Previous/Next sections
Introduction
Memory I : Fragmented identities
1.1 Presenting the unimaginable
1.3 What kind of immigrant filmmaker can I be?
Memory II Essentialism in diaspora
2.1 What part of me is intresting for you?
2.3 Memories of memories of memories
Memory III : The Swedish project
3.2 Re-thinking Us and the Others
Results
4 Navigating the discursive field(s)
There is an ethical dilemma of representation in all situations where stories are told - especially if minorities are presented in the stories to an audience that generally do not interact with this minority. Any film made about immigrants in Sweden risk becoming the newest manual on how to understand immigrants. When the book, then film trilogy, then series Snabba Cash came, it was often referred to as a factual description of the situation for youth in underprivileged suburbs (Aftonbladet 2022). The same with the series Kalifat, which was frequently discussed as a realist depiction of how recruitment to islamist terrorism is done in Sweden (Expressen 2020). Film is hence not limited to an art form or entertainment; it constitutes our understanding of reality in a much broader sense. Documentary film even more so with its’ claim to truthfulness as a contract with the audience. It not only shapes the collective memory, it can be used as evidence in negotiating the right or true understanding of a historic event or social issue (Nichols 1991). It is thus relevant to reflect on who gets to give their truth, why, and what perspectives are excluded. It is even more relevant, as an ethical point of departure, to reflect on the premises of this production. Who am I to decide what voices to be heard or not? What are my own perspectives and what am I advocating for, if anything at all? What is the purpose of the project? Who needs this story to be documented? Like all ethical considerations, this is not a check list that can be theoretically discussed at one point during a project and then considered done. Ethics need to be returned to and grounded collectively throughout the work process, in every context and related to the issues at hand with emphasis on care and empathy for the subjects (Ellis 2016).
My initial drive and attraction to cinema was story telling. However, after migration, the desire to change the narrow image of “us”, as in immigrants in Sweden, has grown within me. Furthermore, with distance to my life in Iran, the absurdities of everyday life and the contradictions have become increasingly clear, the experiences of people under the shadow of this regime, what was just an ordinary day to me before, is now a very important story that must be documented, because it’s part of our collective history. Regardless of where in the world I am situated, I feel entitled to these experiences because I have lived them and because my loved ones continuously re-live them.
The discussion about cultural appropriation is relevant to have for diaspora filmmakers, but with a different emphasis. From what I have seen in recent years, not least after the rise of the Women Life Freedom-movement, the interest for Iranian diaspora artists to produce work in Persian and/or in relation to Iran has risen. I do see a risk of marginalizing voices from Iran, when lifting up ourselves and creating platforms for us in diaspora as representing Iranian arts. If possible, during my years in Sweden, I have had the ambition to co-produce, to send material for post-production, or to co-operate in other ways with Iran-based artist. I don’t want to establish and make a career at the expense of fellow filmmakers in Iran, who are not funded by Swedish institutions and who do not enjoy the freedom of expression that I have here. This is not a discussion about charity or pity, but recognition of the unequal terms on which we produce arts, be it film or other. As much as the Swedish gaze of difference is heavy on me, the material and legal conditions for me to produce film here is incomparable with Iran. Especially documentaries about exiled political dissidents and underground metal bands. I acknowledge this privilege and I commit to the only way I know how to change the injustices of the great world; through creating a micro cosmos within my production sets where we can practice democratic decision-making and collective memory work, where I can dispatch what is possible of the production to colleagues in Iran or elsewhere in diaspora, where we can begin to re-think the borders dividing us and hear each others perspectives as an act of disobedience to the hegemony of nationalist thinking. On this account, we can reach within ourselves and access stories that haven’t yet been told.
I have discussed the concept of the single story. If I were to have one shot at telling a story about my hometown Tehran, what would it be? Would it be in the tone of Marjan Farsads nostalgia and longing for the trees of my grandfathers backyard, or more with the bitter sentiment of Bomrani’s depressed children and empty streets where everyone have migrated? Frankly, I tune in to both these feelings, sometimes simultaneously. I hate having to choose. Already as a kid, I was the one crying in the amusement park, because from the seats of every ride my parents took me on, all I could see was a different carousel, and I wanted that too. I want to make film in/about Iran, but also about Sweden and about the diaspora. The artistic vision starting to take form builds on layers of ideas; to work with collective memories through multiple voices and a fusion of horizons and to activate the contingent meaning of diaspora in order to form a different imaginary. This way, the stories told can help us dissolve ourselves and others, instead of cementing stereotypes.