Like many of my friends belonging to the Muslim diaspora in the Wild White West, I cringe, cry and sometimes burst with anger upon seeing white social media celebrities traveling to Asia or Africa, taking selfies with ‘the locals’ under military escort, in a troubling way reminiscent of British Colonial officers. However, taking a deep, hard look at myself, I realise that I may be worse than them.
I am a photographer, film maker and researcher at the University of Warwick. I don’t have a million followers but through my career, I have benefitted from the unfair privilege of being paid by universities and governments to travel the world, document and publicise my experiences. Unlike celebrities, my opinions don’t impact my few followers on social media but rather influence decision makers in public bodies, and that’s not a thought I’m very comfortable with.
I am a Polish Muslim who migrated to the UK for economic reasons, but at the same time I am a white man with a PhD, and worse, educated in France. Though my faith and my parents’ origin are not really well regarded in Western Europe, once I step outside, even in Islamicate countries, I need to remember that I am coming from the heart of an Empire that has subjugated millions of people for centuries. Past colonial projects, have used scientists, artists, teachers and religious figures to write a version of history that places the Western world and its people as superior in every way. As a result, the lens through which we see the world has been durably stained by this narrative we have been fed our entire lives.
Although geographic empires are no more, colonialism has taken a different shape which has subtly conquered our minds. Whether we like it or not, our seemingly innocent cultural tastes, destination ideas and itinerary plans are heavily influenced by highly curated images produced by travel bloggers, vloggers, photographers and other ‘explorers’, often working hand in hand with governments and consumer brands.
Psychologist Hussein Bulhan calls it ‘metacolonialism‘ – a form of persuasion that positions Western frameworks, values, world-views and culture as universal points of reference, and the only benchmarks available:
“Metacolonialism in the way I define it enlarges the distortion of events in memory because written history is mostly about the valor and benevolence of the European colonizer. Students continue to learn this history in schools, libraries preserve it, statutes freeze it in time and place, and public and professional media disseminate it. In short, the worlds of things and people exude, reflect, and perpetuate the story of the European colonizer. This story valorizes the colonizer and turns into a potent weapon of domination while it invalidates and vilifies much about the colonized, including their culture, their epistemology, their ontology—indeed their very existence as human beings. The colonizer’s reality and memory under these conditions take the status of the only valid knowledge worth preserving and disseminating while the colonizer’s self-aggrandizement entails the diminution or negation of the colonized.”
And so, I ask, what can we do as individual content creators and creatives, to ensure we don’t end up, effectively, acting as colonial agents?
Here are four questions I always consider before travelling, whether as a filmmaker or researcher, that place the dignity of those who are the subject of my work, as a priority, and help keep my own actions and intentions in check.
1. Who is the focus of my work or content?
The most successful storytellers in film or research are able to make themselves ‘disappear’ for the audience to focus on the subject of their work.
I ask myself, whose voice is heard through the research paper or the documentary? Am I speaking for others? Is the work I’m doing, or content I’m creating about my own experience and the good time I’m having, or is it about the people and places I’m visiting? If the content is about you, make that clear and do not claim otherwise to your audience.
Its a @HarrisJOfficial selfie with the Orphans in The Gambia. Tweet us and tell us why you ❤️ Harris J.#harrisj #harrisjfans #HarrisJ pic.twitter.com/Hrvc14MAsf
— pennyappeal.org (@pennyappeal) March 29, 2017
Do I ask people for consent before filming them or taking their photo? Do I credit them in my work and public presentations? Do I use people as props? Do I take selfies with orphans for my social media? Am I a colonial agent doing research ‘on’ others? Do I consider myself a ‘white saviour’ trying to ‘make a difference’ for others? Or rather, am I present ‘with’ others?
Presenter Stacey Dooley was accused of behaving like a ”white saviour” after she posed for this photo with a child, without permission from his guardian, and posted it on her Instagram.
2. How do I use my privilege?
Power can be used for our own benefit alone, or it can be shared with others. Do I make the effort to look for people who are more skilled, experienced and knowledgeable than me, and feature them in my work? Do I seek collaboration with local organisations and businesses (like shooting a video for them for free)? If I stay in someone’s home, do I offer to pay them compensation (or leave some bank notes even if against their insistence)? Do I take things for free, or do I pay extra to support local businesses?
Moreover, do my actions reinforce the narrative of my ‘superiority’? Do I accept military escorts or access to areas forbidden to locals?
A number of Western travel bloggers visiting Pakistan have filmed themselves receiving freebies from locals -on account of the “hospitality” of Pakistani people. The video above is probably the best example of how not to use your privilege.
Some travel influencers have caused controversy by (allegedly) collaborating with, or receiving payment from governments accused of human rights violations.
READ: How western travel influencers got tangled up in Pakistan’s politics
3. Do I make an effort to learn?
Knowledge and human connections are the key ingredients for the richest travel experiences. Before traveling, do I read about the history, the culture of the places I visit? Do I try to learn the basics of the language? Do I map the different people and organisations I can meet there? Do I meet with local artists, academics or community organisers? In my home country, do I makes the effort to connect with people belonging to the diaspora of the countries I’m visiting?
4. Do I listen to feedback?
Listening and humility open the fastest route to personal growth. As content creators, it is easy to get things wrong, especially when following a set vision. By highlighting and capturing some experiences, it is inevitable that you will exclude others. My own work has offended some people. However, by asking myself this question, I can cultivate humility. If someone reaches out to you with valid constructive criticism, it is important to not ignore their emails or delete their comments.
Muslim Content Creators
As a Western Muslim, I know that we have been deprived from visibility, knowledge and financial stability in our (adopted) home countries. I can understand why some content creators uncritically accept lucrative deals offered by consumer brands and governments, even if it means indirectly leading to the exploitation of our brothers and sisters around the world.
Though as a content creator it may feel as though there is no other choice but to operate in this way (after all bills do need to be paid), alternative, and arguably more impactful, paths do exist. This is what my research is about, I ask: How do we resist? Heal? Flourish? The first step is realising that each of us has the power to make the right decision.
Alternative Ways
Can we travel and create content differently? Some travel bloggers, like Alex Reynolds (Lost with Purpose), who has a sizeable following, is a good example of a content creator who is not only mindful of the way in which she portrays those she writes about, but is honest about the privilege she enjoys as a Westerner, and is willing to hold herself accountable if she makes a mistake.
As a researcher, my reference point is Su’ad Abdul Khabeer, author of Muslim Cool. She not only deploys her research for the service of her community, but also uses art to communicate her work and spark a conversation with her audiences.
In my own research, I talk a lot about the concept of khilafa (stewardship) as opposed to leadership. While the Western idea of ‘leader’ implies shifting the power balance with the help of people at one’s service, the Prophetic concept of khilafa is more about being at the service of people. The khilafa is not an agent of change, but its facilitator. So for me it comes down to this, is my work, and the experiences I have while travelling to conduct it, at the service of others?
Personally, I believe that any form of privilege should be treated the same way we deal with wealth as Muslims. The same way I owe zakat on my wealth, I owe a form of zakat on my visibility, on the knowledge I’ve acquired, and on my job titles. In sum, I consider that my job, my privileges, money and knowledge are not halal unless they are shared with those who do not have access to them, and used to the benefit of people.
Ultimately, in holding ourselves accountable, we should ask: Am I being a rahma (mercy) to others, or is my work, ultimately, benefitting no one but myself?
