When Art Becomes Inconvenient Truth
The Berlin Film Festival recently saw a predictable "row" erupt because French-Palestinian actor Hiam Abbass dared declare that "everything we do is a political act." This assertion, in the context of discussions around film and current global events, was apparently too much for some. Abbass, whose work often explores themes of identity and displacement, simply vocalized what has been self-evident
to artists for centuries. This discomfort with politically engaged art is a familiar script, particularly when the politics in question challenge prevailing Western narratives. Recall how filmmakers like Elia Kazan were blacklisted in Hollywood during the McCarthy era simply for their political affiliations. Or consider the 2003 controversy when Michael Moore’s film Fahrenheit 9/11 , which
critiqued the Iraq War, faced significant resistance from mainstream distributors, despite winning the Palme d'Or at Cannes. Yet, the same institutions that recoil from Abbass's statement readily elevate films that champion state-approved dissent, such as those portraying struggles against officially designated 'adversaries.' The historical record is replete with examples of cinema being
weaponized for propaganda, from Leni Riefenstahl's Olympic films to countless Cold War-era thrillers. The objection is never truly to politics in art, but to *which* politics. If the art serves power, it’s celebrated. If it questions it, it's deemed 'inappropriate' or 'divisive.' The current cinematic struggle is not about whether art is political, but whose voices are permitted to make that art,