Garry Lotulung | An Exclusive Interview

An Exclusive Interview With
Garry Lotulung
Documentary Journalist, Indonesia-Based

by Ariel SU

2 SPECIAL PROJECTS:
■ Not Our Trash: Indonesia’s Struggle with the World’s Plastic Waste
■ Defending The Environment

What if a single photograph could force you to confront a distant crisis? Garry Lotulung, a documentary journalist in Indonesia, uses his camera for this purpose. His photos do more than capture evidence—they compel, question, and comfort, reminding us: “This happened, and this person was here.”
Grounded in Indonesia, Garry tells stories shaped by his surroundings. His photography crosses borders, politics, and language, expressing what words cannot.

Garry Lotulung

“I think photography is broad and challenging. We have a responsibility to show real life as it is, without making it look staged or manipulated. Learning about photography pushes us to question social issues, connect with people, and tell stories that go beyond words. It becomes a way to explore identity, culture, and society.”
-Garry Lotulung

Garry Lotulung is a Jakarta-based freelance photojournalist who documents the human condition, social change, and environmental crises. His images have been published internationally.
After studying at the Antara Photojournalism Gallery, Lotulung started his career with Reuters, KOMPAS, and the Red Cross. In 2022, for his coverage of Indonesia’s COVID-19 fight, he won the Pictures of the Year Asia award.
Since 2022, Lotulung has documented overlooked intersections of the human condition, social change, and environmental crises, including COVID-19 and threats to Halmahera’s rainforests. He regularly contributes to Anadolu.

Following university, Lotulung studied photography at the Antara Photojournalism Gallery. He interned at Reuters between 2015 and 2016 and worked as a staff photographer at KOMPAS.com before becoming a freelancer in 2022.
Beginning in 2022, Lotulung has focused on long-term projects about society, people, and environmental threats. “My photographs are chapters of a story waiting to be told,” he says. “They’re not random snapshots but intentional creations.” He aims to evoke emotion and spark dialogue: “I want my photographs to challenge assumptions and bear witness to the world’s beauty, struggle, and resilience.”
Lotulung has covered Indonesia’s waste crisis, from household garbage in Jakarta’s rivers to mishandled medical waste during COVID-19 and imported plastic waste in East Java. His images show people living and working in landfills—scenes he describes as “apocalyptic and frightening.”
Yet he also captures the resilience of those who collect recyclables. “These people are real heroes,” he says. His project highlights broader health and environmental problems, including pollution from factories using waste as fuel and hazardous wastewater from recycling operations.

Lotulung’s Indonesian roots help him build trust. He draws on local values like gotong royong (mutual cooperation) and tata krama (social etiquette), connecting with people before photographing—often starting conversations over coffee. “It shows that I see them as individuals, not just as subjects for my camera,” he explains. This approach is vital when working with vulnerable or marginalized communities.
From 2020 to 2022, the COVID-19 pandemic marked a significant chapter in Lotulung’s career. Hospitals, morgues, cemeteries, and task force evacuations became his subjects. “It felt like a war,” he recalls. Despite witnessing suffering and personal risks, he persisted in showing reality and countering disinformation, earning a Pictures of the Year Asia (POY) award and international recognition.

Not Our Trash: Indonesia’s Struggle with the World’s Plastic Waste

Claims of effective waste management by Western and some developed countries were called into question after Indonesia’s influx of foreign waste following China’s import ban. Waste is generated by paper factories across several areas, including East Java, impacting residents and the environment. Since then, locals have faced health issues. According to UN Comtrade, Indonesia imported 2,900 tons of plastic waste in 2000. By 2022, this had risen to over 194,000 tons, making Indonesia the third-largest importer of plastic waste.
I visited several East Java villages that have served as dumping grounds for imported plastic waste for many years. The waste, a byproduct of paper recycling, arrives from local paper factories and consists of paper pulp, plastic food and beverage packaging, and electronic waste. Many of these products are recognizable as those sold in the European Union, Australia, the United Kingdom, and Japan.

In villages such as Tropodo and Sumberrejo, plastic has become a form of currency. Tofu factories and burning lime, desperate for cheap fuel, have found it in the endless piles of discarded foreign plastic. Thick, black smoke rises.
It is laden with dioxins and other toxins. Smoke billows from makeshift kilns, staining the sky and the lungs of the villagers. The once-fertile soil, intended for rice paddies, has turned brittle and barren. Microplastics now infuse the earth.
The Brantas River was once a vital source for rice farming, drinking water, and livelihoods.

Now, pollution from imported plastic waste has damaged it. A paper factory discharges untreated wastewater, including plastic scraps, into the river and its tributaries. This endangers the ecosystem.

“This is what people see every day. Air and water pollution have affected the village for years. Residents know about the problem, but they feel unable to do anything about it. Jobs are hard to find, especially in rural areas, so sorting waste is often their only option. It is heartbreaking and tragic.”
– Garry Lotulung

An Exclusive Interview With
Garry Lotulung
Documentary Journalist, Indonesia-Based

by Ariel SU

Lens Magazine: Thank you for joining us, Garry. We admire your work and the recognition you’ve received. To start, could you tell us about your background and upbringing, and what inspired you to focus on photography, especially on documenting the human condition?

Garry Lotulung: I was born in Manado, North Sulawesi, in eastern Indonesia. As a child, I didn’t know much about photography. My main memories from those years are of looking through family photo albums at home. When I became a teenager, I moved to Jakarta and started university. I discovered photography while I was at university. At first, I struggled with drawing and painting while studying graphic design. I wanted to spend more time outside the studio, so I bought a camera for my assignments. As I learned about the history of photography, my interest in it grew.
I practiced in the field, met people, and shared their stories. When I first picked up a camera about 15 years ago and walked the streets, I felt a sense of urgency and curiosity that still motivates me today. I never thought of myself as especially smart, but my desire to learn and my curiosity have always stayed with me. I grew up in what many call the third world. When I was born, Indonesia was still a developing country. The photos I take reflect my perspective, my world, and where I come from. I wanted to show the beauty and emotion I saw in everything around me, from the environment to people. I hoped others would see these moments, too, and that photography would be my way to share them.

L.M.: What skills did you gain from studying graphic design and art? How did your education influence how you see photography and your goal to raise awareness about global issues?

G. L.: Thinking about colors and layout really helps me with my photography. It makes editing photos and arranging them for my project much easier.
I think photography is broad and challenging. We have a responsibility to show real life as it is, without making it look staged or manipulated. Learning about photography pushes us to question social issues, connect with people, and tell stories that go beyond words. It becomes a way to explore identity, culture, and society.
I want my photos to reach a wide audience while events are still happening, so people become aware of them. I try to capture the best in people, like compassion, generosity, and a sense of right and wrong. I hope that when people see these images, they start talking about the issues with others. When a topic remains in public conversation, it draws policymakers’ attention. This is one way change can happen, and visual journalism can help make that possible.
The camera became more than just a tool for me. It turned into my way of fighting injustice and capturing what I saw as the truth.

L.M.: You started your career in 2015 with Reuters, KOMPAS, and the Red Cross. What inspired you to join the Red Cross, and how did that experience shape your style as a photojournalist?

G. L.: With more than seven years of experience as a photojournalist at Reuters and Kompas, I took a job with the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies (IFRC) when COVID-19 reached Indonesia. They needed a photographer in Indonesia and Timor-Leste to capture their staff, nurses, and doctors at work during those difficult times. I still remember my colleague telling me the IFRC needed someone and that I had to be ready to start the next day. I quickly shared my contact details, and soon after, a communications officer from Australia reached out. For the next two years, I photographed activities in hospitals and cemeteries, showing how IFRC staff helped and educated vulnerable communities in remote villages along the Indonesia-Timor Leste border, where information about COVID-19 was scarce.
Working for the Red Cross showed me how important it is to create honest, accurate, and respectful content that protects the dignity of those involved. This was especially hard during COVID-19, when isolation made the crisis seem unreal unless it was captured in photos.
This job requires many sacrifices. Sometimes, I couldn’t change what was happening. Traveling took weeks, and I had to stay to finish my work. Only a few of us are willing to make the sacrifices needed to tell the stories that matter.
Finally, if you can, go to college and learn about what shapes the world. Don’t just be someone with a camera—anyone can do that.

L.M.: In your project “Not Our Trash: Indonesia’s Struggle with the World’s Plastic Waste,” you showed how foreign waste affects parts of Indonesia. How would you describe the living conditions you saw, and what do you think about people relying on waste for their income?

G. L.: The community relies completely on imported plastic waste. People sort waste in front of their homes, in their yards, and even in their rice fields, which have become dumping grounds. Many also work in tofu factories that burn imported plastic waste, spreading air pollution across the village. The Brantas River is used as a dumping site by plastic recycling businesses. Most of these businesses recycle imported plastic waste from developed countries. I saw waste labeled from Australia, Germany, Italy, Japan, the Netherlands, and the United States.

This is what people see every day. Air and water pollution have affected the village for years. Residents know about the problem, but they feel unable to do anything about it. Jobs are hard to find, especially in rural areas, so sorting waste is often their only option. It is heartbreaking and tragic. Many people do not get support from the government and face serious health risks while earning very little from their work.

“Climate issues are getting more urgent, and while photography alone cannot stop climate change, it can remind us of what we stand to lose. These stories, especially about environmental crises, still need to be told.
I will keep working to share them through my pictures.”
-Garry Lotulung

Defending The Environment

Indonesia is in the midst of a nickel rush. Its 17,000 islands hold the world’s largest nickel ore reserves, often found in shallow deposits that demand extensive deforestation for extraction. As the global transport sector shifts from fossil fuels to clean energy, demand for electric vehicles—and for nickel, an essential component of many EV batteries—has surged. As a result, many O’Hongana Manyawa people are on the front line of the climate crisis.
Deep in the backcountry here, Sumean Gebe lives with his family in the forest around Dodaga Village, about four hours by road from the capital of North Maluku Province. Every so often, they’ll move to a different forest.

“We have been like this since we were little,” he said. “Usually we will make a bivouac [a temporary shelter] with a roof of palm leaves & tarpaulin. We are comfortable living there.”

As the head of the family, he spends his days hunting animals in the forest to meet his relatives’ food needs. “Our food is always taken from the forest,” said Sumean, who hunts wild boar, deer & other game to cook in a temporary kitchen made of bamboo.

Sumean is not alone. I meet Daniel Totabo, who is looking for sogili (eel) in the middle of the fast-flowing river. When the dry season comes, the volume of water drops slightly, allowing him to look for fish further toward the middle of the river, where his quarry is more abundant.
All are part of the O’Hongana Manyawa people – the “people of the forest” in their native language. Also called Tobelo Dalam, they are among the few remaining nomadic hunter-gatherer tribes in Indonesia. They have long depended on the dense forests of Halmahera. The land offers them both sustenance and protection. According to Survival International, around 3,500 people remain in the forested interior of Halmahera. Of those, some 300 to 500 O’Hongana Manyawa people have managed to avoid direct contact with outsiders.

Nickel mining is causing rapid deforestation and shrinking indigenous habitats in Halmahera, North Maluku, affecting the O’Hongana Manyawa people. Mining-free zones are vital to protect these lands.
​
Indonesia’s economic gains from coal, ore, and foreign investment come at a cost. The nickel industry has devastated forests, displaced communities, and caused severe air and water pollution.

L.M.: Your project “Defending The Environment” documents the O’Hongana Manyawa people, who are now facing the climate crisis directly. Indonesia has 17,000 islands and the world’s largest nickel ore reserves, often found in shallow deposits that require extensive deforestation to extract. You met Sumean Gebe and his family, who live in the forest near Dodaga Village. They survive by fishing and hunting, but have been forced to move many times due to environmental damage caused by the nickel industry. What inspired you to focus on this issue? How did you connect with Sumean Gebe and his family, and how did they react to your documenting their lives?

G. L.: As the pace of news is rapid and priorities constantly shift, I also believe it’s important for me to document stories in remote areas that have fallen off the radar of global media, such as the O’Hongana Manyawa indigenous people. They are highly vulnerable to deforestation due to the use of land for electric car batteries. This issue truly interests me because journalists rarely visit these communities. Visiting them is very costly because the Halmahera forest is very far from my home in Jakarta, the capital. I have previously covered nickel mining in Morowali, Central Sulawesi, three times. When I heard about nickel mining in Halmahera and learned that indigenous people there are under threat, I knew this story needed to be covered and given space for publication.

Without hesitation, I decided to go to Halmahera Island. For a story like this, you need a Fixer—someone who regularly enters the mining areas and knows the details of what’s happening there, the latest location of the smelter, and has already met with the O’Hongana Manyawa indigenous people. We needed three days to find those living in the forest, near the river, and to approach them to explain the purpose of our visit as journalists. It was late afternoon when heavy rain poured down, and Sumean Gebe emerged from hunting, clearly carrying a machete and his catch from the forest. We waited in his simple dwelling, uncertain whether they would return or remain in the dense forest. Sumean welcomed us warmly, along with his wife and children. He was very friendly and spoke the local language, explaining that the situation here, especially in the forest, was already filled with excavators and mining activities. Sumean explained that local people living in the forest for their daily lives were under serious threat and increasingly marginalized after the area was annexed for nickel ore extraction.
When people and communities trust me to document their lives, I feel a strong responsibility to share their stories honestly with the public.
My main goal is to make sure the portraits I take show their dignity, not just their struggles.

“The camera became more than just a tool for me. It turned into my way of fighting injustice and capturing what I saw as the truth.”
-Garry Lotulung

L.M.: As a social activist photojournalist covering sensitive topics, have you faced threats or attempts to suppress your work from being exposed internationally?

G. L.: So far, while covering sensitive issues like nickel mining in Halmahera Island and Morowali, Central Sulawesi, I haven’t faced intimidation or been prevented from publishing my work. I’ve only received warnings or restrictions from security personnel or soldiers near the nickel smelter. I believe this is normal as long as there are no excessive repressive actions from the security forces.

L.M.: From your experience, do you see any possible solutions to the humanitarian and environmental problems you’ve covered?

G. L.: Working on this project reminded me why I chose photojournalism: to capture real, human moments that words sometimes miss. In a world that often values noise instead of truth, witnessing feels essential. My job is to challenge propaganda. This time, I was not only there for the event but also saw what led up to it. Photography connects with everyone.
As photojournalists, we may not have much real power, but we do have the power to raise awareness. Yesterday, you didn’t know about this; today, you do. By capturing these moments, I hope to help people see these worlds and join the conversation about what happens next. The main lesson I’ve learned is that time is running out, and I think people everywhere feel this urgency. Now that everyone sees the problem, how we respond will shape our future.
If social issues matter to you, research and find a community or group that most people don’t know much about.
Take risks whenever you can, but always avoid being reckless.
This job requires many sacrifices.

L.M: What gear and post-processing tools do you use?

G. L.: I worked with Canon. EOS R system, a few lenses, I don’t need many lenses. With the camera, I have three lenses: a 24 mm, a 40 mm, and a 28-70 mm. Two cameras, three lenses: that’s it. Adobe Lightroom is still one of my favorite apps.

L.M.: What are your plans for the future? Are there any exhibitions coming up?

G. L.: Climate issues are getting more urgent, and while photography alone cannot stop climate change, it can remind us of what we stand to lose. These stories, especially about environmental crises, still need to be told. I will keep working to share them through my pictures.
The next one is a roadshow exhibition for the Stenin Contest, featuring my work “A Nickel Rush Threatens Indonesia’s Last Nomadic Tribes and Its Forests,” scheduled to take place soon in Saudi Arabia.
My work “Not Our Trash” will also be exhibited at the RPS International Photography Exhibition 167 in the UK this year.

L.M.: Are you working on a new project you plan to share next year?

G. L.: I’m still working on my long-term project on Indonesia’s Drowning Land, about the devastating effects of sea-level rise on Java’s coastline. Hopefully, it will be published mid-year.

Website: garrylotulung.com | Instagram: @garrylotulung