YIDFF 2025 – report 3: From the River to the Sea, and the Mountains: Filmmakers in Solidarity with Palestine – A Gathering

Previous reports:
YIDFF 2025: preview
report 1: SPI (Sayun Simung)
report 2: Awards

Although this is the third report from YIDFF 2025, it stands philosophically, so to speak, at the center of what my experience at Yamagata has been this year.

One of the appeals, at least for me, of watching and writing about documentary cinema is that we are compelled—more than in fiction—to reflect on the relationship between images and “reality,” on the act of audiovisual representation, on how it all connects to what is happening in the world, and, not least, on the ethics of filming (see the Itō Shiori’s “case”).

The genocide taking place in Palestine makes us all complicit and guilty in some way, including those who work, in various capacities, within the world of cinema and audiovisual production. Writing about films and attending film festivals are, after all, part of the broader industry that revolves around cinema—documentary included.

An extra-festival initiative, though seemingly supported by YIDFF, took place in Yamagata on October 13th. Titled “From the River to the Sea, and the Mountains: Filmmakers in Solidarity with Palestine – A Gathering” the event was organized by Filmmakers in Resistance and featured special guest Razan AlSalah, director of A Stone’s Throw. It brought together directors, editors, critics, and other film industry professionals from Japan and abroad to reflect on how to dismantle complicity in the machinery and industry of the genocide. 

The event opened with a short introduction summarizing the ongoing massacre in Palestine, which continues despite the so-called “ceasefire.” This was followed by a discussion on the significance of PACBI and its crucial role within the broader movement of solidarity.
The second part of the gathering centered on Razan AlSalah, who spoke at length about her position as a Palestinian filmmaker and about strategies to resist the Israeli colonial project. She emphasized the need to make solidarity material, noting that, in many cases, images themselves have become part of the genocide—they have been weaponized. While watching people die inevitably provokes strong emotions, AlSalah insisted, it is essential that these emotions be transformed into concrete and practical forms of action.
To this end, AlSalah proposed that cinema workers concentrate particularly on two key priorities:
– Contextualize and distribute images responsibly. The circulation of images—particularly on social media—must always be accompanied by context.
Cinema, on the other hand, possesses a different kind of power: the act of watching collectively and engaging in discussion after a screening are integral parts of the viewing experience, helping to situate and deepen our understanding of what appears on screen.
– Acknowledge the role of film and audiovisual workers. It is crucial to recognize that cinema is an industry entangled, as Francesca Albanese has put it, in the “Zionist economy of genocide.”

As a poignant illustration of this entanglement, AlSalah shared a personal story. Based in Montreal, Canada, she recalled an incident involving the collective she is part of, which had planned to screen a Palestinian film at a local cinema (unfortunately, I do not recall the title of the film or the name of the venue). The theater initially agreed to host the screening, but when the collective asked to make visible the economic ties between organizations and the Israeli machinery of genocide, the cinema withdrew its support. 

This personal episode illustrates the need to implicate ourselves in the places where we live and to make solidarity material; positionality, in this sense, is fundamental. Palestine—and its erasure, which extends to people, land, animals, plants, and entire landscapes—is now often consumed as content. In this regard, AlSalah’s statement, “It is important for me that my works re not consumed as art objects, because the market will capitalize on the tragedy,” is a crucial encapsulation of both the gathering’s spirit and the importance of PACBI.
On a somewhat tangential note, this reminded me of the practices and positions against ‘art’ by Zero Jigen in Japan during the 1960s, as well as filmmaker Alberto Grifi’s belief in “moving beyond cinematographic language to embrace the language of life.”

The final part of the event turned its attention to film workers active in Japan. Several participants shared their experiences of solidarity actions carried out over the past two years and provided Japan-specific perspectives on the responses to the ongoing genocide.
In Japan, large-scale demonstrations have not taken place, but smaller protests have nonetheless occurred over the past few years. These actions were largely ignored by mainstream media, yet circulated through alternative channels, such as Discord groups.
What stood out to me was that several demonstrations were also organized in Okinawa, where the Palestinian cause was connected—albeit on a very, very, very different level—with the oppression of the Ryukyuan people. It reminded me of the 1950s and the international class solidarity that was so prominent during that decade; a shining example of this were the screenings of several short documentaries made by Noda Shinkichi and shown two years ago in Yamagata.

It was also fascinating to learn how activism and demonstrations in solidarity with the Palestinian cause are being organized by queer and LGBT groups in Tokyo, as well as in Japan’s more rural areas.
In conclusion, while there was agreement that PACBI and a material form of boycott and resistance—tied to where one lives and the work one does—are essential, what is also needed in Japan is a wider dissemination of knowledge about what is happening in Palestine and the economic networks that sustain the industry of genocide.

P.S. I have deliberately avoided naming any of the participants in the gathering, except for AlSalah, whose name appeared on the pamphlet.