A Note to the World with Ana Belén Asfura.
Producer & Co-chair of MENA Film Festival on the industry, documentaries and activism for the Palestinian cause through cinema.
Today, I’m sitting down with the one and only Ana Belén Asfura, a producer, film strategist, and one of the co-chairs at the MENA Film Festival of Vancouver. She is also the founder and CEO of Suimanga Films, a Chilean production company, currently co-producing The Frame Maker with Les Films du Sillage, as it heads to Marché du Film at the Cannes film festival later in May.
In this conversation, we chat about the two watershed projects that have reshaped Ana’s perception of her role in the film industry, SĀNSŪR and ¿Hay algo en lugar de nada?, as well as her reflections on the film industry’s pressing current climate.
Then, Ana opens up about unpacking her identity as a Chilean-Palestinian, and how it plays into her blooming sense of self as an artist and filmmaker, to use cinema as a tool for activism, mobilize solidarity, and build communities fighting for causes globally. And at the heart of it, speaking up for Palestine.
I catch up with Ana ahead of her trip to Marché du Film, Festival de Cannes this May as a part of the Chilean Delegation and representative of the documentary feature The Frame Maker.
The Produced: Ana, thank you so much for making the time–I know you are in the thick of work traveling. Are you doing well?
Ana Belén Asfura: Well, I will say yes, though it’s kind of difficult to give you my exact answer right now.
I was at a festival in Málaga last week to see how the industry is going: I felt that there are people who don’t have any hope that things will develop. It is a negative environment with what is happening in the U.S., Europe, Ukraine, Russia, Israel Palestine.So, I feel like there’s this looming pessimistic view. But because of this, it has given me time and space to think about myself, my goals, and what I’m supposed to do with my job as a filmmaker and producer.
What is the collective sentiment in the industry spaces you were in?
We know that, as an industry, we need to start thinking intentionally about many things, like fundraising, projects, where the money will come from, and whether it’ll be enough. Does the money come from governments or privates, and what are their intentions? So, there are a lot of questions without answers. But at the same time, it pulled my focus to see that there’s a lot of work to do. There are always things we can continue improving and doing better.
How do you find the lights, then?
I reach out and start talking–just reassuring one another that we’re okay, that we’re on the same page, and thinking about the same stuff. It’s all about reaching for your community and growing it so we can do something about this situation. To continue creating.
With the world we live in now, I still have hope because I still find people every day who are patient and do their best–we’re willing to keep creating and making things. Most of the time, we don’t know what we’re doing. But we’re trying our best because art is one of the only pockets that can give and spread hope.
Because despair precisely what those in power want us to feel and be in.
Exactly–you lose control and try to run away from it. For me, I think it’s very important for us as artists and filmmakers to actively assess our physical and emotional health. We need to make time to disconnect so you can show up again more consistently.
Circling back to what you mentioned, you have taken time to rethink your role and responsibilities as a filmmaker and producer. What’s changed, and to what capacity?
Everything changed because I had never actually asked myself that question for real. When I started in the industry, I just wanted to make films—that was my only goal. I’ve always been more inclined toward social projects related to human rights or LGBTQ+ issues, but I wasn’t consciously intentional about the ideas or the messages they were trying to convey. It was just like, okay, I like the story—and that’s about it.
It wasn’t until COVID that I worked on a project that completely shifted my perception of my position and responsibilities as a producer. It was a documentary called SĀNSŪR , from the Netherlands, by Iranian filmmaker Mustafa Heravi, about the censorship of women in Iran. Since they were fairly new to the industry at the time, I came on as a film consultant and strategist to help pitch the project and raise funding. This was a huge change for me because I stepped into a space I didn’t realize I loved so much—documentaries.
What about documentaries that have made you realize this change?
Documentaries are a powerful tool for activism. For me, engaging in documentary filmmaking is already doing something meaningful, like changing someone's life by bringing awareness to something they have previously been oblivious to. And that’s huge. So, working on SĀNSŪR made me realize I want to do more of these works.
Why are documentaries as a filmmaking mode speak to you so deeply, especially when your previous projects have been predominantly narrative fiction?
A big part of it is wanting to know and learn more—I’m conscious that there’s so much I don’t know. I want to know more about different topics, especially those linked to the MENA region, which has always been a big part of my identity. Part of my family is from Palestine; my grandfather was born in Bethlehem.
So there’s always been a connection there, but now I feel even more propelled to learn more about my Palestinian heritage, especially after October 7th.
You’re one of the co-chairs and on the board of the MENA Film Festival in Vancouver—how did you find your way into that role?
Back in 2023, I reached out to the MENA Film Festival because Film Lab Palestine wasn’t able to host their yearly festival, Palestine Cinema Days. In response, they aimed to present the festival around the world—creating spaces for representation, boldly challenging dominant narratives, and amplifying Palestinian voices.
So I asked if they could help make a screening possible and support this initiative. That’s how I got connected with the festival. I felt they were the right people to guide me, especially since I didn’t know how to make it happen quickly given the last-minute circumstances. They said yes, and we made it happen together. I never thought much about it at the time, but now that I’m here, it feels like a quest. I came with a goal—to explore more projects from the region.
In what ways has this position and your constant reconnecting with your Palestinian roots reshaped how you view yourself in filmmaking?
Now I realize I’m drawn to filmmaking by people from this region and/or about it all–I want to produce and collaborate. I want to help new filmmakers. I want to support new narratives from this side of the world. There’s so much talent, but it remains unseen because people tend to have these fixed perceptions. Hollywood has shaped so many assumptions and stereotypes, and once I saw that clearly, I knew there was still so much to show.
I’m not the first or the only one who does it–I have a beautiful community here in Vancouver and beyond. We connect, organize screenings, bring in new audiences, and say, “Look—these are our stories, our artists. We’re doing incredible things. Just stop and take a look.”
So much of your perception about your role has definitely changed.
Yes, I have changed a lot. I am much more conscious now. When I go to industry markets, I want to produce, but I also see myself raising great awareness for filmmakers and producers from the MENA region. And I think now people are starting to take me seriously.
Usually, when producers say they want to help, people assume there is an angle or underlying intention to it. How much money do you want back? But when I say, “I don’t want credit. I don’t want anything,” it surprises them. I’ve produced films before, and small indie projects. Nothing huge. So if you gave me a choice between producing one or two greater-budgeted films, having my name on them, or helping push ten projects from the MENA region, even if I don’t get any credit, I’d choose the latter–every time.
That’s where I belong. That’s what I’m good at. This is the work I want to do.
You mentioned October 7th being one of the markers of some of your mindset shifts, in which what has happened then has been an ongoing genocide, dehumanization, and slaughter of Palestinians. We see that has impacted the film industry tremendously, not only in the false narratives reinforced but also in complicity through silence. What conversations and sentiments were you and your colleagues having or noticing within the industry?
A short time after October 7th, I went to the Berlin Film Festival in February 2024. In terms of the industry, I will say that everyone was very aware of the situation since it was already 4 months into the genocide. But what I found a bit shocking, especially in Berlin at that time, was that even though many people knew it, thought about it, and talked about it privately, when it came to saying it out loud, many didn’t. They didn’t feel comfortable because of the repercussions. Some were afraid of losing their jobs.
I remember there was this moment during the market where some people from the industry, who had badges so they could enter the building, came in and unfurled a big sign that called out the genocide. Everyone was shocked. Some started chanting “Free Palestine,” others stayed quiet. I stood there supporting them, and I noticed that those who were silent were crying. They were crying. You could tell they were with us. They’d say, “I’m with you, but I can’t say it.”
What was going through your mind then?
I thought, if this is happening in a place like Berlin, a place you’d assume is free, where people shouldn’t fear repression, yet people are scared to speak the truth, then the world is in a really bad place. But in a way, that’s also what changed me.
How so?
It made me unafraid to speak up.
Despite the pushbacks, black-listings and loss of opportunities.
Yes, despite all of that. I’ve accepted that some people won’t like what I say and that some doors might close because of it, and I’m okay with that. I don’t want to work with people who would close their doors just because I say what’s true: that there’s a genocide happening in Palestine.
I want to work with folks with humanity who see the wrongs and want to do something, even in small ways. No, we can’t change the whole world. But we can change someone’s world. And that’s huge. Maybe we can change the life of one person who watches a film or helps platform a Palestinian or Lebanese filmmaker. Even if their work isn’t directly about Palestine–it could be about love, family, grief, social issues like global warming, women’s rights, or anything else– that story might change someone’s perspective. And that matters.
How have you processed this shift in your community at the MENA Film Festival?
What I’ve told you about my hopes and dreams are the conversations I have with the community. The MENA Film Festival is my chosen family–it’s my safe zone. Many of us are from different backgrounds. I’m Chilenean-Palestinian. We have people who are from or descendants of Lebanon, Syria, Iran, everywhere! So, it’s a big family sharing similar sentiments, hopes, and dreams. And just like any community, there are different perspectives, especially for each person’s roots carrying such vast politics. So, we always get to have these rich and open conversations between all board members and teammates to create this safe space for everyone.
We are very conscious that we don’t know about everything and we may screw it up, and that’s humane. At the same time, we always seek ways to improve and be better, finding the right people to give us the right input and overcome any blindspots that we have. I’m just lucky to be part of a team that’s always open to hearing each other out. And I really think that’s the key.
It sounds so simple, but most people aren’t doing it—we’re not listening to each other. I feel lucky to be in a space where we do listen, especially during the unfolding genocide in Gaza.
You spoke about the growing awareness around the genocide in Gaza and Palestine over the past year and a half. With more films coming out, like those from Watermelon Pictures, and No Other Land winning an Oscar but still lacking U.S. distribution–do you think this rising consciousness is going to shift the industry? And if so, in what ways?
I think it’s already changed a little bit. To be honest, I’ve been going to international events and film markets for a few years now, and within the past 8 years, the presence of the MENA region, specifically Palestine, is stronger than ever.
I truly see this as an opportunity as people’s eyes are slowly open to this other side of the world. We should partner. We should do more co-productions. Even if the first step isn’t about bringing awareness, but more out of convenience, they’re realizing there are good stories here, those that transcend just war and conflict. Watermelon Pictures is a slightly different case because their sole focus at the moment is Palestine, and it’s incredible. In the long term, it will open a window. And for us as producers and filmmakers, we need to keep it open, and keep opening more, until we can open the big door.
What is the current moment telling you?
That now is the time. Even if it’s not entirely for the reason we all collectively want, all eyes are on what’s happening in Palestine and in the region. Now it is the time to say, “Look at us straight through our eyes, with our voices,” not with voices other people choose for us to define what the MENA region or Palestine is.
We should take advantage of this moment and wield international attention to tell what’s actually going on. Today, we have social media and tools that didn’t exist 20 or 30 years ago. Now, the eyes of the world are here, and we have to use that to push back the narratives that were not even versions of our own.
And what do you make of No Other Land, the Oscars-winning documentary?
A lot of people in the industry and community are aware that No Other Land came with controversy. If it had been only directed and produced by Palestinians, it likely wouldn’t have gone that far or made it into so many festivals. And it’s okay—we need both. We need Palestinian-made films, and we also need collaborative films. That’s how we can hopefully move toward solving this together. You can’t exclude people based on nationality. You have to see the person.
We all know that No Other Land wouldn’t have received an Oscar if there were only Palestinians. The Israeli co-director and producer component made the industry feel like it was “balanced,” and that’s what got it through. But we also need films that are Palestinian, by Palestinians, from Palestine.
What I noticed about our conversation so far is you have not used the word ‘represent,’ a common language used in artistic spaces to narrate cultures, regions, and voices that have long been othered. Why is that?
That’s a good question. I usually tell my friends and loved ones that, as a Latin American from Chile, it’s funny how even today people still confuse Chile with Mexico. This isn’t just about education; it’s how people perceive us based on what they see in the media:movies, TV, YouTube. On my Palestinian side, I know I am also from a place where I’m already stereotyped. I don’t use the word "representation" because, even though I feel a strong connection to Palestine, I've never been there. I’ve always wanted to go, but it was always considered dangerous or at least that’s what they made us believe through the media.. I know that many Chileans, especially from the Palestinian community, have had issues with checkpoints and borders. It’s not a place it felt safe visiting on my own.
So, although I feel a deep connection, I can’t say I represent Palestine. Even though part of my heritage is Palestinian, I’ve never lived there or experienced the struggle first-hand. The only thing I can do to contribute in my small way is to create space for those who live this reality and are struggling. I'm just someone who wants to help in whatever way I can.
And how are you making sense of this positionality?
I don't see myself as someone with a big platform, but I know I want to do my best with what I have. It’s not my place to ‘represent,’ but it's my responsibility as a filmmaker and producer to push for more grounds for these stories.
When working on both smaller and larger projects that explore personal and unique narratives, what common thread have you noticed among the filmmakers and their vision for the world through the films they create? For example, Sānsūr or Hay algo en lugar de nada?
I’ll say that it's just about being heard. Stories may be new, or maybe not, but it’s about hearing their voice and vision. Especially in documentaries, people often claim they’re objective, but that’s not true. Every story is trying to say something.
But more importantly, they all want to spark a discussion after the audience watches their films. That’s huge because it’s not just limited to the MENA region. Many filmmakers today have discovered that filmmaking can be a meaningful tool for change. They want to bring awareness and, if possible, create change. The real achievement is creating space for conversation.
For example, I recently looked at a project from a Spanish director about child abuse, which often happens within families. He’s been working on this project for a long time, and I can see the change in him. He felt that no one was talking about this issue, so he decided to use his tools to bring awareness. It's like a canvas—when people involved in the project, along with the audience, become part of the conversation, that’s when the magic happens. That’s when true cinema unfolds: when you see the film on the big screen and have a Q&A after.
We all have so much to learn from them.
Exactly, filmmakers I admire are those who are humble. They know their story, and they’re clear about their intentions. But most importantly, they want the conversation to happen afterward. That’s what we need: a dialogue and a way to communicate with each other. That’s what's missing today.
Ana, I’m feeling hopeful. You've really given me a sense of hope, especially in a time when it feels like things are impossible. But I know it’s necessary, because without hope and love, what can we push for? I can feel the love you have for your craft, and those you come across. What are some things we can collectively do to nurture hope and keep persisting?
Thank you for that. Well, there's no doubt that this world sucks in so many ways. Way too many ways. But I think it’s more than necessary to take breaks so that you can fight a longer, more enduring battle. Take deep breaths and think about how you are still here. We’re still here and we can do something, and that something can start with yourself. I have struggled with many things. I’ve moved to another country, lost family members, faced job issues, disappointments, relationship struggles—everything.
But at the end of the day, you're alive.
You can still feel things, and you can still find happiness. Sometimes it’s just from having a simple conversation with someone, maybe someone who hasn’t had a good conversation all week. So to answer your question, find hope in conversations, dialogues, and communities. You don’t have to keep everything to yourself—sharing is part of healing, and through it, you can grow your hope and happiness.
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Stay in touch with Ana Belén Asfura | @aniasfura | @suimangafilms | MENA Film Festival
For collaboration inquiries or any questions, please email me at info@the-produced.com