t’s Friday morning and I’m on a plane bound for
the Hot Docs International Film Festival in Toronto
for the world premiere of a new documentary I
collaboratively directed, In My Blood it Runs. Shot
over two years in the Northern Territory, the film
shares the story of Dujuan, a 10-year-old Arrernte/
Garrwa boy who must navigate growing up black
in Australia. Thrillingly, Dujuan, his mother Megan
and five other family members are sitting beside
me. For some, it’s their first flight; for all, it’s their first
time overseas. They’re excited. I’m exhausted.Trying to get everyone to Canada has been a
Kafkaesque nightmare. It has reinforced just how
hard it is for people facing disadvantage to navigate
systems and experience opportunities in the way that
most Australians take for granted. For me, travelling to
North America requires a few easy clicks on a screen.
For the other members of our team, compiling travel
documents is an endless administrative process.Home in Alice Springs, Megan and I set about getting
her identification documents. In exchange for a stack of
paperwork and $38, the NT Office of Births, Deaths and
Marriages issue Megan a copy of her birth certificate.
Twenty minutes in a queue at the Motor Vehicle
Registry teaches us that identity requires consistent
spelling, and Megan’s birth certificate was one letter
short. There’s another $38 to obtain a correctly spelled
birth certificate before zigzagging another snaking
queue to have the ID reissued. The following day we
discover that Megan’s last name is misspelled on her
Medicare card and that her middle name is incorrect
on her Centrelink card. Each inconsistency invalidated
the rest of her ID and resulted in a banal, longwinded
interaction and a new mountain of paperwork. This
was the case for almost every piece of identification
for the seven First Nations people travelling. With
two weeks until the film’s premiere, an array of 18
incorrect identity documents lie on my kitchen table.
How did so many bureaucrats assume that it didn’t
matter enough to ask how to spell a person’s name?The most important lesson I’ve learned while making
this film is that family is everything. If any one of
Dujuan’s family was left behind, they would question
why anyone went at all. It’s this continuum of this
unconditional love and mutual care that gives thesefamilies the sustenance to survive our impenetrable
systems of oppression. This trip was an opportunity to
support Dujuan, who would be courageously sharing his
story for the first time on an international stage. Why
was it so hard to get a family—with an explicit business
purpose to travel—as invited guests of North America’s
largest documentary festival, overseas for six days?Over these last months, I have demanded attention to
the misspelled names and developed an unapologetic
register when speaking to all levels of bureaucrats.
But in leveraging my privilege to solve this ludicrous
administrivia, I was struck by how corrosive this process
is to the collaborative dynamic we had established
with the family. I was forced, again and again, into the
colonial role of “saviour”—one that we, as a team,
have always explicitly tried to avoid. This family are
my collaborators, mentors, teachers and friends; they
have led me and generously let me into their world.
In My Blood It Runs was made in collaboration with
those who feature onscreen; we have shared creative
decisions, resources, and have worked to ensure that
the people in the film are in control of the ways in which
they were represented. While not always perfect, we
made a big effort to challenge conventional power
dynamics. Yet my role as bureaucratic “problem
solver” threw these small wins into jeopardy.Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples’ stories
should always be told with a collaborative approach
in documentary because of the violence so often
done by misappropriation and misrepresentation.
Deep equity-oriented collaboration is fundamental
for social justice. In popular media and arts discourse,
the notion of the auteur is central. Here, artistic
success is heralded by a singular creative vision.
Screen bodies ask for the director’s name, festival
travel allowances fund the director alone, media
outlets want to speak to the director and awards ask
for one name to engrave on their celebratory plaque.
These funding and distribution architectures diminish
community-driven approaches. They put artfulness
up against process. Why isn’t ethical co-design
driving structural innovation of the film industry?It was eight days before take-off and after much
tenacity, the passport applications were in, but I
hadn’t even considered the federal police check.How systems marginalise
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ALUMNI ON BELONGING 27