The documentary filmmakers reframing the refugee… | Little White Lies

The doc­u­men­tary film­mak­ers refram­ing the refugee crisis

01 Jun 2019

Words by Sarah Jilani

Woman in hijab carrying baby in destroyed urban area.
Woman in hijab carrying baby in destroyed urban area.
For Sama and Tiny Souls show the real­i­ties of con­flict and exile through the eyes of women and children.

There is no war in camps. But no peace, either. There’s a need for every­thing. And yet a desire for noth­ing.” Pales­tin­ian-Jor­dan­ian film­mak­er Dina Naser’s haunt­ing words draw a clear pic­ture of life in Jordan’s Al Zaatari refugee camp, Tiny Souls. Chil­dren form the heart of her doc­u­men­tary: Mar­wa, an obser­vant and mature nine-year-old, her feisty younger sis­ter, Ayah, and their mis­chie­vous younger broth­er, Mah­moud. Even their live­li­ness can’t quite mask the lim­bo of refugeedom.

Anoth­er fam­i­ly, miles away in Syr­ia, decide against this fate. For Sama by Waad al-Kateab and Edward Watts is a visu­al mes­sage from al-Kateab to her baby daugh­ter Sama. An attempt to explain why she and her hus­band stay in Alep­po from 2012 to 2016 as the Assad régime bom­bards the city, urgency and deter­mi­na­tion pro­pel her film – but so do love and vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty. It com­mu­ni­cates uni­ver­sal fears, like a mother’s for her child’s future, with­out min­imis­ing the par­tic­u­lar bru­tal­i­ty of their sit­u­a­tion. What a life I’ve brought you into,” al-Kateab laments. Will you ever for­give me?”

Far from mor­tal dan­ger the chil­dren in Tiny Souls may be, but exile proves anoth­er kind of hard­ship. Nas­er doc­u­ments young Marwa’s excite­ment as the refugee fam­i­ly move to an apart­ment in a Jor­dan­ian city. Look­ing out at the bustling night, Mar­wa hap­pi­ly declares she could almost be back home in Daar’a. But a few months lat­er Nas­er finds the fam­i­ly has returned to Al Zaatari camp. Life was too expen­sive in town,” Mar­wa tells us. A kilo­gram of toma­toes cost a dinar and a half. It costs a quar­ter of a dinar here.”

The con­flict rapid­ly matures chil­dren like Mar­wa into teenagers, and young adults into car­ers, par­ents and guardians. Through­out For Sama, it is easy to for­get al-Kateab is in her twen­ties. She was in the forth year of study­ing for an eco­nom­ics degree when the rev­o­lu­tion began in Alep­po in April 2012. Al-Kateab’s hand-held footage cap­tures how youth demon­stra­tions snow­balled into mass civ­il resis­tance. The state’s sys­tem­at­ic retal­i­a­tion from 2013 onwards took the form of mas­sacres, aer­i­al bomb­ing and chlo­rine gas.

Al-Kateab’s future hus­band, Hamza, is a new doc­tor and fel­low activist; work­ing togeth­er every day under har­row­ing cir­cum­stances, the two even­tu­al­ly mar­ry and attempt to make a home in the briefly rebel-held Alep­po. By the time Sama is born in Jan­u­ary 2016, her father deliv­er­ing her in a hos­pi­tal bomb-proofed with sand­bags, the future of the rev­o­lu­tion is look­ing bleak. When Russ­ian forces demand the sur­ren­der of the remain­ing civil­ians in the city, Al-Kateab, Dr Hamza, and their friends and neigh­bours even­tu­al­ly agree. One snowy morn­ing, they leave Alep­po with heavy hearts.

Young person carrying large metal bowl on head in desert setting, with bright sunlight illuminating the scene.

As Tiny Souls is not auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal, it opts for a method that mir­rors For Sama’s first-per­son inti­ma­cy; Nas­er leaves a cam­era with the chil­dren. Their endear­ing, impromp­tu footage shows off their games, diverse per­son­al­i­ties, and knacks for sto­ry­telling. But these are rare moments of lev­i­ty: food and water secu­ri­ty demands their con­stant atten­tion. At one point, UNICEF tells the fam­i­ly they will only deliv­er water when they have a sur­plus, as their street is not a des­ig­nat­ed refugee area”.

When the Jor­dan­ian police vis­it their old­er broth­er, wrong­ful­ly sus­pect­ing him of being a young Al-Nus­ra or ISIS recruit, the family’s fate is sealed. The broth­er is ques­tioned and Marwa’s fam­i­ly is even­tu­al­ly deport­ed from Al Zaatari camp back to Syr­ia. Nas­er is too late to say good­bye to the chil­dren; she picks up their final tape from a neighbour.

Tiny Souls restores nar­ra­tive agency to the most dis­en­fran­chised – refugee chil­dren – in a qui­et­ly pow­er­ful way. The girls film them­selves, and inter­act with Nas­er nat­u­ral­ly: the result is a unique win­dow into their world via ges­ture, com­po­si­tion and por­trai­ture. For Sama, in con­trast, is cit­i­zen jour­nal­ism that does not flinch from explic­it images of human car­nage, child vic­tims includ­ed. It can­did­ly illus­trates how war shifts cir­cum­stances in a heart­beat, as well as how peo­ple and places can endure. Al-Kateab realis­es her cam­era is her best weapon of activism, and feels duty-bound to record the tra­jec­to­ry of the upris­ing at great per­son­al risk.

These two strik­ing films remind us that bear­ing wit­ness is a defi­ant act. Har­ness­ing both the poet­ic and jour­nal­is­tic pow­ers of doc­u­men­tary For Sama and Tiny Souls cap­ture the expe­ri­ence of one bru­tal, ongo­ing con­flict through its two loca­tions – the home being fought for, and the exile endured for safe­ty. The peo­ple I filmed will nev­er leave me,” al-Kateab con­cludes. If I could rewind, I would do exact­ly the same.”

For Sama and Tiny Souls will screen at the Sheffield Doc/​Fest, which runs 6 – 11 June.

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