The fight for justice requires raising your voice above denial
Responding to The Elephant in the Room by Alix Harris and Beyond Face CIC
There are a number of things that society doesn’t like to pay attention to. Issues that we deep down know exist but would prefer to sweep under the rug, covering our eyes and ears until they go away. Written by Alix Harris (who co-directed with Jules Laville) and produced by Helen Bovey for Beyond Face CIC, The Elephant in the Room boldly examines many of these issues.
For hundreds of years, the British Empire profited massively from the transatlantic trade of African people as cattle. The direct descendants of the generations of human beings that were violently treated as property, would then serve and die for that same empire in WWII. In the post-war period they were invited to see a land ‘with streets paved with gold’ and asked to help rebuild the ‘Mother Country’. It is these direct descendants that are now facing endless violence at the hands of the UK government’s Hostile Environment.
Black people are dealing with state and police brutality in the UK, combined with a more subtle, insidious and sinister variety of racism. In today’s Britain you may be less likely to be beaten for the colour of your skin, but you are also very likely to be ignored, marginalised, patronised, and seen as an other who is less than, with doors closed to you as a result.
But how real of a conversation is society at large prepared to have about its inherent lack of fairness and equality? How many are willing to have an open and honest dialogue about privilege? Sadly, most reading this will know the answers all too well.
The Elephant in the Room examines these questions. It boldly asks who and what am I as a person of colour in the eyes of someone who was born into privilege? Am I inherently me? A person with purpose, value and inherent worth? Or do I need to prove myself to them in order to be taken seriously? The film also evokes questions of freedom. We live in a society that claims to be free and democratic, but the UK government is constantly finding excuses to deport African, Caribbean and Asian people who have established homes and lives here. When so many social restrictions still exist on who or what we are allowed to be, we must question how much freedom we really have.
To convey all of the above and more, The Elephant in the Room employs a series of monologues which take you into the hearts of six dancers who experience racial discrimination, and the voice of someone who benefits from it. Accompanying the dynamic dancing is a moving musical track, and background sounds of city and countryside life, giving the film a feeling of power and gravitas. The dancing has been choreographed in a way that syncs the movements of the performers with the emotional intensity of both the music and the narrators’ words, creating a truly unique piece of filmmaking. The monologues are delivered with palpable emotion - they are the passionate, introspective and challenging cries of people who have had enough. Some are sick and tired of not being seen and finally want to be heard; some discuss no longer having the energy to fight against a system that is rigged against them.
In the film, we also hear the voice of someone who deep down knows the situation they benefit from is wrong, but can’t bear to give up the advantages they’ve become accustomed to. By showing the physicality of responding to oppression, performed by the dancers against a disembodied voice, The Elephant in the Room juxtaposes resistance against the pervasiveness of ignorance. You feel the cries of pain screamed by those who dream of nothing more than to be seen as human beings.
The Elephant in the Room raises many questions about fighting injustice, if there are duties of oppressed peoples and the cost of equality. It lays bare the placating words of denial often spoken by people born into privilege, who would rather place their own unease above confronting truths of racial injustice. This is a film for anyone who is in the mood to challenge the status quo.