Interviewer: Mahmud, you have covered some of the most defining moments in recent history — from the Rana Plaza collapse to the Rohingya refugee crisis. How did this journey begin for you?
Mahmud: I never wanted to stay behind a studio backdrop or photograph celebrations. From the beginning, I was drawn to the streets, to human struggles, protests, pain, resistance, the places where life was loud and truth was raw. Growing up in Old Dhaka, I saw people fighting every day just to survive. That energy, that vulnerability, pushed me towards photojournalism. I always wanted to be where history was unfolding, riots, worker movements, political unrest, disasters, and give those moments a face.
One of the first major events I covered was the Rana Plaza collapse in 2013. It was not just a tragedy for Bangladesh, it was one of the most devastating industrial disasters in human history. Photographing bodies being pulled from the rubble, rescuers covered in dust and blood, it changed me forever. Since then, I have covered spot news across Bangladesh, natural disasters, elections, street violence, the Rohingya refugee crisis in Cox’s Bazar, and many events where humanity stood on the edge of survival.
Interviewer: What makes you stay with such intense and heartbreaking stories?
Mahmud: Because someone must bear witness. When a factory collapses, when a child stands in a refugee camp with no country to call home, when tear gas hits the streets during a protest, those moments deserve to be seen. Photojournalism allows me to stand beside people in their worst and most powerful moments. My camera is not just a tool, it’s a responsibility.
Interviewer: In today’s world of fast content, do printed newspapers and physical publications still matter?
Mahmud: Absolutely. Print is permanent. When a photograph is printed in a newspaper, it becomes a part of history. Social media moves fast it disappears in seconds. But a printed image in a respected publication is archived, studied, and remembered. Someone checks it, verifies it, and stands behind it. That weight that accountability is something digital platforms often don’t have.
Interviewer: You’ve worked with international outlets like AP, The New York Times, and National Geographic. How does it feel knowing your work reaches the world?
Mahmud: Before my photographs reached global platforms, I built my foundation at Dhaka Tribune, where I learned what it really means to report for the people and not just the news. That experience shaped my sense of responsibility. Today, whether my work is published in Dhaka Tribune, AP, The New York Times, or National Geographic, the feeling is the same with reach comes responsibility. When a photograph is published, it is no longer just an image it becomes evidence. It speaks on behalf of the people in it. As photojournalists, we become a bridge between a local tragedy and the world’s conscience.
Interviewer: Lately, artificial intelligence and fake visuals are everywhere. How has this impacted photojournalism?
Mahmud: AI can create images, but it cannot create truth. It cannot stand in front of a collapsed building at 3 a.m. It cannot feel the smoke of a burning garment factory or the silence after a mosque explosion. AI-generated visuals may look real — but they don’t carry the weight of being witnessed. That’s why ethics and trust are now more important than ever in journalism.
Interviewer: What advice do you give to young photographers?
Mahmud: Don’t chase likes or fame. Chase truth. Read history. Understand ethics. Respect the people you photograph. Your camera is not your power — your integrity is.
Interviewer: After everything you have seen, what gives you hope?
Mahmud: Every time someone says, “Your photo made me feel, made me think, made me care,” I know this work still matters. As long as photographs can make people remember humanity, there is hope.