Najma Sharif
Hi, I’m Najma. I&#8217;m a culture writer. And when I say culture, I mean, I write about everything from film and music to politics. I try to analyse and theorise about the world in the ways I can. Aside from that, I guess I would be a critical thinker and Somali woman living in the US.
Shadee Malaklou 
It&#8217;s nice to meet you, Najma. I’m Dr Shadee Malaklou. I am the founder and inaugural director of the <a href="https://www.berea.edu/bhc/">bell hooks centre</a> of Berea College. I&#8217;m also the chair of the Women&#8217;s Gender and Sexuality Studies Department. I am a scholar of Black feminism and Black liberation thought in the vein of Franz Fanon, and I actually read Fanon as a Gender Studies text, much through the lens of bell hooks and other Black feminist writers. It&#8217;s a real joy to be here. Thank you for having me.
Najma 
Oh, nice! Fanon, I could talk about him all day. So where am I going to begin? In an interview, bell hooks once said that the line between culture and political writing was that the intent of political writing is to change how people think about their political reality, whereas with cultural criticism, the goal is to illuminate something that is already there. hooks is known for engaging in both.
Shadee 
I think bell was really invested in the feminist politic of making the personal political. I once asked her – I had the supreme pleasure and privilege of befriending her – if she would describe herself as a Black feminist, and bell said, “No, I&#8217;m a feminist”. Without the additive. And she took that seriously, insofar as she wanted to use feminism as an anti-racist analytic to think about the way the world worked, and her place in it, and our place in it.
She named those intersecting worldings “imperialist white supremacist capitalist patriarchy”, and later, in the conversation with Laverne Cox, added “cis” and “hetero” to patriarchy. This is what is especially powerful about bell’s work: she locates, with precision, the intersections that others abstract. When we abstract intersectionality, we misunderstand it as an analytic of intersecting experiences of oppression. And that&#8217;s not what it means to analyse and really disarticulate the intersecting structures of oppression that bell named and agitated against, both in her writing and in her person.

bell was a contrarian. That much I can recount from sharing time and space and conversation with her. To those ends, I would actually argue that the cultural and political merged for bell, because to change how people “think about their political reality” requires helping folks see “what’s already there”. And I do think that social media is one way that we can help people see past “imperialist white supremacist capitalist cis-hetero-patriarchy” in order to re/think their political possibilities. However, bell did not personally engage social media platforms, and warned that “social media is clutter and life is already full of clutter”. So, I guess what I’m saying is that social media can be the space of vapid filtered selfies and images of food (as “clutter”), but it can also be the place where we rattle and rage.

bell wrote about popular culture as the political, and, before she fell ill, invited well-known folks to her Institute at Berea College to do this kind of thinking with her – like Emma Watson, Laverne Cox, Cornel West and Darnell Moore – all of whom (perhaps, excluding Emma Watson) straddle cultural and political critique in a public-facing way.
One thing that bell talked about a lot was her <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/2016/may/11/capitalism-of-beyonce-lemonade-album">critique of Beyoncé</a>. Until the day she died, she was upset about the amount of vitriol she received because of writing that. bell was a spitfire and a dissident, even (especially) when it got her in trouble. She was a critic of our time. I become quite frustrated when the public opines and obsesses about her love ethic and forgets the critic that she was. They really de-politicise what she means by love. But for bell, love is the way and justice is the destination. There can be no justice without love, and no love without justice. And so even as she drags Beyoncé, there&#8217;s a love there. And I have to be honest, I was one of her closest friends, and she dragged me too, sometimes. But it was always with care.
Najma
I remember the response to the Beyoncé essay, talking about criticism and love, right? Was that part of her radical approach to this fearless, bold critique too? Was love what empowered her to put herself out there, and face the vitriol, or was it just the love of the criticism? The theory, the thought, like, how did she think about that?

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Shadee 
On the voicemail recording that bell took with her from home to home in Berea, she says, “All awakening to love is spiritual awakening”, which is a quote from her book All About Love, but it&#8217;s also inspired by the writings of the Sufi poet Rumi. For her, love is a verb, an action, a community, a care, an accountability, a possibility. And all of these things are what creates an anti-racist feminist praxis for addressing the intersections that bell critiques.
I do think that she came to love out of her Buddhist practice. And that&#8217;s something that she found a little later in life, not in opposition to theory, but as its complement. In an interview about the first time that she met Thich Nhat Hanh, bell recounts that she came to him with anger and rage, and that he told her to use that anger as <a href="https://www.lionsroar.com/bell-hooks-on-meeting-thich-nhat-hanh/">“compost for her garden”</a>. Which is to say, theory (bell’s garden of possibility) was made possible when she turned her anger and rage into love. The two co-existed for her.
Najma
I’m very curious as to the boldness in her critique that we don&#8217;t see today, because if it is coming from a place of love, knowing that source is important.
Shadee 
bell was really skilled at making academic jargon accessible. We see that sometimes with academics who write for the public. Imani Perry and Cornel West do this, and I think that’s why they were invited to the Institute to have conversations with bell, because they similarly had one foot in the public sphere. They weren&#8217;t talking in this echo chamber of academia – a masturbatory practice in which one only speaks to other people who know their language, as a means of self-aggrandisement. You know, Dionne Brand says, “Black people are people without a translator”. And I think what is so beautiful about bell is that she tried to put words to something that is outside of language and its structuring logics of grammar – something that didn&#8217;t exist before she described it.
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Najma
I have this really big book of contemporary writers, and I found an interview with bell hooks and Cornel West, when she started moving away from the more academic work, the early stuff, and he called her a “Black prophet”. What do you think of that?
Shadee
I do think bell was a prophet. Absolutely. To name just one example: ten years ago, at the National Women&#8217;s Studies Association Conference in Puerto Rico, she said that, given the choice, white women will always choose their race over their gender. And then <a href="https://platformonline.uk/tag/donald-trump">Trump</a> happened.
Najma
So happy I asked that. I was very afraid of dehumanising her or making her out to be some sort of deity.
Shadee
She is an elder, an ancestor now, so I feel she was part of a Black prophetic tradition. I think that&#8217;s what Cornel West was getting at, too. That it wasn&#8217;t just that she was a prophet in the popular sense; she was engaging this prophetic tradition of call and response, and radical critique and liberation theology, to make her interventions known.
Najma
How did bell hooks approach transgression in the classroom? I saved this quote where she says, “The academy is not paradise. But learning is a place where paradise can be created. The classroom with all its limitations remains a location of possibility.” So…
Shadee
Yes, thank you for that quote! So Fred Moten, a cultural critic and Performance Studies professor at NYU, describes the classroom as a potential <a href="https://www.google.co.uk/books/edition/_/sNGVmAEACAAJ?hl=en">“undercommons”</a>: a space of possibility within but not of the university. Another thinker, who publishes under the pen name ‘la paperson’, describes this mis/education as a project of the “third university”. <a href="https://www.societyandspace.org/articles/on-black-negativity-or-the-affirmation-of-nothing">Jared Sexton</a> talks about how under-the-radar, life-affirming socio-political spaces can exist: these are “not lived in the world that the rest of the world lives in, but [are]… underground, in outer space”, or underwater as the case may be. So for example, returning to Beyoncé, in Lemonade, she curates Black life almost entirely underwater, in an underworld where Black persons can actually breathe. I think that bell created a space in the classroom for those kinds of questions.

Najma 
It’s interesting you mention these third spaces, because bell hooks can be attributed to a lot of digital feminists, really. A lot of people learned about her work online. Was that something that she thought about, like how her work came into the Tumblr sphere? Someone was saying there is no golden age of Tumblr or digital feminism without bell hooks, and that&#8217;s how I came across her work, on Tumblr at 16 years old.
Shadee 
That’s so interesting, she would want nothing to do with that.
Najma 
I know she hates social media. [Laughs]
Shadee 
Yes, and she hated the computer. It was her sister and I who answered bell’s emails and received her correspondence. She didn&#8217;t have a mobile phone either; she only had a house line.

Najma 
I guess I&#8217;m talking about how the digital space becomes a space to learn. You know, she talked about transgressing academia, and a lot of folks study online and come to terms with her work online.
Shadee 
I agree with you, even if bell wouldn’t. I think that virtual and social media spaces can be a location of the Otherwise that bell wanted – an underground outside of the white gaze. Or, the space of an “oppositional gaze”, to use bell’s own language. It is very much a space where you can make your own possibilities. And to make your own possibilities is transgressive.
Having said that, we must beware – and I think that this is what bell feared – of how those spaces are appropriated. Representation will not save us. We see this with Black Twitter, for example. Spaces like Black Twitter are no longer sacred. They are available to woke, virtue-signal plucking and retweeting. bell was very much against that. Once usurped in this way, Black spaces are no longer the underground, undetectable, and yes, transgressive Otherwise of Black mutuality and care – those things that make Black life possible.
Najma 
I remember witnessing the beginning of all this, and it was that safe space for Black women. Black non-binary people, plus-size Black women, Black Muslims, where there was nuance in the discussions being had at the time, and now it&#8217;s very much what you describe.
I want to follow through a line of where all this leads to, like what&#8217;s going to be the future of this? I hate the word “wokeism” but it’s the best way to describe the kind of virtue-signalling, grandstanding, self-righteousness that happens online with young people. Because when I think of bell hooks I think of intersectionality, nuance. I think of not looking for the most oppressed person in the room – there’s also solidarity, right?
Shadee 
Well, bell was very concerned towards the end of her life about feminism, and that feminism was dying. She was very into feminist sisterhood beyond racial distinction.
Najma 
A lot of what I&#8217;m seeing happening today is people trying to re-package misogynistic white supremacist patriarchal dynamics as radical. Like all the girls are saying they want to be housewives right now, and it’s like, are we in the ‘50s? Um, I think we already went through that wave of feminism?
Shadee 
But also, which women have the privilege to be a housewife? Feminists of colour have held white feminism accountable for precisely this privilege. <a href="https://platformonline.uk/posts/we-need-to-talk-about-claudia-jones">Claudia Jones</a>, for example, and Toni Cade Bambara, to list another example, implored that we “get our house in order”– that we think first about our own participation in “imperialist white supremacist capitalist cis-hetero-patriarchy” before we go lead a march or participate in some movement out there. What about the Black and brown women who are cleaning these feminist activists’ homes, who these white feminists are paying under the table – in other words, not a living wage – so that they can go out and climb this patriarchal ladder at the behest of capitalism? “<a href="https://thefeministwire.com/2013/10/17973/">Lean in</a>”, and all that.

Najma 
And then there&#8217;s the other facet: this isn&#8217;t a reality at all because men aren’t even making money – they&#8217;re not even the capitalist patriarchs that they used to be.
Shadee 
Black men certainly aren&#8217;t.
Audre Lorde says Black people were “<a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/147275/a-litany-for-survival">never meant to survive</a>”, and I think she means not just slavery, but its afterlife. People weren&#8217;t paid living wages on purpose, so they would starve and die out. I think it&#8217;s very, very intentional that communities of colour, especially Black communities, cannot find work that makes life possible.
Najma 
I would think that intersectional feminist lens, that nuanced, caring, holistic viewpoint of the world would come back as people struggle, but instead, people are reverting back to harmful ways of thinking, because they&#8217;re realising they didn&#8217;t benefit from the virtue signalling. They benefit more from performing, I guess, heteronormativity, hegemonic ways of living, like playing into these housewife dynamics. I feel very alienated as a Black Muslim woman, right now, so I&#8217;ve just been thinking a lot about how to make a u-turn on the thinking. What are we gonna have to do?…cause it’s bad out here.
Shadee 
There&#8217;s several strands to what you just said. I&#8217;m going to try to tease them out.
You talk about Black men and youth: bell was very, very invested in the children&#8217;s novels that she wrote. The thing that she was most concerned about at the end of her life was that she wanted to not write academic books, but more children&#8217;s novels. She wrote novels specifically about Black boys. She wanted Black boys to feel that they could be tender and soft.
The second thing I want to say is I actually see a different move from what you do in terms of romantic dynamics and gender and sexuality. As Hari Ziyad says, “<a href="https://afropunk.com/2017/07/my-gender-is-black/">My gender is Black</a>,” because gender in Black culture has always been fluid. Black genders and sexualities are not imagined as modern or postmodern, in other words, at the apex of human civilisation and progress. Instead, we locate them in “the bush”, in a time before human time, marked by sexual excess and gender ambiguity.
I think a lot of sex/gender performance in communities of colour, such as what you’re describing, is an attempt to climb that ladder of civilisation through white mimicry, to appeal to whiteness in order to accrue what Fanon describes as <a href="http://www.critical-theory.com/frantz-fanon-argues-no-being-through-others-for-people-of-color-in-1952/">“ontological resistance”</a>: the human recognition that makes secondary markers of identity like gender and sexuality cohere.
So, you go to any non-white country and the first thing that you see at the pharmacy is skin-lightening creams and hair removal products. Communities of colour have an obsession with laser hair removal and electrolysis, and an obsession with nose jobs, specifically, aquiline noses. I don’t think that this is just about being “marriage material” or having romantic sexual appeal. I think that it&#8217;s about having white feminine appeal specifically.
In terms of what bell might say about this, I encourage everyone to revisit her first book, taken from Sojourner Truth’s refrain, <a href="https://www.plutobooks.com/9780861043798/aint-i-a-woman/">“Ain&#8217;t I a woman”</a>.
Najma 
It&#8217;s very interesting that you say all that is for white appeal. Because there&#8217;s an entire genre on TikTok right now of women who teach each other etiquette and how to dress. And they&#8217;re getting nose jobs, and the amount of money they spend on just everything, filler, extensions. They&#8217;re teaching you where to grab the champagne flute from, because, you know, we all do that every day (!)
Shadee 
Do you think that this is about respectability? Respectability politics is always white. I was never invited to cotillion [a ‘ball’ in which children are taught etiquette] when I was growing up in multiculturalist Southern California. Yes, even (especially) in a liberal haven, one must perform the trappings of whiteness.
Najma 
Respectability politics is making a huge comeback, like for sure – there&#8217;s a whole culture of it – men and women, all genders, all races, across religions.
Shadee 
I’m not on TikTok so I feel like an idiot.

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Najma 
Don’t come! You don&#8217;t have to do that. [Laughs]
It has damaged my brain! But yeah, that was very illuminating because it definitely ties together something I have been witnessing in politics and culture and social media.
So, what do you think are bell hooks’ most underrated books and essays?
Shadee
I like Bone Black, mostly because she talks a lot (and lyrically) about her childhood in that book. I also like Appalachian Elegy, because in it she attributes her dissident feminism not to the cosmopolitanism of (post)modernity, but to the culture of hillbilly folks in the “Kentucky backwoods”, who she describes as her “ancestors and kin”. bell was Appalachian, but we don&#8217;t think of her that way, because she&#8217;s Black. Appalachia is imagined as this white coal mine region. There are plenty of Black and Indigenous Appalachians. bell was Indigenous as well, which again, we don&#8217;t talk about because she&#8217;s Black, and Black almost cancels out anything else. So, I think her books about growing up in Kentucky are really meaningful.
Najma
Before you dip on us, I wanted to know more about what bell was like as a friend and as a colleague?
Shadee 
Oh, she was a spitfire, and she was a gossip. She was obsessed with Juicy Fruit gum. I’d buy it for her in bulk. And she didn&#8217;t like the sugar free kind or the kind in a canister; she liked the old school Juicy Fruit gum packets. Before Juicy Fruit, she was obsessed with peppermints, specifically, soft fluffy peppermints. Not the hard kind.
She was the first person who called me in the morning and the last person who called me at night. And she&#8217;d want me to bring her coffee in the morning. And I&#8217;d be like, “bell, I have to teach!”, then she&#8217;d call me fifteen times during my class because she wanted a McDonald&#8217;s cheeseburger.
bell was in a lot of pain towards the end of her life. And she could be – well, she described me in this way, but I think this applies to her too – “strident”. But, you know what, I loved that about her. I loved that she was a truth teller. It was her love language. A tough love, but love. She wasn’t airing dirty laundry; she was curating an honest, intentional, beloved feminist community.

I would sit with her as she devoured mystery novels. I think that the kind of friendship we had gave me a lot of love, because we would sit there, and she would be reading in silence or napping. And I would be working. And it was a kind of friendship where you didn&#8217;t have to talk. You know, there was an ease there.
She said it like it is and took no prisoners. You knew when she loved you, even when she knocked you around, even when her loving and doting gaze turned into her trademark side-eye. I loved her, too, and I&#8217;ll miss her forever.
Najma
Wow, that&#8217;s… wow. Thank you so much.
Shadee 
Thank you. I&#8217;d love to be in conversation again soon.
Najma
That&#8217;d be really dope.

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<a href="https://www.najmasharif.com/">Najma Sharif</a> is a culture and politics writer based in the USA. <a href="https://www.berea.edu/wgs/faculty-and-staff/dr-m-shadee-malaklou/">Dr Shadee Malaklou</a> is the founder and inaugural director of the bell hooks center of Berea College. This interview took place on 25 February 2022. This is a shortened transcript edited by <a href="https://platformonline.uk/author/td">Theodora Danylevich</a> and <a href="https://platformonline.uk/author/zainab-rahim">Zainab Rahim</a>.

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Featured photo: bell hooks speaks on campus at UW-Madison / University of Wisconsin-Madison Archives Photo Collection

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Dr Shadee Malaklou, director of the bell hooks center at Berea College, speaks with journalist Najma Sharif, sharing insights into bell hooks&#8217; life and work in light of our current social moment.

The critic of our time: An interview on bell hooks’ life, love and legacy

“Haunting is one way in which abusive systems of power make themselves known and their impacts felt in everyday life, especially when they are supposedly over and done with (slavery, for instance) or when their oppressive nature is denied…” Avery F Gordon 
African Apocalypse is not your regular feature film, and throughout its <a href="https://player.bfi.org.uk/rentals/film/watch-african-apocalypse-2020-online">runtime of 88 minutes</a> it allows us to reflect and navigate the multifaceted space between documentary and historical drama in a way that is innovative, haunting and truly captivating.
The film itself is a non-fiction retelling of Joseph Conrad’s contentious novel Heart of Darkness and, like the book, the film highlights the brutal legacies of ‘civilised’ European expeditions during the height of colonial rule. I was fortunate enough to speak to both the director Rob Lemkin and the co-writer <a href="https://platformonline.uk/articles/author/femi-nylander/">Femi Nylander</a> shortly after the film’s release where we discussed the intricate plot and themes that are investigated throughout the film.
African Apocalypse starts off in Oxford as we are introduced to our narrator and guide, British-Nigerian activist and poet, Femi Nylander. Throughout the film we follow Femi and two other local guides on a personal and spiritual journey through the country of Niger to unearth the cruel legacy of the French imperial captain, Paul Voulet.
Voulet’s story begins in 1899 when he is tasked with securing the Chad Basin to unite all of the French territories in West Africa; however, whilst undertaking this mission, Voulet went rogue leaving behind a trail of death and destruction in his wake. Throughout Femi’s voyage across Niger, we encounter the Hausa people, who were deeply affected by the violence. The Hausa people are the largest ethnic group located throughout north-western Nigeria and Niger. They are well known for their agricultural practices and exquisite craftsmanship and a vast majority of the population can be found in rural locations. In order for Voulet to complete his excursion he had to cross their land and this is where things began to get worse. The story of Voulet and his destructive expedition may not be well known in the west, but the descendants of the Hausa people have not forgotten. They have not forgotten how Voulet and his men rounded up their families and committed unspeakable evils. They have not forgotten the stories of how Voulet decimated villages – and those of you who watch this film will surely not forget too.

What I found so astounding about the film was how effortlessly it explores a multitude of political issues, such as France using the <a href="https://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/2017/07/macron-francafrique-170721190500965.html">Franco-African</a> policy to mine and export Uranium ore for over 40 years, as well as the economic and political fallout that follows the creation of borders, human rights, ecological destruction, and the generational trauma that looms over the afflicted communities. The themes that African Apocalypse explores are multi-faceted and complex, but what the film achieves is that it opens up a dialogue about the repercussions of colonial violence and gives the <a href="https://www.britannica.com/topic/Hausa">Hausa people</a> a chance to tell their side of the story to the world.
In a strange way Rob and Femi’s work truly captivated me, particularly as I saw myself in Femi. As a Black British citizen with Jamaican heritage, my very existence within the British Isles is predicated on Britain’s colonial past, and the same applies to a large majority of us, as <a href="https://www.ourmigrationstory.org.uk/">migration has played a huge role</a> in shaping Britain as we know it today. To be a Black person or person of colour, exploring the forgotten histories of colonialism that intersect with one’s own history repeatedly forces one to encounter a range of emotions – emotions that more often than not lead one to feel like they are being be split in two. This moment of fragmentation is elaborated by the late <a href="https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/frantz-fanon/">Frantz Fanon</a> in his text, Black Skin, White Masks, where he recalls a similar feeling of being torn asunder by the weight of the history of race: “I was responsible not only for my body but also for my race and my ancestors. I cast an objective gaze over myself, discovered my blackness, my ethnic features; deafened by cannibalism, backwardness, fetishism, racial stigmas, slave traders, and above all, yes, above all, the grinning Y a bon Banania.” Blackness and Britishness, or even Blackness and European identity are not always understood to be synonymous. Although this is not the core focus of the film, it is a theme that is explored rather naturally, and it is a feeling that many Black people, people of colour and those with dual heritage living in the west will be able to relate to.

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This feeling of being split in two is referred to as “double consciousness” by 20th-century thinker W. E. B.Du Bois (and, more recently, British historian Paul Gilroy). Du Bois writes in his book The Souls of Black Folk: “It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others… One ever feels his twoness, – an American, a N****; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.”
During our interview, I asked Femi how he felt the notion of double consciousness impacted him, and the way he interacted with those around him during the making of the film. “What I think is shown on screen is how transformative the experience was and that happened in such an accelerated way due to the filming process,” Femi remarked. “I became more and more comfortable, and was able to interact more naturally with the people of the region. And I think that process was made easier as being someone of West African heritage, of Nigerian heritage, so literally just from the neighbouring country. Being able to then integrate, learn more about the culture and sing with the people was much easier to do than if you’re coming in as a complete outsider.”
The fact that the film has emerged during such a pivotal <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/may/29/britain-glorify-violent-past-defensive-empire-drug">political awakening</a> in our current moment is not insignificant – Femi himself was an organising member of the ‘Rhodes Must Fall’ movement in Oxford and we’ve seen this come full circle with the international <a href="https://www.the-platform.org.uk/2020/06/07/the-closing-credits-of-black-lives/">Black Lives Matter</a> protests of 2020 and the removal of statues of slaveowners beginning with <a href="https://gal-dem.com/i-didnt-think-2020-would-have-me-crying-tears-of-joy-at-the-death-of-a-statue-but-here-we-are/">Edward Colston</a> in Bristol. I asked both Rob and Femi whether they thought the film was a salute to the decolonisation of knowledge and a challenge to European accounts of history. Rob answered, “I think that the film has a two-fold impact… In so far as we&#8217;re letting Nigerians and the Hausa people tell their own story, and we&#8217;re giving them a platform to tell their stories. And secondly, because we&#8217;re telling the story of Europe, very critically, we&#8217;re saying, this is also a story about France, and it&#8217;s not a pretty one.”
African Apocalypse perfectly slots into the conversation of ongoing colonial violence in the global context. Speaking further about the film’s timing, Femi comments: “There have been a number of conversations about colonialism happening all over the world last summer and even before. Statues of <a href="https://www.ft.com/content/a17b87ec-207d-4aa7-a839-8e17153bcf51">Leopold of Belgium</a>, who is referenced in the film, have been coming down in Belgium, and colonialism has become a hot topic. If the film had come out at another time, then the idea would have been for the film to have sparked a conversation about colonialism. Whereas now, it kind of slides into an ongoing conversation, which I think is good.”
The non-fiction re-telling African Apocalypse takes us on a historical and emotive journey. It breaks down a number of topics that some may shy away from for being too academic or too violent to explore. The film opens up the conversation of colonialism and the lasting impact that it has on particular communities around the world. If you are ready to delve into the conversation, African Apocalypse is a must watch.
African Apocalypse is now streaming on <a href="https://player.bfi.org.uk/rentals/film/watch-african-apocalypse-2020-online">BFI Player</a>.

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Our writer sits down with director Rob Lemkin and co-writer Femi Nylander to discuss their new film African Apocalypse which takes viewers on an emotive historical journey

Confronting the Heart of Darkness in New Film African Apocalypse

Farewell Amor is the debut feature from filmmaker Ekwa Msangi. The film explores how physical separation and the passing of time impacts people and relationships, as well as the tragedy of displacement and how to maintain a sense of self when, in order to survive, the best option might be to fit in.
Farewell Amor, directed and written by Msangi, begins with a family reuniting in the arrivals hall of a New York airport. After 17 years of separation, Walter (Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine) is able to bring his wife Esther (Zainab Jah) and daughter Sylvia (Jayme Lawson) to New York City where he has been residing. The family became displaced at the end of a war (possibly the Angolan civil war though it’s never referred to by name). As Walter obtains asylum in the US, his family remains in Africa and seeks refuge in Tanzania. It takes almost two decades for the family to be reunited.

I speak with Msangi over Zoom in early December, the tail-end of an unexpectedly difficult year for many. The global pandemic may have overshadowed all other tragedies, but it has not diminished other global issues. More and more people globally are finding themselves displaced. Anti-immigrant sentiment remains a deplorable constant in the west. Farewell Amor touches on an aspect of immigration that isn’t given space in popular media, namely family separation and the lengthy ordeal that often precedes a reunion. “The reasons that [many displaced people’s] home countries are so unliveable has to do with a lot of [western] foreign policies to begin with,” Msangi states. “I don&#8217;t believe that there is any person anywhere in the world who would just prefer to leave their home and their loves and their families and everything they know, to go somewhere that&#8217;s cold and does not want them.”
Msangi tells me that the film is partly inspired by her aunt and uncle who married in Tanzania in the mid-90s. Soon after their wedding, Msangi’s uncle received a student visa for the US and left Tanzania with every intention of bringing his wife and, at that point, their five-month-old right after him. To this day, Msangi’s aunt and uncle have been stuck in an endless cycle of visa applications, lasting over two decades now. “I was inspired by this, ‘what if’ story,” Msangi recalls. “What if the visas are no longer the issue? I just had this image of my uncle at the arrivals hall at the airport, waiting for my aunt and my cousin. What would he say? What would he be thinking? Would he recognise them? How do you receive the love of your life, after all these years? And what would have changed in your life, too — what would you have to be sweeping away in order to make space for this family to arrive?”

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While viewing this film, I found myself reflecting on my family and our histories. I haven&#8217;t experienced exactly the type of separation we see in this film, though I&#8217;ve witnessed something similar in my extended family. My immediate family and I left Africa together. I have aunts, uncles and cousins that made the journey alone to different parts of the world where they&#8217;ve established themselves and a new life. Some family members are still unable to visit the homes they left for reasons that frustrate even the most patient. Immigration is an illogical phenomenon. Many rules and criteria change on the whims of anti-immigrant governments, while individuals wait for so long for the security and relief of certainty.
The longer you’re away, the harder it can be to go back. Perhaps it is easier to want to stay with the memory of “home” and family as it was, and to be hesitant about reuniting with a changed country and changed people. In Farewell Amor, we observe Walter adopt the customs of his new country and struggle to empathise with his wife Esther, who represents what he left behind. After being uprooted from her home and separated from her husband, Esther finds solace and community in the church. Her beliefs provide her with the security and safety she needs but are shown in moments to be at odds with her new adopted home and transformed husband.

People adapt and assimilate, maybe for survival or out of preference for a life different to the one they left. It is almost unavoidable, especially when many western countries enforce assimilation through law or make living difficult if you do not fit in. Culture and individuality are praised when used for entertainment or aesthetic reasons. But in the areas of life that impact livelihood like education and work, personal expression is often limited or punished. As people, we are naturally drawn to the path of least resistance; we can’t judge anyone for doing what they feel they need to do to survive.
Walter has changed in subtle ways, particularly in how he speaks and the food he prepares. Farewell Amor explores the very complex question of what happens when you’re reunited with a person whose memories of you ceased to change from the moment you left? Phone and video calls are too sporadic and distant to provide a complete picture of growth. When you’re not present for those changes a person undergoes with time, you cannot adapt to them. So the people you are reunited with are as familiar as they are strange.

How are strong bonds like those between husband and wife, child and parent impacted by physical separation? Especially when separation divides parties in different social and political environments that impact people’s outlook on life. Personal relationships are hard enough without the added obstacle of separation. Leaving for a life elsewhere is not as simple as raising the money and buying a ticket. Immigration officials and rules will see to that. Msangi points out that many people have approached her to say they did not know this before seeing the film. The formal processes for starting a new life elsewhere, or bringing family once you’ve successfully managed to obtain asylum, is a matter of producing a lot of paperwork and paying a lot of money. After all this, nothing is guaranteed. For many displaced people this formality isn&#8217;t an option. The need for safety is urgent. Many take dangerous and life-threatening routes to secure a better life.
Being a young person experiencing a move like the one in Farewell Amor in this day and age is particularly interesting. Sylvia is a hopeful character for me because she seems almost the most equipped to handle this big change, thanks to technology. The internet exposes and allows us to connect with cultures so different from our own via a few clicks. At best, we find ourselves engaging with art (particularly music) and customs or cultures we may never have interacted with otherwise. But if we do, we have the knowledge and insight to be respectful and participate. “I felt very connected to Sylvia&#8217;s character in terms of being in a new environment and the culture shock; of being a young person and trying to have your own voice, but not really knowing what your voice is yet,” Msangi explains. “For me [like Sylvia], dance and music was definitely a saving grace. It was a place where I could be really confident and be myself and show myself.”

In Farewell Amor, Msangi tells an important story about an African immigrant family. Despite the heavier implications of the film, it is hopeful and warm. The thing about family bonds, no matter what, is that people mostly find a way to reconnect regardless of the obstacles that may be in the way. “For me, it&#8217;s a pleasure to tell authentic stories about my people,” Msangi says. “The whole reason I became a filmmaker was because I grew up in a time on the African continent where I never got to see images of me or the people around me or anything that was familiar. It was all imported stories about other folks. And that didn&#8217;t make any kind of sense to me, because I was surrounded by fun, exciting, interesting, creative people all day long.”
“We&#8217;re more than just trials and tribulations. The idea of telling stories about our people, not just on the continent, but everywhere in the diaspora, to me is super interesting and exciting.”
Farewell Amor (2020) is available to stream online through <a href="https://mubi.com/films/farewell-amor?gclid=CjwKCAiA25v_BRBNEiwAZb4-ZfdHblijbIbdgBlUeOxLfYvDJIBKGArUM3T_FhQrEAjX2tB6GPfejBoCD7YQAvD_BwE">Mubi</a> and is also available on <a href="https://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=t&amp;rct=j&amp;q=&amp;esrc=s&amp;source=web&amp;cd=&amp;ved=2ahUKEwjYlLi82u7tAhX1uXEKHQk2BCUQFjAAegQIAhAC&amp;url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.netflix.com%2Ftd-en%2Ftitle%2F81336593&amp;usg=AOvVaw2lJc7kuPOnaZm3n-JSCca7">Netflix</a> in Africa.
<pre>Photo Credit: IFC Films / Farewell Amor</pre>

farewell-amor

Our writer speaks to Ekwa Msangi about her debut feature Farewell Amor, which explores the pressure of immigration on families, including the loss of a sense of self and home.

Farewell Amor: Fitting In and Back Together Again

The release of the documentary film, Ultraviolence, is a timely one. The deaths of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor in early 2020 sparked worldwide protests and put a spotlight on the treatment of Black people at the hands of the police. Yet these killings and those that came before, in the US as well as the UK, are not new incidents. For the friends and families of the victims that have been murdered by the police it is a story that is familiar and sadly keeps on repeating.
Ken Fero speaks to me over a Zoom meeting, as is the custom in these coronavirus aware times: “I can see all the changes that are happening, I can see that obviously there are lots more schemes happening and mentoring schemes for Black people and equality in representation, decolonising the curriculum, all that stuff, that’s all good. It has to happen. But the issue around [deaths in] police custody, it’s almost like it’s been forgotten or ignored. That’s why the Black Lives Matter Movement started. So Ultraviolence is trying to remind people what this is all really about.”
Ultraviolence uses CCTV recordings and real footage to show us the cruel nature of the UK legal system that protects the police officers responsible for the deaths of the innocent. The film takes us through a number of murder cases and the legal processes surrounding them.
Christopher Alder, 37, an ex-paratrooper and computer skills student, was arrested on the night of the 1st of April 1998, for being aggressive toward hospital staff. Prior to this, on that same night, he received a severe blow to the head while at a nightclub, which is said to have caused his aggressiveness. After being arrested, he was hauled into the police station, handcuffed, and left on the floor, while police officers laughed and joked at the reception desk. Christopher died moments later on the floor of the station. This is all captured on CCTV.
Brian Douglas, 33, who on 2nd of May 1995, while driving through South London with his friend, was stopped and searched by police officers Mark Tuffey and Paul Harrison. During the incident both were assaulted by police officers using the then new long-handled baton. Brian’s friend, Stafford, received a broken wrist. Brian himself suffered a severe blow to the head giving him a fractured skull, injuries that led to his death in hospital shortly after.
The infamous case of Jean Charles da Silva e de Menezes, who, on 22nd of July 2005, was shot in the head at Stockwell Underground Station by police officers who mistook him for a terror suspect. His murder came at the height of increased tension due to the July 7th bombings (7/7) which had happened two weeks previously.

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Ultraviolence Janet Alder (L) sister of Christopher Alder with Ken Fero UV film director S

Other cases that this film touches upon include Paul Coker, who died in August 2005 in a cell at Plumstead Police Station after being restrained by 10 officers. At the time he was suffering from excited delirium/acute behavioural disorder. Rather than assessing him and deciding he needed medical attention, police arrested him instead for creating a disturbance. Roger Sylvester died on 11th of January 1999 in a psychiatric hospital after police officers handcuffed him and held him down for twenty minutes. As a result, he suffered a heart attack, lapsed into a coma and died a week later. The list of victims is not confined to one race either. On 22nd of September 1999, Harry Stanley, a white Scottish painter and decorator, was shot in the head by police marksmen after they were misinformed that Mr Stanley had a sawn-off shotgun.
What all these murders have in common is that, to this day, none of the police officers responsible have been charged, dismissed from duty or held accountable for these deaths.
This film doesn’t simply tell us what a tragedy these incidents are. It goes much further in order to expose a system that is devoid of justice for those families who have had a loved one murdered while in custody.
Director Ken Faro tells me: “It&#8217;s about saying the names of the police officers. And that&#8217;s a big difference between what we do in our films and what everybody else does in this country, because no other filmmaker will go as far as we have in terms of actually naming and showing [the] police officers [responsible]. What we&#8217;re interested in is what these officers have done, and how come they&#8217;ve got away with it.”
Ken adds that the media is not dealing with the roots of racism in the police force. “What we wanted to do with this film is to challenge.” In fact, he does just that and throws out a challenge. “I would challenge [the mainstream media] to show Ultraviolence. The time seems to be now. Nobody could have given them this kind of film at the most perfect moment. But they won’t go for it. For me, they are just as responsible.”

He goes further still to extend this responsibility. “I think the people have got responsibility as well. Everybody in this country has got responsibility to actually challenge the brutality that is being done in their name. One of the strongest slogans during the summer was ‘silence is violence’. That was just everywhere and that&#8217;s true. So what this film is trying to do is break the silence in any way possible.”
In Ultraviolence, we also see the struggle that siblings of the victims, Janet Alder and Brenda Weinberg, sisters of Christopher Alder and Brian Douglas respectively, are faced with as they talk to the CPS and IPCC. They demand to know why nothing has been done to convict their brothers’ murderers. Instead, they receive the message that the police are above the law.
“[We] got fed up with victim stories,” Ken states. “That’s all the media does. And we said no, that can&#8217;t happen. Because there&#8217;s always resistance. And that&#8217;s why we started <a href="https://vimeo.com/migrantmedia">Migrant Media</a> [his film company]. That&#8217;s why this film is about people that fight back.”
Ken believes there will always be resistance. The families who campaign for justice are heroes. But all too soon we forget them, we move on to the next issue, and the problem will be allowed to continue.
“Where we are now with deaths in police custody, the state I think will protect [police] officers at any cost,” Ken says. “I think we could be having 200 or 300 deaths in custody, and nothing would happen from the government’s point of view. And that&#8217;s what worries me. Where we are right now, especially with this <a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/boris-johnson-intelligence-agents-crimes-undercover-b556205.html">Bill that Boris Johnson has just put through</a> [that will give new powers to public authorities, including the police and the Serious Fraud Office, to commit crimes while working undercover], which will allow anybody that works for the state to basically get away with murder.”
Director of human rights organisation Reprieve, Maya Foa, also <a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/boris-johnson-intelligence-agents-crimes-undercover-b556205.html">comments on this Bill</a> stating: “Our intelligence agencies do a vital job in keeping the country safe, but there must be common sense limits to their agents’ activities, and we hope MPs will ensure these limits are written into the legislation.”
Sadly, it looks like we will be saying the names of even more victims in the not-so-distant future, but when we do, we should also say the names of the police officers that committed the crimes and repeat those names until the legal system finally holds them accountable.
Stay updated on upcoming Ultraviolence film screenings via the website at <a href="http://www.ultraviolencefilm.com/">www.ultraviolencefilm.com</a> or on Instagram <a href="https://www.instagram.com/migrantmedia/">@migrantmedia</a>.
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<pre>Photo Credit: Migrant Media</pre>

Ultraviolence by Ken Fero &#8211; Brenda Weinberg (R) sister of Brian Douglas

An interview with Ken Fero, director of a new documentary film that seeks to uncover the names behind deaths in UK police custody

An Interview with Ken Fero: Spotlight on UK Deaths in Police Custody in Ultraviolence

ROCKS, created collaboratively by a mostly female cast and creative team, is a film that leaves a permanent impression. ROCKS’ impact is two-fold. Firstly, it is a story full of hope and joy that captures the essence of friendship. Secondly, it is a film made with immense generosity – a collaborative endeavour that everyone who took part in is proud of and sets a precedent for other filmmakers.
I was drawn to ROCKS from the moment I saw the poster. I saw myself and my city and that was enough to convince me that I had to see this film. The diversity of the young actors is remarkable only because it’s so rarely seen in film, not because it’s an unusual sight for any Londoner. I would be remiss not to mention what an important film ROCKS is for this very reason: ROCKS is, for many women like myself, the first time we’ll be seeing ourselves on the big screen.
Set in East London, the film follows teenager Rocks, a young girl with big dreams of starting her own make-up business and a great set of friends. Her world changes when one day she returns home from school to find that her mother is gone, leaving some money and a note saying she’s sorry.
Director Sarah Gavron and Producer Faye Ward discussed the idea of making a film with and about teenage girls, and recognised early on that such a film would need to be created in a collaborative way. The young cast, who had the experience of being teenage girls, and other creatives&#8217; voices, influenced the filmmaking process. I spoke with Anu Henriques, Associate Director of ROCKS, who formed was involved from the very early stages of the film.
“ROCKS is one story of hundreds of thousands of stories that we could have told that centres young Black and brown women from London,” Anu remarks. “Hopefully people walk away [from seeing the film] feeling encouraged to tell their own story and question why it has taken this long for us to have our stories told in this way.”
The creative team initially set out on an extensive development stage which involved research and work-shopping with young Londoners across girls’ comprehensives and youth hubs. It was in the midst of this process that writer Teresa Ikoko shared a story idea that resonated with the team and young cast. Ikoko describes the story as a love letter to her older sister and the Black women she was raised with. On sharing her idea with the creative team and the cast, Anu recalls, “[Teresa] shared it in such a generous way that meant that we were able to kind of bring our own love letters to the table as well.” And so, a project they could take towards production was born. Ikoko, along with writer Claire Wilson, set to work on the story arc of the film.
The entire creative team had the chance to share their opinions and ideas for different scenes. “In some of the workshops we ran we would stick up every single story beat on the walls,” Anu recounts. “I imagine this is one of the most nerve-wracking things as a writer, to kind of put your heart on a wall and then have people pick it apart and put it back together again. But [Ikoko and Wilson] were very generous in offering that up and creating a space where everyone felt like their voice was valued and their voice mattered and what they brought to the table was valued.”

This approach is radical for many reasons. The film industry is hierarchical and many openly sneer at the idea of any person with an assigned ‘role’ stepping out of their responsibilities and having input elsewhere. The ROCKS team instead insisted on the cast and creatives sharing their thoughts. The results are so clearly held with pride by everyone involved in the creation. As Anu says, “It was a brilliant challenge, trying to flatten the hierarchy in those creative storytelling spaces.”
“There’s a real issue in the industry of recognition of labour and recognition of expertise,” Anu continues. “What I hope is that the film, alongside all the other conversations around the narrative and themes, will also spark a conversation about how creatives and how storytellers are credited in those spaces. I hope that, in the future, we can find ways to be even more accurate in the crediting, whether that means being credited as a collective or something like that.”
The outstanding central cast of young women in the film mostly consists of first-time actors: some came out of the work-shopping stage and others from open auditions. The actors established friendships with one another prior to filming and as a result have incredible on-screen chemistry. “We had done such a long period of workshops with the young women that we were working with that, by the time we got onto set, there was such familiarity and such trust between the creative team and the cast. The young women improvised a lot of the dialogue on set, and they really guided some of the scenes as well,” Anu tells me.
The unconventional making and casting of the film required a thoughtful and deliberate approach to hiring the crew. The creative team were keen to ensure that the young actors would be able to imagine themselves behind the camera as well as in front. “So there were choices that were made to ensure that the crew and the HODs [Heads of Department] were reflective of the women in the film.”
Who owns a story? Who has the right to tell a certain story? These are questions that creep up often with regards to projects that elevate experiences from marginalised communities. Gavron and Ward recognised early on that the only way to authentically tell a story about young women from East London is to invite that group to the storytelling table. “So much more can be gained from collaborative spaces, I think, in storytelling, because the value of bringing different people to the table, the value of hearing different voices is always going to add to a story rather than take away from it,” Anu adds.

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ROCKS by Sarah Gavron_image 3_ reduced

Most films do not show the world as it is and there are so many stories that still need to be told. Watching ROCKS was the first time that I really felt viscerally what representation can mean to a person, old or young – what it actually feels like to behold a character who looks like you or has lived a life like you. It is an inspiring and validating feeling.
Towards the end of our chat, I quickly ask Anu her thoughts on the recent announcement made by the Academy that filmmakers will have to meet a detailed inclusion and diversity guideline, starting 2024, in order for their work to be eligible for a Best Picture prize. “I’m a full believer that diversity is possibly the easiest thing you could do – the laziest thing you can do in some ways,” Anu comments. “If we’re talking about infrastructural change, diversity is the tip of the iceberg. It’s not the bulk of the problem by any means. If we’re really talking about how you change storytelling, how you change who’s represented in storytelling, how you change who is awarded for storytelling, right, you need to really unpack the whole infrastructure and not just need to have a certain number of Black and brown voices behind or in front of the camera.”
At the heart of ROCKS is a universal theme that will resonate with everyone: the power of friendship and hope. It is difficult not to root for these young people from the get-go. The unabashed displays of youth, the confidence, the happiness. ROCKS is a feat and a reminder that we’ll all be alright because the kids are alright. And the collaborative process behind its making sets a precedent for future filmmaking.
ROCKS is showing in select cinemas nationwide from 18 September 2020. Book your tickets <a href="https://rocks.film/">here</a>.
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<pre>Photo Credit: ROCKS by Sarah Gavron</pre>

ROCKS by Sarah Gavron_image 2

A radical approach to filmmaking by women creatives has produced an authentic and moving British film in which some Londoners will see themselves represented for the first time.

The Making of ROCKS: Radical, Collaborative Filmmaking

The diminishing role of public service broadcasters in commissioning and funding thoughtful documentaries from the authors’ lens makes foundations like the Whicker’s World Foundation (WWF) crucial to the survival of documentary-making community. As third edition of <a href="https://whickersworldfoundation.com/awards/">Whicker’s World Awards</a> application process is underway (closing on 31 January 2018). I’m meeting Jane Ray and Jane Mote, consultants on the WWF Awards team, to find out more about the “Whicker spirit” behind the foundation and the awards themselves.
The foundation was created by late journalist and broadcaster Alan Whicker (1921-2013) – most famous for presenting TV documentary series Whicker’s World between 1988-1994 – to support the making of “quality documentaries.” Since 2015 the foundation, chaired by Whicker’s partner and collaborator of over 40 years, Valerie Kleeman, has been awarding substantial documentary production grants: £80,000 for original film &amp; TV documentaries by first-time directors and up to £7,000 for audio documentary projects.
It’s a chilly November morning, but both my interviewees exude warmth and enthusiasm. Jane Ray, the Foundation’s Consultant Artistic Director with almost 30 years of experience in both radio and broadcast documentary, had met Alan Whicker when working on radio documentaries in the 1990s. Since then, they worked together with “growing affection and respect”, but it still came to Jane as a surprise that she was named in Whicker’s will as the person to organise the documentary awards scheme for the Foundation. 
Jane Ray brought Jane Mote on board, an international TV executive with an illustrious career, including working for the UK edition of pioneering documentary channel Current TV, which featured both user-generated short films and progressive news pieces. “Together we make a good team of Janes,” chuckles Jane Mote. Indeed, the two Janes cover key aspects of both radio and TV documentary commissioning and production, as well as of developing documentary talent internationally.
Jane Mote sees their mission as nurturing “the next generation of talent”. I’m curious to know about the underlying values of the WWF, but also about what makes them different from other funders. The “Whicker spirit”, the passion for telling exciting stories wherever they are found, translates into the foundation’s international range. Applications are open to filmmakers from around the world and Jane Ray mentions documentary makers hailing from diverse locations, including a woman the Polynesian island of Tonga last year. The project pitched must be the documentarian’s first feature, and they should approach the WWF in the early stages of their project.
The pitched documentary must be “authored”, which for the WWF means it “can only be done by a person who brings the proposal to us,” says Jane Ray. The emphasis on the author, their passion as well as access, makes the WWF awards different from organisations like <a href="http://berthafoundation.org/">Bertha Foundation</a>, which funds projects championing “social justice without compromise”. Jane Ray explains that not explicitly calling “social justice” campaign films is in keeping with Alan Whicker’s belief: that if you make your audience like the characters on screen, often with the use of humour, “then you&#8217;re half way towards seeing things from their point of view”. It also needs to be a television documentary, as Jane Mote insists, “we don&#8217;t want documentaries that aren&#8217;t going to get seen” like those on the festival circuit. I appreciate their practical approach – far from snubbing TV audiences, they emphasise the medium’s significant outreach as the factor that can make a real difference.
Starting this year, one of the most interesting changes to the Film &amp; TV Funding Award is the lifted age restriction – although it is for the “emerging” filmmaker who can be of any age. They tell me that it was partly the career trajectories of two previous winners, Alex Bescoby and Pailin Wedel, that made them understand not only that “talent for documentary can emerge at any age” but also that “it&#8217;s life itself that makes best documentarians” rather than a linear progression from college to film school to filmmaking.
The 2016 winner Alex Bescoby is a non-shooting historian, whose passion for the subject won him the award. Researching a different project in <a href="https://platformonline.uk/articles/myanmars-enemy-within-the-illusion-of-diversity-and-the-spread-of-fear">Burma</a> in 2014, Alex felt that all the changes happening in the country led to a very future-oriented approach in the media, neglecting Burma’s past. He pitched a documentary telling the story of the members of Burma’s royal family who went into hiding after King Thibaw’s death in 1916. Jane Mote stresses it is the applicant’s ability to tell the story, and stay with it, that matters. She does admit that although Alex was joined by his friend Max Jones as a cameraman and co-director, awarding a non-filmmaker was “a bit risk for the first one”.
Both Ray and Mote were thrilled by the diversity of stories they will get as a result of opening the door “wider than before”, yet still insist that the award will go to the best story. Jane Mote shares how after having received a low volume of applications from women docu-makers in the first year, they partnered with <a href="https://chickeneggpics.org/category/accelerator-lab/">Chicken &amp; Egg Accelerator Lab</a> to “get the message out there that we are open for women applicants.” Although it didn’t guarantee “preferential treatment”, it was indeed Thai director Pailin Wedel who pocketed the 2017 award. Her project, <a href="http://www.pailinwedel.com/hope-frozen/">Hope Frozen</a>, will tell a story of two-year-old Thai girl, Einz, the youngest person and first ever in Asia to be cryogenically frozen. In the film, currently in production, Pailin probes whether the girl’s father’s decision will bring relief to the grieving family.
I can’t help but tell my interviewees about some of the insights I gleaned from my doctoral research on British women documentarians, namely, that some women start their documentary careers later in life after their children are independent. I suggest this makes age the not-immediately-obvious “diversity” category. This, in addition to people of any gender from less privileged backgrounds, who often can only afford to have creative careers after their material needs are secured. Jane Mote confirms that outreach and marketing remains one of the most challenging tasks they face.
“We&#8217;re looking for people with extraordinary talent who are there for the long term,” asserts Jane Mote, and they are willing to support winners with networks including legal contacts. Saying goodbye, I am taken by this ethos and the visible passion of both women.
You can apply for Whicker’s World Foundation award here: <a href="https://whickersworldfoundation.com/">https://whickersworldfoundation.com/</a>.
Photo Credit: Hope Frozen (Pailin Wedel), the winner of the 2017 Film &amp; TV Funding Award

Opening Doors to New Authors_Ania Ostrowska_26_11_19_LA

Ania Ostrowska speaks to Jane Ray and Jane Mote about diversity in documentary filmmaking and why the Whicker’s World Foundation chose to widen the criteria for television documentary awards.

Opening Doors to New Authors of Documentaries at the Whicker’s World Foundation

Two out of three people in Europe will be affected by weather-related disasters by the end of the century, leading to as many as 250,000 deaths annually. These predictions come from the <a href="http://www.thelancet.com/journals/lanplh/article/PIIS2542-5196(17)30082-7/fulltext">largest study</a> to date on the impact of climate change, published in The Lancet Planetary Health. The authors call for states to “urgently curb climate change and minimise its unavoidable consequences, as emphasised by the Paris Agreement”.
We don’t need to wait until 2100 to see the devastating effects of climate change – we’re experiencing it today, not in the faraway shores of America or South-East Asia, but right here in Europe. In June this year, 156 fires erupted across <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-40316934">Portugal</a>, claiming over 60 lives and injuring over 200 people. This was the largest loss of life due to wildfires in Portugal’s history. These fires have been linked to climate change and the unusually high temperatures over the summer. Closer to home, we have seen extreme weather conditions, <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-41627442">storms</a> and <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2017/nov/23/dozens-rescued-from-floods-as-severe-uk-weather-continues">floods</a> this year. We’ve set our children on a bleak path and are doing very little to mitigate this.
However, where we have failed to take action, children are stepping up. In Portugal, kids are learning and talking about climate change. Mariana, five, thinks “adults should be more careful, they shouldn’t release smoke into the air.” She has joined a group of Portuguese children taking European states to the European Court of Human Rights in an innovative legal challenge against climate change.
The case is brought on their behalf by the <a href="http://www.glanlaw.org/">Global Legal Action Network (GLAN)</a>, an organisation which seeks to challenge injustice through legal action for the disempowered. I spoke to Dr Gearóid Ó Cuinn, to learn more about the legal challenge. Gearóid is the director of GLAN and an academic fellow at Lancaster University Law School where he specialises in public international law, human rights and public health governance. He tells me the challenge – spearheaded by Gerry Liston, a solicitor and legal officer at GLAN – came about following conversations with locals in Portugal around the fires and an acknowledgement that climate change had a strong role to play. “We wanted to bring ground breaking climate change litigation that takes a human rights approach to climate change,” he explains. “We want to challenge the inadequacy of current government policies with regards to greenhouse gas emissions. Our applicants are young because they are the ones who will be most affected by climate change.”
The UK, Portugal and 45 other members of the Council of Europe – an international human rights organisation <a href="https://rightsinfo.org/whats-difference-european-union-european-convention-human-rights/">distinct from the EU</a> – are signed up to the European Convention of Human Rights. This treaty ensures our basic human rights are protected, such as the right to life and the right to private and family life. Convention rights have been enshrined in UK domestic law since Parliament passed the Human Rights Act 1998, and our government is bound to protect them even after Brexit.
In Gearóid words, GLAN’s case, broadly speaking, “relies on the idea that states who are signed up to the Convention have positive obligations to take reasonable measures to secure rights of people in their jurisdiction. The scientific evidence is crystal clear that climate change poses a risk to our enjoyment of rights. As European countries have the means to halt their emissions, this raises the question: why aren’t we?”
GLAN will be instructing Garden Court Chambers, a leading human rights set in the UK. The lawyers will be asking the Court to decide two things: “Firstly, that these countries must significantly strengthen their emissions-cutting policies and, secondly, that they must commit to keeping most of their existing fossil fuel reserves where they belong – in the ground.”
They hope the case can have impact outside of courtroom too by drawing public attention to the immediate impact of climate change in Europe. “This is not a future problem,” Gearóid asserts. “It’s here, affecting us now, and will affect future generations in stark and difficult ways. Kids have the right to be angry about our current state and action needs to be taken. This is the biggest threat to our human rights at the moment.”
Within three and a half weeks of launching their CrowdJustice campaign to raise funds for the case, they had reached their initial target of £20,000. They have since added a stretch target of £100,000, as more people continue to stand with Andre, nine, Simao, eleven, Mariana, five, Claudia, eighteen, Martim, fourteen, Leonor, eight, and Sofia, twelve, to support their <a href="https://www.crowdjustice.com/case/climate-change-echr/">CrowdJustice campaign</a> and be a part of the solution. As Gearóid explains, “The money will go towards both enabling our lawyers and experts to fully prepare what will be a very complex case.”
In addition to their work on climate change, Gearóid and the team at GLAN are also working on <a href="http://www.glanlaw.org/our-work">additional projects</a> looking at corporate complicity in violations of human rights, challenging slave labour supply chains and continuing their work on the intersection of international criminal law and migrant detention. Please support their important work and get involved – we all have skills to contribute and this fight belongs to us all.
<pre>Photo Credit: Takver via Flickr</pre>

Fatima Jichi speaks to Dr Gearóid Ó Cuinn, director of the Global Legal Action Network, the organisation that is challenging governments in Europe for their failure to adequately cut greenhouse emissions.

Children Lead the Fight Against Climate Change

Umar Ali interviews director Arshad Khan about his new feature documentary ABU which screened at the BFI London Film Festival 2017 
ABU is an emotional family journey that grapples with religion, sexuality, colonialism and migration. Through a tapestry of narratives composed of family footage, observation and classic Bollywood films, gay-identifying Pakistani-Muslim filmmaker Arshad Khan takes viewers through the tense relationships between family and fate, conservatism and liberalism and modernity and familiarity. 
I caught up with Arshad between worldwide screenings of <a href="https://www.abumovie.com/">ABU</a> to discuss his documentary. 
One thing I found very interesting about this documentary was your process – you use a lot of archival footage, and a lot of home videos. What was it like re-interpreting them for the purpose of this documentary? 
I was trying to do a feature fiction project, then my father died. I made a five-minute video for his memorial, and I realised I had a huge wealth of archival footage. And I was inspired by films like Meet the Patels, Stories We Tell, Tarnation, and I thought, “They’re not using the best footage, but telling very effective stories. Let’s see if I can do that with my footage.” 
You use a lot of different layered forms of media. Was it difficult stitching all these into a single narrative? 
Very difficult! But what really helped the film feel so full are not the images necessarily – it’s the soundtrack. Sound design is very powerful in the film. That’s why I try to encourage film festivals to show the 5:1 Dolby sound, because my sound designer, Sylvain Bellemare, actually won an Oscar this year. Where we lack in image quality, we make up for in sound. 
So here I had all this footage, and I just met this really wonderful animation artist who was such a sweetheart, Davide de Saro. And I asked him if he would collaborate with me – because I’m making a film mourning someone who’s already passed away, so how do you do that? At first it was very cartoonish, kinda Beavis and Butthead, but we worked on it, and again, the strong sound design really helped it stand out. 
As your long feature directorial debut, this is quite an interesting film to start things off with. 
Making a film about your own life is much more complicated than you would think. Firstly, I am using our shared family archives. And I was also very nervous about it – a lot of people didn’t help me in my family. My uncle refused to participate once he found out that it’s a film dealing with my gay identity and my father. My uncle’s a very important person in our family – he’s the oldest. So I had to make this film without him, which was not easy. But I’m a storyteller, a filmmaker, and what you learn in film school is that you tell stories with whatever you have. And that’s what I did. 
I knew the subject matter really well, which was a good thing, and I could get really indulgent too, but my collaborating partners prevented me from going there and feeling too sorry for myself. 
You interviewed your sister, as well as your mother who appears to be quite a religious person. How did they feel about it? 
They did it because they thought I was making a film glorifying my dad [laughs]. But when it got to the more serious questions, my mother was quite concerned, and you can see it in her body language, she is a conflicted person. But I wanted her perspective, because you cannot make a documentary without showing the other side. My mother saw this film! And she actually liked it, because she felt she had been represented in a dignified and balanced manner. And that means a lot to me. 
Going onto the LGBT discussion, there’s a clear difference between the western idea of a nuclear family and the ‘khandan’, the extended unit that everyone’s always a part of. How do you think that made your experience as a gay person different from more western perceptions of LGBT identities? 
I went and explored where homophobia in our culture came from, and it can be directly attributed to western colonisation of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East. This whole “macho” attitude, this toxic masculinity, is also a gift from the coloniser. And it makes me very angry, actually. Often I talk to people and I used to have patience with them, but now, if they cannot connect the dots between their persecution after 9/11 and the persecution of LGBT people and other minorities, then they’re really fucking stupid and it’s time to call them out. 
I didn’t make a hateful film. I was trying to, but I didn’t because I have very strong collaborative partners. I made a loving film, you know? But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have a rose in one hand and a stick in the other. I’m still like “get your fucking act together”, because we are suffering. And it’s time to break the silence. Someone has to do it, and it might as well be me. 
Yeah, it’s very frustrating, because you’ll talk to people about things like Islamophobia, but in the same breath they’ll say terrible things about gay people and trans people. 
Yeah, it’s very annoying. And it’s been years. And now look at what’s happening in Egypt. Like, really? It’s so upsetting, and the West is silent and complicit, you know, it’s disgusting. Floggings in Indonesia, killings and concentration camps in Chechnya. When’s it gonna stop? 
What can people do in their everyday lives to break down these colonial barriers and unlearn these prejudices? 
The simplest thing they can do is come see my film and bring other people to it. Bring their white allies, parents and people who are sceptical about it. I made this film to help people like me, so other young people don’t suffer, so we can accomplish greatness. 
Look at where the earth is going – it’s 25 degrees here in bloody October, seriously? Even in Montreal, in Toronto, it’s really warm. Something is not right with our planet. There are fires raging, floods, hurricanes, and you’re worried about who we’re fucking? Come on! 
What advice would you have for the LGBT youth of today, who are going through similar struggles to you, albeit in a different political climate? 
On the one hand, I think it’s really nice that these kinds of things are being talked about. When I was young, there was no internet, no Google, no Wi-Fi, no way to connect with different communities. Now we have that, it’s pretty amazing. But on the other hand it’s also quite alienating – everything is instant, so no one can actually get to know you, before they already have all the information about you and reject you very quickly. Overall, I feel like the world is a more aware place, because of the fast travel of information. 
You can’t pretend to ignore it any more. 
No, you can’t pretend to ignore it anymore, and the parents of young people are more exposed to it now than, for example, my parents were. So that’s nice. 
I was talking to these teenagers in a classroom, mostly white kids and straight kids, and they loved the film. And I was telling them that being young is hard. Being a teenager is shit. You’re not considered a full person – you’re not cute enough to be a baby and you’re not old enough to be an adult. Everyone has it hard, it doesn’t matter who you are. Try and hang out with people who make it less hard for you. 
That’s very good advice. 
<a href="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Abu-Banner-body.png"><img loading="lazy" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-12944" src="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Abu-Banner-body.png" alt="ABU documentary film poster" width="380" height="145" /></a> 
Images via Arshad Khan

Fractures at Home: Arshad Khan on Documenting His Family History

Harriet Cummings explores the human psyche and the importance of human relationships in her debut period crime novel 
Set in a small village in the mid-80s, Harriet Cummings brings us her debut novel, <a href="https://www.orionbooks.co.uk/books/detail.page?isbn=9781409169079">We All Begin As Strangers</a>. The tale revolves around a cryptic figure nicknamed the Fox and the disappearance of a young woman named Anna. Before Anna’s disappearance, the residents of the village took an arguably light-hearted view of the Fox, relaying stories about him. Nonetheless, sooner rather than later, tensions and suspicions arise, and with it, distrust and accusations. 
The story is loosely based on true happenings that occurred during the time in which the novel is set. Inhabitants of small provisional villages came together to protect themselves after a pattern of armed burglaries, rape and indecent assault had occurred in their neighbourhoods. Cummings took inspiration from these events after the story had lingered in the back of her mind for many years. When we got in contact with her and asked why this particular historical incident, Cummings said: “It felt powerful to me. I always wondered exactly why the Fox was compelled to spend time in these people&#8217;s homes. The rapes and attacks are, of course, one thing, but to look through private photographs and other possessions is quite another.” There was a want to understand what kind of voyeuristic pleasure or satisfaction was gained, and what would drive a person to do this in the first place. From here, Cummings conceived her fictional story – the true events merely a seed to what blossomed into quite a fascinating tale. 
Cummings did, however, leave out the more malevolent characteristic of the Fox, that being his tendency to rape and abuse his victims. It was a personal choice made by the author and was partly due to the fact that she, as a reader, predominantly doesn’t like violent stories, specifically ones involving violence of the sexual nature. Additionally, the violent aspects of the true story held inferior interest to her in contrast to the curious quality of the voyeurism. It cannot be denied that the Fox’s lack of violence, in actuality, did increase the sinister vibe of the novel, as his motives remained unclear. There’s an almost ghost-story-like ambience that sweeps across the novel. The Fox could very well have been a phantom – he eerily observed the homeowners, moved a few things around, and left with his scent behind as evidence of his presence. This atmosphere feeds into the fear of the unknown that is present in all humans – a violent person wants to hurt, to have power, but what does a person who just comes to watch want exactly? 
What must be praised about this novel, first and foremost, is Cummings’ skill in her detailed world-building. Having been raised in the metropolis of London for nearly my entire life, village life is not something that I would say I was well acquainted with. I’m often told by both family and friends that I need to get out more, see how other people live. It is due to writers like Cummings that I find myself lost in books rather than the outside world. She does an excellent job in transporting the reader to unfamiliar territory, and presenting the small-town claustrophobia where word travels fast and everyone knows everyone’s business. 
The story is told from different perspectives, allowing every significant character to develop an actual personality. While there is logic behind the order of viewpoints, the initial character’s point of view was rather slow and did make getting into the story quite difficult. The sluggish build does require some patience on part of the reader, and I’ll admit, is the reason why it took me a while to complete the novel, and even go so far as to skip parts. This is probably the only evidence that We All Begin As Strangers is Cummings’ first novel – her clear difficulty in balancing the descriptive narrative of the world she creates with character action. Having said that, the detail and care taken in constructing the setting and the story is interesting in and of itself. 
Cummings opted to write from multiple views as a way to explore different sides of Anna&#8217;s personality and the village in general. She said that she “also liked the idea that each character forms a different relationship with the idea of the Fox being in their home, each sharing something in common with this mysterious person.” This created a complex relationship between the villagers and the Fox – there was no simple dichotomy labelling the villagers as exclusively innocent and the Fox as the clear antagonist. Everyone has secrets they wish to keep close to their chests, and in a small village where everyone thinks they know their neighbour, the secrets hold greater weight. This angle of taking multiple points of view, I feel, was pivotal to what I consider to be the core of the novel, and that is to explore the significance of human connections. 
To surmise, the story as a dark crime novel is done well and Cummings’ skills are well-demonstrated. Though pacing could be improved, she does not fail in creating characters with substance and a world that is vivid and real. Whether you like this novel or not, Cummings’ talent as a writer is unarguably remarkable, and her future in the literary arts looks bright. 
For fans of the novel, you’ll be happy to know that Cummings is working on her second book, this time a contemporary dark drama. 
You can purchase a copy of We All Begin As Strangers from <a href="https://www.orionbooks.co.uk/books/detail.page?isbn=9781409169079">Orion Books</a>, <a href="https://www.waterstones.com/%E2%80%A6/harriet-cummings/9781409169048">Waterstones</a> or <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/We-All-Begin-As-Strangers/dp/1409169049">Amazon</a>. 
<a href="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/We-All-Begin-As-Strangers-large-.jpg"><img loading="lazy" class="aligncenter wp-image-12798" src="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/We-All-Begin-As-Strangers-large-.jpg" alt="We All Begin As Strangers - Harriet Cummings" width="375" height="566" /></a>

What Makes a Fox? – We All Begin As Strangers by Harriet Cummings

Print cultures are making a fierce resurgence. In the absence of a grassroots, varied and colourful media landscape, an appetite for self-publishing is taking hold. Even the ebook frenzy is dying down, with consumer sales <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/apr/27/screen-fatigue-sees-uk-ebook-sales-plunge-17-as-readers-return-to-print">plunging by almost a fifth</a> last year. There seems to be no better time for ‘doing it yourself’. 
As a member of the new <a href="https://www.facebook.com/KhidrCollective/">Khidr Collective</a> and fascinated by the rise in print ‘zines’, I was keen to find out more. So I spoke to <a href="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/2016/01/01/when-talha-ahsan-delivered-poetry-as-a-free-man/">Hamja Ahsan</a>, one of our contributors and the co-curator of the <a href="http://diycultures.tumblr.com/">DIY Cultures</a> festival, an annual day festival exploring the intersections of art and activism. 
The festival on 14th May will showcase more than 90 exhibitors at Rich Mix, East London. It will be accompanied by an extended exhibition, DIY Knowledge, which you can see from now until 2nd June. 
Hamja is a writer, artist and human rights campaigner, and will be debuting his book <a href="https://www.bookworks.org.uk/node/1917">Shy Radicals: Antisystemic Politics of the Militant Introvert </a>as part of the programme this year.
How would you define a ‘zine’? 
A zine is a sub-culture – independent, self-published, and usually cheaply made publication. It’s associated with photocopying. It has its own particular history. I guess a zine is something that’s not official. The antithesis of the mainstream. That’s the ethos of it.
Are zines for the marginalised? 
It’s strange because zines are now bigger than ever, even though we have social media. And because production is small-scale, you never lose that face-to-face interaction. When you sell a zine you often meet your buyers at stalls, so I guess you don’t need capital, authoritisation or grants – it doesn’t have that dependency. 
It’s also accessible, it doesn’t require any special abilities. You get a piece of paper, fold it in two and throw in some felt-tips. In some ways, it’s for people who don’t really want to grow up. 
At DIY Cultures, there’ll be a communal table, lots of workshops, and anyone can bring their zines.
How has DIY Cultures evolved since you, Sofia and Helena started the festival five years ago? 
When I was making zines 11 years ago, it seemed to be only me and Sofia. There was that white exclusivity and domination, but that’s changed. 
Each year, DIY Cultures has become more and more ambitious. We now commission short films and animations. I think you can take a zine attitude to anything, whether it’s science, or architecture or interior design. This year we’ve got an architectural collective and a live TV webcast station by Clapham Film Unit playing in the background. 
Instead of the same circuit of people, what I’ve tried to do in the past is feature people who aren’t necessarily in the foreground. My favourite talk I ever did in the first year was ‘Unemployment and Creativity’ and I just invited seven unemployed people to give their insights. I’m quite sick of hearing Owen Jones’ voice – that statement alone can sum up what I’m aiming for.<a href="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/Malaysia-body1.jpg"><img loading="lazy" class="aligncenter wp-image-12765" src="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/Malaysia-body1-1024x768.jpg" alt="DIY Cultures 2017 - Malaysia" width="380" height="285" /></a> 
So have you sought to expand what it means to be ‘lefty’? 
There’s lots of different routes into DIY Cultures and I’m not necessarily representative of everyone. Some may be more interested in craft-making, some infographics, and so on. Even between the organisers, not all of us are particularly ‘radical’. 
I don’t personally agree with all the sub-cultures that we feature and that’s fine. I don’t particularly like what I’d call hyper-intersectionality, because I view it as very academic, very ossified, very US college campus imperialism. People use academic terms as they would use sunnah or hadeeth. I’m not interested in trigger warning culture and calling everything ‘problematic’ every two seconds, I find that just like orthodoxy. 
What we do in the <a href="http://otherasias.webnode.com/toy-box/">Other Asias</a> collective (who feature in DIY Knowledge) is make up our own critical theory phrases, like ‘whiteous indignation’, ‘sub-alterneering’, so we try to be a bit playful with that sort of critical theory. If you take the value of doodling, play, informality, that’s what I value, that’s what I’m trying to foster.
Why did you choose ‘radical mental health’ as a theme for DIY Cultures? 
The most popular event we’ve ever done was the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQasttBaSm8">radical mental health event last year</a> to an audience of over 900 people. The idea just came from the pit of my stomach. 
The cliché of our times is to say, “let’s talk about mental health”, and everyone from Theresa May to the latest fuzzy NGO uses that rhetoric. I’d like to turn that on its head. Before seeing a psychiatrist or medic, there is this other zone. 
The reason I got into zines when I was 13 was the Manic Street Preacher zines in the early ‘90s. There was a guitarist called <a href="http://www.heraldscotland.com/news/13199612.20_years_on__the_strange_disappearance_of_Richey_Edwards_of_Manic_Street_Preachers/">Richard James Edwards</a>, who was very public in speaking about anorexia, self-harm and depression in his interviews and during his hospitalisation. I found such a level of empathy and insight within those interviews. I produced my own Manic-inspired zine called ‘Nausea’ when I was 13. 
I’m interested in redefining, reclaiming and re-authoring depression. I think the relationship between a GP and a patient has its limits. Things like austerity – a doctor is not going to register that. I even find some of the anti-stigma campaigns reinforce biomedical reduction, when they push <a href="https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/statistics-and-facts-about-mental-health/how-common-are-mental-health-problems/#.WRGwhbwrKi4">statistics like ‘1 in 4’</a>. I’m interested in the spiritual dimension of things too.
Why did the Hillsborough campaign capture your attention? 
Hillsborough is the ultimate example of what it means to be fucked over by the mainstream. There’s an amnesia towards the crimes of the British state. Even though I say DIY Cultures is about empowerment of people of colour, the way Liverpool was treated in the 1980s – and I’ll say this strongly as a statement – was akin to racism. There’s no other way of putting it. 
There was the language of <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-16361170">managed population decline</a> used by Margaret Thatcher, and when the James Bulger child murder happened, many blamed the culture of the people of Liverpool – this was in the liberal Guardian, it wasn’t the right-wing press. 
When I went to Liverpool to make my film for the DIY Knowledge exhibition, I found people had an extra level of hospitality, friendliness and support that I hadn’t experienced in London. I saw what a beautiful, resistant, defiant city it was in the ‘80s. I could see the falseness of Thatcher’s demonisation.
<figure id="attachment_12763" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-12763" style="width: 380px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/Hillsborough-body1.jpg"><img loading="lazy" class="wp-image-12763" src="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/Hillsborough-body1.jpg" alt="DIY Cultures - Hillsborough" width="380" height="253" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-12763" class="wp-caption-text">Hamja Ahsan with Sheila Coleman</figcaption></figure>
How did Liverpool champion an alternative media culture? 
People forget that there were many wilderness years where no one had any interest in Hillsborough. Everyone would parrot the same lies about football hooligans killing their own. The zines helped the real stories survive. 
There’s amazing levels of class critique, wit and humour, and creativity in these football fanzines. They had a particular attitude towards mocking Thatcherism, the police and the state, and the language of chairmen of boards. They often use that Scouse sense of humour, laughing through adversity. Zines like ‘The End’ by <a href="https://twitter.com/TheFarm_Peter">Peter Hooton</a> and ‘What’s the Score’ by Pete Naylor. They showed the truth decades before it entered the mainstream – things that weren’t highlighted officially until the second inquest last year. 
Speaking to the campaigners, it was new to me to hear zines talked about as a white working class medium, because we usually assume they’re for middle class hipsters. I built a whole archive of zines from the ‘80s and ‘90s that are totally out of print – they’re treasures for me and I want to give them the time and space they really deserve in future exhibitions.
Can you tell us more about the Theresa May statue? 
The sculpture shows Theresa May as she really is. Don’t get scared. One of my brother’s campaign supporters did a <a href="https://mediadiversified.org/2016/09/20/the-war-on-terror-in-clay/">life-sized sculpture of May</a> and my brother’s <a href="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/2016/01/01/when-talha-ahsan-delivered-poetry-as-a-free-man/">prison poetry</a> is carved into the back. 
The first talk at this year’s festival is called ‘Theresa May &amp; the Others’. May referred to my brother as &#8216;the others&#8217;, and you think, ‘who are the others?’ And I realised there were other others, and that the others is all of us. 
We didn’t know when we started this that a General Election would come. This is my bit to ‘making June the end of May’.
<a href="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/Hamja-body-of-text1.jpg"><img loading="lazy" class="aligncenter wp-image-12764" src="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/Hamja-body-of-text1.jpg" alt="Hamja body of text" width="380" height="253" /></a>
The DIY Cultures 2017 day festival: Zines, Artists’ Books and Comics will be held on 14th May. See the full programme here: <a href="http://diycultures.tumblr.com/programme">http://diycultures.tumblr.com/programme</a>. 
The DIY Knowledge exhibition is open from now until 2nd June in the Lower Cafe Gallery of Rich Mix: <a href="https://www.richmix.org.uk/events/exhibitions/diy-cultures-exhibition-diy-knowledge" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en-GB&amp;q=https://www.richmix.org.uk/events/exhibitions/diy-cultures-exhibition-diy-knowledge&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1494444622616000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFTQ4lzQOe7L7wV3bhoVl7qMjtAVw">https://www.richmix.org.uk/events/exhibitions/diy-cultures-exhibition-diy-knowledge</a>.
<pre>featured and body (final) photo by <a href="http://www.aimvphotography.com/">Aimee Valinski</a></pre>

Hamja Ahsan discusses zines and activism on the fifth anniversary of the DIY Cultures festival in London