Warm, tender photos of London’s amateur boxing scene

In 2021, when the UK was emerging from the pandemic, Sana Badri was thinking about the landscape for young people in London. Years of austerity had seen youth clubs disappear en masse, with around 30% closing down between 2010 and 2019, while an extended period of lockdown had interrupted crucial years when teenagers usually socialise, learn, make mistakes and grow up together.

“I taught at secondary schools in Hackney for a good while,” Badri says. ​“Working with young people is super important to me, and I could see how the lack of third spaces and youth centres impacted their lives.”

She soon found out that some of her students had taken up boxing, and that one of her close friends had also begun training at a local boxing gym. Intrigued, she began visiting the gym on a weekly basis, bringing her camera and taking pictures up until the point that they were ready to take part in their first Amateur Boxing Alliance tournament.

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Travelling to a working men’s club in London’s outer reaches, Badri wasn’t really sure what to expect. But upon arrival, she found a tight-knit, supportive community, where the guttural brutality of the sport belied the welcoming, positive atmosphere that she found in reality. ​“It disarmed me actually, and took me by surprise,” she explains. ​“At its core, boxing is a violent sport, but the tournaments felt really family friendly – really multi-generational and supportive.”

Now, her new photobook, Where The Fire Went, presents several of Badri’s amateur boxing pictures that she took over the course of two years, when she would travel to tournaments and training sessions on an almost weekly basis. From the tender, pre-match moments of quiet to in-the-ring swings, the photographs craft a 360-degree view of the grassroots sport, capturing the grit and guts of the athletes, as well as the gravitas that the fights hold not only to those taking part, but the wider networks of people involved.

There’s clear passion in the photographs, but also consequence – even though the level of competition is amateur, fighters stepping into the ring take the same risks and face the same levels of danger as professionals competing at the highest echelons of boxing, who sell out stadiums worldwide. One misstep or overeager hook could see them knocked unconscious.

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“You can see the nerves and tension ahead of the fight,” she says. ​“There’s varying levels of disappointment or excited at the end, depending on whether they win or lose, but the overall environment was really warm.”

But beyond the jabs, hooks, sidesteps and raised-glove blocks, Badri found herself focusing her lens on moments of connection away from the ring. ​“My initial point of interest was the really supporting environment at the tournaments,” Badri says.

“I was really looking at the coach-boxer relationship, and the real vulnerability in that. A lot goes into preparing them and a real watchful eye over the boxers during the match – they have to pay attention to the second it seems a bit imbalanced, or if they were getting hurt then the towel is thrown in. Then there’s comfort afterwards if they’ve lost – I really wanted to capture that relationship, but also the entire experience.”

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Ultimately, Where The Fire Went is a documentation of sporting culture and community spirit, in a city where spaces for young people to find those connections are increasingly disappearing. And throughout its pictures, the book also conveys the purpose that amateur boxing gives its participants, from the athletes themselves to everyone else involved – organisers, referees, coaches, judges and even attendees. 

“It becomes their whole lives outside of their work,” Badri says. ​“They spend all of their time training, and the people organising the tournaments are this older generation who have been doing it for a very, very long time.

“Boxing is traditionally a very working class sport,” she continues. ​“As someone watching it, it’s this real form of expression, and [an opportunity] for people to let out steam and their frustrations – it all comes out and everybody really holds each other in it.”

See more of Sana Badri’s work on her official website.

Isaac Muk is Huck’s dig­i­tal edi­tor. Fol­low him on Bluesky.

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