Dispatch

To our beloved audience members all around the world. It is with great sadness that we share today that Human Rights Watch has announced it will be closing the Human Rights Watch Film Festival after 35 incredible years due to a financial restructure at the organization. Read the official statement about the festival’s closure here

Since 1988, The Human Rights Watch Film Festival has showcased nearly 1,000 independent films, in 30 cities across the globe. Ours was the longest running human rights film festival in the world. We want to thank our dearly loved cinema partners, staff, our collaborators and partner organizations, volunteers, the thousands of filmmakers we have worked with - and most importantly: you, our committed, supportive audience members. Over the years we have welcomed hundreds of thousands of audience members through our cinema (or virtual) doors. Our events were designed to inspire you to get involved and make a difference, but nothing at all could happen - without seeing you enter the theaters, take your seats, applaud for the filmmakers, sign our petitions and more. We festival staff would delight to see each new face, and to get a chance to reconnect to the devoted community members who have never missed an opening night. Each one of you have made a lasting impact in this work, changing the conversation around arts and human rights around the world. It is because of your support, participation and enthusiasm that the festival has been able to create such a powerful platform for films and critical conversations for over three decades. 

Thank you, wholeheartedly, for being part of our community and for the power of your support. Thank you for your thoughtful questions and for being active participants in creating change together. 

One of the best parts of this work has always been to see members of our audience file out of the theater after a film, to hear your reflections on the film, and to see you line up to speak with the human rights activists, filmmakers and volunteers - as you asked them what can YOU do to make a difference. The world needs you now more than ever, and we encourage you to stay curious, continue to be informed and to continue in your support of films that uncover the truth about our world. 

We invite you to continue the conversation and share your favorite festival memories with us on social media, by tagging us or replying to our posts on Twitter or Instagram.

With all of our appreciation and gratitude to you, 

The Human Rights Watch Film Festival team 

John Biaggi, Jen Nedbalsky, Leah Sapin, Frances Underhill, Ariel Ottey 

Human Rights Watch had the honor of screening the beautifully personal documentary, Daughter of a Lost Bird, at our New York and London film festivals, which shares the story of Kendra Mylnechuk Potter, who was adopted into a white family and raised with no knowledge of her Native American parentage. The film follows Kendra as she discovers her Native identity, finds her birth mother, April, also a Native adoptee, and returns to her Lummi homelands in Washington State.

This issue is in the news as the state of Texas and several families adopting Native American children are challenging a federal law  aimed at preventing Native American children from being separated from their extended families and their tribes.  The US Supreme Court heard arguments in November in a case, Brackeen vs. Haaland, that many Native people fear may have broader implications for tribal sovereignty and self-governance. The Supreme Court will issue a decision by June 30, 2023.

Kendra and April’s stories show the impact of US government actions to erase an entire culture, including the 1958 Indian Adoption Project, which removed Native children from their families and placed them in white homes in an effort to “kill the Indian and save the man.”

In 1978, Congress found that hundreds of thousands of Native American children had been taken from their homes, sometimes by force, and placed in institutions or with families that had no tribal connections. According to the National Indian Child Welfare Association, 35 percent of all Native children had been removed from their homes and 85 percent of them were sent to non-Indian homes.

The effect this had on these adoptees is made clear in the film - April states: “It's taken me a long time to believe I belong places. When someone says "You're Lummi" I can't wrap my mind around it. I don't know what that means.” The tribes saw these actions as a threat to their very existence, and Congress agreed, passing the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA) of 1978.The law establishes minimum standards for the removal of Native American children from their families and establishes a preference that when Native American children are taken from their homes, they be placed with extended family members or with other Native families.

Through this one powerful story of a mother and daughter, Daughter of a Lost Bird is able to break down a complex set of issues and make them extraordinarily accessible and human to understand, and show what is at stake if the law is overturned.

Interested readers  can watch our Q&A here with filmmaker Brooke Pepion Swaney (Blackfeet/Salish), film participant Kendra Mylenchuk Potter (Lummi) and Terry Cross (Seneca), National Indian Child Welfare Association Founder & Senior Adviser. Moderated by Matika Wilbur (Swinomish & Tulalip) and Adrienne Keene (Cherokee), hosts of podcast "All My Relations." Recorded at the New York film festival in  May 2021.

As Kendra Mylnechuk Potter says in the film:“As I am slowly finding my own way through identity, realising that I am actually a perfect example of assimilation, a perfect example of ‘kill the Indian save the man’, and I am a saved man and a dead Indian - it's tragic. I just don't know how to be with that.”
 

Written by Shazia Khawaja, Together Films

Since 2012, the UK’s “hostile environment policy” for refugees has resulted in unnecessary obstacles for  those seeking asylum; people often fleeing from persecution and violence as they try to rebuild their lives in the UK. In Anna Konik’s Silence Heard Loud we hear first hand from seven refugees on their experience of finding home again and trying to become a part of a new UK community. The film is being screened online as part of the Human Rights Watch Film Festival from now until March 25. We heard from some of Silence Heard Loud’s subjects about their experiences and hopes for the film.  

What did the experience of telling your story in the film SILENCE HEARD LOUD mean to you?  

Nirmala Madushani: “I feel liberated to tell my story as a woman of colour so that our society can learn how difficult it is to be a woman from a marginalised group and to be a victim of domestic violence. Telling my story was so important to me as it really proved that I was treated differently even when my life was in danger only because I was a coloured immigrant woman. There wasn't any law to protect me or other immigrant domestic violence victims for a long time. Therefore, so many vulnerable immigrant women were not able to leave their abusive environment.  When some victims left and reported to the authorities, they then became Home Office deportation targets. Unfortunately, I also got caught up in this situation.  I felt that I was just a number for the Home Office and became one of the victims of a politically motivated witch hunt as a result of the hostile environment policies.  After what I experienced, I wanted to stand against social inequality and injustice.  I wanted to give a voice to my experience so other people can learn how social inequality has a negative effect on under-privileged people in society.  I hope by telling my story this will also encourage women to leave abusive relationships and rebuild their lives.  After all, we should never be victims forever.  We should always move forward to freedom.  “     

What do you hope audiences who watch SILENCE HEARD LOUD at the HRWFF London will take away from the film?  

Michael Darko: “The main point I hope that the audiences who watch SILENCE HEARD LOUD will take away is that no human person leaves the comfort of their home and loved ones to become a refugee. Our silence of abuse, trauma and shame is at times a helpful armour to put on to save face, be accepted and liked by others and most importantly, to not scare white Europeans. The unconscious fear of the other, which continues to navigate the human relations between white Europeans towards brown, black and non-white people, must be first acknowledged and valued so that we can do away the myths and dehumanisation which will facilitate the environment to affect meaningful change. The unconscious fear of the other is also a heavy armour for the white European who fears to lose what it means to be a white European, culture etc. The amour of silence restricts people from speaking openly about their fears of the other, as they can be seen as racist or be made a centre of focus for everyone to point fingers at and project every negative thought about the other onto this individual. In doing so, the rest can satisfy themselves to think they are good people. I firmly believe that there are no good or bad people; we are all simply people, capable of good and bad. If we are both able to put down our armour, we will realise that there is no other….” 

Njideka Obi: “Silence Heard Loud is a paradox where compassion, caring, emotional sharing, and deep communication are all drowned out within the sound of silence resulting in considerable amount of distress. It is about the inability of people to communicate, not in terms of plain language, or international issues, but rather spiritually and emotionally. The premise of my thought is that only by understanding how migrants themselves experience forced migration, their perspectives, and their needs, will governments, policy makers, practitioners, and the members of the public be able to get involved to determine how best the policies should be reformed to ensure fairness, inclusion, effectiveness, equity, and sustainability.    

I’m keen to share my lived experience of migration and the UK border controls with a wider audience and a public-facing blog documenting it is a good chance. The aim primarily is about advancing our knowledge and understanding of the world we live in with reference to the forced migrants. Participating in this project offered a vital chance for me to bring a unique insight into the plight of migrants to the notice of the audience.  

While I see what is going on with this often-neglected group in our society, where they feel hemmed in by a humanly fabricated existence that keeps them from experiencing the rest of the world; that keeps their focus on what is close at hand rather than reaching out and expanding their horizons. I find no way to communicate this truth to others but through mediums like this. 

Silence has a voice: a continuous, high-pitched inner sound like white noise in the background. It is a sound that is beginningless and endless. This project is intended to contribute to not only academic knowledge and debate, but to have relevance and illuminate the role migration plays in our society, revitalising ways we think about migration and more accurately reflecting the reality of inclusive lived experience and therefore more effective in addressing it.  

Because most people have no real in-depth understanding of the meaning of the plight of refugees, they seem incapable of doing anything to change it. Knowledge and awareness will empower the audience to fully engage in supporting the call on the government to "create more safe routes" for refugee families from a camp or conflict/war zone (e.g., Ukraine) to come directly to the UK. To walk beside them as they rebuild their lives and help them integrate in the light of love and belief of a better kind of humanity. This is a way of (lifting up voices) who are more typically thought of as vulnerable and passive victims and might help to bring the ‘invisible’ forced migrant into view.” 

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Silence Heard Loud is screening virtually as part of the Human Rights Watch Film Festival until March 25th. You can also tune in to a replay of our live conversation following the opening night screening here.  

We do not want cost to be a barrier to watching these films, free tickets are available on a first come, first serve basis. Email filmticket@hrw.org for a free ticket code to any screening.  

“There is a thing out there called inclusion and I need to get it.” In a year where a pandemic divided nations, states, and households, and systemic racism in our country and around the world continued to result in senseless murders, this line from the recently released documentary Forget Me Not by director Olivier Bernier seems all the more urgent. Inclusion has never been more important to our future. As advocates, however, we are sadly aware that segregation and exclusion remain the norm at home and worldwide, and inclusion only a dream.

If we truly wish for a different future, we have to start by creating inclusive communities for our children everywhere, especially in our schools. New York City Schools remain among the most segregated in the nation – racially, ethnically, and for students with disabilities for whom we advocate. During the 2019-2020 school year in NYC public schools there were 53,858 students – about the capacity of Yankee Stadium – who spent the majority of their school day in special classes for students with disabilities, completely segregated from their peers.[1] This is not in our community’s best interest because research data strongly indicate that outcomes improve for all students, those with and without disabilities, when students are educated in inclusive environments.[2] 

During the past forty years, INCLUDEnyc has helped hundreds of thousands of these students and their families fight for inclusion. Yet even with our support they have often felt overwhelmed by systems and barriers that perpetuate segregation rather than inclusion. Human Rights Watch investigations on inclusive education for children with disabilities show similar issues in nations around the world. Countries on almost every continent, such as Brazil, Iran, South Africa, and Russia, are failing to create vibrant, inclusive communities and integrate children with non-disabled peers.

In the United States, we have had clear protections against discrimination and segregation under the law for more than 45 years. The 1975 Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) requires schools and school districts to educate children with disabilities in their least restrictive environment and to the maximum extent educated with children who are not disabled. Nearly half a century later, inclusion is still rare and elusive.

Forget Me Not, which premieres at the Human Rights Watch Film Festival this week, is a perfect example of this far-too-typical story. The film chronicles Olivier and his wife Hilda’s advocacy from birth through kindergarten for their 3-year-old son, Emilio, who has Down Syndrome. It highlights the barriers to securing Early Intervention services to help Emilio progress and an evaluation process for kindergarten placement focused on identifying Emilio’s failures rather than his potential. In the end, over the strong objections of his parents and teacher, and a school with an integrated classroom willing to admit him, school officials recommend a segregated kindergarten setting for Emilio. Another example of a child and his peers denied the opportunity to learn from each other in a rich environment that celebrates differences. Another opportunity lost to break the system of segregation and build new connections and skills for our children.

As our country continues our painful quest for diversity and inclusion, we must value every member of our community. Our dream is for Emilio’s story to no longer be typical here or anywhere in the world.

 Our dream is to bring our young people together, in schools, in the community, and in our workplaces, not keep them apart.

Carlos Ríos-Espinosa is a senior researcher and advocate on disability rights at Human Rights Watch. Barbara Glassman is the Executive Director of INCLUDEnyc, a resource and training nonprofit supporting young people with disabilities and advocating for their meaningful inclusion in the community.