We are in the midst of the independent film festival season, and audiences are watching important documentaries telling the unknown narratives of our time. In an era where Muslim American stories are tokenized and marginalized, telling the real stories from the members of the community, through the power of documentary films, is more important than ever.
Documentary films about Muslims in the United States are re-centering lived experiences to empower a community who often have their stories excluded by the mainstream. Since violence in Gaza began, we have seen an increase in Islamophobic violence against Muslims across the country. These narratives have the power to show non-Muslim viewers a glimpse of these experiences, and allow Muslim viewers to be empowered by seeing their own narratives on screen.
This year, the acclaimed Muslim American documentary films that are making the rounds include 2020 CAAM Fellow Jude Chehab’s feature Q about the influence of a matriarchal religious order has on three generations of women; Tarek Albaba’s feature 36 Seconds: Portrait of a Hate Crime about the 2015 Chapel Hill shooting of three Muslim college students by their neighbor; and Li Lu’s series A Town Called Victoria about the aftermath of a town in Texas after the local mosque is burned down in a hate crime. Q and 36 Seconds screened at CAAMFest in May, and the CAAM-funded series A Town Called Victoria was broadcast on PBS and streamed online. Additionally, many of these makers were featured speakers at CAAMFest’s Filmmaker Summit this year.
But simply having Muslim protagonists in documentary films is not the barometer for successfully telling stories that truly represent the diverse stories of the community. In 2022, the documentary film Jihad Rehab premiered at the Sundance Film Festival, only to be met with a resounding backlash from the Muslim American community. The film, made by a non-Muslim, depicts four Yemenis in the Guantanamo Bay detention camp, and was critiqued by the Muslim filmmaking community as unethical and recycling of a harmful and Islamophobic narrative associating Muslims with extremism. An intense campaign by Arab, Middle Eastern, Muslim, and South Asian (AMEMSA) filmmakers led to the withdrawal of the film from further festivals and distribution. This campaign highlighted not only how narratives with Islamophobic tropes are easily able to proceed through production, while more meaningful projects by and for AMEMSA communities struggle to get made.
This was one of many topics Muslim filmmakers were discussing at the Muslim-themed panels and conversation circles held this year at the International Documentary Association’s (IDA) Getting Real Conference and CAAMFest. Creating a documentary film about Muslims in the United States involves navigating a nuanced landscape of cultural sensitivity, representation, and systemic challenges. This endeavor is fraught with unique difficulties, particularly in securing funding amidst rising Islamophobia. Over the course of these conversations, some common emerging themes appeared.
Representation
Filmmakers bear a profound responsibility when telling stories about their own communities. “If I think the images other people have made about me and us matter, why doesn’t mine?” filmmaker Aizzah Fatima commented on the Surviving the Aftermath: Protecting Creative Expression panel at IDA’s Getting Real Conference. This question underscores the power of self-representation and the need for Muslim American filmmakers to take control of their narratives. Accurate representation is not just about depicting the diversity within the community but also about challenging and correcting the pervasive stereotypes that exist in mainstream media.
Islamophobia in Film Funding
Filmmakers say that securing funding for documentaries centered on Muslim stories is increasingly challenging due to inherent biases and Islamophobia in the industry. In response to the heightened Islamophobia era after the 2017 U.S. ban on the entry of people from Muslim nations, we saw from progressive and liberal allies an upswell of shallow support for all things Muslim, from safety pins to a hijabi on the Women’s March poster to token Muslim characters in many television shows. But, since then, we have seen a noticeable pulling back and reluctance to fund projects that deal with Muslim themes, often masked by excuses like “market risks” or “sensitive content.” Another panelist from the Surviving the Aftermath: Protecting Creative Expression panel noted, “When I was younger and making my first film, I really believed that funders and underwriters were here for the artists and that they wanted to support emerging artists of color and support us – but they are actually vampires and it’s truly a vampiric relationship, where it is extractive and rarely are we actually considered.” The stark reality remains that the films funded or supported often shape the narratives in the public eye. The systemic biases in funding mechanisms are not just about economic challenges but also about who gets to control the story.
Ethical Storytelling
Ethical storytelling is a cornerstone of documentary filmmaking. One conversation centered around the importance, especially with Muslim subjects, of filmmakers approaching their subjects with humility and integrity. Engaging with community members as collaborators on the film rather than mere subjects is crucial. This approach ensures that the narrative remains authentic and resonant. It is equally as important to create an impact campaign in the launch of the film to ensure that the film will reach the audience that it needs to be seen by.
So often, the films that get shuttled through are ones in which Muslim protagonists are caricatures used to recycle problematic tropes. In a conversation about the film Sirens, which follows Lebanon’s first all-woman thrash metal band, “The filmmaker kept getting feedback that there wasn’t enough drama,” said Aizzah, “This is a movie about a lesbian metal band breaking up and trying to work together. That’s not enough drama?
In the same panel, filmmaker Anam Abbas responded, “The character in my film was losing custody of her son because of substance abuse issues, and the person comes up to me and says the story should be, but she’s losing custody of her son due to Sharia law.” These presumptions of violence or misogyny can fuel portrayals of Muslims as victims, versus fully-fleshed characters in control of their own narrative.
Alternative Routes and Community Support
Given the industry’s lack of nuanced perspective, Muslim American filmmakers are increasingly exploring alternative routes to fund and distribute their work. Crowdfunding, independent grants, and partnerships with advocacy organizations are becoming viable options. The power of community support cannot be overstated. As one filmmaker shared, “There is a whole other model of… an independent film fully funded by the American Muslim community.” This approach not only provides financial support but also ensures that the community’s stories are told by those who understand and live them.
Self-censorship and External Censorship
Filmmaker Assia Boundaoui pointed out the double-edged sword faced by Muslim filmmakers: Filmmakers often face subtle forms of censorship and framing expectations. “We are expected to make films that translate us and our people for a white gaze, with a palatable framework,” Assia explained. This often involves a focus on resilience and non-resistance, rather than liberation.
As a personal example, Assia discussed the making of The Feeling of Being Watched, a film about her predominantly Palestinian community in Chicago. The subtle censorship manifested in the language they could use; saying “Palestine” was avoided in favor of “Arab” or “Muslim community” to ensure support and funding. This experience highlighted the internalized censorship many filmmakers adopt to navigate industry expectations. “We have internalized so much of that…deconstructing all the ways we internalize the censorship and the things we do not say before someone else says don’t say it,” Assia elaborated.
Aizzah’s experience further underscores this issue. After presenting her film about a Muslim American community, she was advised against using the term “Islamophobia” because it made people uncomfortable. Her response was, “It’s not my job to make people comfortable because I’m very uncomfortable every day.” These experiences underscore the tension between authenticity and palatability in documentary filmmaking.
Speaking on the Filming With Family panel at the CAAMFest Filmmaker Summit, filmmaker Jude Chehab also referred to self-censorship in the making of her film Q, which turns the lens on a secretive women’s religious sect. “I had to tap into myself and ask – what is my intention?” said Jude, with regards to making her film. “Am I making this because it’s a topic no one’s seen before from the region, especially from Muslim women? And what is that going to do for my community? As Muslims, we already have so many bad images… [here] I’m in control of that, and I can continue that narrative or stop it. Then, I realized I want to make a more nuanced story and the story of the family. This intimate journey has so much more weight because it has become a smaller film. It can touch people.”
In conclusion, making a documentary for the Muslim American community is a task that requires deep cultural understanding, ethical storytelling, and resilience in the face of systemic challenges. The insights from these conversations with Muslim filmmakers emphasize the importance of self-representation, community involvement, and persistently fighting against islamophobia. While the industry presents significant obstacles the Muslim American filmmaking community is self-organizing and finding alternative solutions to getting their films made.
Tanzila “Taz” Ahmed is a political strategist, storyteller, and artist based in Los Angeles. She creates at the intersection of counternarratives and culture-shifting as a South Asian American Muslim 2nd-gen woman. She’s turned out over 500,000 Asian American voters, recorded five years of the award winning Good Muslim Bad Muslim podcast and is currently an Impact Fellow with the Asian American Documentary Network.
