Last week, my friend and I watched a collection of documentary shorts from the Blackstar Film Festival. The collection we watched was called “Vulturine: Rapacious Exploitations and Resistance”—films that narrated moments of dispossession, and the life lived in the wake of these disasters. There was a meditation on the erasure of Gaelic and Inuktitut languages, a film about the murder of Nigerian environmental activist Ken Saro-Wiwa, a film about the British government’s forced displacement of Chagossian islanders, and one about a Black family in the U.S. who lost their house because of a predatory lender. I could write a separate newsletter on each of these films and their generous, incisive sharing. But today I want to discuss evidence. The kinds of evidence we are taught is real, and who we compile evidence for.
on evidence
on evidence
on evidence
Last week, my friend and I watched a collection of documentary shorts from the Blackstar Film Festival. The collection we watched was called “Vulturine: Rapacious Exploitations and Resistance”—films that narrated moments of dispossession, and the life lived in the wake of these disasters. There was a meditation on the erasure of Gaelic and Inuktitut languages, a film about the murder of Nigerian environmental activist Ken Saro-Wiwa, a film about the British government’s forced displacement of Chagossian islanders, and one about a Black family in the U.S. who lost their house because of a predatory lender. I could write a separate newsletter on each of these films and their generous, incisive sharing. But today I want to discuss evidence. The kinds of evidence we are taught is real, and who we compile evidence for.