Maryam Zaree – What I Know

German actor and filmmaker Maryam Zaree was a teenager when she found out that her mother had given birth to her in Evin, a jail for political prisoners in Iran. In her directorial debut, Born in Evin (2019), one question looms large for her throughout the documentary: “Is it true mum, that they kicked you in the stomach when you were pregnant with me?” The film takes the viewer on a quest to find out the answers, the results often confounding simple, straightforward description. In a sense, it is a ‘how I became who I am’ tale, albeit one in which the narrator has to fight for the details of her own life against political oppression. I found Maryam Zaree’s personal film deeply stirring, and while speaking to her, she managed to make me laugh even when we were crying.

SLEEK: How did you reach the decision to make such a personal film? And were the questions that came up ones you’ve asked yourself? Or were they more questions for your parents?

Maryam Zaree: It wasn’t until I was actually making the film that I realised there were things I wanted to ask my mum and dad. I felt I already knew the answers to the questions around what had happened back then and what it meant. After all, I’m their child, so I grew up with them. You can understand a lot of things by non-verbal means, by deciphering people’s behaviour. I learned to understand what certain behaviours of theirs meant and what matters to my parents. All of these things are channels of interpersonal communication. When I set to work on the film, I found all the questions I faced were almost more existential and fundamental than that, especially the question of how to cope when you know there’s such depravity and horror, which are simply a part of life.

S: That’s something I think about a lot, too, the power our origins can have over us.

MZ: To me, these questions around our origins, who we are and what we contribute to life, aren’t really linked with national or cultural contexts. What gets me going, of course, is that not being part of the white majority, questions like that are a constant reminder that I’m marked out as different in some way. And that’s partly what makes it so difficult to have a conversation about them. By deciding to make a film that very obviously tackles exactly these topics and this very specific question, I was also attempting to approach something much broader. To me, there’s a wider question around our shared experience. Given what we know and what can push us to our limits, how can we believe in life? In Germany especially, where crimes against humanity are such a big topic. Could it be that the process only works by recognising that these depths of human depravity exist and that they are extremely painful? There’s no easy way out: these depths really do push your faith in life to the limits.

S: Have you found your own way to acknowledge these depths? And did your film build some kind of bridge for you in that respect?

MZ: We live in a globalised world where we know these depths exist. And the fact that we know that means we can’t close our eyes to them any more. The question is, how far do we or should we let it affect us and still carry on saying ‘yes’ to life? I don’t think there’s a finite point to it – it’s an issue we’re stuck with. One minute you can be full of life in all its glory, embracing it with a ‘yes’, and the next you can be on the verge of desperation. Looking at my own life, I can say it gets better, that’s not a definitive statement. On the whole, I do feel life is kind to me though. 

S: The ‘kindness’ of life is never superficial, I find, because it’s something we pick up along the way. And with it comes the realisation that this kindness entails fragility. But there’s also something else I notice about you through your work: your courage to be visible by doing things your way, in part to command our attention.

MZ: People whose ancestors have experienced persecution, murder or torture often freeze at the thought of what their parents’ or grandparents’ generation experienced and find no space for their own stories. We end up getting ‘stuck’ out of consideration for them. But that’s not actually sincere because it doesn’t acknowledge our own position and needs. My own place in the story and how far I have the right to claim the story as my own is a real issue. You can’t actually see the other person properly and build up a meaningful relationship [with] unless you recognise your own position.

S: That’s a key point to me and yet an exceptionally difficult one: accepting and expressing your own needs and story. Isn’t it a question of balance?

MZ: Parent–child relationships especially are a microcosmic hologram of all of our other relationships: our position in society, how we define society, and how we perceive individuals and groups. Surely, it’s about listening to the needs of a diverse society. It’s a permanent negotiation around the fundamental principles, a constant process of change. And it’s just as much a relationship as a life partnership, a friendship or a family relationship. There’s your pain, your happiness, your contradictoriness – a whole bunch of things that make us what we are. And that’s what allows us to relate to others on a solid foundation.

S: Absolutely. The only honest way is to personally process and think about these things. I’ve learned not to direct my solutions and questions at other people unless I’m clear about them myself. And that’s why I felt your film really spoke to me on so many different levels. It didn’t have a particular ‘time zone’.

MZ: Not being able to put something into words doesn’t mean you’re not contributing to the story. Expressing things you don’t think you can or are able to – that’s just so good for communication.

S: And humour. Humour is important in your film as well.

MZ: I wrote the director’s note six years ago. It started with me saying, “Some people have jobs, some don’t.” It might not the best sentence to introduce a film about experiences of torture, but it’s very revealing about my own perspective on life. Humour is more than just a scoundrel that keeps us alive, it’s a survival strategy. It’s not just about being consumed by a direct experience you’ve had but also about having the capacity to take a trusting look at life. Self-irony or a [sense of] humour are sometimes good strategies because they allow you to talk about painful things.

S: Now that your film is up and running, what’s next?

MZ: In many ways the entire journey with Born in Evin was a bit like a child: I did my best, it’s now grown up and entering into relationships with other people. It’s ready to fly the nest. I really was very attached to my film and was in the editing suite every day, approving every little bit, right down to the tiniest crackle. I created this film – I quite literally gave birth to it – and now it’s finished. But the ongoing process I described before means that life will keep throwing up questions around integrity, engagement, sincerity, veracity and, of course, speechlessness.

Credits:
Photography: Roman Goebel
Styling: Niki Pauls
Hair and Makeup: Jochen Pahs with products from Aveda
Production: AP
Photography Assistant: Anton Röntz & Yago Cobas
Styling Assistant: Sophie Bohmeister

This interview is featured on SLEEK 71 – Power. Get your print of digital copy here!