Stop Filming Us
Directed by Joris Postema

Go with me here for a second. Imagine you, whoever you may be, are a Congolese African just minding your business outside a New York City hotel you’re staying in for the weekend. For some, this will be a stretch but give it your best shot. There’s construction going on and a bit of dust has flown right into your eye so you’ve returned to your room to wash it out.

After a thorough cleaning, you look at yourself in the mirror. What do you see? Don’t answer. All of a sudden, a small bump grows larger and larger on your neck. A second head forces its way through your skin, pale, beaming, and seemingly well-intentioned. The pressure of a different perspective-shifting your bones out of place. It peers into the mirror from over your shoulder, examining every line and mark of your face, drinking in the pain it’s inadvertently causing. What does it see? As you open your mouth to ask one of many questions, the head falls to the ground and rolls out of the bathroom, into the hallway. It screams at the top of its...it screams about the sorrow it saw in your eyes to whoever will listen. You rush out after it, desperate to stop the spread of a figment but your bones are too twisted. The halls have filled and the denizens of the hotel, people from all over the world, have taken it upon themselves to spread the word of your woes near and far. They carry the head away, enraptured by its accounts of your struggles.

Meanwhile, you stand exposed, suffering and frustrated, your voice caught in your throat.

Stop Filming Us, directed by Joris Postema, a dutch white man, is a documentary commenting on, displaying, and questioning the authenticity of representation as it pertains to the Congolese people in Western media. It also aims to question itself, as the intentions of Postema and crew are taken to task in a meta-commentary that deepens the longer it plays out. This was an interesting, thought-provoking, challenging, and somewhat disappointing experience. It presents its subjects, the film crew assisting Postema, Ganza Buroko, TD Jack Muhindo, Gaïus Kowane, and Juny Sikabwe as well as local artists of the region Mugabo Baritegra, Bernadette Vivuya, and Ley Uwera as different sides to the same dice with regards to its conceit. However, the film lacks any conflict in expression amongst the personalities of its subjects. Each person has a unique perspective regarding the ethics of this film's production but they aren’t necessarily saying different things. Those ideas run parallel to the themes of the documentary, creating an interesting, if not, conflicted meta-narrative that confronts the ideas of a true representation of the Congolese people with the literal film itself. Is this the honest expression of the people of Goma that they would have shot and screened? Probably not.

Many conversations are had surrounding the nature of colonialism, decolonization, and the ethics of this production being genuine or engineered. Each one had enough intrigue and information that I found myself questioning Postema’s intention up until the credits rolled.

Postema seemed like a genuine person, despite his clear disconnection from those he was filming. At one point, Postema and the crew have a conversation regarding his giving some “biscuits” to children he perceived to be beggars. Without spoiling that scene, I will say, that conversation informed a lot of how I interpreted Postema’s vision. Let me be clear, I do believe he made this piece from a sincere place, in an attempt to really understand what it would take -- if it were even possible -- for him to be different from the other filmmakers who’ve exploited the region. I do believe he gave more of a life and voice to these people than has previously been displayed, however, that does not mean he dug as deep as would have better served this project. Perhaps he couldn’t. Is it possible for a white filmmaker to shoot an African person and it not feel exploitative? Is that inherent to the discourse regardless of intention? An interesting question raised late is whether or not the interpretation is really about the content or if the perception stops at race. The debate surrounding the screening venue highlighted that specifically and honestly, it made for an interesting final layer.

What I respected immediately was how the filmmaking sought to allow the story of the Congolese people to tell itself, without Postema forcing his voice to be a filter for the people. He allowed the natural dispositions of the people of Goma to shine through his material, complimenting the vibrancy of their minds, their pride in their home, and their desire to express their perspective, with the natural beauty of the Congo. A scene where the young artists are debating whether a photo was taken by an African or a foreigner is a highlight of the film that ends in one of its most relatable moments; a moment I wish this Postema could have found more often. He didn’t seem to know how to connect with the emotional core of the people, showing them mostly in the midst of their artistic or political endeavors as opposed to anything more private or social. I’m not sure whether humanity was a point of interest for Postema but the lack of it makes the proceedings feel didactic rather than exploratory. He keeps a safe, respectful distance and that can be felt throughout. Even moments between the young artists are full of rhetoric that feels geared towards the thesis rather than genuine conversation. It’s not

un-emotional per se but it doesn’t focus very much on the total humanity of its subjects, instead choosing to capture what is perceived as a glaring hole in the common representation. In that, I can say it is fairly successful, if not tragically similar to other documentaries — which I suppose is tantamount to a kind of failure.

Much of its expression is through conversations wherein the camera is perched on the people speaking, underutilizing the visual element, which is a bit of a shame. Roundtables can only be intellectually stimulating for so long before it feels like having the same conversation several times. However, each new revolution of that conversation lent itself towards the meta-narrative, presenting a new idea regarding the interpretation of the question which did feel like steadily digging deeper and kept the pace moving along. Honestly, I’m surprised it took as long as it did to get a more definitive example of how someone from the region would shoot and edit their own work. In fact, it’s one of the great failings of this piece that Postema does not lean more into the artistic voices of his subjects with the language of his film. If he is there to learn how to authentically represent these people then having their input on shot selection, music choice, location, etc (which I’m sure they did but definitely not enough) would have benefitted him immensely in the conversation he’s presenting. For the most part, the filmmaking on display feels very bare-bones, with some very beautiful but standard compositions helping scenes to flow together. It shows a place full of humans who have jobs and lives like anywhere else. What it does not show are the common struggles of the people who live in this area, not in the much-maligned NGO fashion, but from the perspective of someone who lives that struggle every day.

We see bits of poverty here and there but this is mostly a conversation the filmmaker is having with himself about what he’s made, which feels a bit beside the point unless that was the point.

There are some interesting choices made in terms of the content shown. For example, there’s a scene where a man is seen being beaten in the middle of the street for stealing in broad daylight. I can see that being included in an attempt to try and ground the expression in the culture of Goma which is fair I suppose. Though, I can’t say that it read as very genuine to me. Without the context of regular life on the streets posts the opening sequence, it feels like we’re being given a curated window into this culture that is either full of intellectual artists, laypeople who are “colonized thinkers” or impoverished, violent mobs. There’s a conversation to be had about the degree of violence varying societies normalize and how each person subjectively responds to that display. Here, it felt somewhat exploitative since it’s the only instance where something like this is even hinted at happening. Both the film and this sequence are too lean to encompass the reality in the cracks of this moment and the culture at large.

Something that does make this eerily relatable is all of the serendipitous parallels to the COVID-19 outbreak found in the form of temperature checks and full-on songs dedicated to legitimizing the reality that Ebola is a virus that exists. If for any reason, this didn’t hit home, that certainly will.

The film is fascinating and conflicting because, on the one hand, it’s having a much deserved and overdue conversation surrounding who should be in charge of representing ethnic groups, the value/ limitations of an outside perspective, and the views of the people being represented. What it doesn’t offer are any insights into the actual culture of Goma or any conflict whatsoever regarding its goal. What do people eat there? What do the insides of the homes or shops look like? Do the filmmakers have families? Are there any roadblocks or issues that any of the artists are facing that are complicating their ability to produce/market their art that could be juxtaposed to Postema’s ability to work? What is the main draw of a place like Goma? I may have to watch this again or some Congolese filmmaker may have to film a response to Postema for me to get the full scoop.

Ultimately, the central conceit, like the problem of the NGOs, white saviors, and the truest representation of the Congolese is not simple enough to resolve in an hour and a half. Postema and crew do a decent job presenting many measured, well-informed sides to the conversation but unfortunately, the film fails itself by forgetting to create an emotional connection with the audience or attempting to capture the voice of its subjects in its expression. I don’t think he needed to leave, I think he needed to listen.