(PDF) Interactive Documentary at the Intersection of Performance and Mediation: Navigating “Invisible” Histories and “Inaudible”

STUDIES IN DOCUMENTARY FILM 2020, VOL. 14, NO. 2, 128–146 https://doi.org/10.1080/17503280.2019.1678561 Interactive documentary at the intersection of performance and mediation: navigating ‘invisible’ histories and ‘inaudible’ stories in the United States Dale Hudson Film and New Media Program, New York University Abu Dhabi, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates ABSTRACT ARTICLE HISTORY Examining four interactive documentaries, this article analyzes how Received 31 August 2018 performance and mediation can encourage curosity, empathy, and Accepted 7 October 2019 accountability in relation to complex issues and perspectives that KEYWORDS cannot be always represented with any pretense of objectivity or Digital; environmentalism; ethics in conventional analogue practices. They can foreground feminism; interactive emotional and affective registers as meaningful – sometimes documentary; postcolonial; more meaningful than the empirical and rational registers United States typically prioritized in analogue media. They model a critical engagement with digital evidence, tactile interfaces, and locative experiences to navigate a postcolonial/transnational United States and allow for potentially multi-perspectival understandings of issues. Documentary studies historically focused on visible or audible evidence. It has paid less attention to invisible and inaudible evidence. By activating invisible geographies, interactive documentaries facilitate new ways of imagining relationships and new ways of enacting collaborative solutions to problems that are larger than any one of us. They can instruct in ways to navigate larger processes, such as forced migration and global warming. Rather than the universalizing revolutions of past centuries – industrial revolutions, anticolonial revolutions – the current moment demands micro-revolutions and micro-assemblies. In addition to devoting our intellectual energies and financial resources in 360° VR as a new mode for documentary presentation, we can focus on less expensive technologies that allow underrepresented perspectives to affect audiences. Toxins in our environment often escape detection by the human eye or camera’s mechan- ical lens. They develop in places like Bhopal, Flint, and Xingtai along corporate supply chains that are relatively invisible to most of us – hidden within labyrinthine networks of contractors and subcontractors. Discourses of ‘progress’ and ‘development’ often mask war and dispossession, as refugees become targets for xenophobia and hate crimes. Interactive documentaries provide a platform for making connections between seemingly disparate events. Permanent Transit Net.Remix (Afghanistan/United States, 2004; Mariam Ghani et al.), Anti-Eviction Mapping Project (United States, 2013– present; Erin McElroy et al.), The Green Book of South Carolina (United States, 2017; CONTACT Dale Hudson

© 2019 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group STUDIES IN DOCUMENTARY FILM 129 Dawn Dawson-House et al.), and The Shore Line (United States/Canada, 2017; Liz Miller et al.), for example, focus on histories that have been rendered ‘invisible’ and stories that have been rendered ‘inaudible’ in the contemporary United States. They focus our atten- tion on what often falls below the threshold of visibility and audibility by engaging us in tactile, embodied, and locative ways. Interactive documentaries inhabit a space between performance and mediation. They invite media audiences to become software users, requiring us to select and recombine files, sequence and layer data, and, in some cases, move between virtual and physical spaces. They educate on ways that knowledge can be produced or obscured. Data visual- ization can render invisible toxins visible and track changes over time. Data aggregation can make invisible connections visible. These documentaries do not require specialized training to operate. They use standard features of web and mobile design, including GUI (graphical user interface), API (application programming interface), and haptics (haptic interface), whose use is fairly intuitive. They do not embrace a liberal logic of states and interstate organizations as capable of solving problems, nor do they embrace a neoliberal logic of technological and market ‘solutions’. Technologies might help in evaluating the vast amount of data and information avail- able, but digital literacy gives us critical strategies to notice what is missing (Hayles 2012). These documentaries engage a ‘thinking through digital media’ that acknowledges that digital technologies can facilitate inequity and injustice as easily – and perhaps more easily – as they can facilitate equity and justice (Hudson and Zimmermann 2015). They embody one of documentary’s functions embedded in its Latin root docere, meaning to teach, instruct, or point out. They focus on acts of resilience and ingenuity, including the contributions by African Americans in politics and sciences, activism by Mexican American communities dispos- sessed by gentrification, multi-generational solidarities by refugees from wars inflicted upon the Middle East, North Africa, South Asia (MENASA) regions, and grassroots responses around the globe to an unparalleled contribution to climate disruption. Signifi- cantly, all four interactive documentaries were conceived through lenses of feminism and realized through collaboration. They facilitate ways of imagining relationships that have been overlooked or repressed and ways of enacting collaborative solutions to problems that affect different groups in different ways. They instruct in ways to navigate large issues whose causes often seem unclear. They aggregate data for localized strategies. They present multiple perspectives on issues. They make processes, connections, and systems legible. They recognize emotion as a form of evidence and imagination as a form of solution-finding. They can be tactical and ephemeral without overlooking risks. They recognize different perspectives on shared concerns and emphasize perspectives on ignored concerns. They visualize what has been rendered invisible, and they amplify what has been rendered inaudible. They offer platforms to navigate a multitude of histories and stories that affect our present and may determine our future. Defining interactive documentaries Scholars, critics, and makers grapple with terms to define and theorize emerging forms of documentary. Kate Nash suggests that documentary opened from a mode largely defined by one activity to multiple activities – ‘reading, watching, commenting, sharing content, 130 D. HUDSON talking to others, filling in a quiz, playing, and clicking’ (2012, 196), prompting a reevalua- tion of conventional representational strategies and expectations about interactivity. Inter- active documentary combines the allegedly objective distance of the camera lens with the subjective experience of selecting from options to explore issues from different angles. Documentary includes tactile experiences of touching screens or keyboards, embodied experiences of moving through physical spaces with media on portable devices, and loca- tive experiences of recalibrating media for particular situations. Holly Willis suggests that ‘we have shifted from a culture of representation to one of data processing’ (2005, 54). Intellectual work moves from capturing images with cameras to manipulating them with editing software, from production to postproduction. Images do not simply represent reality; they present themselves. Aston, Gaudenzi, and Rose (2017) propose ‘i-docs as premised on co-creation, engage- ment, immersion, gamification, personalization, automation, and discoverability’. They irreverently poach Apple’s ‘i’ prefix, which Steve Jobs claims refers to anything – ‘Internet. Individual. Instruct. Inform. Inspire’. – but actually brands proprietory hardware and soft- ware. Their appropriation highlights a necessary ambivalence with which we must approach interactive documentary. Technologies can be mobilized to amplify the most powerful voices and silencing voices that appeal for justice and equity. Patricia Zimmer- mann and Helen De Michiel propose ‘open space documentary’ to stress that issues are sometimes irreducible and irresolvable. They recalibrate collaborative models from ana- logue documentary for digital technologies in a practice that uses mobility and modularity to engage complicated issues and raise uneasy questions. Rather than imagining an ideal audience, they imagine multiple iterations of a documentary for particular audiences. They embrace polyphonic historiography that moves ‘historical explanations away from caus- ality, linearity, and unity […] often linked to hegemonic power that minimizes difference’ (2018, 59). Documentary films organize footage to construct arguments, but interactive documen- taries require users to select, recombine, and layer, thus navigating different trajectories through databases of audio and visual files. They structure knowledge production accord- ing to principles of ‘new media’, which Lev Manovich defines as fractal structures, varia- bility, automation, and the less visible aspects of coding and transcoding (2001, 27–47). Despite the persistence of terms ‘viewers’ and ‘artifacts’, interactive documentary shifts focus from what is conveyed to how users produce information. The speed with which machines can move between files or within a single file can enable human users to visualize connections and consequences that might otherwise pass unnoticed. They can operate software for different visualizations of the same data to communicate to different audiences. Digital and networked technologies also have built-in limitations. Content can be cen- sored by blocking networks more easily than all celluloid prints of a documentary can be confiscated and destroyed. Craig Hight (2017) notes limitations designed into software. ‘Empowering one group of users inevitably marginalises others with differing motivation or literacies’, Hight explains, so that software’s mediating effect needs to be considered within the multiplying relationships between documentarian, subject, and audience – and between users (2017, 94). Code empowers and disciplines by organizing sets of poss- ible actions, naturalized through everyday use (e.g. dropdown or popup menus, pinch/pull haptics) and automated (e.g. aggregated hierarchies in newsfeeds, auto-suggested content). STUDIES IN DOCUMENTARY FILM 131 Code is not neutral but agentive and reflects the values of its programmers. Software carries particular ideas about purpose and agenda, much like camera lenses (Jay 1988, 10) and color technologies (Shohat and Stam 2014, 186) present particular perspectives of the world – not objective ones. Today, biometric scanning of fingerprints and facial rec- ognition software are calibrated to prefer lighter skin tones (Gates 2011; Magnet 2011), facilitating mobility for some groups while impeding it for others. Interactive documentaries, however, can extend practices from radical documentary that heightened self-awareness. Conceived and produced collectively, the Grupo Cine Lib- eración’s La hora de la hornos/The Hour of the Furnaces (Argentina, 1968) prefigures the modularity and mobility of interactive documentary. Its chapters did not need to be screened in sequence. They could be recombined according to need and situation, which included violent police repression. Screenings were illegal, so reels were physically carried from venue to venue. Each chapter offered another way into the knotted problems of race-, class-, and gender-based exploitation, alongside erasure of indigenous nations and ecological systems within intersecting layers of Spanish and British colonialism, Argentinian neocolonialism, and US imperialism. There was no master narrative for ‘decolonizing the mind’ (Solanas and Getino 1983). Decolonizing media needed to be vari- able. The film was a pretense for debate and action, not an object of esthetic appreciation or individual vision. Documentary inhabited a space between performance and mediation. Documentary, performance, mediation Elements of performance and mediation are evident in ‘noninteractive’ (i.e. flat-on-the- wall, time-based) modes; they are central to interactive modes. Michael Renov finds docu- mentary history ‘severed its ties to the 1920s avant-garde’ wherein the ‘documentary gaze’ was ‘constitutively multiform, embroiled in conscious motives and unconscious desires, driven by curiosity no more than by terror and fascination’ (2004, 96–97). Early films document mutable impressions and phenomena, communicating a range of potential meanings residing within each image – and this range is increased exponentially when images are edited together. He looks at Joris Ivens’s Regen/Rain (Netherlands, 1929), often described as a poetic documentary due to its attention to camera angles and exposures that provide different ideas of rain. Such films were less concerned with the rep- resentation of a singular reality than they were with mediation of phenomena (e.g. rain- drops on pavement, raindrops on water) and with a performance of multiple perspectives (e.g. rain viewed from above, rain viewed from below) to convey the absence of unified perception. They examined how technologies can help humans see and hear differently. Subsequent documentary films, such as Pare Lorentz’s The River (USA, 1937) or Robert Flaherty’s Louisiana Story (USA, 1948), however, narrowed the range of critical engage- ment with media and emphasized allegedly fixed truths and singular solutions. Brian Winston describes documentary’s history as a ‘received history’ (2015, 2), overcrowded by (white-male) figures – Grierson, Flaherty, Lorentz – and structured by myths of tech- nical determinism. Their documentaries affirmed imperialist and nationalist positions on subjects, such as resource extraction and hydroelectric power, promising that they will benefit everyone by rendering their consequences – ‘collateral damage’ in neoliberal terms – invisible and inaudible. By definition, media is a form of communication. Its 132 D. HUDSON medium or technology is ‘an intermediary form through which messages are transmitted’ (Sturken and Cartwright 2018, 441). Mediation emphasizes the effect of medium and tech- nology on the process of communication, typically implying a resolution of reality and rep- resentation (e.g. indexicality in photographic images), much like legal mediation implies resolution to a dispute. Photographic and cinematographic resolution are invariably imperfect, yet mediation is often expected to conform to arbitrary rules of mimesis, a mir- roring or imitating of reality. Documentary evidence is often expected to take the form of visible evidence (‘seeing is believing’), authoritative exposition (‘voice of authority’), and auditory testimony (‘eyewit- ness accounts’) despite knowledge of how technologies that capture visual images or record auditory ones distort them. Documentary film is itself a performance of documents, whether archival or original. Footage is sequenced in compelling ways. The footage also documents mediation between realities and representations. Documentary, then, involves an element of remediation, which Jay David Bolter and Richard Grusin define as more than merely mediation of mediation, but an inseparability of mediation from reality – and a process of ‘reforming media and reality as well’ (2000, 55–56). Documentaries not only represent realities but also produce them. Bill Nichols defines performative documentary as raising ‘questions about what is knowledge’ by emphasizing ‘the subjective qualities of experience and memory that depart from factual recounting’ (2010, 130–131). He examines time-based media, but his category is suggestive of practices that have become more central in documentary that is migrating to digital and networked technologies. For him, performative documen- tary is a process of knowledge production. Like them, interactive documentary can address complex issues and perspectives that cannot be represented with any pretense of objectiv- ity or authority. Like feminist historiography, it recognizes that evidence resides, not only in facts and written texts, but also in emotions and oral stories. Other forms of documentary, such as poetry and theater, emphasize performance and mediation in more obvious ways. Documentary poetry and theater select and recombine documents, such as official records or unofficial accounts. Meaning is both activated through the reassemblage of documents and also through exchanges between performer and audience. As Jill Magi suggests, documentary poetry is less concerned with ‘what makes a poem documentary’ than ‘“what kind” of reality, and whose reality, is being rep- resented’ (2014/2015, 248), taking the example of allegedly objective reportage as words that can be re-signified in poetry to challenge authority or closure over contested histories. Documentary theater operates in a comparable manner, as do documentary film and tele- vision that include archival material. Documentary poetry and theater also foreground emotional and affective registers as meaningful – sometimes more meaningful than the empirical and rational registers typically prioritized in documentary film. Grierson and Lorentz’s canonical documentaries often rallied audience through emotionally charged exposition, foregrounding documentary’s history as performance and medication. Performance studies scholar Diana Taylor notes that acts of doing by imitating or mimicking are forms of learning that actually predate Aristotle’s conception of mimesis (2016, 13). For her, performance is not only ‘what it is, but also, what it does, what it allows us to see, to experience, and to theorize, and its complex relation to systems of power’ (6). Taylor contends that all performance is mediation since ‘the bodies of the artists and of the observer-participants reactivate an existing repertoire of gestures and STUDIES IN DOCUMENTARY FILM 133 meaning’ (58). The rules and best practices adopted by documentarians are participation in a collective performance of codes and conventions. Performance is process, encounter, interaction. Live performances in front of archival images or footage, she argues, ‘empha- size changes and continuity between then and now’ since the ‘tension between the doing and done – present and past’ (9). Film and photography mediate moments in the past, but performance remains in the present. It is always active. Interactive documentary does not ‘exist’ without a user. Unlike linear modes, it cannot simply operate in playback. Interactive documentary can embody critical practice. It can engage the power of story- telling to envision other possibilities, invite ongoing collaboration, and recognize local forms of knowledge production. Interactive documentaries are not ‘empathy machines’ that translate emotional experience via technology, notably digital simulations of virtual reality (VR), which Grant Bollmer argues are over-stated and universalizing claims (2017, 63). Users might not ‘see’ or ‘hear’ the world through someone else’s perspective, but they might think about how evidence supports arguments by combining documents. Interactive documentaries prioritize understanding how information is produced from data – how documentary is a performance of documents – by using media that allows users to role-play as collaborators in their mediation. The four examples discussed make use of different attributes – databases, data visualizations, mobile interfaces, aggre- gators – for a sense of interactive documentary, but they do not provide an exhaustive list of possibilities. Understanding refugee experiences Databases are one of the primary architectural features of interactive documentary. They allow media files containing texts, illustrations, maps, and videos to be recombined into localized experiences or performances. They structure meaning around recombination, offering a ‘potential to challenge the historical legacies that have deployed such technol- ogies as they have intersected with various discourses of oppression’ (Hudson 2008, 79). The epistemological is political in much the sense that feminism taught that the per- sonal is political rather than trivial. Mariam Ghani, Zohra Saed, Qasim Naqvi, and Edward Potter’s Permanent Transit Net.Remix (http://www.kabul-reconstructions.net/transit/) examines disorientation for second- and third-generation refugees of US wars. It also challenges assumptions about women in MENASA states. Lila Abu-Lughod decon- structed US discourses of ‘saving Muslim women’, popularized by Hollywood’s selective concern over burqas and chadors to the exclusion of what Afghani women themselves wanted. The misplaced empathy of Hollywood elite unwittingly supported wars premised on ‘regime change’ that profited US weapons manufacturers, security companies, and oil extraction (2002, 789). Permanent Transit Net.Remix appears like a multi-channel video, but users ‘remix’ video and audio from a database by clicking on buttons on playback windows. (See Figure 1). Images shot through windows of buildings and vehicles in Armenia, Italy, Jordan, Lebanon, Netherlands, Palestine, Russia, Syria, Turkey, United Kingdom, and United States are looped and juxtaposed with fragmented sound, resulting in what Ghani calls ‘experimental documentary reconstituted as a documented experiment’ (2004). The project performs how the past is not fixed in documents but mediated through memory and emotion. The meanings of images often exceed their content. 134 D. HUDSON Figure 1. Permanent Transit Net.Remix (Afghanistan/United States, 2004; Mariam Ghani et al.). Images are framed by playback windows – always in a process of being mediated and remediated. Users see images appear, disappear, or appear simultaneously in more than one window, evoking the déjà vu of dislocation. The documentary becomes a simulation of the experience of repeated experiences, much like performance, which is defined as destabilizing assumptions about authenticity since the experience of the performance fore- grounds itself as reiterated (Schechner 2006, 38). The project does not show and tell us what refugees experience. Instead, it invites us to think about – and perhaps even feel – mediated experiences of disorientation and reorientation in ways that do not protect us with the comfortable distance of an all-seeing, all-hearing, and all-knowing gaze. It is not represented in the conventional way. The experience of being a refugee is performed through a reorientation or partial orientation after disorientation. Images present hotel rooms, airport tarmacs, and bus terminals that are very much places because they are not home. In Laura Marks’s terms, the ‘haptic visuality’ (2000) of such images evokes memories of touch, smell, and taste. Here, they define transitory places rather than the rooted place of a lost home. The images evoke a structure of feelings that are unevenly actualized, partly formed, and often speculative. Feelings attach, detach, and reattach but are never fully contained by an image. Significantly, images reject voyeuristic conventions in representations of refugees as victims. Circulating widely on news and social media, the image of the dead body of three-year-old Kurdish refugee, Alan (Aylan in Turkish) Kurdi, on a Turkish beach in September 2015 became iconic of Europe’s ‘Syrian refugee crisis’. The photograph both stirred humanitarian sympathy for refugees and reactionary outrage against them (Mortensen and Trenz 2016; Lenette and Miskovic 2018). By representing dead bodies, such images can ‘exacerbate the distance between subject and viewer, rather than cultivating the empathy often associated with the wider humanitarian narrative of their display’ (Auchter 2017, 224). Representations of refugees as helpless and STUDIES IN DOCUMENTARY FILM 135 voiceless risks objectifying them. This concern is particularly urgent when news media minimizes the connections between the events driving migration, such as the US inva- sions and occupations of Afghanistan, Iraq, and other MENASA states, and the arrival of refugees and asylum seekers. Permanent Transit Net.Remix’s focus on what refugees themselves see, rather than how refugees are seen by others, shows how interactive documentary might educate by eliciting empathy and perhaps even accountability. It figuratively ‘gives voice’ to refugees by with- holding images of them. It withholds their actual voices since such testimonies might not translate across experience. The documentary thus invites reflection on the processes by which documents are constituted as documentary. Like Trinh T. Minh-ha’s concept of the ‘cinema interval’, that is, ‘what comes up at the threshold of representation and com- munication’ (1999: xiii), the intervals in Permanent Transit Net.Remix emerge between sound and image, and between the various channels of the project in relation to one another. They invite us to reflect upon assumptions about the representation of the past in terms of – or, rather, as performed and mediated by – the present. Permanent Transit Net.Remix also documents ways that storytelling can function as a document of experience. One of the audio files is a recording of Rula Ghani recounting her memories of Syrian comedian Doreid Laham’s absurdist tale of a man trapped in a no- man’s land. Televised in 1981, Laham’s tale is remembered imperfectly by Ghani. Like a memory of home, it had faded and been affected by everything experienced in exile. It is not the words or even the jokes that matter, it is their affect through their performance. This audio file can be played with multiple video files. There is no ‘authentic’, ‘accurate’, or even ‘preferred’ synchronization. Truth is not bound to technology; truth escapes technol- ogy. The audio evokes the project’s attempts to document what is incrementally lost. It unsettles uncritical faith in synchronized sound and factual testimony. Perhaps more sig- nificant than its intellectual interventions are the project’s tangible contributions. As part of Ghani and Potter’s Kabul: Reconstructions, the documentary works in tandem with a blog to facilitate communication about practical information, such as safety and jobs, omitted in news coverage on Kabul. Permanent Transit Net.Remix no longer operates on some internet browsers. A prop- erty of digital media that frustrates media studies is that some projects can no longer run on our current internet browsers. They become ephemera, surviving only in their docu- mentation like performances, thus the doing becomes the done, in Taylor’s terms. Unin- tentionally, they resist commodification that has rendered once-radical documentaries into masterpieces. Permanent Transit Net.Remix counters the invisibility and inaudibility of the US military interventions, particularly remote-operated drone attacks in Afghani- stan, Iraq, Somalia, and elsewhere, which drive refugees to cross continents and oceans – sometimes living away from home for generations but seldom relinquishing the hope of returning one day. Visualizing data and aggregating oral histories With its tagline ‘Visualizing Bay Area Displacement and Resistance’, Anti-Eviction Mapping Project (https://www.antievictionmap.com) documents the dispossession of communities through data visualizations, ‘community power maps’, and a narrative car- tographic project. (See Figure 2). Somewhat like You Are on Indian Land (Canada, 1969), 136 D. HUDSON Figure 2. Anti-Eviction Mapping Project (United States, 2013–present; Erin McElroy et al.). it oscillates between documentary in its conventional sense, which helps audiences under- stand the past or present by educating, and activist media, which helps them mobilize for a better future by driving policymaking. AEMP is also radically collaborative, involving the intellectual and political labor of academics, activists, and communities. Tenants learn to act together. AEMP generates media in the form of maps, charts, infographics, and tool kits that enable performances, such as protests and storytelling, to advocate for tenant rights and corporate accountability. AEMP reworks how dispossession is typically understood. Rather than forced mass dis- placements, neoliberal economics drives incremental dispossession through evictions. Neighborhoods in Bay Area cities in northern California have been home to immigrant and working-class communities. Over generations, residents created community identities and vibrant cultures. They are now being dispossessed by gentrification, resulting from the arrival of information technology (IT) corporations such as Apple, Alphabet (Google), Cisco, Facebook, and Intel, that have transformed the Santa Clara Valley (the southern portion of the Bay Area) into the Silicon Valley. The IT sector profits from proximity to universities with arts and STEM (science, technology, engineering, mathematics) pro- grams, military infrastructure, investment, and venture-capital. Gentrification as eviction thrives due to under-acknowledged resources of relatively inex- pensive real estate. As Erin McElroy explains gentrification includes ‘disinvestment, rein- vestment, deterritorialization, and reterritorialization’ since the Tech Boom 2.0 in 2011, engendering fantasies of ‘techno-utopics’ through realities of ‘racial/spatial dispossession’ (2017, 206). Some of the most egregious evictions are propelled by real-estate speculation. The US Department of Housing and Urban Development found median prices for a single-family home were USD 935,000 with families earning USD 117,000 qualifying as ‘low income’ (Strassmann 2018). By contrast, US average for this status is USD 45,500 (‘US Low-IncomeWorking Families Increasing’ 2013). Gentrification makes the Bay Area STUDIES IN DOCUMENTARY FILM 137 is too expensive for hospital staff, police officers, school teachers, and others, who comprise the backbone of communities. Community mapping is one component of AEMP. Sen (2008) argues that mapping informal communities can facilitate policy changes for empowerment but also can make communities vulnerable to dispossession through visibility and legibility to preda- tory entities. AEMP’s documentary practice combines counter-mapping and feminist visualization strategies that reflect upon the conventional categories used by cartogra- phers. AEVP performs as much by emphasizing data that prioritizes a historical inscrip- tion of place by community and analyzing data that prioritizes an ahistorical erasure of history to facilitate gentrification. ‘Whereas real estate speculators map investment oppor- tunities’, Manissa Maharawal and Erin McElroy explain; ‘we map loss, dispossession, resistance, and struggle’ (2018, 384). Documentary practice here is open-ended. It emerges within its own performance rather than in a fixed object or final cut. They further explain AEMP’s aim is ‘documenting dispossession to make visible and actionable the terrain of gentrification and resistance in the city’ (380). AEMP reclaims what neoliberal corporations appropriate. It offers tools and scenarios to combat dispos- session by visualizing data, aggregating narratives, and mobilizing resistance to eviction- friendly policies. It offers practical information and reports in English and Spanish to empower communities to understand how they can avoid dispossession and erasure of their historical and physical presence, which is part of a longer historical processes ren- dered invisible. One myth to justify US imperial expansion into México, Hawai’i, and Phi- lippines was the Manifest Destiny’s allegedly ‘divine’ authorization to dispossess indigenous communities and annex lands. Many communities in the Bay Area descend from dispossessed communities. US imperialism appropriated place-names, evident in Native- or Spanish-language ones, or outright renamed places to sever historical connec- tions to indigenous peoples. Comparably, gentrification replaces historical place-names that shaped community identity with market-friendly whitewashed ones. Maharawal and McElroy note that ‘real estate-driven neoliberal fantasy maps’ rename Chinatown and Castro, historically Chinese/Chinese American and LBGTQ+ neighborhoods, as ‘Eureka Valley/Dolores Heights’ as part of ‘a deep history of capitalist cartography privile- ging racialized, classed, and gendered geographic perceptions’ (2018, 381). Discourses of ‘neighborhood improvement’ camouflage segregation. Indeed, Harvey (2003) describes neoliberalism as ‘the new imperialism’. Performances of critical cartography reclaim the present and support a future. AEMP connects different layers of datasets to advocate for anti-eviction policy. Tech Bus Stop Eviction Map (2014) visualizes occurrences of no-fault evictions (i.e. tenant pays rent and follows rules, yet landlord terminates lease) in San Francisco near the stops for private buses providing transportation to Silicon Valley offices. Without the dots that indi- cate evictions, the map looks like one used by an IT corporation to recruit new staff. Dots indicating private buses resemble ones on other city maps indicating public transportation due to (illegal) practices of private buses using public bus stops. The ‘green’ appeal of eco- friendly shared transportation renders invasive practices of forced evictions that accom- pany gentrification less legible. Other threats to neighborhoods are gentrifying nonresidents, who profit through ‘sharing economy’ platforms like Airbnb, headquartered in San Francisco. Designed so that homeowners can host guests like a conventional bed-and-breakfast – ‘book unique 138 D. HUDSON homes and experience the city like a local’ – Airbnb is exploited by venture capitalists, who acquire multiple properties, often belonging to longtime residents no longer able to afford them due to higher taxes and expenses related to gentrification. They even acquire rent- controlled apartments intended as housing for working-class families. Many of Airbnb’s hosts are not individuals with a spare room or flat to let. They own numerous properties that are listed as ‘rooms to share’ in ‘homes’. Moreover, realtors profit from eviction through ‘property flipping’, that is, speculative purchase at a low price for quick resale at a higher price after renovations. AEMP visualizes this invisible power to residents. The cartographic project Narratives of Displacement and Resistance (NDR) performs a feminist-inflected mode of counter-mapping by complicating the authority of graphic symbols such as dots or lines on visual maps, by introducing oral testimony. Much like feminist historiography validates gossip and rumor as unofficial archives of knowledge that can be as useful in writing history as official archives of state documents and inter- national treaties, oral histories in the NDR validate subjective experiences as necessary to an understanding of gentrification’s effects on families and communities. It documents by mediating the performance of stories as components of a larger history-in-process. It contributes to reclaiming qualitative data after the 1950s ‘quantitative revolution’ in the social sciences, which exploded under neoliberalism. More immediately, it engages a ‘shared authority’ to counter discourses of victimization through eviction that dominate interviews in news media (Maharawal and McElroy 2018, 381). In ‘I Belong Here’, resi- dents explain in first-person accounts why they belong in the places they know as home. Stories of pain and joy become qualitative data that work in tandem and tension with the quantitative data visualized elsewhere. AEMP adds layers of meaning to these processes. Iterations of AEMP include murals with ‘call-the-wall’ functions: phone numbers that access oral histories. AEMP functions as a locative documentary. Users access information on site, much like projects that use QR (quick response) codes, scanned on a mobile phone to access information on the web. The project takes its political commitment seriously. Built on the open-source Ushahidi platform (not proprietorial Google Maps), the project’s crowdsourced map (https://antieviction.ushahidi.io/views/map), invites users to collabor- ate by contributing stories of eviction or sightings of gentrification projects. AEMP asks users to take the pledge to boycott corporations, who profit from dispossession, suggesting a radical shift in thinking for a country whose national myths have long sought to erase the history of genocide and dispossession. AEMP invites users into an ongoing performance of visualizing and articulating resistance to powers can seem as invisible as toxins in the air and water. Presenting identity as portable and immersive Histories of other communities are also systematically marginalized. The South Carolina African American Heritage Commission identifies and promotes the preservation of his- toric sites, structures, buildings, and culture of the African American experience in South Carolina, assisting and enhancing efforts by the South Carolina Department of Archives and History. Through its The Green Book of South Carolina website and mobile app (https://greenbookofsc.com), the Commission engages in a documentary practice that allows users to participate in the reclaiming of histories traditionally rendered invisible STUDIES IN DOCUMENTARY FILM 139 Figure 3. The Green Book of South Carolina (United States, 2017; Dawn Dawson-House et al.). by conventional historiographic practices. (See Figure 3). The mobile app moves between locative documentary and tour guide. Tourism is an important industry in South Carolina, and African American tourists are estimated to contribute USD 2.4b to the economy. ‘One of the things that draws people to the state is its authentic story’, explains Dawn Dawson- House; ‘so many people know what Geechi and Gullah mean, because we’ve been promot- ing our authentic history and stories’ (as cited in Street 2017). The Green Book of South Carolina lists historic schools, churches, cemeteries, homes, cultural sites, districts, and HBCUs (historically black colleges and universities, mostly established before Civil Rights). The app offers four primary ways to sort data and find places. It is locative and mobile. Users enter keywords in the search bar; browse an alpha- betical listing of sites through the ‘locations’ button; search by category through the ‘cat- egories’ button; click on ‘map’ for sites within 25 miles (40 kilometers) through geo- location software; and, most importantly, visit physical places. They build their own itin- eraries by selecting ‘favorites’, or consider suggested itineraries under ‘tours’. Not only does the online travel guide make it easier to navigate South Carolina, it helps users learn about churches that served as community centers and sanctuaries, farms and fac- tories that became sites for mobilizations of collective action, and beach resorts that were open to African Americans during official segregation. Other sites include houses, orphanages, libraries, and slave markets – that is, sites of historical trauma and inspiration. The Gullah Geechee Cultural Heritage Corridor, for example, contains important sites for Gullah, who lived on the sea islands and are familiar to many only through Julie Dash’s ground-breaking Daughter of the Dust (United States, 1991). The corridor includes other histories, demonstrating multiplicity and diversity in African American experiences. The app recovers and reactivates African American histories at risk of being lost. It is not merely celebrating history. It disrupts what Jodi Melamed defines as ‘neoliberal multi- culturalism’ (2011, 138), ‘a market ideology turned social philosophy’ that appears fair through multiculturalism’s discourses of diversity and inclusion but reconfigures inequal- ities based on racial logics of unjust systems in unmarked terms. By contrast, The Green Book of South Carolina remembers the terror faced by African Americans who wanted or 140 D. HUDSON needed to travel on US roadways in past decades. The guide pays tribute to The Negro Motorist’s Green Book first published in 1936 by New York mail carrier Victor Green as a directory of safe places and advice. The publication was invaluable under Jim Crow laws (c. 1870s–1965) through Civil Rights struggles (1954–1968) when an emerging middle class of African Americans began traveling for business or to visit friends and family. Denied the right to enter ‘sundown towns’ after dark, particularly in northern and midwestern United States, they were denied service in restaurants and hotels. They were not guaranteed equal protection by police should they be attacked. The Black Lives Matter movement underscores the continued relevance of this history. If the original Green Book was a survival guide for African American motorists and tra- velers, then this one can be considered a survival guide for African American history. The guide allows users to access an African American history that is not necessarily taught in schools or commemorated in national or state holidays. The Green Book of South Carolina is part of a larger historiographic project of making the perspectives of African Americans visible, audible, legible, indispensable, and irrefutable. The guide invites users to experi- ence historical sites that mark the uncontestable place and invaluable contributions of African Americans. The Green Book of South Carolina operates in tandem with the Com- mission’s social media pages, which offer information on popup events and other infor- mation not available on the app. The Green Book of South Carolina performs history differently. Rather than defining plantations by lord proprietor’s name, other histories are emphasized. ‘Now they say, this brick structure was built by 700 slaves who came from Sierra Leone’, Dawson- House explains about McLeod Plantation and Boone Hall; ‘You can see their fingerprints in the moulding and the brick. This is where their cemetery is and this is where you can find out all the information we are learning about them’ (as cited in Street 2017). The app, thus, magnifies visible evidence that would remain invisible to the human eye, thus making histories legible. Since 40–60 percent of African slaves arrived through South Car- olina, The Green Book of South Carolina participates in the intellectual and political work of decolonizing history to imagine a better and more equitable future despite a surge in white nationalist movements. It contributes to work by historians and activists, such as Zinn (2005), whose people’s history of the United States rejects master narratives of Founding Fathers to acknowledge work by grassroots organizations in inaugurating a slow process of US democratization, and Dunbar-Ortiz (2015), whose indigenous history of the United States rejects master narratives of Manifest Destiny to acknowledge a 400-year history of organized resistance against colonialism and imperialism. The mobile app attempts to shift the narrative about South Carolina without whitewashing history. It allows users to engage in the performance of history by engaging with media onsite, augmenting reality with missing information, which is particularly important since many historical documents have been lost or destroyed. Envisioning life after rising seas and extreme weather Liz Miller’s The Shore Line (http://theshorelineproject.org) allows users to navigate the effects of climate change on coastal communities, which amount to about half the world’s population. (See Figure 4). Described as ‘a storybook for the future’, The Shore Line conveys ways that 43 people in 9 countries confront the problem of rising seas STUDIES IN DOCUMENTARY FILM 141 Figure 4. The Shore Line (United States/Canada, 2017; Liz Miller et al.). and violent storms due to climate disruption. Although conditions affect all of us, they do so in different ways. Developed over three years with students and filmmakers, the inter- active documentary is designed to look like a hand-drawn and printed children’s story- book. The design and architecture are premised on storytelling as performance and mediation. The project’s architecture and design position media files to evoke responses. Miller’s inspiration developed when she noticed a newly constructed wall to protect shores in the northeast United States from hurricanes that historically only affect the southeast. Considering other factors, such as ‘the dumping of industrial waste, unchecked development, and resource extraction’, she realized that ‘the shoreline is a frontline’ and began ‘to consider the coast itself as a story device’ (2017). Drawing upon the concept of ‘slow violence’ (Nixon 2011) that asks us to consider incremental effects of global warming as violence like so-called extreme weather of heatwaves and tsunamis, Miller devised a way to address the ‘gradual seeping of toxins into the water, the displacement of shoreline com- munities and cultures, and the erosion and disappearance of beaches’ by facilitating ‘gradual and often invisible processes of social change’ through stories of what she calls ‘slow resilience’ (2017). Stories involve collaborations between human and nonhuman actors like plants and trees. Miller draws upon the notion of ‘collaborative survival’ (Tsing 2015), as ‘where humans and non-humans converge in the midst of ruin’. The documentary reorients anthropocentrism in many environmental documentaries that posit humans as distinct from nature – and exceptionally capable of saving it. By navigating between chapters, databases, and an atlas, users learn innovative ways that people manage the effects of global warming. The videos are ‘portraits of people working together, taking actions over time, often in quiet but resourceful ways’ (2017), as Miller describes them. Users navigate by tags, such as people, country, threat, and language. Under ‘people’, they select by occupation – activist, architect, artist, biologist, communication – finding strategies to contribute to communities based on individual skills and talents. On the atlas users can track their own paths, see the paths of other users, access videos and look at datasets to analyze how population density threatens 142 D. HUDSON mangroves and wetlands. Users can also act on their own with strategy toolkits. As the project makes clear, solutions to problems are sometimes temporary or incomplete. They are small acts of resilience against larger and more power forces of climate disruption over which only the most powerful – state leaders, corporate heads – might individually affect significant change. In ‘A Floating Future’, architect Mohammed Razwan explains creative solutions for rural communities in Bangladesh’s Natore District. Solar-power lamps permit children to study at night without electricity. Due to flooding, many farmers are landless. A solution has been floating vegetable gardens, duck coops, fish enclosures, and even housing – some- thing that facilitates increased female participation in income-generating work by relocat- ing farms closer to families. Children attend school on traditional boats modified into classrooms. The ingenious solution allows children to continue their education during monsoon season when flooded streets and buildings often cause children to drop out. By clicking on the ‘toolkit’ tab, users are directed to a page with comparable solutions for other locations. Slow resilience becomes a multisite possibility. The documentary facili- tates the work of aggregating data. In ‘Protectors of the Mangroves’, high-school student Reyna educates her peers and parents about the role of mangroves in Panamanian ecosystems. From Indonesia, ‘The Chi- liwung River’ models how to save a polluted river and transform it into an eco-park for edu- cation and biodiversity. Other videos show work remaining to be done. In ‘A Sinking Island’, Ioane Teitiota is among the first climate refugees to arrive in New Zealand from Kiribati, pro- jected as the first state that will be submerged by rising sea levels. Elsewhere, artists Michael Singer and planner Jason Bregman combine forces to restore the ecosystem in the inter- coastal waterway near West Palm Beach in the United States. Along the way, they faced highly financed opposition by residents of luxury apartment towers whose construction con- tributes to environmental devastation. As the so-called Winter White House, Palm Beach’s Mar-a-Lago resort is effectively an epicenter for anti-environmentalist schemes. The Shore Line includes ominous images of possible futures. An image of the intersection of Water Street and Wall Street in New York City shows rising waters of the East River joining the Upper Bay until lower Manhattan is underwater. When users click on the image, pre-flood pictures appear, offering an idea of what will be lost. What is not necessarily visible is that this neighborhood is home to many of the transnational corporations that lobby against eco-responsible policy. This visualization and one for Miami suggest how affluent communities and wealthy corporations have resources to move elsewhere and thus do not prepare – a starkly different narrative than the resilience and empathy amongst communities who are more vulnerable and less privileged. Miller describes the project as ‘a method of imagining ourselves connected to something we love and a future we want to defend’ (2017). The documentary includes workshop cards, activities, and suggested readings that can be downloaded. It also includes an interactive map with visual- izations of areas with wetlands, mangrove cover, and dense coastal populations to identify how coastal density impacts the very ecosystems that protect communities from storms. Miller is keenly aware of interactive documentary’s limitations in terms of ‘complex power dynamics connected to colonialism, capitalism, class, race, age, and gender’ and how ‘the very screens used to communicate about climate change are also part of the problem’ (2017). Making The Shore Line benefits from her teaching. The other day, a student in my class asked me when we might see a shift or swell of consciousness STUDIES IN DOCUMENTARY FILM 143 around climate change, like the civil rights movement or women’s movements, that will prompt us to act more responsibly towards the planet’, she remembers; ‘I encouraged her to start imagining it and then take the first step towards it’ (2018). Miller describes much of what scholars in postcolonial environmental humanities have argued. People need to envision and imagine solutions to the problems that we have collectively inherited yet we are not collectively affected by the same intensities. Acts of resilience, however slow, are needed – but must first be imagined. The performative function of aggregating videos helps facilitate this objective. Locating interactive documentaries Interactive documentaries actively engage users in ways that can encourage curiosity, perhaps even empathy and accountability, by foregrounding that perspectives are always multiple and that history will forever be missing a few additional stories. They require us to work through media files at our own pace, learning along that way that insight gained helps better shape future questions. ‘The relationship between documentary and digital technologies’, argues Hight, ‘offers the potential for a far more extensive and permanent transformation of fundamental aspects of documentary culture’ (2008, 3). Each encounter can constitute a different performance of mediation. Although most interactive documentaries are available online for free, they can be difficult to locate. The gatekeepers of commercial film festivals and distributors have not found a way to monetize their labor of making projects available to wider audiences. News media increasingly integrate interactive documentaries into their social media foot- prints and host them on their websites, notably Al Jazeera English (www.aljazeera.com/ indepth/interactive/documentaries/) and France24 (https://www.france24.com/en/web- documentaries/). The New York Times’s Op-docs (www.nytimes.com/column/op-docs) is primarily short videos for its online opinions section but includes content that it calls ‘interactive’ or ‘virtual reality’. Canada’s Office national du film/National Film Board (www.nfb.ca/interactive/) extends its historical commitment to documentary by exhibit- ing interactive ones. IDFA’s DocLab (www.doclab.org) includes a few. Universities and research centers have been more proactive. The Finger Lakes Environ- mental Film Festival (www.ithaca.edu/fleff/) at Ithaca College began exhibiting them in 2006. The University of West England’s i-docs initiative (i-docs.org/) launched in 2011. Centers advocate for tactical approaches to educating marginalized – thus, invisible and inaudible – communities to communicate their histories and stories in whatever way they like to whomever they like. SARAI in India and ProMedios de Comunicación Comu- nitaria/Chiapas Media Project in México produce community media, but more impor- tantly instruct in media literacy. They allow for minoritized communities, such as Dalit and Muslim women in Delhi and indigenous women in Chiapas, to tell their own stories according to their own conceptions of what media should be. No mode of docu- mentary is universizable. Interactive documentary allows for potentially multi-perspectival understandings of issues. Audiences engage media actively by running files and aggregating data into infor- mation. Some allow users to access information while moving through physical space with mobile devices. They are modular and mobile. Somewhat counterintuitively, they might force us to inhabit the moment more than ‘noninteractive’ documentaries by reducing 144 D. HUDSON the possibility of multitasking since they constantly require us to do something. They are performative in the sense that their design and architecture allow for multiple pathways through often open-ended databases of files that mediate and remediate evidence. More significantly, they can help us become accountable for our role in ongoing situations and speculate solutions together. Rather than the grand revolutions of past centuries – industrial revolutions, anticolonial revolutions, and so forth – the current moment demands micro-revolutions or micro-assemblies that might collectively affect broader change. Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author. Notes on contributor Dale Hudson teaches in the Film and New Media Program at New York University Abu Dhabi (NYUAD). His research examines media and visual culture in relation to globalization, particularly transnational/postcolonial migrations, structural inequality, and environmentalisms. He is author of Vampires, Race, and Transnational Hollywoods (Edinburgh UP, 2017) and articles in journals including American Quarterly, Cinema Journal, Screen, Studies in Documentary Film, and Studies in South Asian Film & Media; co-author of Thinking through Digital Media: Transna- tional Environments and Locative Places (Palgrave Macmillan, 2015); and curator or co-curator for 11 online exhibitions at the Finger Lakes Environmental Film Festival (FLEFF). References Abu-Lughod, Lila. 2002. “Do Muslim Women Need Saving? Anthropological Reflections on Cultural Relativism and Its Others.” American Anthropologist 104 (3): 783–790. 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