Beatrice Newbery reports from the world’s most remote film festival, in a refugee camp in Western Sahara.

Right, that’s your hours, that’s your total,” shouts the woman on the screen. “If you don’t like it, there’s the gate, go.” It’s Ken Loach’s latest film about illegal immigrants in the UK, with his usual mix of working class poverty and anger. But this time there are Spanish and Arabic subtitles, and after the film, the audience filters out not into a city street, but into Saharan sand. Some of the audience may ponder which is worse, to be an illegal immigrant in Britain or a refugee in the Sahara.

This is the world’s remotest film festival, in Dajla refugee camp, near Tindouf in Western Algeria. It’s a far cry from Cannes, with sandstorms and tents in place of red carpets and designer clothes. Fifty thousand Saharawi people live in Dajla, one of four camps which were set up 32 years ago when Morocco began an occupation of Western Sahara. “We don’t want to live here,” says Zrug Lula, who works for the campbased exiled government. “It is a very inhospitable place. But the film festival alleviates the boredom and hardship of being here. It is a kind of escape.”

Now in its fifth year, the festival runs relatively smoothly, despite the lack of communications and facilities, rotating around the four camps. Called Fisahara, it is co-ordinated by the government’s Ministry of Culture, where Lula works, and a group of Spanish NGOs. But it’s certainly a challenging event for the organisers, who must house and transport the 300 people attending from Spain, Belgium, France, Britain and the Americas. This year, they included Oscar-winning Javier Bardem and international musician Manu Chao. “The visitors fly into a military airport, then we drive them for five hours into the desert,” says Lula. “And all our visitors sleep in tents like us, even the celebrities. It’s not ideal, but at least they are witnesses to the real situation. And we hope it inspires them to go home and tell people about us.” Sarah Pujalte, the Spanish production coordinator, adds: “When a famous actor agrees to join the festival, he brings with him that publicity. He is agreeing to raise the profile of the Saharawi cause. That is the festival’s main aim.”

Of course, the festival is more than a lavish publicity stunt, with a tight programme including 30 film screenings over three days. Adult films are shown in mud-brick warehouses, while family films are projected onto the sides of trucks and watched under the stars. Most are Spanish films – Spanish is second language in the camps, since Western Sahara was a Spanish colony until the 70s. But there are also films from Britain, Kenya, Mexico, even Mongolia. “Some Saharawis have never seen a film on 35mm,” says Pujalte. “We want to normalise life here, show them what they would be doing if they lived in their own country now. We choose a mixture of films which will both provoke debate and educate people who have never travelled.” As Abdulahi, a Saharawi journalist says: “The Mongolian film was about some nomads, and we all loved it. There was a feeling in the audience of recognition, as we are traditionally a nomadic community. The film reinforced our common humanity.”

Clearly the films provide more than just entertainment, and this is key. Film is increasingly viewed as a development tool, not just for Saharawis, but for displaced people everywhere. In fact, refugees in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Macedonia, Kenya and Tanzania, are also enjoying a new relationship with film, thanks to an NGO called FilmAid International which has organised screenings in their camps. As James Brooke at FilmAid, puts it: “Refugees often remain isolated in contained settlements with little connection to the outside world for years on end – the average stay in a refugee camp is now 17 years. Film brings hope and information to fill the void.”

In some camps, film is used to put across messages – to promote health, peace and human rights, or to warn against HIV and AIDS or gender violence. But Fisahara’s main focus is cultural exchange and exploration. Over the three days, debates and workshops run in tandem with exhibitions, parades, concerts and camel races. “The objective is cultural diffusion,” says Pujalte, “framed by the cinematic realm. So all the artistic events are filmed and played to an audience at the end.” A dance workshop in which the Saharawi women explore modern dance forms out in the dunes, is greeted by rapturous applause at the festival’s closing ceremony. And the animation, produced in the children’s workshop, is another crowd puller. But the most popular classes are in basic film production, where adults learn to make documentaries on Saharawi life. “I have driven three hours from another camp, because I want to learn camera, editing and producing,” says Omar. “One day, maybe I can record what is my life, what is our suffering, what is happening to Saharawi people.”

While the workshops are brief, the Spanish festival organisers are trying to bring longer-term audiovisual opportunities to the camp, says Pujalte: “We are developing a video library in each camp. So far we have equipped three camps with video projectors, sound equipment, screens and DVD recorders, and over 300 videos, and we have trained a video tech to look after each library.” He adds, “We are also setting up a cinema school, and the festival workshops are a way for Saharawis to establish whether they are keen to join that school in the future.”

Sandblast, a London-based NGO, is also working to provide longer-term cultural and artistic opportunities for the Saharawis, including month-long fi lm and theatre workshops, and artist exchange visits to Europe. “I have been visiting the camps for 20 years, and was always struck by the Saharawis’ need to express their plight through the arts,” Danielle Smith, who runs Sandblast, explains. “When their experiences of exile are expressed through song, dance, theatre and art, it is more powerful than speech.” She concludes, “this form of expression really is a need for them, not just a luxury”.

Cultural events like the film festival may focus on the one medium, but it also invigorates the other Saharawi art forms. Lula says: “It inspires us to experiment. OK, we don’t have big cameras here, but we can try acting and theatre instead. And in a way, the lack of resources, like musical instruments, forces the artists in the camps to be creative. Saharawis are a very artistic people, and the Ministry of Culture encourages them to think around the lack of resources. Culture is about identity, and as the Moroccans try to erase our identity, this is vital to us.”

Of course, the arts are surplus to survival, far from the list of essentials supplied by humanitarian aid in refugee camps. However, as Brooke puts it: “Intellectual, visual and aural stimulation needs are often overlooked in humanitarian responses, where the first priority is naturally given to legal and physical protection, subsistance and healthcare.” Pujalte adds: “Culture and art are important to happiness. They are the food of the soul, and refugees need them just as other people do.”

Smith goes a step further: “Survival needs may be seen as priority, but without the spirit which is tied to identity and culture, people have less will to survive. This is how they affirm their existence, affirm who they want to be. And this is how they retain a sense of their nationality too, their origins and their history, through the years in exile.”

MORE INFORMATION
www.festivalsahara.com
www.sandblast-arts.org
www.filmaid.org