Kilkenny-based photojournalist Fellipe Lopes on Refugee Week, photojournalism, and migration

Fellipe Lopes (right) and Mohamed (left) | Fellipe Lopes

placeholder image — Fellipe Lopes (right) and Mohamed (left) | Fellipe Lopes

by Fellipe Lopes, NUJ member and photojournalist living in Kilkenny

For many years, my camera, which is essentially just a tool of my work, has taken me to places and people whose stories are too often ignored. As a photojournalist, I have focused much of my work on migration and the stories behind the numbers and headlines reported.

Last week, I was honoured to have my photography exhibited in the Mayfair Library in Kilkenny during International Refugee Week.

The photographs on display are not political slogans or campaign posters. They are human stories. They are images of people, who, for different reasons, have been forced to leave behind homes, families, careers, communities and often everything they knew. The photos capture only a small fraction of the journey across the Mediterranean to European borders.

This body of work seeks to humanise a conversation that is often reduced to statistics and headlines. The photographs tell the stories of mothers and fathers, workers and students, families and individuals simply searching for a chance to rebuild their lives.

One of the stories is about a lovely man called Mohamed, from Syria, and who, after a journey that took over seven years, is finally safe in the Netherlands. However, the European asylum system is not based on compassion or empathy, and Mohamed has unfortunately understood that in the most inhumane way.

I met him in Lesvos in Greece in 2020. Back then, he was in Moria refugee camp. He was waiting for responses on his application and looking desperately for medical treatment for his leg, which he had lost in a bomb attack along with family members.

Back in 2021, he was just about to be deported to Turkey when a short video documentary about Mohamed’s situation triggered a major discussion, which then brought several Lawyers and Human Rights defenders to take his case, leading later to his transfer to the Netherlands to get proper medical support. It has been over four years since he got there. While applying for family reunification, he lost his son in Syria and now waits for a decision to bring his ill daughter to the Netherlands. It does seem that it's going to go ahead due to the new regulations and agreements in the EU. The system is cruel, and there are no words to describe the pain and frustration Mo had to endure, as it could have been prevented.

I have told Mohamed's deeply moving story in a short documentary you can watch on Youtube.

Back in Ireland, despite the large and positive support towards migrants and refugees, the conversation about migrants has been taken over by fake news, misinformation and discrimination, mainly focusing on division and racism.

Before the kick-off of Refugee Week in Kilkenny, I spoke on Kilkenny and Carlow radio station about the exhibition and my work documenting migration around the world. What followed was something that many journalists, activists and public figures have become familiar with: a wave of hostile comments online.

A small number of people responded with anger, insults and personal attacks. Some questioned my motives and who I am; others dismissed the experiences of refugees altogether, ignoring the human element and the reality that millions of people are facing.

I would be lying if I said that such reactions did not affect me. Nobody enjoys being the target of hostility. Yet the experience also reminded me of why this work matters. However, more importantly than the hate, the responses and engagement at the exhibition were amazing, full of empathy, solidarity, and care for others.

Photography has always had the power to challenge assumptions. A photograph can create a moment of connection between people who may never meet. It can help us look beyond labels and headlines. It can encourage us to see complexity where others see stereotypes.

The people I have photographed are not statistics or just numbers. They are individuals whose lives have been shaped by war, persecution, poverty, social instability, climate change and circumstances that many of us are fortunate never to experience or might not understand. Their journeys are often marked by loss and uncertainty.

Yet what I remember most is not their suffering but their resilience, faith and hope.

Ireland has a long history of migration. Millions of Irish people left these shores seeking safety, opportunity and a better future. Around the world, Irish communities have been welcomed by countries that offered them a chance to rebuild their lives. I am aware it was not a paradise for every single Irish person, yet the point stands: there are Irish people all over the world, and this is a good thing.

Maybe history should not dictate every modern policy, but surely it should at least inform our sense of empathy. If we try to put ourselves in that person's shoes, perhaps the world will be a more welcoming place.

The Ireland I have come to know over the past 14 years is a country of compassion and respect for others. It is a country where communities regularly support newcomers, where volunteers give their time to support others, and where many people understand that kindness is not a finite resource.

The online hostility I received represents only a small fraction of the people I have encountered in Ireland. The overwhelming majority have been welcoming, thoughtful and open to conversation. For that, we all need to be deeply grateful.

While the world is distracted, the European Parliament approved the so-called return hubs, which are basically the possibility for any EU state to ‘’partner’’ with other countries outside the EU to send rejected asylum applicants and irregular migrants to be transferred there while awaiting final repatriation. Imagine this: You left behind your home, then after crossing one of the most dangerous routes on the planet and arriving in the EU, dreaming that you might have a chance to stay, but, depending on where you are from, you can be sent anywhere to those returning hubs outside the EU.

This is not a refugee crisis; this is a policy crisis against people on the move.

My exhibition in Kilkenny was an invitation. Not an invitation to agree with me on every issue, but an invitation to look and reflect. To pause in front of a photograph and consider another person's experience. To engage with curiosity rather than fear.

Photojournalism cannot solve the challenges of migration. It cannot build houses, write legislation or determine government policy. What it can do is remind us that behind every debate are real people, with dreams, stories and rights that need to be protected by everyone.