For the past two years, I was privileged to watch and learn from documentary projects that challenge the status quo, reveal an underrepresented viewpoint, or signal an overlooked trend.
That’s why in August of 2017, I embarked on a journey trying to humanize the issue of immigration, more specifically, how immigrants and their offspring engage with issues of identity, cultural preservation, assimilation to American culture, and the definition of home.
Through the art of storytelling and the use of multimedia tools, I wanted to give these families a platform where their accounts are shared and celebrated. Most importantly, I wanted to represent their stories with dignity and respect. In doing so, I was hoping to feed the American viewer’s curiosity in exploring the world visually beyond the range of what he is acquainted with, and to show international families who took home of America that their stories matter.
Early on, I had a firm grasp of the challenges that laid ahead of me. Not only did the project delve into intimate moments in the lives of immigrant parents; it also dealt with a vulnerable population: their children. On the academic front, this meant going through a thorough evaluation by the Institutional Review Board (IRB) to ensure the safety and well-being of participating children. On the practical front, the task at hand was much harder.
It was one thing identifying the families and getting their preliminary approval; it was completely another thing to guarantee they don’t drop out. And dropping out was the real challenge I had to circumvent. In the span of six months, I faced a recurrent scenario.
Impressed by the idea of lending a realistic perspective to raising children between divergent cultures, a family agrees to take part in the project. We begin our meetings where I get to talk with the parents and their children to create the rapport that underpins any documentary project. A sense of trust and familiarity is cultivated. In a nutshell, all seems to be going really well.
Then, we start planning for documenting certain aspects that will provide an in-depth look and bring viewers into their lives. The pieces that will make their culture-traversing experiences accessible and relatable. At that point, I would receive a variation of the same message, “we can no longer participate in this project.”
The decision was usually made by the fathers and conveyed by the mothers. Across a cultural spectrum, the fathers were more averse to exposing their stories, while the mothers seemed overjoyed to share their experiences.
Witnessing this situation unfold itself five times with families from Syria, South Korea, Mexico, and Bangladesh opened my eyes to some key takeaways. While no family expounded at length the reason behind their decision to withdraw, I pondered some rationalizations. Fear of being misunderstood or judged and conservatism topped my list.
As Ben Okri says, “the fact of storytelling hints at a fundamental human unease, hints at human imperfection. Where there is perfection there is no story to tell.” For one thing, the storytellers that got the most attention were not necessarily the funniest or wittiest. Instead, they were the ones that were most prepared to put their skin in the game, to state something that was uncomfortably close to how they saw the world. But again, sharing human interactions, personal moments, and raw feelings is not something that anyone can accept.
On another note, I started thinking about how stereotypes are formed. In my research prior to conducting this project, I came across a report issued by the Opportunity Agenda, a non-profit social justice communication lab. The report analyzed storylines associated with immigration and immigrants within popular television programs during the April 2014 to June 2016 television seasons. The findings indicated that a significant portion of storylines tied to immigration or immigrants centered on some form of unlawful activity including murder, human trafficking, and drug dealing. The report noted that television depictions too often deepen stereotypes, make bias worse, and contribute to division and discrimination. And that’s the danger of the single story. It creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story. It makes our recognition of our equal humanity difficult. It emphasizes how we are different rather than how we are similar. These stereotypes don’t come out of nowhere: they are drilled into people’s heads over decades through movies, television, and skewed news stories.
That being said, countering these storylines with real life depictions of immigrant families can bring us a step closer to understand each other in terms of personal experience. When you tell your story, share your insights and experiences with others, you have control of the narrative. The narrative ceases to be the property of one side’s rightness over another side’s error. Instead it becomes a story of co-creation and mutual responsibility. This is the magic of documentary storytelling. It forges connection, dissolves barriers, and creates change.
With a reluctance or fear of self-representation or making oneself vulnerable in the public eye, the chances of breaking down barriers and shattering stereotypes are really slim. That is not to say that I blame these families or pretend by any means to understand their thought process. I was grateful for the access that the families I worked with gave me. It was such an honor to have and such immense responsibility to assume. I was equally grateful for those who didn’t. Facing rejection, shelving ideas, and shifting the direction of my original plan taught me vital lessons. These experiences were valuable to my own personal growth and self-development. I grew a thicker skin, a feature that anyone working in the field of media has to cultivate. I learned that persistence is the pathway to my goal, yet flexibility is key to achieve it. I also learned to balance my responsibilities against practical considerations and time constraints. There was no time to pause. Rolling up my sleeves and bouncing back was my only option.
As a whole, every family I met proved that labels are not more than starting-points, which if followed by actual experience, for only a moment, are quickly left behind.