Show and Tell: the ethical issues behind documentary films

Originally published in The Oxonian Globalist

Alexandra Sutton explores the ethical issues behind humanitarian documentaries, and questions their ability to facilitate change

Whose voice are we hearing? Photo by Jonathan Smith.

The humanitarian documentary is a double-edged sword of communication and narrative. It serves both to inform and to raise awareness, but it does so through a medium which is necessarily subjective, emotionally manipulative and most importantly, aesthetically produced. So, when it comes to documentaries which focus on human rights issues and campaigns, there appears to be a serious ethical problem in their nature. This problem then forces the question – what do these documentaries actually achieve?

The dichotomy between communication and narrative can be broadly broken down into the idea of “show and tell”. Do these documentaries show us problems, or do they tell us about them? The answer is almost inevitably “tell” – the most powerful documentaries tend to be ideological in their foundations, not only alerting people to serious human rights issues, but exploring the reasons behind them and positing the possibilities for change. This is by no means a bad thing – whether a documentary is led by one strong voice, or features a panel of insightful talking heads, it is often enlightening to have problems which may seem initially very alien relayed to you by those who know the subject.

Although it is arguable that ideology should be the motivating force behind documentary, that argument is contigent upon what we believe the documentary can and should achieve. For example, the basic concept of a documentary would be “to document”, to simply chronicle information and then relay it, leaving room for personal interpretation and reflection. However, humanitarian documentaries, which are heavily stylised and persuasively emotive, aim to create food for thought without actually leaving any room to taste it. A notorious exemplar of this is Invisible Children’s much debated Kony 2012 short film. With its heartbreaking images and moving soundtrack, it struck a chord with the public (not unlike charity adverts) and immediately went viral, before being quickly denounced as flawed, partially false and worryingly evocative of militant propaganda.

Why then were so many people taken in by it? Perhaps it was the aesthetic qualities of the video, perhaps it was the rush of virtual activism (or “slacktivism”, if you will), or the extremely simplified message of Good vs. Evil. However, the most revealing form of persuasion was actually the most unsettling: Kony 2012 made people feel good. Much of the appeal is inherently self-centred – it told us that we could achieve great things by doing very little, that we were an empowered generation of connected social media activists, and crucially, that we in the liberal West had the power to solve the problems of everyone else. It was all about us.

The assumption that documentaries are actually all about the viewer isn’t necessarily wholly negative; learning about and attempting to understand human rights issues requires empathy as well as sympathy. It’s just that the documentaries rarely present situations that we can even attempt to empathise with. As soon as we start trying to, the films risk becoming ethically flawed, and frequently Western-centric – both in terms of moral values and presentation.

For example, recent documentaries such as Girl Rising and Half the Sky – both about women’s rights in India, Pakistan and Africa, amongst other countries – relay personal, first person narratives through the medium of celebrity monologues or interviews. Girl Rising calls for female education and empowerment, but good intentions are dampened by the film’s execution – liberties are taken with the girl’s stories, and their voices are essentially drowned out by a Western imposition of morality, and the famous faces we implicitly trust to deliver said moral judgment. The difficulty with this imposition is that it requires us place a value judgement on cultural norms. In these documentaries, the general solutions are wound up with Westernisation, suggesting that countries should not only assimilate our societal structures, but assimilate the cultural values that go along with them. The question is, where does this end? What happens in countries where religion and state are one and the same? In this respect, the documentary can become overtly political, and once again lose sight of the nuances in these issues, and in each nation. Obviously, there are elements of Western society that are objectively beneficial, and among these education is chief. However, human rights issues cannot be diluted into abstract “pillars of society”; these ideals are fundamentally subjective as culture and morality are not easily separated.

Half the Sky is similarly concerning, in which several Hollywood women meet female victims of persecution and attempt to relate to them. The actresses epitomise the flaws in these kinds of films – the interviews blur into psuedo-docu-drama, and in the attempt to connect with the women, the film ends up alienating them even further. Their very real histories of oppression and trauma are glossed into a simplified story female troubles the world over.

However, idealistic though it may be, behind the majority of these films are people who are intending to achieve something positive. In many cases this goes beyond raising awareness, to actually facilitating change. For example, They Go to Die, a film about the links between tuberculosis and the South African mining industry, led to an All Party Parliamentary meeting in the UK to discuss the issue, and the film received a Global Health Award. The person behind the documentary, Jonathan Smith, was not a filmmaker, but rather a student of the Yale School of Public Health. Smith approached the issue by using his academic background of health and social policy, but rather than letting social theory dominate the film, he let the victims of the mining industry explain the issues themselves. Equally, the award-winning documentary on sexual assault in the US military, The Invisible War, led to an almost immediate directive ordering all sexual harassment cases to be handled by senior officers, issued by Secretary of Defence, Leon Panetta. According to the New York Times, the film has been credited with both encouraging victims to come forward, and galvanising procedural changes within the military itself.

Documentaries such as these appear to operate on both a deeply personal level, whilst effectively working to make definitive change. Although they may be a rarity, it is certainly encouraging. Despite the fact that humanitarian documentaries can be extremely flawed in their composition, the argument ultimately boils down to the way we perceive change. Is change restricted to formal, legislative action, or can it also refer to a change in attitude? Raising awareness is the germ of change, even if that change is a gradated one, beginning with a person who watches a documentary at home, and is inspired to seek out answers by themselves. However simplistic it may seem, any narrative that at least raises a few questions, or sparks interest in a previously unknown topic, can only be a positive thing. When the glossy veil of film is stripped away, the human rights issues at their core still remain – as long as we become aware of that, the documentary may still have the power to make a difference.

What Lee Halpin's death should teach us about homelessness

This is an article I published in conjunction with a homelessness discussion event at my university. The event included the excellent short film The Truth About Stanley, and talks from formerly homeless ambassadors of Crisis, which is both a charity and an advocacy group. 

In April this year, 26 year old Lee Halpin was found dead in a derelict hostel. Halpin had been sleeping rough for three nights, and it is believed that he succumbed to hypothermia. However, it wasn’t just the news of a tragic death that caused this story to hit the national press. It transpired that Lee Halpin was not in fact a homeless person, but an aspiring journalist attempting to sleep rough in Newcastle for a week, in order to make a film for the Dispatches’ “Fearless Journalism” competition. The prize was a 12 month internship. Halpin used the platform to raise awareness about the rising homelessness rates, and the repercussions of welfare cuts. “I will sleep rough, scrounge for my food, interact with homeless people and immerse myself in that lifestyle as deeply as I can”, says Halpin in a YouTube video, now seen by over 180,000 people. Halpin’s ambition to raise awareness was a truly admirable one, and in death his message has reached a huge audience. However, this story goes well beyond the death of one man, however tragic. It raises uncomfortable questions about problems at the core of our society; namely the public attitude towards homelessness, and the provision of welfare for the country’s most vulnerable sectors.

Living in Oxford, we are faced with homelessness every day. The disparity in the city is undeniable – Oxford has the highest housing costs outside of London, and the fourth highest homelessness rate. Alongside the number of people sleeping rough on the street there are the “hidden homeless”, those living in hostels, temporary accommodation and shelters. Oxford City Council’s ‘No Second Night Out’ initiative and the excellent work of local charities goes some way to offering immediate help, but with cuts to welfare provision and the impact of the bedroom tax, the problems can only get worse. Crisis report a 31% rise in the average number of people sleeping on the streets per night, and this increase suggests that the £6bn cut to Housing Benefit has eroded the safety net meant to defend the vulnerable against the economic downturn. These figures are genuinely frightening, but the ripple effect of these reforms can only really be understood when we pay attention to each individual we see on the street.

Percentages and politics aside, homelessness is humanised. Lee Halpin’s investigation hinged upon engaging with homeless people, and experiencing the dangers that they face every day. When we step out of the door and see a person on our street, how do we react? In most cases, we either walk away, or uncomfortably offer our coppers before shuffling off to Tesco. Both acts are quick, even easy, but neither really helpful. Local charities warn against giving money to homeless people, as it can perpetuate substance abuse, or prevent the individual from seeking out institutions that offer more permanent solutions. The act of giving money is often a manifestation of guilt. In the very human desire to form a connection – money is the simplest way to do so.

Of course, the wish to interact is no bad thing, but how inclined is the average person to actually talk to a homeless person? Sadly, I’d say it’s unlikely. Public attitudes towards the homeless are highly disconcerting; presumptions as to the causes of homelessness are easy to make, and extremely reductive. For example, a recent incident in London saw the police confiscate the food and possessions of a group of homeless people. When asked to comment, CI John Fish stated that “the public rely on police to reduce the negative impact of rough sleepers.” These people are not victims; they are not even human. They are a “negative impact.”

What CI Fish neglects to realise is that rough sleepers are the public. Homelessness is not just vagrancy, the lack of a roof, or the violation of squatting laws. It is a condition of isolation, of complete social alienation, and as Crisis put it, it constitutes loss of a “legal and social dimension.” The experience is destructive, difficult to escape, and even harder to recover from. The average age of death for a homeless person is just 47 years old. Lee Halpin was far younger than that, but the sad irony of his story is the fact that we heard of it in the first place. If the body of your average, 47 year old homeless man was discovered in a derelict hostel, would news of it have reached the national newspapers? Would anybody notice, or even care?

It all comes down to that question. Who cares for the homeless, and who is responsible for them? On a day-to-day basis, we are. Get involved with the Oxford Homeless Action Group, with Crisis or Oxford Pathways. If the issue moves you, do something! Halpin wanted to engage with homelessness as a “frontline journalist”, but for what it’s worth, I believe we should all be on the frontline when it comes to this issue. All it takes is a walk down the street and the problem is right there, embodied by every man and woman who sits in a doorway, and on the fringes of society.

NB: Since this article was published I have spoken to several homeless people and  looked further in to the aforementioned "No Second Night Out" policy. The homeless people spoken to commented that the system is extremely flawed, and as such I will be trying to find out more information as to why this is.