Just Because You Can Take the Photograph, Should You?

The law may give photographers considerable freedom in public places. Knowing when to exercise that freedom — and when not to — is another matter.

You're walking down a street with your camera or smartphone when you see a photograph. 

Perhaps it's the way someone is standing in a shaft of sunlight. 

Perhaps it's an expression, an interaction between two people, or simply one of those fleeting combinations of people, place and light that will disappear in seconds.

You raise the camera.

Then someone says: ‘You can't take my photograph without my permission.’

Are they right?

Usually, no.

But perhaps that's not the most interesting question.

When official advice muddies the water

This issue recently became rather more topical when the Home Office published guidance about photography and filming in public places.

The material, intended as advice for asylum seekers about behaviour in the UK, included the rather unequivocal instruction: ‘Do not photograph or film people in public.’ The accompanying GOV.UK description suggested that people cannot photograph someone without their permission.

There was an immediate problem with that.

It isn't an accurate description of the general law.

The Royal Photographic Society responded, pointing out that there is no general requirement in the UK to obtain permission before photographing people in a public place. The National Union of Journalists raised similar concerns.

Police guidance is also clear that members of the public and the media do not generally need a permit to photograph or film in public places.

So, despite what we sometimes hear when pointing a camera in someone's direction, there is no general principle in UK law that says: You must ask me before you photograph me.

I wrote recently about my own thoughts on street photography, including some of the uncertainties that come with photographing strangers. This latest controversy has brought one of those uncertainties sharply into focus: not simply whether we are allowed to photograph someone, but whether there are occasions when we should choose not to.

There are exceptions to the general legal position, of course. There usually are where the law is concerned.

Harassment, voyeurism, intimate images and circumstances in which somebody has a reasonable expectation of privacy can all change matters. Private property is another complication: somewhere may be accessible to the public without necessarily giving photographers the same freedom they have on a public street.

But for ordinary street photography, the starting point remains remarkably simple.

Generally, you don't need permission.

So that's settled, then.

Except it isn't.

Can I — and should I?

This is where I think the discussion becomes much more interesting for photographers.

Knowing that I can take a photograph doesn't necessarily answer whether I should take it.

Imagine I'm walking through a town centre and notice an interesting character sitting outside a café. There's wonderful light falling across his face.

Do I photograph him?

Probably.

Now change the circumstances.

He's visibly distressed.

Or homeless.

Or receiving medical attention.

Or he's a child.

Or I've taken the photograph, he's noticed me and asks me not to take another.

The legal question may not have changed very much.

My decision might.

And that is because photography involves something the law cannot readily provide: judgement.

What happens when someone says no?

This is perhaps the situation street photographers worry about most.

You've taken a photograph. The person notices.

‘Did you just photograph me?’

Yes.

‘Delete it.’

What do you do?

There is a temptation to reach immediately for the photographer's trump card:

I'm perfectly entitled to photograph you in a public place.

And you may well be.

But being legally correct doesn't necessarily make that the best response.

If someone is genuinely upset by being photographed, I would want to know why. A brief conversation may resolve the matter. Explaining what attracted me to the scene may reassure them. Showing them the photograph might completely change their reaction.

And sometimes I might simply delete it.

Not because the law requires me to, but because retaining one photograph isn't worth causing somebody genuine distress.

That isn't surrendering photographers' rights. It's exercising judgement about when those rights actually matter.

What about children?

Photographing children illustrates particularly well how law, perception and ethics can become confused.

There is no blanket UK law making it illegal to photograph children in public simply because parental permission hasn't been obtained.

But I'd nevertheless exercise considerably more caution.

If children happen to appear in a wider street scene, that's one thing. Deliberately making an individual child the subject of a photograph is another.

Context matters.

So does intended use.

And, perhaps most importantly, so does the possibility that a perfectly innocent act by the photographer may reasonably cause concern to a parent.

Simply responding with ‘I know my rights’ isn't going to make that concern disappear.

Sometimes asking first is the sensible thing to do.

Sometimes the photograph simply isn't worth taking.

The uncomfortable photographs

The issue becomes harder when photography documents uncomfortable aspects of life.

Some of the most important photographs ever made depict poverty, war, protest, grief, suffering, and injustice.

If photographers had always waited until everyone involved was comfortable with being photographed, our visual record of history would be considerably poorer.

Street and documentary photography sometimes need to make us uncomfortable.

But there is a difference between documenting vulnerability and exploiting it.

That boundary isn't conveniently marked with a sign.

Suppose I encounter someone sleeping rough.

I could make a striking photograph. Perhaps the juxtaposition between that person and an expensive shop window behind them says something powerful about inequality.

But what exactly am I doing?

Am I documenting a social reality?

Or am I using somebody else's misfortune to make my photograph more interesting?

I don't think there is a universal answer.

But I do think I should ask myself the question.

Why am I taking this photograph?

Perhaps this is the question that matters most.

When I see a potential photograph involving another person, what am I actually trying to achieve?

Am I recording everyday life?

Capturing humour or affection?

Documenting something socially important?

Making an interesting composition?

Or am I simply photographing someone because their appearance is unusual?

That last one deserves particular thought.

Street photography has a long tradition of noticing characters. There is nothing inherently wrong with that. But there's a surprisingly narrow gap between finding humanity interesting and treating people as photographic curiosities.

The person in front of my camera isn't a prop.

They're a person.

Obvious? Certainly.

Worth occasionally reminding ourselves? Probably.

Permission changes the photograph

There is another complication.

Why not simply ask everybody before photographing them?

Because sometimes that destroys the very thing we're trying to photograph.

Ask someone, ‘May I take your photograph?’ and something changes. They look at the camera. They straighten their clothes. They smile. They pose.

The spontaneous moment has disappeared.

You've made a portrait instead.

There's nothing wrong with that, but it's a different photograph.

Candid photography records people behaving naturally precisely because they aren't performing for the camera.

Requiring prior permission for every photograph in a public place would fundamentally alter street and documentary photography.

That's one reason why getting the law right matters.

Rights come with judgement

I therefore think the Royal Photographic Society's response to the Home Office controversy gets the balance about right.

It defended the freedom to photograph people in public while also emphasising photographers' responsibility to consider people's rights, dignity and wellbeing.

Those two ideas aren't contradictory.

In fact, they belong together.

Photographers should resist attempts to create restrictions that don't actually exist. Incorrect official guidance matters because it can reinforce the widespread belief that photographing someone in public without permission is automatically unlawful.

It isn't.

But photographers shouldn't hide behind the law either.

‘I have a legal right to do this’ answers one question.

It doesn't answer all of them.

Knowing when not to press the shutter

Photography is partly about learning to see.

It's about noticing light, gestures, expressions, relationships and those tiny moments most people walk straight past.

But perhaps becoming a better photographer also means becoming more aware of the person on the other side of the lens.

The law establishes boundaries. Professional bodies can provide guidance. Codes of conduct can encourage good practice.

Ultimately, however, there will still be moments when the photographer has to decide.

Can I take this photograph?

Probably.

Should I?

That's a rather different question.

Sometimes the most thoughtful photographic decision we make is to press the shutter.

And sometimes it's to lower the camera.

© Mike Young 2026.