‘At the heart of change is always protest’: Misan Harriman on Gaza, George Floyd and the spirit of activism

If – and how – you know who Misan Harriman is depends entirely on the content of your media diet. 

If you’re on Instagram, you may have seen his striking black-and-white portraits of protesters at rallies across the world. Or the daily videos he posts in which – again in black and white, his face in close-up – he narrates the latest outrages in Gaza or Lebanon or posts news and politics and art and music.

If you follow the arts, you may have seen him nominated for an Academy award for his first film, a short documentary called The After. 

If you’re a fashionista, you may know that in 2020, he became the first black man to shoot a British Vogue cover. If you read the Daily Mail, you will know he’s friends with that paper’s number one enemies, Harry and Meghan, and has shot their official family portraits. 

Finally, if you read the read the Times or Telegraph, what you’ll know from dozens of articles published in the last month or so is that he’s the “controversial” chair of the Southbank Centre who’s a disgrace to the position and needs to resign over tweets that his detractors claim are “antisemitic”. 

Even if you do fall into one of these categories, you may not know the basics: that he was born into privilege as the son of a successful Nigerian businessman, sent to English boarding school and had an entirely unremarkable career before any of this as a corporate headhunter. 

Above everything else, Harriman’s story is an inspiring and scarcely believable tale of midlife transformation. He was 40 before he picked up a camera and taught himself from YouTube videos. He began shooting protests, black-and-white shots that brought some of the glamour of the fashion world to individuals whose faces actually have something to say. 

It was Black Lives Matter that was the inciting incident for Harriman’s breakthrough: his photos captured their emotion and energy, and Shoot the People, a documentary by Bafta-winning filmmaker Andy Mundy-Castle, takes the story from there: an inspiring account not just of Harriman’s work but also where it stands in a tradition of activist storytellers. Those voices and their work are always out on the edge, Mundy-Castle’s film reveals. They’re either leading the way, or being crushed by the forces they’re trying to change. Sometimes both. 

This is an edited transcript of a conversation I moderated with Misan and Andy at a Nerve screening of Shoot the People at the Rio Cinema in Dalston, east London, this week. 

CAROLE: I want to leap right in and go to where the film ends – because there's something which happened to Misan after you stopped filming, Andy, that was quite extraordinary. Misan was the subject of an incredibly targeted attempted cancellation – and it's one of the most extraordinary coordinated ones I think I've witnessed.

Can you explain to the audience who might not know about this what happened, and what that felt like?

MISAN: In many ways, it's still ongoing. About six weeks ago I had what can only be described as a targeted smear campaign from the rightwing newspapers, with accusations of antisemitism.

But it wasn't just that. It was the ferocity of the racialised element of the deconstruction – the attempted deconstruction – of my humanity, my dignity, and the community that I believe we are all part of, to the point where I started to get credible death threats from registered subscribers of some of these newspapers.

But what was also extraordinary is that the response from the community was incredible. The most complaints in British publishing history to the press regulator, Ipso. Signatures from Carole and many of her powerful friends – mother of dragons.

And really, I think, a new dawn of us fighting for what Orwell warned us about. He said it best: the final command from the party is to reject what we see with our eyes and ears.

I've been vocal about the queer community, the trans community, climate, women's rights, Black lives, and everything in between. But the moment I whispered about children in Gaza, I've had the full brunt – both barrels – of the billion-dollar machinery that you know all too well.

CAROLE: I want to say to you, Misan, that witnessing it in real time, I found it amazing – the sort of strength and determination and courage. That you fought back, and you weren't going to take this lying down. Did that feel automatic? Or did you just decide that you weren't going to have it?

MISAN: There is no pillow as soft as a clear conscience. And also, I've seen too many dead babies. Too many mourning mothers and fathers. The equivalent of six Hiroshimas in explosive power, dropped in a place that has a million children. Oncology centres closed down, so if you have cancer, there's no chance.

Although what I'm going through is challenging, we must never, ever, ever – seeing what I've just described – say or do nothing.

In one period there were more articles about me – my voice was described as "evil"; my voice! – there were more articles about me than the annexation in Lebanon. By the fourth estate. The fourth estate, whose job is to be the final sword to hold the powerful few to account. And that's a damning testament of the age we're in.

CAROLE: Andy, it must have been quite extraordinary seeing this happening to your friend – but also, as a film-maker, was there a part of you that wished you were capturing this moment too? 

ANDY:  I've been with Misan for the last three years now, and although the severity of this was on a whole different scale, I've seen it in other ways, and I've also seen the resilience. What I know is that there's a fearlessness that is there to be admired.

I think there was a real timeline [to the documentary], and that timeline captured what you saw there. We made this 18 months ago, and it's still as relevant, if not more so, today. 

CAROLE: But was it after the 7 October [attacks] that you decided you guys were going to do the film together?

ANDY: The murder of George Floyd was the catalyst of this film. And if you look at what Misan had been doing two years prior, there were a number of movements that he was documenting. When 7 October happened, his lens turned in that direction. And that became what he lent his voice to. And that naturally became what we had to follow.

Because if you are on this observational journey, following real-time actuality in the way that it's happening – I couldn't keep up with the amount of things he was [doing], the protests that he was going to.

Obviously, when you are making a film of this nature, you can't film absolutely everything, because that's an expensive endeavour. So I had to be quite creative with – OK, I think, two months after, it was one of the largest documented [numbers] of people attending [a] march that we had gone to; I think almost 850,000; 900,000. And so it felt right that [we capture] that and a few other choice protests. But the decision was prior to 7 October.

MISAN: But do you remember, very soon after 7 October, there was a rally – Save the Children – with Oxfam, Christian Aid, all [of them]. And they said all the ambassadors are coming, [we'd] love you to come. I turned up, and there were no other ambassadors there.

I'd raised a ton of money, got a lot of people into the country for Ukraine. And I remember how many famous people turned out for Ukraine. So I presumed it would be the same thing.

I arrived outside Downing Street, and I was like – I'm one of the only visible names here. It was a mad moment. I remember looking at you guys, and I was like: OK, this is a new dawn.

CAROLE: This is a new dawn. But you've been quite rude about celebrities, haven't you?

MISAN: I mean – I don't mind if you want to be rich and fabulous and turn up to the red carpets, and have that fabulousness define you. Where I have an issue is when you choose to be a children's ambassador. I called David Beckham out as the most famous Unicef ambassador. Not because I have an issue with him per se, but the idea that you can be a children's ambassador when we are seeing what we have all seen, and not say anything, it was just crazy.

It's not just David Beckham – it was every ambassador, bar literally a handful of extraordinary souls. I just couldn't understand it. How can you be a children's ambassador and [not] know what's happening to children?

And you have people from Médecins Sans Frontières – Dr Nick Maynard, Dr Rosie. You have people that are coming back saying this is worse than the Khmer Rouge. I remember listening to this French lady, in her 70s, who's seen the worst of humanity. She's seen things the devil would look away from. And she said: this is worse… because they can't get out; there is no infrastructure within the health service, and the health service itself is being obliterated.

And you're a children's ambassador, and your silence [is] unacceptable.

[Beckham subsequently put a post on Instagram detailing Unicef’s efforts to bring aid to Gaza and describing life for children in the territory as a “nightmare”, and has since said that “images of burned Palestinian children and families emerging from bombed tents in Rafah shock us all”.]

CAROLE: Andy, I want to ask you about this. I feel activism is quite misunderstood and one of the things that you do in this film is give us a bit of an education of what activism means. How did the structure – going to these different places and meeting these people – come about?

ANDY: It was a collaborative effort between myself and the producer, Wyn [Baptiste]. Wyn is a bit more knowing, his father was one of the people that set up the Notting Hill Carnival, and he's kind of known about resistance through that time in Notting Hill. For me, my activism comes from my work.

And I was looking at Misan, trying to understand part of his backstory as well. And then I thought: it's actually not fair to place the whole weight of this film on his journey as an activist. There has to be a dual narrative of the wealth of archive, and change-makers, and movement-makers who've gone before him.

So the pattern [is] in parallel: he's also learning … At every stage he felt something or experienced something through someone...

And as you can see, the voices of the interviewees – you don't actually see the actual interviews that we shot. They are all experts in the field, people that have studied protest and activism for their whole careers, and really at the top of their game. And how do we ensure that anyone watching this film [can] understand we're not alone in this journey, [in] what we're feeling and what we're seeing?

And we have to continue that journey. That pattern has to be handed over, because sometimes we can feel the change will come.

But actually, change always comes with protest. It always comes with protest – whichever way that happens, be it a silent protest or the thousands of us getting out there to use our voices. At the heart of change is always protest.

CAROLE: Andy, as you’ve said, the film came out of Black Lives Matter. There was that explosion of strength and power and frustration and anger. And you've spoken about how that spirit doesn't seem to have affected the TV industry…

ANDY: I have been quite vocal about that, because I feel that the journey I'm taking has been extremely hard. And with the wins and the nominations and what have you, I'm still finding doors closed at every turn.

And I think of the younger me, who's just dreaming of getting into this industry with absolutely no hand up, with absolutely no routes to access, or understanding that the television industry is a very exclusive club. If you don't know how to access that club, you're not getting in. And that just is what it is. I think that's part of the framework that shows itself in many industries. We know that. But this is the one that I experience in life.

I find that from the top down, it's a very white [industry]. I think the stories, and the way in which stories find their way through, are [shaped] by the cultural perspective of a certain group of people. And that is often middle-, upper-middle-class white individuals – and so working-class stories also get lost, by the way.

And I just wonder how many Spike Lees, Angela Davises, all these amazing creators that found their way in America – they have their own challenges, but how many are we losing out on in the UK?

Just this week, two Black-led production companies collapsed. And they were the sort of people who were at the same level, producing to the same level, that I am. There's a real grave danger for creators like myself.

But when George Floyd was murdered, every broadcaster called me. Everyone wanted to work with me. So they knew I existed. There was one channel that said:  "You can have our platform for a month, and here's as much money as you need to do some rebranding for our channel."

Channel 4 said: "Black to Front." They actually used the title and said “right, we're going to profile and front shows where all the Black people [are] behind the [scenes], and they're going to own this channel. I think they brought back Big Breakfast with [Mo Gilligan] and [AJ Odudu] for a weekend.

And look at where those initiatives and those schemes have gone. They still run – authorised and managed by the exact same group of people that are holding on to that power.

And I think, as [someone] says in the film: what does it say about the depravity of your humanity that you don't want to share [what you have]?

MISAN: The commissioning powers in this country, for me, reflect the weaponisation of mediocrity that has failed upwards. So that when they see real talent that is undeniable, they go in the opposite direction.

I was nominated for an Oscar for my first film as a director. It was a Black woman who commissioned that. My [next film] – it was a Black man who commissioned that. It's a Black team that made this film.

This film you just watched would never have been commissioned by the BBC, or Sky, or Channel 4. Andy’s already got [awards] – and every time he has to sing for his supper. It's a damning testament on who gets to tell stories.

CAROLE: But then, that's such a powerful testament to this film: that you have made this independently. You didn't ask permission. It's out there. It's a kind of great achievement when that’s so difficult to do?

ANDY: Absolutely – you take nothing away from that. But I feel, you know, you have to look at the way the system works for other people. 

I feel that, for me, “good trouble” is my motto. You have to consistently push in whichever way possible to get those stories out there. But [also] I think it's something about our Nigerian-ness that just keeps us going, really. Too stubborn to say we're not going away, you know?

CAROLE: It feels to me that it's also the message of the film: if you want to make a change, go out and do it yourself.

MISAN: Every audience should have the ability to really have an education of literacy. Number one, how the press works. But number two, on what you have been told to accept as entertainment.

So even the Black stories in our past that have been commissioned have usually been very damaging to the communities. Top Boy, for example. It's a variation of "roadman" movies and TV shows that white commissioners are very comfortable telling – that version of the Black experience – when there are so many other versions that they wouldn't go near.

CAROLE: What do you want people to take away from this film? What impact are you hoping for? And what should we walk out into the evening with?

ANDY: The key thing is hope and community. Martin Luther King III said: do we walk towards chaos, or do we walk towards community?

I think sometimes it's easy to think that your voice might not be as prolific as someone like Misan, who's out there every day, really doing what he can. But actually, your activism can come in the smallest of ways. It can just be leaving that door open for somebody who's less fortunate.

It can just be, when you're in a room with somebody saying ill about someone else, you stand up for that person who isn't in the room to talk for themselves. I've been on the [receiving end] of so much discrimination in various ways. And I think what always fills me with hope is when someone else says: I see you.

I think it's really important to see each other in these times of hardship. I hope people just take that away. But we're still here together. And there's so much to give, so much hope that we can hold on to.

MISAN: [I'd end] by saying – hope lives in every tear that you shed as you dry them, and you take that breath and you realise that you're still standing. You realise that your invisible scars have led you to the place that you were always supposed to be.

I cannot always see what the future holds. But I know, as we stand side by side there is a great possibility of kindness and gentleness within community. I believe that is a hope that all of you have the capacity to feed like a plant.

Shoot the People is in cinemas now; Misan Harriman’s photos are on show at Hope 93, London, W1