Haile Gerima’s latest opus, Black Lions – Roman Wolves, isn’t just a film—it’s a reckoning. A 10-hour documentary that’s been decades in the making, it’s a sprawling, unflinching examination of Italy’s colonial atrocities in Ethiopia. But what really fascinates me is how Gerima, a man who’s spent his life fighting for artistic independence, has turned this project into a battleground for historical truth. Let’s unpack why this matters, and why it’s a mirror to so many other struggles in the arts world today.
Gerima’s approach to storytelling is nothing short of radical. He didn’t just make a film about Ethiopia’s past—he made a film that demands you confront the trauma of that past. And here’s the kicker: he did it all without studio backing. Imagine funding a 10-hour documentary through crowdfunding and personal savings. That’s not just dedication; it’s a statement. In an era where streaming platforms dictate what gets made, Gerima’s refusal to compromise his vision is a slap in the face to the entire system. He’s not just making art; he’s reclaiming agency.
Now, let’s talk about the Italian archives. Gerima spent years battling bureaucracy to access footage from Luce, Italy’s national film archive. The irony? The same institution that hoarded his ancestors’ stories now claims to be part of his film. This isn’t just about access—it’s about who gets to control the narrative. What makes this particularly fascinating is the way Gerima frames it as a modern-day colonialism. The gatekeepers of history, whether in Rome or Hollywood, are still gatekeepers. And they’re still deciding who gets to tell their own story.
The film’s reception at Berlin was a triumph, but it also raises a deeper question: Why do we still treat long-form storytelling as a niche curiosity? Gerima’s film is a masterclass in pacing, weaving archival footage with contemporary interviews. Yet, in a culture obsessed with TikTok and 15-minute YouTube clips, this kind of immersive work is a rarity. I find it especially interesting how Gerima’s audience engaged with the full 10 hours. It’s a reminder that some truths can’t be distilled into soundbites.
Then there’s the music. Gerima’s choice of a haunting, looping theme isn’t just aesthetic—it’s symbolic. The track becomes a character in the film, echoing the unresolved pain of history. And the fact that the musician donated his work? That’s the kind of generosity that’s almost mythical in today’s music industry. It’s a stark contrast to the exploitative contracts that dominate pop culture. Gerima’s ethos here is clear: art should be a gift, not a commodity.
But what really grabs me is his next project: a film about the Black Maroons of North America. These were escaped slaves who formed communities in Florida, fighting the U.S. government in what became the longest war in American history. Gerima’s plan to trace their journey from Florida to Texas and Mexico is ambitious, but it’s also deeply necessary. Why? Because these stories are erased from mainstream narratives. The Maroons weren’t just rebels—they were architects of freedom. And yet, their legacy is buried under the weight of American exceptionalism. This isn’t just a film; it’s a corrective.
Gerima’s take on the ‘L.A. Rebellion’ movement is also worth unpacking. He calls the label a myth perpetuated by white academics at UCLA. His point is that the movement wasn’t about rebellion for rebellion’s sake—it was about survival. Black filmmakers weren’t rebelling against Hollywood; they were rebelling against a system that refused to see them. This distinction is crucial. Too often, we reduce movements to slogans. But Gerima’s perspective reminds us that art is born from struggle, not just ideology.
So, what does all this mean for the future? Gerima’s work is a blueprint for independent creators everywhere. He’s proving that art doesn’t need permission to exist. But more than that, he’s showing how history is a living thing—something that needs to be fought for, not just archived. In a world where truth is increasingly contested, Gerima’s films are a lifeline. They’re not just about the past. They’re about the future we’re fighting to build.
