Navigating the Film Cultural Ecosystem in the Face of Genocide with Members of Palestine Film Institute

Established in 2019, the Palestine Film Institute (PFI) is a voluntary, independent non-profit organisation founded by Palestinian film professionals who united to develop, promote, and preserve Palestine’s film culture. By supporting emerging talents, developing international partnerships, and offering alternate platforms for the screening and discussion of films, the PFI strives to empower filmmakers and to serve the production of knowledge around Palestinian cinema.

 In this interview, conducted on March 21, 2025, PFI members Saeed Taji Farouky, Mohamed Jabaly, and Mohanad Yaqubi reflect on the organisation’s origins, its role in preserving the militant cinema of the 1960s-80s, and the challenges of navigating an industry often complicit in the silencing of Palestinian voices. Amidst the ongoing genocide in Gaza, the PFI’s work has become not just about supporting film production but about forging solidarity, defiance, and maintaining a cultural legacy for future generations.

 https://www.palestinefilminstitute.org/

SM: To start, could you tell us about how the Palestine Film Institute came into being?

MY: The PFI initially emerged from a need felt by several filmmakers and producers, as we all kept meeting at festivals without having any proper representation. However, apart from us, we noticed that all other national groups had their own gathering points and institutional support. This is how the idea originally emerged: we wanted something to empower us in the film scene, to connect us, so when attending festivals, we wouldn’t feel alone.

We regularly attended Cannes, IDFA, Toronto – all the major festivals – and realised there were actually six or seven of us, but we were always separated and dispersed. This fragmentation mirrored our political reality—no central representation behind us existed. In response to this situation, we considered creating an institute that could give us a collective voice when making requests or applications. Practically speaking, it is standard in the industry that applying as a group of producers—say, six or seven of them—gets you better accreditation deals and discounts than applying individually. The same goes for travel grants and accommodation; it is easier to request support for a group. This logistical need was the starting point, and it culminated at the 2018 Cannes Film Festival when we created the Palestinian pavilion.

It is also important to note that these discussions among various directors and producers, who felt the need for a form of representation or support system, began much earlier, sometime around 2014-2016. The Cannes pavilion became the catalyst—when we received funding and support to create it, we had to confront the question: “Who are we?” That’s when we decided to formally establish the Palestine Film Institute, inspired by the Palestine Cinema Institute that represented Palestinian cinema in the 1970s. We deliberately called it the Palestine Film Institute rather than the Cinema Institute. Still, we incorporated many elements from the original institute—the font we used for the logo, for example, comes from the 1970s design, which we modernised.  I would say that while our aesthetics and inspiration come from that earlier period, our approach is very much 21st-century.

MJ: From my perspective, the PFI emerged, as Mohanad mentioned, from the need for a representative body that could gather all Palestinian filmmakers under one umbrella, with one unified voice, free from any political agenda. What unites us all is simply filmmaking and our shared love and passion for cinema.

Given that the world already sees us as stateless people, and we were fragmented across various festivals, this institute became a place where we can finally belong—it is the closest thing to a home, connecting us all. This was what drew me to join the Institute during the 2018 kickoff. 

Money was never the motivation – none was involved at all. It was purely about dedicating our time out of our love and passion for cinema. What’s remarkable is how many of us there are. Whenever we put out a call for project submissions these days, we are always surprised by the volume of responses we receive. We officially registered in 2019, and since then, we have gradually developed a more sustainable structure, including a board, a general assembly, and so on.

SF: Today, the institute serves several functions. On a political level, it operates as a unified voice to advocate for Palestinian cinema, whether engaging with festivals, running campaigns, confronting the suppression of Palestinian voices and culture, or proactively supporting the creation of new Palestinian cinema. The PFI also functions as an archive; it preserves the 1960s and 1970s militant cinema, while also archiving and maintaining contemporary Palestinian production. For me, this archival mission serves as the spiritual mission of resisting the genocide of Palestinian culture.

MY: In essence, the institute works to support, promote, and preserve Palestinian cinema. We aim to design all our projects and activities according to these three interconnected purposes, as Saeed mentioned.

FA: You mentioned how PFI recalls the Palestine Cinema Institute – not just aesthetically, but also in its recent projects that focus on preserving and revitalising the militant cinema of the 1970s, fighting against cultural erasure. I’ve also noticed how, Mohanad, for example, you often emphasise in your talks the necessary relationship between archival work and academic research about that period. How does PFI navigate the interplay of these elements?

MY: The truth is that none of us was formally trained in cultural management. We are not an NGO. Instead, we have evolved according to our members’ needs, though I hesitate to call them “beneficiaries.” We respond to practical necessities as they arise. For example, recently, during an assembly we had with our network of filmmakers, we identified a need for legal consultation – something we had not initially considered. In the cinema domain, legal matters primarily concern revenue agreements and contracts between producers and filmmakers. But Palestinian cinema faces broader legal challenges and requires protection from challenges like anti-Palestinian bias, cancellations, and the complete power imbalance between Palestinian filmmakers and the industry, as we lack state support for financial or legal security. To whom do you turn with legal concerns without governmental infrastructure? This realisation emerged directly from listening to filmmakers’ needs. We do not impose top-down solutions; we are embedded in the film community, serving as a lobbying mechanism. Our registered institutional status provides a certain structure – for instance, we can reference Belgian laws in cases of conflict since PFI is registered in Belgium. It is this hybrid reality: Palestinian political identity must navigate through European legal frameworks.

MJ: I would also add that since we are filmmakers ourselves, we have a firsthand understanding of the filmmakers’ needs. We have experienced certain challenges that we do not want emerging filmmakers to face as they take their first steps into the industry. Our goal is to make access easier and create special opportunities for showcasing Palestinian filmmakers on international stages. Pitching films internationally requires tremendous effort, and we help streamline this process through our showcase programs. It is not about making it easy in terms of the required work—filmmakers still need to present and do their job—but we consolidate the process through one body that provides closer access to the industry and helps facilitate connections.

This approach grew from our own struggles. As filmmakers, we know how difficult it is to get selected for festivals or to secure pitching opportunities. The political climate actively works to silence Palestinian voices and exclude us from European and international film markets. Unless you already have established credits, your chances are slim—maybe one in a hundred—of breaking into the so-called “film industry” (a term I dislike).

SF: I also think that there is an important continuity between PFI’s archival work and our current activities, and part of it is a responsibility we did not seek but had to assume. This is because Israel specifically targets Palestinian culture, especially cinema. When they withdrew from Beirut in 1982, they looted the Palestinian cinema archive because they understood that cinema maintains our cultural continuity. As Ibrahim Abu Lughod noted, the IDF’s first targets in Beirut were a food storage unit and then the archive of the Karameh art gallery – they have always understood that erasing Palestine requires erasing our cultural continuity. PFI inherited this burden of preservation as resistance against cultural genocide.

For us, the archive is not just nostalgia. There is danger in romanticising the past, particularly a revolutionary one, that looks very beautiful and inspiring in the films of the 1960s and 1970s.  While we certainly maintain that revolutionary spirit is crucial, our mission is more fundamental: to maintain and unapologetically assert Palestine’s unyielding cultural continuity as a nation. We understand that the films we make today will become tomorrow’s archive, just as we now study the militant cinema of the 1960s and 1970s. We are not just making films – we are building a nation, because culture is foundational to nationhood. 

MY: We are also realising how this creates an ecology: you make films, you promote them, and then they go into some silent place where they will get reactivated through archives, creating a cycle. And this is not economic, which is why I’m calling it an ecology, because it brings a certain gaze that informs new filmmakers. 

A decade or two ago, Palestinian filmmakers rarely referenced Palestinian cinematic aesthetics and traditions. Now, through PFI’s work (especially through the work of the Palestine Film Platform and screening programs), we are noticing filmmakers becoming more embedded in their history. While other influences (like Egyptian cinema) matter, Palestinian cinema now has its own reference point. In this way, the PFI serves as a node that connects the past and present. 

While this might be a modest goal, ultimately, our primary audience is Palestinian filmmakers themselves. We are developing pedagogies for understanding Palestinian cinema, specifically aiming at filmmakers themselves. This work primarily happens during festivals. We were discussing the other day, on the board, how valuable last year’s IDFA was, despite the terrible political situation, since it fostered crucial dialogues among filmmakers. The conversations revolved around everything from boycott strategies to pressuring film institutes to adopt more supportive positions and reject Zionist propaganda. These spontaneous, organic exchanges at festivals represent exactly the kind of education we want to systematise within the institute. These might seem like small initiatives—we do not operate on a nationwide scale—but they are incredibly impactful because we are working directly with people who form consciousness. Filmmakers are people who create consciousness for their viewers. During the post-Oslo cinema era, that consciousness became deeply tied to Oslo’s framework. It took us time to break free from that and rebuild new narratives rooted in our history of struggle rather than false notions of peace or coexistence.

SM: Building on this, I wanted to ask you about two PFI initiatives that have been transformative for many of us—the Film of the Week program and Cinematic Dialogues. These projects on your website have introduced us to incredible films and voices, some familiar and some new. How would you situate them within the larger framework of the Institute? 

MY: These are organic programs that grow naturally rather than being strategically planned. What I can say is that PFI functions more as a space than a rigid structure—a space for hearing each other. Just as audiences find inspiration in Cinematic Dialogues, we as filmmakers draw inspiration from them too. This reflects a broader societal issue: we Palestinians often fail to hear each other. Gaza does not hear the West Bank, the West Bank does not hear the diaspora, and the outside world often does not hear any of us. While the interaction is not perfectly structured yet, we still lack robust feedback mechanisms beyond personal conversations or festival encounters, these programs at least create that vital space for listening and engagement.

SM: With the intensification of genocide over the past year and a half, the entire cultural landscape has drastically changed. We are seeing so many cultural state institutions, especially in Europe and the US, implicitly and even explicitly supporting the genocide. How has this affected both your personal and the institute’s work?

SF: It’s a huge question, but I will give you a straightforward answer about my work. Even before October 7th, for several years now, I have committed to only making work that is directly political—work dedicated to activating other people to become politically active. Not in the liberal sense of going to demonstrations or signing petitions. I want people to leave the cinema and chain themselves to the gates of a weapons factory. That is my goal, that is what I am working towards. That’s the kind of cinema I want to make.

Now, I know most will not go that far, but considering cinema’s role as cultural resistance to genocide, I refuse to spend four years making something merely pretty or aesthetic that does not ignite fire in someone’s heart. I am interested in rage and resistance. I am interested in beauty too, but I want the effect to be a very pointed rage against genocide and for the liberation of the Palestinian people. 

This has transformed every aspect of my filmmaking in a very practical sense. There’s a beautiful phrase that we always use in activism: “We did not liberate Palestine – Palestine liberated us.” Are you familiar with this phrase? This became literally true for me. Four or five years ago, my filmmaking life revolved around festivals – which festivals would take my work, what strategies to use, how to carry favour with festival directors, and so on. Now, we have seen these institutions’ cowardice – how for decades they were happy to exploit us, let us risk our lives to make work that benefited them and improved their image, and then they stabbed us in the back when we asked for the simplest thing— a statement of support. I simply do not care about any of these institutions anymore. My work reaches people directly: projected on police stations where friends are held for protesting. That’s real cinema for me. I feel so liberated – I do not know when Cannes is happening, what films are selected, or who is a jury member. I do not care anymore, and it feels amazing. Palestine liberated me in that sense.

But this also means I have a lot more time to dedicate to my activism on one hand, and to making militant films. Certainly different in form from the films from the 1960s and 1970s, but with the same purpose. It’s not about festivals anymore. It’s about the people.

MY: PFI took on a special mission after October 7th.  Suddenly, we became a reference point. People were looking to us for answers: – Should we participate in this festival? How do we respond when they program certain films? Where do we position ourselves? That’s when we felt PFI truly became activated—not just as a space for securing accreditation or narrative support, but politically and representatively. We had to use our platform and filmmaker network to challenge and steer the film festivals.

Personally, I have come to question the value of going to any of these festivals. Why bother with Cannes or IDFA? Maybe our energy should focus on creating grassroots spaces rather than engaging with established festivals, spaces, and institutions.

Although we could not withdraw entirely, we shifted the direction toward empowering our online screenings and targeting local communities, youth, and independent cinemas. With the increase in requests from a variety of actors to support such screenings during the last few years, we are seeing much more potential in them. Thus, we think we can still have a say and a voice, and it is in this context that we have developed the “Industry Protocol in Times of Genocide.”  Though it is not perfect or comprehensive, it gives filmmakers a framework to question exactly what Saeed described: Why should I care about Cannes? What kind of audience, and hence structures, are we making films for? These structures are the same ones that enable the genocide. They never thought of the Palestinians, or any kind of serious anti-colonial opposition, beyond aesthetics. These cultural spaces, claiming to protect and advocate for human rights and progressive values, have failed. They are too afraid to challenge the dominant narrative, refusing even to say “stop the genocide” or call for a ceasefire. 

MJ: Yes, all of them. Many of these spaces are still debating, even today, whether they should say “genocide” or not. That’s a big question for us, too. We cannot ignore that these festivals remain today’s standards—you need them to show films, or else you rely on a cinema distributor. It’s all interconnected, and it forces us to promote work differently.

The situation has been somewhat surprising. We still held some small expectations that utterly failed when even friends, festival directors, and people we know would not stand with us in words. Now it’s worse, nobody cares. Our people are left alone. The only way we feel we are contributing is by continuing to support our filmmakers and our work. So, yes, while we are underrepresented, we still operate online, access certain spaces, create alternative film programs, and help festivals wanting to run parallel screenings. We join these initiatives while recognising we must also remain present in mainstream spaces. In this storm, we challenge it without letting it drown us—holding each other’s hands, staying grounded, promoting our narrative and culture to keep being heard.

Then comes the painful contradiction: Why do it all when our people are being erased? Why do it, when neither producing films nor our online efforts help, because the world takes no action? Even UN condemnations mean nothing as bombing continues after the supposed ceasefire. A UN worker was just killed yesterday—but who cares?

This reveals the next core question: What’s a Palestinian’s value, compared to an Israeli’s? Am I just a number? That’s what we fight against by supporting fellow filmmakers without boundaries or hierarchies. We keep this boat sailing through will, volunteer work, and access—it’s all we can contribute. We cannot give up, even after losing over 210 journalists, filmmakers, and artists in 18 months. 

This continues… What is my value as a Palestinian filmmaker? If I am killed, will anyone care? When thousands die silently, but one death “from the other side” moves the world—that’s the injustice we strive to shake. Words like “justice” collapse when they do not represent our humanity. Beyond words, we hold onto our image and continue what older generations began. That is why we return to history, that is why we go back to the archive. We go back to the images presented in the seventies through militant cinema and beyond. So, I do not know if it’s even a question anymore.

MY: It’s practice, not a question.

SF: Let me clarify what I mentioned earlier—yes, indeed, I do not care about festivals anymore. But exactly like Jabaly said, I understand that festivals remain an integral part of filmmaking, yet my life is dedicated to filmmaking – the value of cinema, not the industry. 

None of us is naive enough to believe what some said in the nineties—that cinema will change the world. We do not have that naïve linear deterministic relationship between cinema and the liberation of Palestine. But at minimum, if it keeps my soul from dying—and I mean this literally— I do not know if I would still be alive without cinema, it did some work. And when I am in a room with people equally moved by cinema, where I can express my worldview and understand theirs—that matters spiritually.

Also, if we are going to chain ourselves to factory gates, we need a group of friends in the same room – people who support each other, trust each other, and stand in solidarity. So, I do see a practical use for cinema: it brings like-minded people together. Thinking about it: getting 200 people to a political meeting is very difficult; getting 200 to watch a Palestinian film today is easy. And if you then ask, “Who will join direct action?” and suddenly, you have a resistance movement. For me, this is cinema’s practical value. Not that it’s my main concern, but it can mobilise people.

MY: This distinction between industry and cinema becomes clearer through the Palestine Film Platform (PFP), Films like Tell Your Tale, Little Bird by Arab Lotfi, which is about Palestinian women’s experiences in Israeli Prisons. The film was never recognised by the industry, never awarded, and suddenly, when we screened it, everyone loved it and asked: “Why did not we know this film?” This reveals everything about storytelling standards.

Ultimately, one can ask the question:  What is an institute anyway? An institute is a place to gather and process data and then develop a certain understanding of this data. One of the things we realised is that many films that gained international recognition lack a political impact, especially once they are compared to the works that often go unrecognised. Take, for example, a film by Mustafa Ali, Scenes of Occupation from Gaza. Probably 500 people saw it when it was made in 1973. Look at it today. A YouTube version of the film has over 300,000 views. This reveals this disconnect that what gets recognised by the industry does not necessarily reflect people’s tastes. Truthfully, we filmmakers have been polluted by Western aesthetics, losing the language to speak to our own people, meaning here the Arab world. How can I create something that a farmer in southern Egypt and a family in Daraa equally enjoy? At the end of the day, they would comprehend us, but the industry isn’t designed to address these people. It targets the Paris-London-New York intelligentsia who generate interest around a film. That is where an institute matters—creating mechanisms to challenge this through statements, curated programs, organising development workshops, etc. 

This is a main concern for the PFI whenever we send delegations and support projects. We are aware that the first development stage for many Palestinian films goes through what I would call Western narrative labs. And while we do not have a complete solution for this, we can at least provide the first round of feedback and advice as the first filter. When we select projects, we first consult our networks and seek help in an early stage of the development, before a producer from ARTE would say, for example: “Yes, but change this so it can fit my audience.” This is a form of grounding only an institute can provide. It’s an enormous responsibility for our small, overstretched team, especially post-October 7th.

FA: Given the renewed global interest in Palestinian cinema, do you see filmmakers feeling pressured to conform to certain narratives – whether political or humanitarian – to secure funding or festival slots? How does the PFI navigate this tension between the practical demands of the industry and its mission to support authentic Palestinian voices?

SF: Everyone will have a different experience. What I see is a sort of contradiction at play here. In the past, for us filmmakers, the challenge was the lack of interest in Palestinian films. Then came the era when people became interested in Palestinian films, but, you know, only as films about terrorism, for example.  Eventually, that did not necessarily help us. Now, we are in a third stage where people are interested in Palestinian cinema—and I refer her mostly to the European funding bodies—they are interested in a Palestinian cinema that fulfils their expectations of the perfect liberal victim. So, it’s still difficult to get your film made. The challenge is not that people are not interested in Palestinian cinema—it’s that they are interested in a very specific type that fulfils their prejudices and expectations.

Let me offer a concrete example: I am making a film about Gaza, which was written before October 7th. Of course, there is violence in the film, but it’s not about the genocide. A certain European national film fund took us all the way to the final round, and then they said no. A friend of a friend who knows the panel told us: “They want a film about October 7th. Yours is not about it, so they will not fund it.” Now, I do not know a single Palestinian who is going to make a fiction film about genocide at this moment. I find it vulgar that someone would demand I make a fiction film about genocide today. But this is the trap we must be wary of—these opportunities may open, but that is not a cinema I want to be involved in.

One of the things asked of us was more violence in the film. My film has violence, just not piles of dead bodies.  However, apparently, they want piles of dead bodies. What I have understood is that they want to see Palestinian suffering, but not Palestinian grief. They want to see Palestinian death without Palestinian life.

MY: They do not want to see Palestinian resistance, only victims.

SF: Exactly.

MY: This is what the cinema supported by coproduction has been like. Look at most fiction films—Palestinians are always the victims, the ones subjected to injustices. The solutions presented are always small-scale and personal, whether it’s by traveling or solving a personal problem. Never about collective mobilisation. Never about political discourse. Never about meaningful revenge—or if revenge appears, it must be small and individualised.

SF: And there should never be anything about difficult characters. There is this expectation that every Palestinian character must be either the perfect victim or the perfect hero. But none of us exists that way—I’m not even interested in heroic narratives. This begs the question: how do you make a film without a hero in, or about, Palestine today? It’s very difficult. That complexity of human existence—the internal contradictions that European filmmakers get to explore freely—remains inaccessible to us. Not because we lack an artistic vision, but because those controlling resources reject such stories.

There is an interesting program I did for the Open City Documentary Festival last year called The New Militants, where we specifically showcased films by filmmakers who had repurposed archival material into new works—you could call it remixing. Some of these films were created right up to the post-October 7th period. I have to say, one film proved particularly controversial—it incorporated body cam footage from militants on October 7th. The key point is that they were blending historical resistance footage with new footage that will itself become future archive material.

SM: Could we shift focus slightly—still in the same direction, but toward the specific initiatives that emerged during this period? I am thinking here about the Institute’s Industry Protocol in Times of Genocide and the activities of Film Workers for Palestine.¹ There have been various calls to action, most recently with the campaign to boycott the Berlinale. Though a significant number of experimental and politically committed filmmakers took up the task, still, none of the A-list figures participated. Could you speak more about this? What is your connection to Film Workers for Palestine, the boycott campaign about Berlinale in Germany, or other initiatives in your orbit? In addition, all of you have been traveling extensively, engaging with cultural spaces to amplify both resistance to genocide and Palestinian voices. How do you see this changed film cultural landscape today? 

MY: We have been part of Film Workers for Palestine since it was founded. We see it as a crucial arm that can be activated beyond the Palestine Film Institute—this awakening of workers’ consciousness within the industry could fundamentally change the whole game. If film workers collectively refused complicity, the industry would grind to a halt within 2-3 years. However, we also realise how deeply liberal ideology has shaped these workers. Most film workers come from middle-class backgrounds—they had the privilege to study cinema, to have career options that many Palestinian and Global South filmmakers lack.

This is a crucial discussion within PFI: Do we boycott everything radically, or work incrementally? Even with allies—people genuinely supportive but constrained by class or liberal conditioning—we ask these questions. In times of catastrophe, the impulse is to act drastically, but burnout can render you ineffective.  Thus, we focus on smaller, sustainable interventions: education, awareness-raising, and leading by example. This slower, strategic approach—case by case—is where we’ve channelled our efforts. For example, there is an Israeli film at the Venice Film Festival. Do we boycott the film itself? Do we boycott the entire festival? As Palestinians—and as PFI—we may have definite answers to such questions, but we cannot impose them on newly emerging activist networks.

Let me clarify—I’m talking about popular mobilisation, about gradually steering people. If you take a firm stance in front of someone who does not yet understand what you are doing, you will be in a position of speaking in vain.  However, if you walk with them, make them feel that they are part of the idea, then slowly build toward radical positions—that is a far more effective approach. At least, that has been my experience.

SF: We have to be very strategic and not just ideological. Though difficult to navigate, such an approach is necessary for long-term impact. Take me, for example.  I do not care for these festivals anymore. However, I live in the UK, and I hold a British passport. My career position allows me to take this stance.   At the same time, I would never impose the same thing on a 22-year-old from Gaza or a 25-year-old from Ramallah who gets one shot to make their film. Take Mohamed Jabaly’s film, Life is Beautiful (2023), which screened at IDFA last year as competition entry. After he risked his life to create this devastatingly beautiful and eye-opening film about his experience, I would not dare to ask him to withdraw his film to satisfy my ideological position. That would be useless and meaningless.

On the one hand, as an official body we propose strategic approaches to resisting festivals. On the other, individually, we also work behind the scenes. I have had off-the-record discussions with festival directors who are sympathetic but clueless: they do not understand Palestinian culture, they do not know how to make a statement that will not get them arrested or accused of antisemitism, and they do not even know what their position should be on X, Y, or Z. Such people simply need to talk to someone who could help them in some way. Some cases are unambiguous—like the Oberhausen Film festival, whose director’s racism and Islamophobia make a boycott the only option.  Elsewhere, we prioritise what preserves Palestinian cinema over ideological purity.

MY: At the PFI, we understand Palestinian filmmakers cannot risk their careers or be on the frontlines in many places. That is also why we collaborate with other structures, such as Film Workers for Palestine or Strike Germany. A Palestinian withdrawing would not benefit anyone.   Privileged filmmakers who can take such a risk should be the ones doing this. Yet again, these people need guidance. After all, this is an entertainment industry, not a political one. They do not truly understand what we are talking about—even when discussing alternative distribution, funding solutions, or opening new markets. Nobody wants to lose the well-established economy, though hardly anyone gets rich from it except those with big machines behind them. So much blood has been spilled on the altar of this industry without compensation. How do we reduce this bloodshed? How do we make our sacrifices more valuable?

It’s a learning process for us too. Shifting cinema from entertainment to a political tool necessitates a lot of archival work and remembrance. But memory is not enough, you need ground action, examples, and alternatives. I am not with the idea of just boycotting for dignity’s sake—though sometimes it’s necessary. People need to put food on the table, and that’s where dignity is always questioned. This reality dictates most filmmakers’ political decisions. How do we operate politically in such spaces? It’s a matter of trial and error. It’s about alliances. It’s about keeping at it—digging in the same hole, so to speak. For example, the numbers from our online screenings—whether Provoked/Unprovoked Narratives or Film of the Week—are very promising. But we still have not figured out how to translate this into an economy.

But then we are shifting. This past year, we went to Durban to participate in more Global South markets—across Africa, Asia, and Latin America. Instead of developing films at IDFA or Berlinale, let’s develop ideas with different audiences. Let’s not put all our narratives in Western hands. It’s not easy. We are learning—we did not emerge straight from the 1970s. We are also feeling our way somehow.

MJ: It was very special to be in Durban. We are doing it again this year, too. It was our first time there, and they were truly welcoming. And as you know, South African solidarity has become pivotal in today’s context. As Mohanad said, it was a moment to expand our network experimentally while maintaining professional rigor. The experience felt significant—we will continue this path in the coming year. We also aim to forge more alliances to support our filmmakers.

SF: This issue circles back to our earlier dilemma: What are we asking of filmmakers? To confront festivals? To boycott? It’s an immense burden to attend events where you must first fight for your humanity to be recognised before even discussing cinema. But when you go to places like Durban, Bangladesh, or Jakarta—where countries overwhelmingly support Palestinians and recognise your humanity from the start, the entire process transforms. It becomes healthier, more enriching. We are reaching a stage where many current institutions (festivals, funders, venues) either will not survive or will not be worth engaging with. The task is not just finding sympathetic spaces—it’s building autonomous institutions so future generations will not relive these battles every decade. The model might look completely different: today, you could screen a film at over 200 festivals worldwide, all of them pro-Palestine, creating a viable ecosystem without compromising dignity. Reconfiguring this ecology is difficult but necessary—a core mission for the PFI.

MJ: This is about continuity. We are building something that must outlive us—not a personality-driven structure, but a platform where others carry the message forward. Our belief in this work is why we speak so passionately today. I believe the PFI has succeeded in making others believe in this vision internationally.

MY: Again, PFI is one of the few structures uniting Palestinian voices across borders with solidarity movements. It’s not perfect yet, but it’s part of the new world being born. We are coming out of a long experience of the NGO-isation of the Palestinian struggle, and out of the experience of being isolated from our own history. This is particularly true in the context of solidarity. Rebuilding these structures is our task, not making films that compete at the Oscars (which is great if it happens, being a side-effect of this work), but our main mission is finding a place of unity of purpose around the dignity and liberation of the Palestinian people and their narratives. After that? I would like to stop activism and retire on a farm with dogs and cats.

SF: I always say that we deserve the right to be boring. We build these institutions hoping they will become obsolete—so one day we can tend our gardens.

Endnotes