Shot on super 8 film and transferred to digital format by projecting it onto a wall and recording it with a video camera on a tripod. The film is called Taniec Margaret (dancing Margaret) and it is a film about my grandmother, who has spent much of her life dancing. I think it’s interesting that when my mother saw the film, her first reaction was, “I should be nicer to mom.” When grandma saw the film, her first reaction was, “Don’t show that to anybody. It’s a shame what getting old does to a person.”

I am on a train from Eindhoven to Amsterdam when I meet Eleza. We are sitting facing each other. We do not look at each other, do not speak to each other for the first 45 minutes that we are on the train. Then, I go to use the toilet. When I return to my seat, I look at her, smile, and then continue looking out the window. Then she says something to me in Dutch.

I say, “I’m sorry, my Dutch isn’t very good.”

“Oh! I was just saying how, when you are on a train, you never know what to do. So you look out the window on the left, and then you look out the window on the right, but you can’t see anything out there when it’s as dark as it is now. So maybe you fall asleep or you read.”

“Haha. I know what you mean,” I say.

“I noticed that you were writing earlier.”

“Yeah, but I’m just not in the headspace to write now. I feel like I should, because I’m on a train and I don’t have anything else to do. But I just can’t right now.”

“It’s true, you can’t force writing. It’s better just to let it come to you.”

I ask her if she writes. She says that she has been writing for her entire life and that she is a poet. Haikus are her favourite. She used to write several every day. She’d be walking down the street, thinking up haikus, tapping her fingers on her leg to count the syllables. But she doesn’t write anymore.

I ask her what she used to write about.

She laughs, clasps her hands in her lap and says, “My life.”

I laugh. Then I ask her what motivates her to write.

“I write to heal.”

And then I ask a stupid question. “Like, physically heal?”

She laughs again. “No, not that kind of healing.”

I tell her that I would really like to hear a poem of hers. She says that her haikus are in Dutch but that she will translate one for me. She thinks for a moment and then recites this haiku:

Night sky with stars
white flies a bird
between heaven and earth

I smile.

She says, “I was outside the Amsterdam Central train station when I wrote that. It was night and I was looking across the canal at St Nichol’s church. And then a white bird flew past.”

I ask her why she doesn’t write anymore.

“Because I’ve already written so much.”

She asks me if I am a Pisces. I tell her that I am not. She says that I remind her of a friend of hers who is a Pisces.

I begin to ask her why but she has begun to put her scarf and coat on. This is her stop, she says.

I quickly take my camera out of my bag and ask if I may photograph her. She smiles and says yes. And then I take her photograph.

She stands up out of her seat and walks into the aisle. “My name is Eleza.”

“How do you spell that?”

She’s walking away from me now, trying to catch the doors before they close. She yells back to me, “E-L-E-Z-A.”

“I’m Erin!”

The door closes behind her and the train continues on.

She don’t like her eggs all runny
She thinks crossin’ her legs is funny
She looks down her nose at money
She gets it on like the Easter Bunny
She’s my baby I’m her honey
I’m never gonna let her go

He ain’t got laid in a month of Sundays
I caught him once and he was sniffin’ my undies
He ain’t too sharp but he gets things done
Drinks his beer like it’s oxygen
He’s my baby
And I’m his honey
Never gonna let him go

In spite of ourselves
We’ll end up a’sittin’ on a rainbow
Against all odds
Honey, we’re the big door prize
We’re gonna spite our noses
Right off of our faces
There won’t be nothin’ but big old hearts
Dancin’ in our eyes.

She thinks all my jokes are corny
Convict movies make her horny
She likes ketchup on her scrambled eggs
Swears like a sailor when shaves her legs
She takes a lickin’
And keeps on tickin’
I’m never gonna let her go.

He’s got more balls than a big brass monkey
He’s a wacked out werido and a lovebug junkie
Sly as a fox and crazy as a loon
Payday comes and he’s howlin’ at the moon
He’s my baby I don’t mean maybe
Never gonna let him go

In spite of ourselves
We’ll end up a’sittin’ on a rainbow
Against all odds
Honey, we’re the big door prize
We’re gonna spite our noses
Right off of our faces
There won’t be nothin’ but big old hearts
Dancin’ in our eyes.
There won’t be nothin’ but big old hearts
Dancin’ in our eyes.

He proposed to her on their second date. She said yes.

Originally published by Blueprint Magazine here.

Dad, why did you start flying?
Ralph Fowler was the next-door neighbour to our place. And he had a friend named Lincoln Ray who built his own airplane and flew it. Ralph was quite the engineer, the backyard engineer. He was building for as long as I knew him. Well into his 60s and 70s he was building an airplane. But he never did finish it. He never did get his pilot’s license.

But his son Roddy, PhD in English, got the bug and became a pilot. And I sort of got the bug as well. I read in the paper that they were having private pilot lessons at the local airport.

How old would you have been at that point?
Um, this would have been in the mid-80s. So early 30s.

And what were you doing at that time in your life?
Um, unemployed. At this point I would have been living with my brother Steve.

In his basement?
Yeah.

You were unemployed when you were living in his basement?
Part of the time, yeah. I was in and out of employment at the steel plant from 1982 to ‘87.

Do you remember the first time you flew in a private airplane?
Yeah. That would have been at my private pilot’s course. I wouldn’t have known diddly about it. I went on an indoctrination ride: “Come and see what it’s like to fly!” Pay fifty bucks and they take you around, let you hold the controls. I thought that was pretty neat.

So while you were unemployed you started your pilot training?
Yep.

How did you have the money? It’s so expensive.
I took a Sault College course for under $100. And then I took ultra-light pilot training, which was fairly cheap at the time, about $40 an hour.

My whole rationale – why I thought I could write it off – was that, “Well, my daughter lives 500 miles away and it’s cheaper to fly there in a rented plane than it is to fly there commercially.”

Where was I? In New York City at that point?
You were in Pittsburgh at that time.

Why did you want to learn how to fly?
I guess it was because the next-door neighbours just made it seem like such a cool thing. And it was. It was a challenge – I couldn’t believe that it was something that I could really undertake. I thought to myself at one point, “If I can do this, I can do anything. The sky’s the limit! There’s no stopping me from doing anything!”
Flying took intellectual ability, it took coordination, you had to be well-rounded. You couldn’t panic at all. You had to keep yourself cool. When you get in dicey situations, you just have to buckle down, do your drills, and come out on the other side.

Did you ever have destinations in mind? I mean, where did you think you would fly to?
Oh, I would create them. My big goal, eventually, towards the end of my flying was, “Oh, I’ll fly down to Pittsburgh and see Erin.” But in a small plane and with the various air traffic circles en route, it would have been a dicey thing. In order to fly from Sault Ste Marie straight to Pittsburgh, there are international borders you have to cross, clearances, air traffic control centres, and it’s quite an involved thing. So then, in the end, it wasn’t a practical way to get to Pittsburgh.

Dad?
Hm?

Can you do anything now?
Pardon?

Can you do anything?
Can I do anything now?

I mean, you said that after you flew an airplane you felt like you can do anything. Do you still believe that?
Um. No. No, right now, no.

Why?
I don’t sleep well enough. My brain’s not working a quarter of what it should be.

But was there ever a time, when you were still sleeping well, that you felt that you could do anything?
Sure. Sure. I felt I could go to university and become a doctor if I wanted to. When you’re young you come complete with the idea that the world is your oyster. That you can do anything. I think that all flying did was confirm that for me. That, “Hey I have talent here and yes I can do anything that I set my mind to.”

When I was younger and I used to be on airplanes, I always thought I was in heaven.
And it’s much like being in heaven, right? You’re defying all of the earthly, worldly laws of physics.

Does it kind of make you feel like you’re God?
You are defying some basic laws, yeah. After you get the fear of death out of you, and the fact that you’re going to return and it’s going to be easy to land and you know what to look for to keep yourself out of trouble. Yeah. I even got to the point where I would go looking for trouble so that I could practice getting out of it.

Like, I’d go flying with my chum Ernie. I’d say “Ernie, just tell me if I’m getting in trouble here, okay?” And I would practice my drills. About the worse thing that can happen to you is that you’re flying along and weather deteriorates and you find yourself in a cloud. Once you get inside a cloud, it’s something like sixty to ninety seconds that the average pilot will lose his orientation, the plane will start drifting in one way or another. You’ll start going up, you’ll start going down, and if you don’t know how you read your instrument, you’ll end up in a spin. Or stalling the aircraft and then going into a life threatening dive.

So I would practice against that by covering my eyes. And the drill for getting out of a cloud is to keep yourself flat and level, and complete a standard call, it’s called, but it’s a very slow turn. Make a 180 degree sweep and go out. Go right back out the way you came.

I’d cover my eyes and pay attention just to my instruments. You can’t pay attention to what your head is telling you. Bad things are happening inside your head. My altimeter would tell me exactly at what level I was. My RPM gauge would tell me how hard the engine was working. And I would complete that 180 degree turn.

It was like being invincible. It was the challenge. I’ve done it all strictly for the challenge.

To challenge myself.

BBC journalist Louis Theroux opens the “Black Nationalism” episode of his documentary television series Weird Weekends by asking the leader of Harlem’s Black Panthers, “What if there was a peaceful solution? What if there was a way to protest and march and stop police brutality peacefully?” To which the Black Panther leader responds, “We’re not going to stand here and speak of some shazam, some hocus pocus, some abra cadabra magic. There is no peaceful way. The white man, I say to you over and over again, is absolutely disagreeable to get along with in peace.” The hour-long documentary then follows Theroux over the course of a few days as he navigates his whiteness while exploring the views of moderate-to-extreme black power groups in Harlem. His goal, he says, is to see if they will “accept a white man in their lives” only days after the fatal shooting of an innocent black Harlem man by four white police officers.

Theroux’s Weird Weekends television series aired on the BBC from January 1998 to October 2000. The episodes follow Theroux as he spends a few days with “extremist” groups, including anti-gay Christian hate groups, people who believe in UFOs, black supremacists, and porn stars. Throughout the series, Theroux seems unaware of the camera as it follows him around and records his seemingly spontaneous interactions and unscripted conversations with members of the various subcultures. According to Theroux’s website, Weird Weekends follows a “Gonzo style journalism” in which the story is written without claims of objectivity, with the reporter as part of the story via a first person narrative, favouring style over accuracy. Theroux says of it, “The show is laughing at me, adrift in their world, as much as at them.”

Throughout the “Black Nationalism” episode Theroux interviews a number of influential black supremacists, including Reverend Al Sharpton, Black Panther leader Khalid Abdul Muhammad, and several members of the Nation of Islam. In each interaction, Theroux is comically defensive, hyper-focused on questions of violence, and obsessed with whether or not those being interviewed think of him as a “white devil”. While interviewing a close aide of Reverend Sharpton about whether or not he condones the use of violence in furthering the black nationalist cause, the aide says, “When we wake up in the morning, we have to come out combat ready.” The camera pans from the aide’s face to Theroux’s wide eyes as he shifts uncomfortably in his place and says nothing. A woman walking past yells, “White man is the devil!”

The next scene shows Theroux riding on a tour bus throughout Harlem with Reverend Sharpton as he explains why he advocates for black nationlism. Sharpton says, “New York is a city where blacks are in one area, and whites are in a totally different community. High integration in America is a myth. There are no banks in Harlem.” As Sharpton continues to provide Theroux with a thoughtful reflection on his black supremacist beliefs, explaining that whites can access better education, better neighbourhoods simply because of the color of their skin, Theroux appears distracted and continues his exaggerated discomfort and shiftiness. After a pause, Theroux asks, “So what should I do if the white devil thing keeps coming up?” His preoccupation with this frivolous comment doesn’t allow for meaningful engagement with Sharpton, and instead is meant to provide comical relief for the viewer.

Following his interview with Sharpton, Theroux spends a few hours with several members of the Nation of Islam, who are understandably guarded and speak very little to him. Theroux narrates, “Our relationship never developed beyond the formalities…in fact it became even more awkward.” The camera shows the several members standing in silence with Theroux in a Harlem store as he sighs and attempts to strike up a conversation about a book he once read about African American history. The men are unresponsive and visibly irritated. Following his meeting with the members, Theroux concludes, “I’d spent time with the Nation of Islam’s most senior figures and I wasn’t any clearer about the doctrine,” so he speaks with Black Panther leader Khalid Abdul Muhammad, widely known for his militant anti-white message. Early on in their meeting, Theroux patronizingly says to the soft spoken Muhammad, “Your image led be to believe that you’d be more aggressive.” After a moment, Theroux asks, “Do you think I’m a devil?” Muhammad responds with a laugh and says, “That’s a devilish question. If there is a devil, he doesn’t have a chance with the white man on top of the ground.”

Theroux’s interview with Muhammad follows the same theme as his interview with Sharpton. Theroux’s questions focus on questions of advocating for violence, believing the white man is a devil, and inquiring about Muhammad’s sexual relationships. Rather than ask Muhammad about his beliefs as a black supremacist leader and how his beliefs are part of a larger historical movement that speaks to systemic racism, Theroux asks, “Are you in a relationship at the moment? Would you go out with a white woman?” Maintaining his calm demeanour, Muhammad responds, “That’s another devilish question. I’m interested in women of my culture. As a black nationalist, I’m interested in building the black nation.”

The film ends with Theroux revisiting his interview with Sharpton, who emphasizes that the violence perpetrated against blacks by the New York Police Department – not black nationalists – are the problem. Sharpton encourages Theroux to attend a peaceful rally and speak out against the fatal shooting of the black Harlem resident earlier that week. Although Theroux initially resists, arguing that it’s not his place as a white man to speak out against racism, Sharpton eventually convinces him to attend the rally. The last scene of the film is of Theroux being handcuffed and taken away in a police car for blocking traffic during the rally. The scene leaves the viewer with the feeling that it was useless for Theroux to get involved, that the tactics of the black supremacist movement are ineffective, and that the only solution for ending racial violence is for the black community to be less violent.

Connecting the “Black Nationalism” episode of Weird Weekends to broader theories in journalism and documentary film raises a number of interesting questions and problems. Stella Bruzzi discusses the narrative style of ‘journey films’ in popular television documentary that is based on encounters between filmmaker and subjects, and also between the spectator and film. Bruzzi discusses how the encounter, in particular the chance encounter, was a main element of cinema verite and that it continues to be a main factor of observational documentaries. A common theme in a majority of observational documentaries, including Weird Weekends, is that they are unplanned and use the journey as a way to probe the nature of objective, premeditated forms of documentary film. This form of observational documentaries comes out of earlier forms of direct cinema that were based on the paradox of unpredictable action not dictated by the filmmakers, who simultaneously desired to impose closure on the undetermined action. As an observational documentary, Weird Weekends challenges notions of certainty and predictability to a certain extent. By taking the form of an actual journey throughout Harlem, the filmmakers demonstrate that the foundation of the film is itself based on the notion of not knowing what the filmmakers are going to discover throughout the course of the film. However, by focusing on specific questions of violence, the “white devil”, and the personal relationships of black supremacist leaders, the film limits the scope of its exploration into the black supremacist movement and reinforces existing stigmas about Black Nationalism as an emotional and violent belief.

Hito Steyerl’s article Can Witnesses Speak? On the Philosophy of the Interview sheds further light onto how documentary journalism can reinforce stigmas against marginalized social groups by exploring the conditions within which documentary witnesses have the ability to speak for themselves. For example, Steyerl argues that one of the problems in Godard’s film “La politique et le Bonheur” is that, “letting the workers speak for themselves, letting them participate in the production of the film, does not necessarily mean letting them speak up”. The key word here is “letting”, implying an imbalanced power relationship in which the filmmakers are in a position of authority to decide whether or not those being filmed are allowed to participate in the filmmaking process. Members of the black nationalist movement are portrayed in a similar way to how workers in “La politique et le Bonheur” are portrayed. In both films, the subjects being interviewed are objects of a voyeuristic gaze in which the viewer has a predetermined idea of what their role should be; the viewer is interested in “authenticity” but sees the interviewees as unintelligent objects incapable of bringing about their own change.

Epistemic violence prevents certain groups of the population from social articulation, which Steyerl describes as speaking without being heard. She cites an example from the film “Tout va bien” in which it is not possible to articulate the will of the women in the film because they exist in a society characterized by colonialism and patriarchy. The attempt to capture their voices as “authentic” actually serves to document the impossibility of capturing their voices at all. Steyerl further argues that it is impossible to capture the oppression of women in a patriarchal society because the filmmaking process is already part of the problem. Similarly, throughout Theroux’s documentary on Black Nationalism the oppression of black nationalist groups cannot be captured because their voice is already marginalized and stigmatized within the broader white supremacist society. Furthermore, although the documentary explores black nationalism to a limited extent, it does so in a way that further marginalizes and stigmatizes the views of those being interviewed.