Walk down any major street in San Francisco, Seattle, or London and you'll see them. You see the person, but maybe you don't really see them. People often avert their eyes. Or worse, they pull out a phone. Capturing images of homeless people has become a flashpoint for ethics, photography, and simple human decency. It’s a messy subject. It's awkward. Honestly, it’s one of those things where everyone has an opinion but very few people actually think about the person on the other side of the lens.
Photography is power. When you point a camera at someone who doesn't have a door to lock or a roof to hide under, you're interacting with their most private moments in a very public space. It's not just a "cool shot" for a portfolio. We're talking about real humans navigating what is likely the worst period of their lives.
The problematic history of "poverty porn"
There is this term that floats around photography circles: "poverty porn." It sounds harsh. It’s meant to be. It describes the practice of taking gritty, high-contrast, black-and-white photos of people in distress just to elicit a cheap emotional response. You've seen these. The heavy shadows. The dirt highlighted by digital sharpening. The vacant stares.
The problem? These images of homeless people often strip away dignity. They turn a systemic failure into an aesthetic. When a photographer snaps a photo of someone sleeping on a bench without asking, they are often profiting—maybe not in cash, but in "likes" or "clout"—off a tragedy they aren't helping to solve. It’s a one-way street. The photographer leaves with the file; the person stays on the bench.
Historical context matters here. Think back to the Great Depression. Dorothea Lange’s "Migrant Mother" is perhaps the most famous image of poverty in history. It helped trigger government aid. But even then, the woman in the photo, Florence Owens Thompson, later expressed resentment. She felt she was being used as a symbol while her actual life remained a struggle. That tension hasn't gone away in nearly a hundred years.
Consent isn't just a legal thing
People always ask about the law. "It's a public space, right?" Sure. In the United States and many other countries, you generally don't have a legal expectation of privacy on a public sidewalk. You can legally take a photo. But just because you can doesn't mean you should.
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Legal is the floor. Ethics is the ceiling.
Real connection requires a conversation. If you’re a photographer, try putting the camera down first. Say hello. Ask a name. "Hey, I’m working on a project about the housing crisis, would you mind if I took your portrait?" Sometimes they say yes. Often they say no. Respect that "no" like it's a sacred vow. When you get a "yes," it changes the energy of the image. The person is no longer a "subject." They are a collaborator.
How images of homeless people can actually help
It’s not all bad. We need visual evidence of the housing crisis. Without photos, it’s easy for politicians to ignore the scale of the problem. Visual storytelling can humanize statistics. When you read that 600,000 people are homeless in the U.S. on any given night, it’s just a number. When you see a photo of a father trying to keep his toddler’s shoes clean in a tent, it becomes a reality.
The key is the "why."
Organizations like Invisible People, founded by Mark Horvath, use video and images of homeless people to let them tell their own stories. There’s no filtered "artistry" there. It’s raw. It’s direct. It gives people back their voices. The goal isn't to take a "pretty" picture; it's to force the viewer to acknowledge a neighbor they've been ignoring.
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Moving past the stereotypes
Most images of homeless people fall into two buckets: the "tragic victim" or the "scary vagrant." Both are lies. Homelessness looks like a lot of things. It looks like a college student living in a library. It looks like a family in a 2012 Toyota Camry. It looks like a construction worker who got injured and couldn't pay rent.
- Stop looking for the most "distressed" person to photograph.
- Look for the humanity.
- Look for the resilience.
- Look for the mundane moments—reading a book, petting a dog, sharing a joke.
If your photo only shows the struggle and not the person, you’ve failed as a storyteller. You're just repeating a cliché.
The impact of social media and "clout chasing"
TikTok and Instagram have made this worse. There's a trend of "performative kindness" videos. You’ve seen them: someone films themselves giving a burger or a $20 bill to a homeless person, complete with a sad piano soundtrack.
It feels gross because it is gross.
The person in the video becomes a prop for the creator’s "goodness." The camera is focused on the giver, not the receiver. When we share these images of homeless people, we’re often reinforcing a power dynamic that is fundamentally dehumanizing. We’re saying, "Look at this poor person I helped," instead of "Look at this systemic injustice we need to fix."
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What you should do instead
If you are a photographer, a journalist, or just someone with a smartphone, check your intentions. Are you taking this photo to help? Or are you taking it because it looks "cinematic"?
If you want to use imagery for good, consider these steps:
- Seek out long-term projects. One-off shots are rarely helpful. Follow a story. Understand the person’s journey from the street to housing.
- Offer something in return. Not just money. A copy of the photo. A meal. Or even just your time and a genuine conversation.
- Think about the background. Is the location identifiable? Could this photo put the person in danger from local police or "sweeps"?
- Use your platform to advocate. Don’t just post the photo. Include links to local shelters, food banks, or policy change initiatives.
We live in a visual world. Images of homeless people will continue to be a part of our media landscape. But we have a choice in how we consume them. We can choose to look for the images that demand justice, or we can settle for the ones that just make us feel sad for a second before we scroll to the next meme.
The most powerful image isn't the one that shows someone at their lowest point. It’s the one that makes you realize they are exactly like you, just without a safety net. That’s the truth we should be looking for.
Actionable insights for ethical viewing and creating
Instead of just scrolling past or snapping a quick photo, change your engagement. If you see a photo online that feels exploitative, don't "like" it. Engagement drives algorithms. Support photographers who spend months or years building trust within the unhoused community. Look for work by people like Jeffery Maurice or Leah Denbok, who prioritize the person over the "shot."
When you encounter someone on the street, remember that your eyes are also a lens. Don't look through them; look at them. A nod or a "good morning" does more for a person's dignity than a candid photo ever will. If you want to document the crisis, document the causes—the rising rents, the shuttered mental health clinics, the empty luxury condos. That’s where the real story lives.