Veejay Villafranca is a Filipino documentary photographer and photojournalist with over 20 years of experience capturing stories across the Philippines and the Asian region. Beginning his career as a news photographer for a national magazine in Manila, he spent over four years documenting diverse stories, from urban struggles to nationwide events. This foundation inspired him to transition into social documentary photography, driven by a desire to deeply explore the lives and stories he encountered, starting with a project on former gang members in one of Manila’s largest slums.
While speaking to Veejay one gets the impression that photography has always been more than a profession for him- it is his language and a way to understand the world and tell its stories with authenticity. This passion has deep roots in his childhood, influenced by his father and grandfather, both photojournalists. Growing up surrounded by the pages of iconic magazines like Life and National Geographic, as well as drawing inspiration from masters of Filipino photography, he developed a perspective that blends sensitivity with narrative rigor. His formative years were steeped in the “golden age of photojournalism”, where he internalized the importance of powerful and meaningful storytelling- a distinctive trait that clearly emerges in his work.
Through his photography, Veejay explores themes of identity, marginalization, and resilience with a particular focus on Filipino and Asian realities. His preference for black-and-white photography allows him to distill stories to their emotional essence, shining a light on the raw humanity of his subjects.
Today as an educator and mentor at the Asian Center for Journalism in the Philippines, Veejay continues to inspire emerging photographers, emphasizing the importance of authenticity, empathy and cultural awareness. His work bridges the local and global, and offers a voice to marginalized communities while at the same time, challenging conventional narratives in contemporary photojournalism.
How did your photography journey begin?
For me, my photography journey began very early in life, not as a practitioner, but as someone exposed to the power of images and the importance of visual information at a very young age. My late grandfather was a journalist covering various stories in the Philippines during the 1960s and 1970s. At some point in his career, he also covered a few international stories, such as the fall of the Berlin Wall, the later stages of the Vietnam War, and others. These newspaper clippings were made available to me at a very young age. Additionally, my late father was also a photojournalist, working for the National Government Housing Agency. While he specifically covered news related to housing, displacement, and similar topics, he also exposed me to photography and introduced me to the work of other Filipino and foreign photographers from a young age.
My professional journey, however, did not begin until much later when I was pursuing a Fine Arts degree at the University of Santo Tomas in Manila. I was enrolled in the Advertising Arts program within the Fine Arts department. In 2001, during the Second EDSA Revolution—a movement to oust a former president accused of corruption—my dad brought me to visit the protest sites. The demonstrations were happening not far from where we lived, and he gave me a 35mm Nikon camera with two or three rolls of film, telling me simply to document what I felt like capturing. That experience left a lasting impression on me, not just in terms of photography, but also regarding the significance and potential impact of images and bearing witness.
Fast forward to over a year later, while I was in my sophomore year of college, an opportunity arose for a staff position at a national news magazine. The role specifically involved covering presidential news. Despite having no experience in journalism or photojournalism, I decided to give it a shot. My dad convinced me to try, so I applied using a very basic portfolio of photographs I had taken during the Second EDSA Revolution. Fortunately, I was given the opportunity. The editors and the owner of the publication took a gamble on someone inexperienced and with no formal background in journalism. I was eager to learn and committed to the assignment, and that was where my photography journey truly began. It also marked the start of my education in photography, visual journalism, and the profound importance of images.
One of your earlier works “Marked: The Gangs of Baseco” which also won you the Ian Parry Grant in 2008, is an intimate portrait of a group of gang members living in the informal community around Manila Port. Could you tell us how you came across this group of people and why you decided to document their lives? And how was your project received by the community members?
In 2006, I started pursuing more personal work, specifically long form projects, researching and immersing myself in specific topics that were close to my heart. I was interested in communities and shelters and decided to focus on one of the densiest communites in Manila- Baseco, the port area in Tondo. It was a microcosm of what most marginalised communities face, with issues such as housing space and health issues linked to economic migration as well as lack of opportunities. So I sought a story to illustrate the experiences of marginalized communities, specifically focusing on the younger generation of economic migrants and working-class families. While photographing the area, I met a group of boys, aged 8 to 14, who were breakdancing. They revealed they were supporters of a local gang, the Chinese Mafia Crew, and later introduced me to the actual members. Over time, I engaged and collaborated with former gang members, many of whom were striving to escape the cycle of drugs, crime, and poverty. This project spanned nearly three years, during which I built relationships with the community, their families, and even their children.
The work culminated in a photo essay that I submitted for the Ian Parry Scholarship grant. The story centered on how individuals with limited opportunities could break free from the vicious cycles of poverty and crime. My images depicted the harsh environment, the struggles of the community, and the lives of former gang members. Some areas showed improvement thanks to NGOs, but on the fringes, many continued to face significant challenges. I was especially drawn to the children and young adults, and their potential futures—whether they would follow the same paths or find ways to overcome their circumstances.
The project received recognition through the Ian Parry Scholarship grant and was later exhibited on various platforms. To this day, I remain in touch with some of the former gang members. Many have moved on to better lives, working hard to support their families, while others faced tragic outcomes, including incarceration or untimely deaths. This project taught me valuable lessons about research, visual storytelling, and the recognition and continued reporting of the continued struggles of marginalized communities in the face of adversity.
Was the use of black and white to tell this story an aesthetic and emotional choice?
I’d say my approach to photography is both an aesthetic and emotional choice. As much as I admire traditional, dedicated photographers—the ones I was exposed to and looked up to early on—I found myself more drawn to storytelling than strictly following traditional practices. At the time, I had to balance earning a living and finishing my college degree, which was a prerequisite set by my editor for me to pursue a photojournalism position.
I’ve always been drawn to black-and-white photography. For me, the monochrome image has a unique power to focus the viewer’s attention on the message. If I’d had the chance, I would have embraced a more traditional approach—shooting on film and processing my own prints—but I was part of a generation transitioning to digital. Early in my career, I mainly used film, taking it to labs for processing. It wasn’t until a few years into the job that I fully transitioned to digital photography.
Even now, I work with both film and digital formats, but for most of my personal projects, I still gravitate toward black-and-white photography. I like to experiment with different formats, like panoramic and square, and I’ve dabbled in techniques like multiple exposures and using toy cameras. For me, this process adds another dimension to how I see the world. I’m not sure if it always makes sense to others or fits neatly into traditional photojournalism, but it keeps me creatively engaged and inspired.
You studied Advertising Arts in the Philippines and later trained as a photojournalist under the guidance of Western mentors. You are now teaching visual language and documentary photography at the Asian Center for Journalism in the Philippines. Do you believe that different training methods may contribute to distinct visual perspectives?
I studied advertising arts in the Philippines and later trained in photojournalism, but my early mentors were primarily Filipino photographers, not Western ones. These mentors, some of whom were gatekeepers of the industry, taught me the rogour and ethics of journalism, documentary photography, and visual storytelling. Over time, I began exploring different approaches to documentary photography, which broadened my perspective.
Attending international workshops and receiving grants allowed me to work with photographers and editors from around the world. My first exposure to international photojournalism came through the Angkor Photo Festival, where I learned about long-term projects and presenting work across various platforms. Later, the Ian Parry Scholarship Grant connected me with respected photo editors who offered invaluable feedback on storytelling and approaches tailored to different audiences. Programs like the World Press Photo’s Joopswart Masterclass also helped refine my personal vision, emphasizing storytelling, sequencing images effectively, and adapting work for diverse platforms like exhibitions, photobooks, and online media.
As both a photographer and a lecturer, I emphasize the importance of fundamental disciplines in journalism and photography. Developing a distinct visual perspective takes time and dedication. It’s not just about creating visually compelling images—it’s about upholding the integrity of your subjects and stories. At its core, visual journalism represents the voices and issues of others, and this responsibility demands attention to detail and respect for the subject.
To cultivate a unique visual voice, I encourage photographers to immerse themselves in diverse practices, learn from other photographers, read widely (including non-photography books), and stay committed to self-education. A distinct perspective develops through consistent effort, exposure to varied influences, and thoughtful storytelling.
I’d like to delve a little more into the topic of how visual language and cultural background can shape the way stories are visually constructed and understood in the field of photojournalism. Do you believe there is a differentiation between “Western” and “Asian” photography style in contemporary photojournalism today? If yes, what are the main differences in your opinion and how do these differences influence viewers understanding and emotional response to photojournalistic images.
In response to the earlier question, I believe this topic—examining the Western perspective in photography—could warrant an entire podcast or interview of its own. The issue is deeply tied not just to photographers but also to media platforms and publications that historically dictated how stories are told. It’s about power structures and how we visualize and represent stories.
In the last 10 to 15 years, there has been a significant push to challenge the Westernized approach to storytelling. This shift has been driven by increased access to training, resources, and global opportunities for photographers from the Global South and other underrepresented regions. Practitioners from places like South Asia, Southeast Asia, and the Pacific are now better equipped to create and publish their own visual stories, often meeting the standards set by international publications. This progress eliminates the need to rely solely on photographers from the West to tell these stories.
Social media and collaborative platforms like the Everyday Projects have also played a pivotal role in amplifying the voices of local photographers. These initiatives not only empower photographers from remote regions to tell their own stories but also challenge the historical tendency of Western photographers to focus on negative or conflict-driven narratives. Instead, there’s a growing push to showcase a broader, more diverse range of images that represent the lived experiences of local communities.
It’s important to note that while the technical tools and methods of photography remain largely universal, the visual language and identity of a photographer emerge when they are given the opportunity to tell their own stories. For example, in the past, Middle Eastern stories were mostly captured by Western photographers, with local professionals relegated to roles like assistants or fixers. In recent years, however, local photographers in the Middle East have taken the lead, risking their lives to report stories with authenticity and depth.
Ultimately, this shift toward championing local voices and empowering local photographers is vital. It allows for visual storytelling that is more representative of local communities and their perspectives. When local photographers are the primary creators of their narratives, the stories become richer, more diverse, and more authentic.
You have also navigated spirituality in your work as a photographer. In your project “Barrio Sagrado”, you explore indigenous spirituality and Catholicism in the Philippines. I recently came across an article where photographers, engaged with issues of photography and culture, were asked the following question: how can photographs made within one cultural context be best understood by viewers from another culture? I’d like to pose you the same question.
Thank you for asking that question—it’s deeply connected to my practice as a documentary photographer and my method for creating Barrio Sagrado. The challenge lies in how photographs created within one cultural context can resonate with diverse audiences. As photographers, even when working on personal projects, it’s important to remember that our work communicates messages to viewers both locally and internationally.
When I started Barrio Sagrado, it was initially a reactionary exploration of various spiritual and cultural practices in the Philippines, particularly those related to physical pain. Over time, I honed the project’s focus, linking it to broader themes such as public health. The core question driving the project is: How do people deal with physical pain? This question became personal when my father was diagnosed with cancer, and I began exploring how individuals and their loved ones navigate pain.
While the project’s foundation is deeply personal and rooted in spiritual practices, I’ve also connected it to universal themes like health, pain, and sociological questions about traditional versus modern methods of healing. This approach allows the work to engage a wider audience without diluting its essence.
Ultimately, my goal is to provoke broader discussions around pain, health, and cultural perceptions of healing while maintaining the integrity of my personal documentation.
Can you tell us more about your recent work in co-directing an independent documentary in southern Philippines? What has been your most valuable lesson from this experience?
I’m incredibly grateful for this opportunity, as it has taught me valuable lessons over the past year. One of the most important insights has been the significance of thorough research and validating information in documentary work and reporting. Reflecting on my earlier approach as a “parachute journalist,” where I would focus on action-packed or intense stories, I’ve come to understand the need for a deeper, more nuanced engagement with subjects and communities.
Through conversations with people in the South, I’ve learned the importance of representing diverse perspectives—whether it’s the everyday lives of ordinary citizens, government officials striving to serve, or marginalized indigenous communities. Media portrayals of regions like Mindanao have often perpetuated negative stereotypes, painting them as dangerous or linked to terrorism. This experience has given me the chance to challenge these narratives and shed new light on these communities through the documentary I’m co-producing.
I now see the value in highlighting the quieter, untold stories that go beyond breaking news or sensational events. These moments offer a truer picture of what’s happening on the ground and can foster greater understanding. It’s crucial to include varied voices in storytelling, remain patient, and continue digging for perspectives that are often overlooked. By doing so, I hope to present a more balanced view—not just of the southern Philippines but also of other underrepresented regions worldwide.
Which photographers have been an inspiration for you?
I’ve been inspired by a wide range of photographers, starting with Filipino photographers I was exposed to at a young age. My dad’s habit of collecting news clippings with striking photos, along with our visits to used bookstores for photo magazines, sparked my early interest. Publications like National Geographic, Time, and Life played a significant role in shaping my visual understanding.
Among Filipino photographers, Derek Soriano’s work on mental health and the 1991 Pinatubo eruption has been particularly influential, as well as the late Romeo Gacad’s impactful news coverage, including his Pulitzer-nominated work and iconic images like the Taliban fighter. Sonny Yabao’s ability to blend literature, journalism, and documentary photography also left a deep impression on me.
From Western photography, I drew inspiration from classics like W. Eugene Smith and the Magnum photographers, who became my “everyday textbooks” early in my career. For Barrio Sagrado, I found guidance in female photographers, especially Graciela Iturbide, Cristina Garcia-Rodero, Diane Arbus, among others.
Recently, I’ve been inspired by other Asian photographers and platforms like Invisible Photographer Asia, Zhuang Wubin’s Writing Foto, Reading Photographs, Diversify which showcase emerging talent from the region. These diverse influences have shaped my perspective and approach to photography.
Silvia Dona’