Issue link: https://digital.copcomm.com/i/1543164
41 S P R I N G Q 1 I S S U E F E A T U R E laptop, so I discreetly placed it in the trunk of my car and told the makeup artist to get in so I could drive her home — without explaining anything. Just as I was about to start the car, several men in plain clothes stopped me, identified themselves as police, and said they needed to search the vehicle. I opened the trunk. On one side was my backpack with the laptop, and on the other, two cameras wrapped in a bag — props from the shoot. One of the officers grabbed my backpack, pressed on the laptop, but since the MacBook Air is very thin, he didn't re- alize what it was and asked, "What's this?" Instinctively, I picked up the camera bag. He said, "What did you just take?" I replied, "It's nothing — just the cameras." Th e n h e a s ke d , " D i d yo u u s e t h e s e cameras for filming?" I said, "I'm not sure, maybe." My only goal was to shift his at- tention away from the laptop. He told me to turn the cameras on, but I said the batteries were dead — which they really were. He asked for the memory cards; I checked and found one still had a card inside, so I gave it to him, knowing there was nothing important on it. Another officer approached and asked for my ID. My hands were trembling, but I didn't want them to notice. I quickly handed it over. "What's your job?" he asked. I said, "I'm an editor — this is a legal film, we have a permit." He said, "Show me the permit." I showed him a photo of a fake permit we had made under the name of our actress, Maryam Afshar, but they already knew she wasn't the real director. The interrogation began. At first, I de- nied that Panahi was the director, but when I realized they already knew, I said, "Let me call him; he'll come and explain." I called Mr. Panahi. While waiting for him, the officers kept questioning me. I tried to keep my answers consistent with what others might say, to avoid contradictions. One officer kept threatening me, while another tried to act sympathetic — a cal- culated good-cop/bad-cop routine. They said, "You're the editor, so everything must be with you." I told them, "Mr. Panahi warned me on the first day that if anything happened, they'd come for me first — so he never left anything with me." In reality, both my car and the house were full of drives and footage. The officer said I was lying. I replied firmly: "You can search my car and house. If you find any- thing, it's yours." The questioning continued until the rest of the crew arrived, shifting the attention away from me. When Panahi finally showed up, he walked straight toward the officers and said firmly, "Why are you here?" They replied, "You're making an illegal film." Panahi said, "I don't ask anyone's permis- sion to make films — even if I wanted to, you'd never give me one." T h e y b e g a n s e i z i n g p h o n e s a n d equipment while calling their superiors. Eventually, around 4 a.m., they decided to return our phones and equipment, keeping only one memory card for "examination." At that moment, Panahi's composure and courage were remarkable. His fearless stance gave all of us strength — and I realized then how unbreakable his deter- mination truly was. His defiance didn't just save the f ilm; it reminded me that when art is guided by faith and courage, it becomes invincible. CineMontage: Do you think your story is an inspiration to filmmakers as they overcome challenges and obstacles to tell their story? In your case, the obstacles were beyond the typical financial, creative, technical — you literally overcame risk to your life to make this film. How do you think your story resonates? What I did is nothing compared to what the brave women of my country have done. They took to the streets to fight for their fundamental freedoms and stood fearlessly in front of bullets. Many were killed or in- jured. When I think about them, I no longer feel that what I did was an act of bravery. These women, who leave their homes every day refusing to submit to compulsory hijab, are fighting a battle — and every moment until they return home, their lives are at risk. If I could offer one piece of advice to filmmakers — both young and experienced — it would be this: when Jafar Panahi says, "I will make my film," he truly means it. Nothing can stop him: not government restrictions, not financial limitations, not technical obstacles. If he can, he works with a professional crew; if not, he shoots with a still camera, and if that's impossible, he films with a phone. He has an unbreakable determination to turn his thoughts into cinema, and nothing can stand in his way. Years of censorship and prohibition could not prevent Panahi from making films, because before being a director, he was — and still is — a civil fighter. Wherever he sees injustice, he raises his voice, wheth- er through film or civic action. A filmmaker must hold on to their pas- sion for creating and never allow financial, technical, or political limitations to silence that voice. If a film has a powerful story and something meaningful to say, it will always find its audience. In the end, for the viewer, the story matters more than the camera. CineMontage: What is your next project? Do you intend to make another film under less challenging conditions, or do you want to keep making stories about life in the repressive regime of Iran? Four years ago, due to the repressive circumstances in my country, I decided to move my entire editing system to Turkey, specifically to Istanbul. I was constantly under stress, fearing that government agents might confiscate my equipment and archives. Since relocating to Istanbul, most of my p ro fe ss i o n a l wo r k h a s b e e n b a s e d here. However, if a meaningful and im- portant project is proposed, I still travel to Iran — discreetly and with full security precautions — to complete it, even with minimal resources. At the moment, I am working on a docu- mentary that explores the crisis of identity among migrants — a universal pain that, I believe, deserves to be addressed with great urgency in our time. ■ Ivan Victor is a member of Local 700's Publications Committee.