ghostly blur. This is why everyone in images of a colony looks so stiff and somber. They were literally holding their breath for twenty seconds so the image wouldn't smudge. It gives the era a false sense of perpetual seriousness. People laughed back then. They joked. They moved fast. But the technology of the time couldn't catch it, so we’re left with a visual record that feels frozen and cold.
Decoding the hidden power dynamics
You have to look at who is holding the camera. For a long time, it was almost exclusively the colonizer. This creates a specific "gaze." When the "outsider" takes the photo, they focus on what looks "exotic" to them.
Think about it.
If someone came to your house today to take photos, they wouldn't take a picture of your microwave. That’s boring to you. But if they’d never seen a microwave before, it would be the center of the frame. In images of a colony, we see a lot of "exotic" rituals, "strange" clothing, and "primitive" tools. These weren't necessarily the most important parts of daily life for the locals, but they were the parts that the European market wanted to see.
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However, things started to shift. By the late 1800s and early 1900s, local photographers began opening their own studios. In places like Lagos, Mumbai, and Hanoi, wealthy locals started commissioning their own portraits. These images are fascinating because they flip the script. You see people blending their traditional heritage with Western fashion—a silk sari paired with a European-style pocket watch, or a traditional African robe worn while sitting in a Victorian-style chair. These photos show agency. They show people navigating two worlds at once. Honestly, these are the most "real" images we have because they weren't made for a postcard; they were made for a family mantelpiece.
The dark side of the archive
We can't talk about these images without acknowledging the darker stuff. Anthropological photography was a massive trend. Scientists (or "race scientists" as they were called then) used the camera to categorize human beings like they were butterflies.
These weren't portraits; they were data points.
Often, the subjects were forced to pose in ways that stripped them of their dignity—sometimes shirtless, sometimes from specific angles to measure the shape of their skulls. When you encounter these specific images of a colony in museum archives today, it’s a gut punch. It’s a reminder that the camera wasn't just a tool for art; it was a tool for surveillance and control. It was used to prove a "hierarchy" that we now know was complete nonsense.
How to spot a "fake" colonial photo
Not every old photo is what it claims to be. Even back then, "staged" photography was a huge business.
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- The Studio Backdrop: If you see a "jungle" scene but the ground looks suspiciously flat and there’s a slight crease in the "sky," it’s a studio. Professional photographers kept props—spears, pots, rugs—to make their subjects look more "authentic" for the European market.
- The "Happy Worker": Any image showing local laborers smiling broadly while doing backbreaking work for colonial companies should be viewed with extreme skepticism. These were often staged for annual reports to shareholders back in Brussels or London.
- The Ghost People: Look for the blurry figures in the background. Those are the people the photographer didn't want in the shot. They are the reality leaking into the frame.
What we lose when we only see the "official" version
If you only look at the famous, high-resolution images of a colony, you get a very skewed version of history. You see the Governor’s mansion. You see the grand opening of a railway. You see the military parades.
You miss the rebellion.
You miss the secret meetings in backrooms. You miss the underground newspapers. Photography was heavily censored. If an image showed colonial weakness—like a riot or a failed crop—it was often confiscated or destroyed. It’s only recently that historians have started digging through private family albums to find the "unofficial" history. These grainy, poorly lit snapshots tell a much more human story than the grand plates found in national libraries.
Practical ways to engage with colonial visual history
If you're researching this or just curious, don't just look at the image. Look at the edges.
- Check the metadata (if available): Who took the photo? Was it a government employee or an independent artist?
- Look at the clothing: Is it a costume? Does it look lived-in? People often dressed up for the "man with the camera," much like we do for Instagram today.
- Search for "Vernacular Photography": This is the term for everyday photos taken by regular people. These are much rarer from the colonial era but infinitely more valuable for understanding real life.
- Visit Digital Archives: Sites like the "Visualising China" project or the "Caribbean Photo Archive" offer a much broader range of images than a simple Google search.
The reality of the colonial era is messy. It’s a mix of exploitation, cultural exchange, suffering, and resilience. Images of a colony are just one piece of the puzzle. They are a reflection of what the person behind the camera wanted the world to see, not necessarily what was actually there. By learning to read between the lines—or rather, between the pixels—we can start to see the people who were hidden in plain sight.
To get a true sense of a colony's atmosphere, look for photos of marketplaces where the "action" is blurry. That blur is life. It’s the movement of people who weren't posing for an empire, but were simply trying to get through their day. Those are the images that actually matter.