Photographing a Cartel With a Fuji Instax Mini
4 min read by Henry Craver.Published on .
I’m a photojournalist and YouTuber. For the past six years, I’ve covered migration and conflict across the Americas and Eastern Europe. More recently, I began documenting my fieldwork on a YouTube channel called Through the Glass. Basically, I travel to interesting places, hang out with locals, and snap photos with one of my 35mm film cameras.
This past December, I travelled to Michoacán, Mexico — a place I’d visited years earlier while working on a long-term project about migration — to photograph daily life in a region fully controlled by organized crime. My plan was to spend a few days with a family I know along the coast before heading into the hills to photograph a big wedding, where I expected there to be a noticeable cartel presence.
There was one problem: I’d used up almost all my 35mm film on a previous shoot. By the time I reached Michoacán, all I had left was half a roll of Kentmere 400 and a Fuji Instax Mini 12 I’d picked up in Mexico City as a gift for my girlfriend. I’d never shot instant film before and certainly hadn’t intended to use that camera myself.
Within hours of arriving, I burned through the last of my Kentmere at the beach. That left me with only the Instax Mini — not the ideal tool to photograph macho, gun-toting Michoacános. I spent the next couple of days testing it cautiously, trying to get a feel for its quirks without wasting too many shots. It turned out to be a tricky tool: it didn’t let in much light (a problem for the nighttime wedding), and its 35mm equivalent focal length was much tighter than I usually shoot.
When the night of the wedding arrived, we piled into pickup trucks and rode three hours into the mountains. By the time we got there, it was pitch dark. In a clearing in the woods, trucks and dirt bikes surrounded a kind of open-air rodeo circle lit by floodlights.
Walking in, we passed a long row of new Tacomas and F-150s — status symbols in rural Mexico — outside of which stood young men in tactical gear with radios and assault rifles. My hosts, usually easygoing, suddenly grew tense.
“We need to get permission for you to take photos,” one of them said. “There are some important people here.”
I turned off my GoPro and followed them to a table where about a dozen men sat in cowboy hats, sipping imported whiskey. My hosts did the talking. After a brief conversation, the men gave their blessing — on one condition:
“Just don’t photograph this table. There are people here who don’t want to be seen… you know what I mean.”
That seemingly simple rule turned out to be quite complicated. This was a party — people moved around constantly. Avoiding “the table” didn’t guarantee avoiding the wrong subject. On top of that, almost everyone was armed — not just the cartel members, but also peaceful farmers. Guns are part of life out there.
Then there was the camera. I worried the Instax would draw unwanted attention. It’s basically a toy—a toy marketed to young women and girls. Not exactly the kind of gear that inspires confidence — or discretion — at an event like this.
But eventually, I decided to just go for it.
I walked into the middle of the dance floor and started acting like the wedding photographer, toy camera in hand.
Not long after, I heard exactly what I’d been afraid of:
“Hey! Stop taking photos! Don’t take photos here!”