Deeyah Khan (19:02)
Yeah, my father was a really active person or really interested person on human rights issues and political issues. And we had political dissen that would visit our house, and they would have these kind of gatherings and conversations. So politics or activism and art was sort of a combined thing from my childhood. It's one of my earliest childhood memories is sitting on the carpet before I started doing music and just playing and my father and all these other people sitting and drinking tea and smoking cigarettes and talking about the world, talking about American foreign policy, talking about, you know, this and that. And. And I remember there were these. There was one Pakistani female painter was there, and there was a theater actress was there, and they were sitting there smoking. And I remember the men looked really just in awe and were so impressed, and they were just kind of holding court. These women were just brilliant. And some had been in prison. All this kind of amazing, amazing, amazing people who were just very involved in the world and their art was their way to it, basically. So that was a very present also aspect of my life. So I just got to a point after those death threats that I just thought, no, I'm not gonna do this. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'm not doing this. I'm not taking a bullet for something that's not mine. And I didn't know at the time what to do. So what I started doing was volunteering for different organizations, for women's organizations, for people that worked with young people who were either struggling with mental health or violence or any other kind of challenges. And then slowly, slowly through doing that, I started feeling really frustrated and thinking, I'm not doing enough. I have to do more. And I thought, okay, well, what do I do? I mean, I'm not an academic, I'm not a journalist. I'm not any of those things. I'm not a politician. So what do I do? And I was like, well, I do have a creative skill set, and I've been trained in creative work and artistic work since I was a baby. And storytelling. Yeah. And I thought, okay, well, is the correct language music? And I thought, well, no, it's not quite the right. Even though music is incredibly powerful. And I thought, okay, well, so, yeah, so documentary filmmaking. Yeah. And really the thought process was as simple as that. I remember going to one of my music colleagues at the time who owned a recording studio in Atlanta, and I had worked with in the past. And I was like, yeah, so I want to make this film and I want to do documentary. And I was like, how hard can it? But you know, I don't have any money right now. And he's like, yeah, we can figure it out. I was, okay. And I remember, I mean truly, I mean, I bought this Sony camera, I remember at the time. And I would watch like tutorials on YouTube. So it was completely self taught. And that was the Banaz film. It took me four years. Wow. Because I was like, I'm gonna tell her story. I wanted to explore so called honor killings. And the reason I wanted to do that is that that's the most extreme consequence of when we don't understand and when we choose systems and cultures over the well being of individuals and the dreams and the aspirations of our young people. So I started looking into different stories and then I came across Banaz's story, which was a very well known story. It was not like an obscure thing that I dug out. It was a very, very well known story. It was a huge case at the time. And I met with Caroline Good, which was the police officer who investigated Banaz's murder. So Banaz was basically, she was a young Kurdish, Iraqi, Kurdish girl who grew up in South London. She was put into a very violent marriage that the parents chose. I mean, they didn't choose the violence, but they chose the man that she was married to. She tried to leave and the family and the parents said, you have to go back and you have to try harder to be a better wife. Maybe it's you, so you need to go back and try harder. And she did and she tried and she tried and then eventually couldn't do it anymore. So she left. And in the process of rebuilding her life, she fell in love with somebody that she chose. The family and the community found out they saw her kissing him in front of a tube station in London, in South London. Somebody saw that and then reported that back to the community and said, she's bringing shame and dishonor on the whole family by behaving in this way. So she needs to be done away with. So the plan was made to murder her, basically. But before she was killed, she was threatened, she was followed, and she had gone to the police, the Metropolitan Police in London, five times asking for help, even telling them who she thought might harm her. And nobody believed her. Nobody believed her. And then eventually she was killed. She was found naked, buried in a suitcase that was buried six feet under an abandoned house in Birmingham. And no family, Nobody came looking for her or kept pushing the police for justice for this girl. So the only people that fought for her was that boyfriend. It was women's rights activists in this country. And the phone call of that case, once she had already been murdered, went to Caroline Good. Caroline Good picks up the phone, gets the case. There were five people. There were two people that had escaped and gone to Iraq. Caroline Goode. And then there were three people here. There was the father, the uncle and another relative. She managed to get them. So she. And she could have patted herself on the back and gone, yes, I got the three killers in the uk, I'm done. But she went to Iraq and she pulled out those guys and secured the first ever extradition that's ever happened here. And she got them back and worked with lots of women there. Anyway, she did that and brought justice. When I interviewed Caroline, just did a research interview, just with a camera, and she gave me this kind of wooden, very kind of police woman type interview. And then I turn off the camera and I said, but, Caroline, you know, why did you go above and beyond in the way that you did for Banaz? You didn't have to. You could have. Nobody was pushing for it. You could have just said, I got the three. Fine. Case closed, we're happy now. And just under her breath she murmurs. And I said, so why did you do it? And so she murmurs and she says, because I love her. And I just went, how can you love someone you've never met? You don't know. She's nothing like you. And she said, everyone should be loved, everyone deserves to be loved. And she said, and Banaz should have been loved. And she said, the people that should have loved her didn't. So I do. And she said, and I still do. And I remember in that moment going, this is the film I want to make, this is the story I'm going to tell. And because at the time, a lot of my friends were like, oh, did you choose Banaza's story because it's extra brutal? And I said, no, they're all very, very brutal. The reason I chose her is because in hers, it's both the problem and the failures of all of us that allowed for this to happen to Bonaz. But it also contains within it the solution, which is Caroline and Deanna and Bonaz's own sister and all these people that fought for justice for Bonaz, that cared about her even when no one else did, and the love. So it was a love story on multiple levels. So that was the first film took me four years. I didn't have money, so I would keep going back and doing some music, selling it, and then paying for it for parts of it. And then somebody said, oh, you should submit it to this film festival. And I didn't. And they did. And their ITV came and they were like, yeah, we wanna buy this. And I was like, well, you cannot have it cause you're gonna destroy it. And they're like, no, no, no. But we do need it re edited because we need it to fit our slot. And as I said, see, you're gonna destroy it. This story's already been told before and it's been told in a horrible way. So I don't want to. They're like, no, you can do it. You edit it and then give it to us. And so we did. They submitted it to the Peabody's and the Emmys. I had no idea. Yeah, I mean, my brother and I. I couldn't even afford to go to the Emmys because, I mean, I couldn't afford to go. So a Norwegian newspaper. My brothers were very well known in Norway. Okay. So the Norwegian paper said we can go, like, do like this brother and sister trip to New York. And then we're, you know. And so we'll pay for the trip. I was like, okay, great, great. I was like, will you pay for a hotel? They're like, yeah, we'll pay for this kind of. Yeah, a little bit. You just have to share the room. I was like, it's fine. We did. And then they even came to the Emmys and they're like, yeah, you know you're not gonna win, but you know, if you win, we'll meet you hereafter. And I was like, yeah, yeah, whatever. And we're sitting and they play a clip of Banaz talking herself about what she went through in her marriage. And I got just so emotional and so sad and so. But also so proud that her voice was being heard in a room like that filled with people like that. And then the next thing I remember is my brother pushing me and yelling. And I ducked. I was like. A bomb went off. What happened? And he's like, get up, get up. Oh, my God, get the fuck up. And I just went, oh, jeez. He's like. And he's pushing. He's like, yeah. And people are standing and clapping.