Why Photographers Have to Start Fighting Back — And Why It’s Easier Than You Think

Reading Time: 6 minutes

Today, my friend Chris Garner, who owns TPS Photography in Morganton, NC, found one of his images posted on social media — stolen, screenshotted, run through an AI watermark remover, and reposted looking dark, blurry, and cheap. His online shop has barriers built in specifically to prevent this. Someone got around them anyway.

Chris didn’t stay quiet. He posted publicly:

“This is not only theft, but it’s portraying our product as trash… If they used AI, someone overseas now has your minor’s likeness in their database and can use it for who knows what.”

He followed that post with an eleven-minute video of himself walking, trying to cool down. Not because he was angry for the sake of being angry — because he saw, clearly, what this represents: an existential threat to small photography businesses and to the profession as a whole.

Chris is right. And I’ve lived a version of this myself.

My Own Experience

Last month, I went through a copyright dispute after a business used one of my photographs without permission or payment. I hired Alicia Wagner Calzada, NPPA’s Deputy General Counsel — who, alongside General Counsel Mickey Osterreicher, represents NPPA members on exactly this kind of issue — to represent me. I’m not going to walk through the details of who or what — that’s not the point of this post. What matters is the pattern, because if you’ve been doing this work for any length of time, you will run into it too.

Here’s what stood out to me watching Alicia work:

The value of a photo is front-loaded. When an image is used without permission — especially on social media — most of the benefit happens immediately. Engagement, reach, and impressions all peak in the days right after posting. A business can pull the photo down two or three weeks later and still have banked nearly all the value it took from you. “I removed it” is not the same as “no harm was done.”

The Business Already Received the Value

The important thing to understand is that removing the photograph later doesn’t erase the value the business already received.

If a business posts a photograph at noon and thousands of people see it, share it, comment on it, or interact with the business because of it, that exposure has already happened. The photograph did its job.

Taking the photograph down two weeks later doesn’t rewind the clock.

That’s especially important with social media because the value of a timely photograph is often front-loaded. A photograph from an event posted while the event is happening can help a business become part of the conversation. The same photograph posted weeks later may still be useful, but its immediate promotional value has largely passed.

That’s one reason photographers should stop thinking of their work as simply “a picture.” We are creating a business asset that can deliver measurable value almost immediately.

Silence isn’t a strategy — but neither is rolling over. Alicia’s approach throughout was calm, direct, and unemotional: state the facts, establish that a benefit was received, and invite a fair offer. No threats, no drama. Just a clear paper trail showing that unauthorized use happened and has value, followed by a straightforward ask: what are you offering to make this right?

That measured, professional approach is exactly why it’s worth having someone like Alicia in your corner instead of handling it yourself over email, tired and frustrated at midnight.

The NPPA Benefit Most Members Forget About

If you’re a member of the National Press Photographers Association, you already have access to something incredibly valuable: legal guidance. NPPA members can consult with media attorneys as part of their membership before ever paying a retainer. You can talk through what happened, find out if you have a real case, and then decide whether to formally hire counsel — with someone who already understands photography licensing and copyright law, not a general practice attorney learning it on the fly.

If you’re not using this benefit, you’re leaving value on the table that you’re already paying for.

Why This Matters for All of Us, Not Just You

Every time a photographer lets an infringement slide because pursuing it feels like too much hassle, it teaches the next business, the next content thief, that stealing images carries no real risk. If more photographers registered their work and followed through when it was infringed, the calculation would change. Enforcement isn’t just about recovering money for one photo — it’s about raising the cost of theft industry-wide. This is a collective action problem, and right now too many of us default to doing nothing.

The Education Part: How to Actually Protect Yourself

Here’s the good news — this is far more accessible than most photographers assume.

1. Register your copyrights (and do it early)

Copyright exists the moment you create an image, but your legal leverage depends heavily on registration. If your work is registered with the U.S. Copyright Office before an infringement occurs — or within 90 days of first publication — you become eligible for statutory damages and recovery of attorney’s fees. Without timely registration, you’re generally limited to proving actual financial harm, which is far harder and far less of a deterrent to the person who stole your work.

For working photographers, the most practical tool is Group Registration of Published Photographs (GRPPH), filed through the Copyright Office’s electronic system (eCO) at copyright.gov. It lets you register up to 750 photographs published within the same calendar year in a single application, for one filing fee—currently $55. I personally register everything I’ve shot for publication in a rolling 90-day window, in one group filing, so nothing falls outside that protected registration period. It takes an afternoon, not a week.

One more reason to act now: the Copyright Office has finalized a fee increase that raises this group registration fee from $55 to $85, expected to take effect in mid-November 2026. If you’ve got a backlog of unregistered images, this is a good time to catch up before the price goes up roughly 55%.

2. Know about the Copyright Claims Board — small claims for copyright

Most infringement cases aren’t worth a federal lawsuit. That’s exactly why Congress created the Copyright Claims Board (CCB) through the CASE Act. It’s a small-claims-style tribunal specifically for copyright disputes, with damages capped at $30,000. You can file it yourself, without an attorney, through the CCB’s online portal. It’s designed to be accessible to independent creators — no federal court experience required.

The cost is minimal: a $40 filing fee when you submit your claim, and a $60 second fee if the other side doesn’t opt out within 60 days — about $100 total to pursue a claim. If your damages are $5,000 or less, you can request the CCB’s streamlined “Smaller Claims” track, decided by a single Copyright Claims Officer.

Registration still matters here too: to seek statutory damages through the CCB, your work needs to be registered (or have a registration application filed) before your claim is finalized. That’s one more reason registering early, as a habit, pays off.

3. This really isn’t that hard

  • Set a recurring habit: every 90 days, submit a group registration of everything you’ve published.
  • Keep your files organized by publication date so you can pull together a group filing quickly.
  • If you’re an NPPA member, use your legal consultation benefit the moment you spot unauthorized use — before you respond to anyone yourself.
  • If the amount involved is modest, look at the Copyright Claims Board before assuming you need to hire a lawyer for federal court.
  • If it’s more complex or the infringer won’t engage, bring in an attorney who does this for a living.

None of this requires a law degree. It requires a system, and the willingness actually to use it.

Thank You, Alicia

I want to publicly thank Alicia Wagner Calzada for the work she did on my case and for the broader work she does for photographers navigating exactly this kind of situation. If you’re dealing with a copyright infringement and want experienced counsel who understands the photography and media world specifically, you can find her at calzadalegal.com.

Chris Garner shouldn’t have had to spend eleven minutes walking around trying to calm down after finding his work stolen and degraded. But he — and the rest of us — have more tools available now than photographers have ever had before. Register your work. Know your options. And when someone violates your copyright, don’t just let it go. The next photographer is counting on you not to.


📌 Pro Tip: If You Use Photo Mechanic, This Part Gets Even Easier

If you’re already culling and captioning in Photo Mechanic, you can skip most of the manual data entry for your group registration. Here’s the shortcut:

  1. Select the images you’re registering.
  2. Go to File ▶ Export, and choose Text Exporter.
  3. In the header field, type: Title{tab}Filename
  4. In the body field, type: {object}{tab}{filename}
  5. Export the file and save it with a .tsv extension.
  6. Open it in Excel (or any spreadsheet program) — you’ll have a clean, two-column list of titles and filenames ready to copy straight into the Copyright Office’s group registration form.

One catch: the “Title” here pulls from whatever you’ve written in the caption/description field in Photo Mechanic, so this only works well if you’re already captioning your images as you edit — one more reason to build that into your workflow, not just your registration routine.

Camera Bits (the makers of Photo Mechanic) has a short video walking through this exact process, and the Copyright Office has its own registration portal at copyright.gov/registration.

Before You Pick Up the Camera: Questions That Help You Find the Story

Reading Time: 6 minutes

I originally wrote about the questions I ask before doing a story back in 2016.

A lot has changed since then. Cameras have become smarter. Phones have become incredibly capable cameras. Video has become an essential part of almost every visual story. Social media has changed how stories are discovered and shared. And now we have artificial intelligence capable of creating images, writing copy, and producing video.

But one thing hasn’t changed:

A good story still begins with understanding people.

After more than 40 years of photographing people, organizations, events,s and stories, I’ve become increasingly convinced that the most important part of a storytelling assignment happens before I ever pick up a camera.

It starts with questions.

What Is the Story?

It is surprisingly easy to skip.

Someone calls and says, “We need some photographs.”

Okay.

Photographs of what?

And more importantly:

Why?

Are they documenting an event? Introducing a person? Explaining a process? Recruiting employees? Raising money? Celebrating an accomplishment? Helping people understand a problem?

The assignment may sound like it is about making pictures.

It usually isn’t.

The pictures are a means of communicating something.

Until I understand what that something is, I’m not really ready to photograph it.

Lisbon, Portugal

Who Is the Story About?

The person paying for the photographs isn’t necessarily the person the story is about.

An organization may want to tell its story, but the story might actually be about an employee.

A nonprofit may want to explain its mission, but the most powerful story might be about the person whose life changed because of that mission.

A school may want photographs of a program, but the real story might be the student who discovered something about themselves through that experience.

This is where curiosity becomes important.

Instead of asking only, “What do you want me to photograph?”

I try to ask:

“Who should I meet?”

People are usually where the story begins.

Why Does This Story Matter?

This may be my most important question.

A story doesn’t become meaningful simply because something happened.

It becomes meaningful when we understand why it matters.

Why should someone who wasn’t there care?

Why should a customer care?

Why should a potential employee care?

Why should a donor care?

Why should a community care?

If I don’t understand why something matters, it’s difficult for me to make photographs that communicate its importance to someone else.

Musicians perform with the Forsyth Symphony Orchestra during a spring concert Sunday at Sexton Hall Enrichment Center in Cumming, Ga. The program featured orchestral works ranging from classical symphonies to familiar favorites performed for a community audience.

Who Is the Audience?

One lesson I’ve learned over the years is that you cannot separate the story from the audience.

The same person can tell the same story to two different audiences and need to tell it differently.

Think about a photograph of a firefighter.

A photograph intended for a fire department’s training program is different from one intended for a recruiting campaign.

A photograph for a newspaper is different from one for Instagram.

A photograph for a donor may need to communicate something different from a photograph for a person considering volunteering.

The subject hasn’t changed.

The audience has.

And that changes the story.

What Does the Audience Already Know?

Before telling a story, I want to understand what the audience knows—or thinks it knows.

Sometimes the most important part of storytelling is correcting an assumption.

Sometimes it’s revealing something people have never seen.

Sometimes it’s simply helping people see something familiar in a new way.

That is why I don’t want to walk into a story with my mind already made up.

I want to be curious.

What Do I Need to Discover?

This is an important distinction.

I’m not simply looking for photographs to illustrate information someone has already given me.

I’m looking for what I don’t know yet.

That’s one reason I enjoy talking with people before photographing them.

I’ll often ask questions that have little to do with the photograph I initially think I need.

Then something happens.

A person tells me something unexpected.

Their expression changes.

They mention someone important.

They describe an experience.

They tell me why they care.

Suddenly, the story becomes bigger than the original assignment.

That’s the moment I’m looking for.

What Is Beneath the Surface?

I’ve written before about “peeling the onion.”

The idea came partly from my background in social work.

When you’re working with people, the first answer isn’t always the real answer.

Someone may tell you what happened.

But what happened isn’t necessarily the story.

You want to know:

  • Why did it happen?
  • How did it affect them?
  • What changed?
  • What did they learn?
  • What do they want other people to understand?

Those answers often lead somewhere much more interesting.

And that’s where photography can become powerful.

I’m no longer simply photographing what something looks like.

I’m trying to photograph what it means.

What Should the Audience Feel?

Information is important.

But stories aren’t only information.

They create an emotional connection.

Should the audience feel inspired?

Concerned?

Hopeful?

Curious?

Connected?

Surprised?

Proud?

Sometimes the desired emotion is obvious. Sometimes it isn’t.

But if I understand what I want the audience to feel, it changes the photographs I look for.

A smiling person isn’t automatically an inspiring photograph.

A dramatic photograph isn’t automatically a powerful photograph.

The photograph needs to support the story.

What Should the Audience Do Next?

This is especially important when I’m working with organizations.

A story usually has a purpose.

Maybe the organization wants someone to:

  • Donate
  • Volunteer
  • Apply for a job
  • Attend an event
  • Understand an issue
  • Support a program
  • Purchase something
  • Share the story
  • Or remember it

The photograph isn’t necessarily the final destination.

It may be the doorway into the story.

Then—and Only Then—Do I Think About the Photograph

Once I understand the story, the people, the audience, and the purpose, I can start making photographic decisions.

What needs to be shown?

What can be suggested?

What needs a portrait?

What needs a moment?

What needs context?

What details help tell the story?

Do I need video?

Would audio make this more powerful?

Would a series of photographs communicate more effectively than one image?

Would a drone photograph provide context?

Would an environmental portrait tell me more than a traditional headshot?

These are photographic questions.

But they come after the storytelling questions.

That’s an important distinction.

The Camera Is Not the Beginning

Photography has changed enormously since I first started.

The technology available to us today is extraordinary.

My Nikon Z9 can do things I couldn’t have imagined when I started. Phones can produce remarkable photographs. Autofocus can recognize eyes. Software can remove distractions. AI can help us edit and organize enormous collections of images.

But none of that answers the most important questions.

What are we trying to say?

Why does it matter?

Who needs to hear it?

Who needs to see it?

Those are human questions.

And a camera can’t answer them for us.

Curiosity May Be the Most Important Tool I Carry

When I teach photography, I often encourage students to ask “why.”

Why is this person doing this?

Why does this moment matter?

Why am I making this photograph?

Why did this image work?

Why didn’t it?

Curiosity changes the way we photograph.

Instead of walking into a situation looking for the picture we expected to make, we begin looking for the picture we haven’t imagined yet.

That’s where stories often surprise us.

And those surprises are often the photographs worth making.

Before You Pick Up Your Camera

So, before I begin a story today, these are some of the questions I try to answer:

  1. What is the story?
  2. Who is the story really about?
  3. Why does it matter?
  4. Who is the audience?
  5. What does the audience already know?
  6. What don’t I know yet?
  7. What’s beneath the surface?
  8. What should the audience feel?
  9. What should the audience do or understand afterward?
  10. What photographs—or other forms of media—will communicate that story best?

The last question is deliberately last.

The camera shouldn’t determine the story. The story should determine what I do with the camera.

After four decades of photography, that’s probably one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned.

I’m not really interested in simply making photographs anymore.

I’m interested in helping people see, understand,d and remember something that matters.

And that starts long before I press the shutter.

It starts with a question.