This year, the Carmignac Foundation has sadly announced that the 15th edition of its Photojournalism Award would be its last one. This announcement was met with emotion in the photojournalism industry, as over the years the award has helped many photographers explore important themes, such as women’s rights, issues related to deforestation, global climate issues, or modern slavery. These important reports and visual stories have been presented in high-quality exhibitions, prepared by a committed and dedicated team, and have been the subject of conferences bringing together many key players in the field. Above all, these photographic works have been financed by funds that are crucial for photojournalists.
This 15th and final edition of the award was granted to Nicole Tung, whose work focuses on Southeast Asia and the human rights and environmental violations linked to illegal and industrial overfishing. Her project was first presented at the “Visa pour l’Image” festival in Perpignan on September 4, 2025.
Over a nine-month period, Nicole Tung traveled across Thailand, the Philippines, and Indonesia. She investigated the opaque dynamics of the industrial fishing industry, much of which unfolds at sea and out of public view. Her images reveal both the devastating impact on marine ecosystems and the human cost for coastal communities.
In Thailand, she examined the reforms introduced after revelations of “slavery at sea” in 2015. While these measures initially improved the situation for migrant workers, they are now under threat as the government strengthens ties with the fishing industry. In the Philippines, her reporting documents the growing domination of Chinese maritime forces, which have made traditional fishing zones increasingly inaccessible to local communities.
In Indonesia, she collected testimonies of severe abuses on foreign vessels: debt-bonded recruitment, confiscated wages, and physical violence. She also looked at the shark trade, where meat is consumed locally while fins and bones are exported to China and Hong Kong for cosmetics and traditional medicine. By situating these stories within a global context, Tung underlines a pressing reality: Southeast Asia accounts for more than half of the world’s fish production, but it is also one of the regions most heavily affected by illegal fishing and labor exploitation.
In the following interview with Blind, Nicole Tung details the production of her work.
What led you to investigate overfishing in Southeast Asia, a subject less visible than the conflicts you have previously covered?
Several years ago, I had read Ian Urbina’s book entitled Outlaw Ocean, and after seeing coverage about sea slavery, I became interested in this issue. When the Carmignac Foundation announced that this would be the theme for their 15th edition, I applied. Over the course of my research before starting the project, I realized how complex this issue of overfishing is and while different from the conflicts I cover, is no less vital because of the impact it is having on our planet. Not knowing the true cost of our seafood is having dire consequences.
How did you work in the field in countries like Thailand, the Philippines, and Indonesia, where access to the fishing industry is often opaque?
I approached each specific subject within the three countries as I normally would while working in the field, but even so, I feel that I only scratched the surface of this vast issue of overfishing. It was difficult to visualize in pictures things like sea-slavery, so I would often speak to people about their work conditions and photograph what I could. So much remains hidden, though, and I hope audiences are aware that just because we do not see the abhorrent working conditions on board, does not mean it doesn’t exist. In the testimonies of fishermen, they recount the mistreatment on board, and how they were coerced or lured to work either through debt-bondage or the continued promise of pay. We went to the areas where many fishermen are recruited, and often they are impoverished areas with few other opportunities. A lot of times it was just speaking to people without judgment to understand how the industry works, but accessing ships in the middle of the sea where the illegal activity takes place needed more time and access exactly because that aspect wants to remain opaque.
In Thailand, you documented the working conditions of migrant workers. What did you discover about the situation since the reforms of 2015?
The Thai Parliament is still deliberating several rollbacks of laws implemented since 2015 to combat IUU, which many large Thai corporations have been pushing for many years, as they see the regulations are too strict and undermining their businesses. These rollbacks would reduce transparency and accountability within the fishing industry and would also mean less monitoring of what fishing gear is being used, reducing checks on labor regulations as well. As such, the overall sustainability of the fishing industry is threatened. The subject of night fishing beyond 12 nautical miles was also being debated – fishing at night means capturing many more types of species than would normally be caught during the day time, increasing the chances of catching juvenile fish, as well as increasing bycatch.
In the Philippines, your work highlights China’s geopolitical pressure on fishing grounds. How are these tensions felt in the daily lives of local fishermen?
In the West Philippine Sea, many fishing communities are facing a loss of livelihood because Chinese militias, Coast Guard, and Navy all patrol the waters around various islands and atolls, and Chinese fishing crews using massive nets can catch far more than Filipino fishermen simply because of the sizes of the vessels they use. This has been occurring for many years along the coast, but to some, it is new. What I found was that in Rizal, a small fishing community on the island of Palawan, it is a recent occurrence. Fishermen there have only recently started experiencing Chinese aggression in their areas, as they believe the Chinese are expanding their foothold on Sabina Shoal, off the coast of Palawan. Most fishermen have seen their catch decrease significantly and have lost sometimes 50% of their income. Others have quit fishing entirely to farm. Many of those who have quit are simply too intimidated by the Chinese, who often chase or ram the Filipino fishing boats to force them to leave the fishing grounds that are technically within the Philippines’ Exclusive Economic Zone.
You also followed the tuna trade, from small ports to global markets. What does this investigation reveal about transparency in supply chains?
The General Santos Port is considered the Philippines’ tuna capital – and it does follow some stringent traceability methods (called the Catch Documentation and Traceability System), and there are detailed log sheets of catch as well. However, organizations like Greenpeace argue that it is the canneries, which process and repackage the tuna, that are not transparent about where the tuna is sourced from. While trying to access canneries there, I was denied access to multiple processing facilities, as those businesses did not want to discuss where they were sending their products to.
In Indonesia, you collected testimonies of extreme abuse on board foreign vessels. How did you approach these sometimes very difficult stories?
I approached these stories just by listening, and trying to understand the experiences of what people endure while having to work anywhere from 17-20 hour days. It is difficult to place ourselves in their position because it would mean imagining all the granular details from the weather conditions out at sea, to the constant back-breaking physical labor of hauling nets, sorting fish, climbing in to the hold to store the fish, to cramped and unsanitary living conditions without fresh water, and often, sub-standard food. This happens repeatedly over the course of months or years, so I asked the fishermen to recount details if they were willing. On commercial ships, of which the Chinese ones are the worst in terms of labor and environmental abuse, workers are exploited on every level: they can be in debt bondage, or have their pay withheld or simply cut, and of course the dangers and struggles of living on board in general over long periods of time that increase their isolation, with some committing suicide or attempting to escape by jumping overboard. What this reveals is that it is up to the public to be more aware of where their seafood comes from and opt to buy locally caught fish from artisanal fisherfolk.
You documented the fishing of sharks and wedgefish, both species under severe threat. What did you learn about the scale of this trade and its impact on marine ecosystems?
Sharks are apex predators and also necessary for the health of the oceans – Indonesia does protect highly vulnerable species from being caught, but often, these species are part of the by catch and are sold in markets anyway rather than being dumped at sea. Other species listed in CITES II are regulated in their trade, while many other species are not protected, despite the huge decline in shark population declines over the last several decades.
Your work also describes the broader shark trade and its multiple uses. What struck you most about this parallel economy, between local consumption and exports to China or Hong Kong?
Much of what’s consumed of the shark locally is the meat and skin, which only a handful of communities in Lombok have done over generations. It’s just seen as another source of protein, and the lucrative parts of the sharks (bones, fins, livers) are exported because of their value. While the overall demand for shark parts has decreased because of some successful advocacy campaigns, the demand is still too high to keep up with, without dealing a blow to the shark populations.
You photographed endangered species, fishermen, but also scientists and Indigenous communities. How did you strike a balance between social documentary, environmental investigation, and a human approach?
I think first and foremost, it was just taking the human approach to each aspect of the story, and thinking about how the images could translate into telling the overall story about overfishing. With artisanal fishermen, their livelihoods are severely under threat because there are essentially hardly any fish left, and while it’s easy to blame fishermen working on commercial vessels, it is worth noting that it’s unsustainable demand that drives the industry as well.
What role do you think images play in raising awareness about a complex issue like overfishing, which is often perceived as abstract or distant?
I think when things remain hidden, or far from public view, they become easier to accept or ignore. So having images highlight what can be abstract, is important to engage the public and consumers on the whole, to recognize that this is something that we can no longer afford to ignore simply because of the detrimental consequences it has on our oceans, and therefore, the overall health of the environment that we need in order to survive.
What does receiving the Carmignac Photojournalism Award represent for you, both personally and for the visibility of this project on overfishing?
I am deeply honored that the Carmignac Foundation and the panel of judges trusted me with such a complex issue to explore. I hope that having some visibility on this particular issue will prompt more conversations about the cost of overconsumption.
After this project supported by the Carmignac Prize, do you want to continue working on the ocean, or return to other areas such as conflict zones?
I certainly hope to be able to continue working on this particular subject about overfishing and its impacts, as well as in areas of conflict.
More information on The Carmignac Photojournalism Award is available here.
