“Purple Sea”: Telling Your Own Story

A conversation with Amel Alzakout

Inerviewer: Ira Tantsiura

I managed to see your film as a result of the global pandemic, because festivals opened their programs to viewers around the globe. I was impressed by the political framing of your work, because I haven’t seen many such statements in documentary filmmaking. I’m very grateful for the opportunity to show it to our audience and I wanted to ask if you encountered any obstacles in finding distribution? Sometimes the industry follows this path of screening films with beautiful visual representation, but pays less attention to the importance of the narratives voiced in them.

First of all I want to say that I’m happy Purple Sea can be screened during your festival. We had our first premiere at Berlinale, but after that the film was mostly distributed online. And, of course, it is hard when you can’t see the audience, answer their questions – you constantly feel the distance. Sound is very important in this film and with online screening you can’t be sure if people have access to hear it the way it was designed. I was only able to watch the film in a Hamburg cinema a year into the pandemic and it was like I heard it for the first time. But also I was happy that it is accessible to many audiences online.

I also was wondering how the visual form of the film was received and whether that approach made it difficult to secure screenings.

Of course we got some rejections, and we knew by their responses that festivals were not interested in the direction the film took. The abstraction of the images was annoying for some festival programmers and that could have been the reason for rejection. But the theme of the film was also a problem – some festivals thought there have already been enough films focusing  on refugees, but actually this topic is still very relevant. The form of the film was welcomed by experimental and arthouse cinemas. In the end it was screened on different platforms.

In the film you explicitly voice your frustration with people filming you and I wanted to ask how you address the discourse media are creating around migration and the possibilities of  informing policy at a societal and governmental level? And how can we influence that process from a more humane and empathetic perspective?

Media narratives have definitely influenced every aspect of societal perception and also the art scene and cinema. I came to Germany in 2015 and was watching the news like everybody else, hearing these very narrow and limited narratives created by the media. And it was either invaders or victims of the circumstances, depending on the media outlet. There can’t be only one unified narrative to these stories: all 315 of the people who were on the ship with me had absolutely different stories. Some of them weren’t even fleeing for political reasons. And also reproduction of these violent images is a problem. They are showing people in distress and broadcasting that everywhere. I thought I saw myself on YouTube in one clip and was terrified. It wasn’t me, but people who were with me that day were present and it completely robs you of dignity. Because you are living through a traumatic experience and such a depiction only adds another layer of trauma. And the media are investing in this trauma just to show you their flat empathy or even pursue a harmful agenda using the footage. The perspective of someone who wants to tell their own story was for me the missing piece. And with all the material I’ve gathered,  I commissioned a Forensic Architecture investigation film which was very important in uncovering the truth of what happened.  But telling the story from a personal perspective with ‘Purple Sea’ was much more crucial, and neither perspective overrode the other. 

Forensic Architecture implemented an investigation of your case specifically?

Yes, they had different sources and different footage from volunteers. And people who were involved, taking risks helping others at sea, were facing penalties. Volunteers and even fishermen from both Greece and Turkey were sentenced and some cases are still open. So people are often afraid to help, fearing prosecution. The important part (in Forensic Architectures’ work) was to uncover all these perspectives.

What was your journey after the events depicted in the film? I know how excruciating the process can be and each person has to follow a different path through these multilayered discriminations. And would it help to have the same provisions people from Ukraine now have, with temporary protected status, which is not perfect and has many loopholes, but nevertheless makes the process easier?

Yes, definitely. But the most harmful aspect to this, I guess, is when people in misery feel that it is not fair to them and compare themselves to other people in misery. My route from Greece was easier than the route others are taking now, because after we reached Greece there was this meeting where they [EU-Turkey statement – ed.] decided to close the border for everyone and it was getting difficult for people to cross. At my time it was very organized: we took buses from border to border accompanied by police, where they would take our fingerprints. But it was far from an easy route. I remember one police officer kept asking me specific questions to make sure I’m Syrian, because he heard me speaking English, and that was a clear case of overstepping his duties. You are very much exposed to such experiences either way. Granting temporary protection helps a lot, but living in Germany I know about situations of discrimination against Ukrainian people happening now.

Another issue all people face, after getting their papers, is being forced to work in low-level, low-paid jobs , regardless of their previous professional experience. And I wanted to ask you if the visibility of your story brought you more opportunities?

I’ve always worked as a freelance artist, so I was always outside the system. I’ve been studying ever since I came, so I never tried to apply for a job. But lots of people had these difficulties. For instance to continue your career as a doctor,  you need to enroll in supplementary medical training, or even restart your education from the beginning and it is a very complicated process.

Could you tell more about your work as an artist and themes you are currently exploring?

I’m studying at the Academy of Fine Arts in Leipzig and my specialty is media art. I’m working with cinema, but I’m interested in other forms, like installation, for example. I also make puppets which are used in a film I am currently working on. It is completely the opposite of Purple Sea. Working on Purple Sea was great on many levels, but also tiring and I want a little distance from it. In my current project I can be more creative and free, because I work with puppets and not humans. It is still a political work, very personal, like Purple Sea, but I’m not talking about myself in it directly. I work a lot on memory and in particular displaced memory, the relations between new places and strong memories. Using the memory itself as a space is one of the things I’m interested in. 

Sounds very interesting. I would love to see it someday. And speaking of memories, we named our program “When Trees Bloom at Home Again” to make apparent these connections to subtle memories of home like flavors, sounds and smells. Do you think you will be able to return to your trees one day?

The problem is that the trees are gone. I think the country which I miss doesn’t exist anymore. This is what I always hear from my parents who are still in Syria. It is a different country, more fascist. Everything we tried to fight through the revolution exists twice as much now. What’s happening in Ukraine affects this situation, and not only Syria, but the whole world. I really miss the trees, but those trees that I can picture in my head. Many people shared that after the revolution and the war they lost certain memories and other memories became stronger. It happened to me personally when my very old childhood memory became permanent and other memories just vanished. So going back to my childhood would be nice, but that place just doesn’t exist anymore. I’m actually scared to go back and now I have a daughter and can’t imagine raising her there.  When I see images from Ukraine, I keep thinking how hard it is to leave your home and come back to it completely destroyed. Of course you can make it again and do it much more beautifully, but something which is more important than the stones is gone and this is very harsh.