© Hailey Sadler, “MISSING HOME.” Anya (8) from Mariupol and Lina (7) from Kyiv, Ukraine seek refuge in the playhouse they made under the trees outside of the shelter where their families are staying in Tbilisi, Georgia. This little corner is their safe space. Despite their resilience, children are at a particularly high risk of long-term psychological impacts of being exposed to the violence of war and forced removal from home.

“We’re all one crisis away from being a refugee.”  — Hailey Sadler

As a young congressional staffer, Hailey Sadler spent many hours focused on national security and defense issues. But it was the human impact of conflict that most passionately captured her attention. So after a few years, she turned to photography to explores how individuals are able to hold onto home, memory and identity, even in the face of trauma, violence and forced displacement. She is a graceful storyteller. Spending time with her projects is like stepping into a vibrant dream, with gorgeous light, gentle breezes and an otherworldly connection between the people and their surroundings.

Sadler is a National Geographic Explorer and documentary photographer and filmmaker based in Washington, DC. Her work has been supported by grants from the National Geographic Society, Getty Images, Adobe, the IWMF, the Berkeley Film Foundation, and Solutions Journalism Network. Her photographs have been published in The New York Times, The Washington Post, National Geographic, CNN, PBS Newshour, BuzzFeed News and exhibited at The United Nations Headquarters in New York City.

© Hailey Sadler, “WE HOLD ONE ANOTHER TOGETHER.”  Endreya (12) has grown up in her great grandmother, Meta Atene’s home — pictured behind her. Endreya sleeps on a sofa in the main room of the house because they already have 2 people in each of the 2 bedrooms. Homes in the Navajo Nation are generally smaller and 6.5 times more overcrowded than the average U.S. home, according to the Navajo Housing Authority.

Sadler specializes in long form, research-based projects, reflecting her experience as a senior staffer for legislators on the House Armed Services and Intelligence Committees. She also holds a Masters of International Public Policy from Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies, where she researched the long-term impacts of intergenerational trauma after protracted war.

We have included photographs from three of her projects. “Missing Home” examines the psychological and emotional experiences of Ukrainian families who have fled to Georgia, as they wrestle with memories of what they witnessed and left behind. “We Exist in Memory” focuses on the generational impacts of Indigenous displacement through the stories of the Venezuelan Warao refugees in Brazil. And “We Hold One Another Together” explores the impact of the coronavirus pandemic on the Navajo Nation and the practice of multigenerational living. I also encourage you to check out her other projects.

An interview with the artist follows.

© Hailey Sadler, “WE EXIST IN MEMORY.”  Maria Centeno and her granddaughter, Marucha, chase dragonflies in a field not far from where they are staying at Waraotuma a Tuaranoko, one of two Indigenous refugee shelters in Boa Vista, Brazil. Maria shows Aduileanny how she used to catch the dragonflies as a child. She says that out here, amidst the colors and sounds of nature, it feels a little bit more like the Orinoco River Delta region they left behind.

After graduating from college, you worked for five years as a Congressional staffer, moving from crisis to crisis. What was your expertise? And why did you pivot from being a policy expert to photography?

Working in Congress was a powerful learning experience for me as a young person interested in policy and how it shapes our world. It was so fast-paced – at first, I was learning something new every day! Just getting to be in the rooms and at the table for different conversations and decisions was fascinating.

As the years passed, though, it began to feel more like being trapped in a bubble. I started to feel more and more heavily the absence of who was not at these decision-making tables, whose perspective was missing. In DC, or at least my experience of Capitol Hill, there’s this reality where a young person can start working on legislative issues and rather quickly be considered somewhat of an expert, advising real decisionmakers on policies, but often without any hands-on experience in those issue areas. Someone may be advising on refugee policy without ever having stepped into a refugee camp, let alone have any lived experience with displacement. People talking about “warfighters” and power projection often have never tasted the fear of feeling the frontlines creeping into your frontyard. Of course, there can be value in years of building policy expertise through research from a desk. But that still only represents one type of knowledge. We need a diversity of experience represented.

I will always have respect for staff who are passionate about government service, I think I just realized I wanted to learn from people who have lived experience. I wanted to hear their stories and perspectives. Photography had been a love since I was a little kid. But now, as I discovered this entire field that existed called documentary photography or photojournalism in my twenties, I realized it could be a tool to open the door for those conversations and create a way to platform those voices. So I dove into it headfirst.

© Hailey Sadler, “MISSING HOME.”  Residents of the “Ukrainian House in Tbilisi” mingle outside for a breath of air as evening falls. While many families called the same cities home back in Ukraine, most were strangers when they first arrived here. Now, they have become deeply bonded. There’s a warmth and comfort to the spaces they share that is in tension with the trauma of the collective memories that now inhabit these walls.

© Hailey Sadler, “MISSING HOME.”  Albina (7) stands for a portrait with her favorite toy, which she brought with her from Melitopol, Ukraine when her family escaped.

How did working in Congress in the policy world influence your approach to photography? You mentioned your desire to be a bridge between these two worlds. Can you elaborate on that a bit?

What I’m passionate about is the same – I’m still moved by how policy shapes our world and impacts people, particularly when it comes to the human trauma of conflict and displacement . My angle is just different now.

I think of my job now as being a story carrier. With my camera, I can try to provide a platform for voices who are most impacted by the policies being implemented and who I believe deserve to play a central role in shaping these conversations. It’s such a privilege to be invited into someone’s life, especially in often very painful or traumatic moments when I’m documenting conflict or forced displacement. My job is to hold these stories, with the care, dignity, and honor that they deserve, and try to advocate for them to be heard in the spaces I have access to.

© Hailey Sadler, “MISSING HOME.”  Anastasia Tumanova serves coffee to a Russian couple from her cafe in Tbilisi, Georgia, while her mother is seen through the window cooking and her 5-year-old son Lukas chases the cat. A clinical and psychological therapist by profession, Anastasia put her hobby of cooking to use to support her family after escaping Kharkov, Ukraine by car. With support from her Georgian landlords, she outfitted the window of her small apartment in Old Town, Tbilisi into a tiny cafe, which she has named, “My Little Garden.” Anastasia says the idea originated from Lukas, who would line up his toys to play store and “sell” things to people passing by.

© Hailey Sadler, “MISSING HOME.”  Yulia Morozova (36) holds her daughters Masha (14) and Katerina (3) close after sitting for a portrait. She says her children have been clinging to her more since leaving Kherson Oblast in April. They try to be near her, touching her, whenever they can.

You focus on long term, deeply researched projects. One of the things I noticed about your photographs — these are not the photographs of someone who has parachuted in for a few hours. You capture those unguarded, unexpected moments that make the viewers linger. Can you explain how you work, the kind of research you do, and how long you spend with the people you are photographing.

Each project is its own winding journey. It usually begins with a relationship or an individual who sparks my curiosity and takes me down a rabbit trail of research. One person’s story almost always intersects with so many interconnected issues. Through research and background interviews, I try to learn as much as possible to understand the context and history behind what I’m documenting. Then when I arrive, I try to erase everything I know and enter with the attitude of a student of the places and people I encounter.

The magic for me is always time. It varies per person and per project, but I’m always greedy to spend as much time with people or in a place as possible. And then to return as much as possible. “We Hold One Another Together” was multiple trips over the span of two years, “Missing Home” was two trips one year apart, while “Memories of Home” was multiple trips over nearly three years. What happens in front of the camera is always a small fraction of what goes into creating a project. There is so much that isn’t seen – long conversations over meals or tea or wine or cigarettes, sifting through old family photos, hearing stories, getting to know their rhythms and routines, time sitting around and doing nothing. Sharing life together. As you get folded into the fabric of the story, that’s what allows those magical, ordinary moments to unfold.

My approach also includes different participatory methodologies for collaborative reporting. This can take different forms, but I’m interested in finding more ways to make the process of documentation itself its own form of healing by making space for people’s agency and authorship in their own stories. Neuroscience shows that reclaiming your own narrative with agency and power can change how our brains function, fostering emotional regulation, mitigating impacts of trauma, and improving long-term mental well-being.

© Hailey Sadler, “WE EXIST IN MEMORY.”  Joisi Franyelis Bermudez, 11 with her grandmother, Angelina Nilda Moraleda, 66, at the independent Indigenous refugee community where they live outside of Canta, Brazil.

© Hailey Sadler, “WE EXIST IN MEMORY.”  Maria Luísa Hernandez, 40, weaves traditional Warao baskets with her children in the shelter they share at the refugee camp. The art and craft of weaving offers up a tangible form of memory and culture to bridge the gap between the older generation and the new Warao generation born in Brazil.

Are there other photographers you admire, people who have influenced the way you think about photography?

I believe how a story is made is just as important as the story itself, so I’ve been deeply influenced by photographers whose images reflect the level of care they give to everyone they encounter amidst their process. One mentor I admire has been John Stanmeyer, who shares a way of conceptualizing the practice of photography as an act of giving: you don’t take a photo – you have to give to it. Expect nothing and give everything. Working alongside him in Ukraine, I got to witness how he embodies this in his practice, even amidst the chaos of an unfolding war. Another photographer whose work I have loved for a long-time is Anastasia Taylor-Lind and her slow, process-driven and relationship-based approach to documenting people amidst conflict. The intimacy she shares in her images is so moving to me.

© Hailey Sadler, “WE EXIST IN MEMORY.”  Mari Liendro weaves a traditional basket out of Buriti palm fiber while rocking her one year old son, Claudio, to sleep next her in the hammock in their shelter in Jardim Floresta shelter, in Boa Vista, Roraima, Brazil.

© Hailey Sadler, “WE EXIST IN MEMORY.”  Maria Centeno 77, and her granddaughter Marucha, 9, close their eyes and think of home. Maria says that being in the Roraima waters is the closest that she ever feels like home. In the water, memories come flooding back. Maria says. “If we exist in memory, everything will be fine.”

Can you talk a little about The Home Collective, which you co-founded 6 years ago?

Before I even realized it, the concept of home was at the root of all the issues I was drawn to document – losing home, leaving home, missing home, rebuilding home. The Home Collective was born out of this idea I had with fellow National Geographic Explorer Darian Woehr that ultimately the story of our future is going to be a story of home. Whether it’s related to climate, conflict, migration, or conservation, what home means and how we protect it is going to define the coming decades.

What started as a single joint multimedia project between Darian and I has now grown into a global storytelling collaborative that brings together storytellers, scientists, local journalists, and communities to explore what home means in our changing world. Looking ahead, we are fundraising to be able to empower and equip more local storytellers to document and preserve their unique concepts of home across different cultures and contexts where home is under threat.

Ultimately, our goal is to use collaborative storytelling through this shared lens of home as a way to reconnect people to the core of what makes us all human and find commonality across issues that are more often weaponized for division and disconnection.

© Hailey Sadler, “WE HOLD ONE ANOTHER TOGETHER.”  When the coronavirus came to Oljato-Monument Valley, Rosita Parrish, 66, was among those who got sick. Her granddaughter Mariah Holiday, 26, returned to the reservation to be with her. After Parrish recovered, she taught Holiday how to process, card and spin wool from their sheep, then dye it with Navajo tea, sumac berries, sagebrush or beets. In Diné culture, the concept of home is much more than a physical structure: It encompasses earth, heritage, community and identity. “For me, a huge part of home is reconnecting to who I am and where I come from,” says Holiday, sitting with her grandmother in the hogan her family hand-built.

© Hailey Sadler, “WE HOLD ONE ANOTHER TOGETHER.”  Endreya, 12, has grown up playing on the same rocks that generations of her family have played on. This connection to the land is part of her heritage passed down from her great grandmother, Meta Atene.

You have been a National Geographic Explorer for the past 3.5 years. How did that come about?

My relationship with Nat Geo started with receiving my first grant for the project, We Hold One Another Together, collaborating with Diné families in the Navajo Nation. This gave me my first taste of working on a longer-term documentary project and more experience incorporating participatory methodologies into my journalism. It was definitely a milestone moment.

From there, becoming a National Geographic Explorer has been formative in my career because my National Geographic Society funded projects have allowed me to work the way I want to work: slowly, gently, and deeply, returning to communities again and again over the span of years. Equally amazing, though, I would say, is being part of the community of other Explorers – it’s a collection of such brilliant, passionate, and wonderfully nerdy scientists, educators, storytellers, and researchers. Too often, photojournalism is portrayed as this very solo endeavor, and I personally just reject that premise. My favorite thing is getting to be part of community, collaboration, and co-creation and I think it only makes stories better.

© Hailey Sadler, “WE HOLD ONE ANOTHER TOGETHER.”  Meta Atene, 88, peels potatoes for the family meal. Even as relatives worried for her safety during the height of the second wave of Covid-19 infections, the Atene matriarch would not hear of leaving the home: “Here, I am already taken care of. I’m not going anywhere else,” she explained. Their family has lived here ever since Meta’s grandparents returned here to Oljato-Monument Valley in Utah after surviving the Long Walk at only eleven years old. “My home is here,” Meta added.

© Hailey Sadler, “WE HOLD ONE ANOTHER TOGETHER.”  Family photos represent generations who have lived on this land in Oljato-Monument Valley. Households on the Navajo Nation are three times as likely to be multigenerational compared to the State of Arizona. “The role of elders is very important to the Native community. They are revered. They are our culture and language-bearers,” says Allie Young, Dine activist and founder of Protect the Sacred. “Because we’re not supposed to be here — there were tremendous efforts to decimate our people. That’s why we respect our elders, because we recognize that our culture and languages are special. They are unique, and it’s what we fought for since the first contact. Our elders are a direct link to that.“

You are working on a long-term project now about refugee communities’ dreams about home. “When I Dream of Home” sounds fascinating. Please tell us a bit more.

This Home Collective project has been a four-year long labor of love that is just now wrapping up. Collaborating with five different refugee communities, “When I Dream of Home” visually explores the inner landscapes of our dream worlds and the truths they reveal about the psychological and emotional experience of migration and forced displacement from home. It’s been deeply meaningful personally as well as creatively stretching.

The goal is to invite both participants and viewers to explore the internal experience of displacement through the lens of this universal human experience we call dreaming. We do this by combining a trauma-informed documentary approach with conceptual portraiture co-created with creative direction from collaborators.

Hopefully, it will find its place out in the world this coming year. I’m eager for it to be shared – it’s an urgent moment in history to remember the human-ness that connects us all. We’re all one crisis away from being a refugee.

https://thehomecollective.org/
https://www.haileysadler.com/
https://www.instagram.com/haileycsadler/