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Publication / Photobook
A photo series capturing the invisible presence of immigrant labor in New York City.
This project began with quiet observations of delivery workers, janitors, cooks, and construction laborers, often overlooked, yet foundational to the city. As an immigrant and designer, I began collecting stories not typically told. I walked from the bottom of Manhattan upward, speaking with immigrant workers, photographing them when they allowed, and listening when they couldn’t risk being seen.
The images in this series explore the tension between labor and visibility, and question why some kinds of work are valued while others are ignored. These photographs are meant to invite viewers to look closer at not just what they do, but what they carry.
Instructed by Yeliz Secerli
The Writing
Heyy! Welcome to my thesis project! Im a South Indian activist and designer, coming from an oppressed country and not having my voice heard for the longest time, my designs gave me a voice, it made me powerful, I want to use that power and my privilege to bring awareness to whose voice goes unnoticed and unheard. Throughout my thesis, I worked on multiple different projects, such as an ADHD bookmark, a game card on ways to protest in strict regimes, and this book.
As I began working on this project, I found myself drawn to the experiences of immigrants, particularly those in blue-collar, manual labor jobs, partly because of the rising fear of displacement and uncertainty in today’s political and economic climate. My work within a labor union has allowed me to speak with many immigrant workers on a daily basis, and their stories moved me deeply. Through these conversations, I came to understand just how essential their contributions are not just to their workplaces, but to the functioning of the entire city and, by extension, the country. Without them, daily life as we know it would quite literally come to a halt.
To begin documenting this, I decided to start at the southern tip of Manhattan and walk upward, speaking with individuals and taking photographs along the way. The people I encountered were kind, gracious, and open-hearted. When I explained my project, most were not only receptive but curious, often asking which school I attended or expressing excitement about participating. However, the next day in class, the reception was quite different. Some of my peers expressed concern that my work might unintentionally reduce these individuals to their jobs. They pointed out that these immigrants are more than their work that they came to this country seeking better lives, not simply to serve others, and that focusing solely on their labor might feel reductive or dehumanizing.
I understand and respect this feedback. It’s true, every person is more than their occupation. Yet I found myself grappling with an important question: why is it considered offensive to identify someone by their labor when that labor is essential to our daily lives? Why do we celebrate and elevate those in white-collar roles or creative professions who are publicly defined by their careers, while identifying blue-collar workers by their jobs is viewed as diminishing? Why is essential work, especially manual labor, so often perceived as “less than” or unworthy of the same dignity and respect?
To me, this points to an implicit bias one shaped by classist and capitalist systems that prioritize visibility, prestige, and hierarchy over necessity, contribution, and dignity. The COVID-19 pandemic made this disparity impossible to ignore. When everything shut down, it was not white-collar professionals who kept New York City running. It was grocery clerks, janitors, delivery drivers, and hospital custodians, many of whom were immigrants, who continued showing up despite the risk. Yet even then, recognition and protection were disproportionately withheld.
This project intentionally focuses on immigrant blue-collar workers because their stories are both essential and often erased. While white-collar immigrants, particularly in tech or finance, can lean on institutional support and corporate advocacy, blue-collar immigrants are more vulnerable. For example, when the Trump administration proposed sweeping restrictions on the H1B visa program, tech giants quickly intervened, applying pressure and effectively halting the changes. Meanwhile, undocumented and low-wage immigrant workers faced increased ICE raids, exclusion from stimulus relief, and attempts to remove undocumented populations from the Census altogether. These were not isolated acts; they were part of a broader agenda to marginalize and erase immigrants from both policy and public visibility.
This erasure is something I witnessed firsthand during my fieldwork. A consistent pattern emerged: the majority of the individuals I photographed were only comfortable participating after I assured them their identity would be concealed. The fear of being recognized or seen was greater than their willingness to share their truth. This fear is not abstract; it is grounded in real risk.
My aim is not to reduce these individuals to their labor, but to elevate the importance of their labor, and to challenge the societal norms that undervalue it. Their stories deserve to be seen, heard, and understood with the dignity they have always deserved.
The more time I spent on this project, the more I recognized how layered the experience of an immigrant is, not only in terms of policy and economy but in perception and memory. The Trump administration didn’t simply attempt to enact stricter immigration laws; it fueled a cultural narrative that depicted immigrants, particularly working-class immigrants of color, as threats rather than contributors. Rhetoric about “illegals,” publicized ICE raids, family separations, and bans sent a clear message: that certain people were not welcome, not worthy of protection, and not part of the American story.
This fear of being misunderstood, misrepresented, or punished makes the act of documentation even more delicate. I often asked myself: How do I create a space where people feel safe enough to be seen? How do I photograph someone whose greatest form of protection has become their invisibility? And if we don’t try to document their stories however carefully, aren’t we complicit in that invisibility?
In practice, this narrative meant that while tech workers and white-collar immigrants had corporate safety nets, many blue-collar immigrants, regardless of documentation status, were forced into the shadows. They were essential enough to clean hospitals and deliver food during a pandemic, but not essential enough to be counted in the census or to be eligible for basic relief. Their contributions were everywhere, but their visibility remained conditional.
The goal isn’t just to show labor. It’s to show labor in context with voice, with vulnerability, with pride. This project isn’t about reducing anyone to what they do. It’s about showing how what they do is intertwined with who they are and how, despite systems that erase or exploit, their presence endures.
This project is my way of asking us all to pause. To question why we assign more value to certain kinds of work, and more protection to certain kinds of people. And to ask: who are the real architects of this city, and why do we keep looking away from them?
As an immigrant myself, I know what it feels like to want to belong, to make something meaningful, and to live freely. That’s what connected me to these stories. Not as an outsider looking in, but as someone who’s been silenced before and is still learning what it means to take up space with care.
This project isn’t a solution; it’s a conversation starter. It’s a small step toward re-centering those who have been pushed to the margins, not just by policies, but by public memory. It’s about creating room for empathy. For seeing people not just for what they do, but for what they endure and what they dream.
Because at the end of the day, if we don’t tell these stories, who will? And if we don’t listen, then what kind of city are we building?
Exhibition design
Iteration
Final outcome
Exhibited the book at the Accent Sisters pop-up at Union Square. It was a privilege to share space with such talented artists and to contribute to a collective dialogue on art, design, and community. Grateful to Accent Sisters for curating this platform and to all who attended and engaged with the exhibition.