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Amussu: experiment for a cinema from below

Amussu: experiment for a cinema from below
Still from the film. | Courtesy of author.
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Mount Alebban protest camp is the physical heart of the Movement on Road ‘96. There, the pipeline valve to the biggest silver mine in Africa is wrapped in chains and locks. No water passes through it anymore. Around it, a new village was born. Powered by bread and solar energy, its existence is a nuisance to the state and a blessing for the almond oasis in the valley below. On Alebban, the merry cries of children, the smell of firewood, the murmur of women debating and the laughter of men restore life to the meaning of militancy. On Alebban, there are no general secretaries nor presidents, there are no orders nor instructions from the central bureau, there are no political parties nor elections. There is Agraw, and in the giant circle it forms, everyone participates.

Agraw is the tribal general assembly. It is the Amazigh mode of autonomous and democratic governance par excellence. Since 2011, Agraw has been revived and revised for the 21st century. It is a model for us, and a way of life for hundreds in Imider who have constructed power from below. As a result of the horizontal social relations established by the Movement, one finds in Imider a conscious community where everyone is armed with the word. Here, the old woman who can not read or the young high school dropout have one finger on the pulse of the earth, and the other on their stomachs. Spoken between two angry breaths or after a resilient sigh, their word is heavier than ink and more lucid than a green screen. But their word is not limited to the fiery speeches of tattooed mothers or revolted youth during Agraw. Their word is stretched, shortened, given rhythm, floated on a melody, or marked by a bendir drum. For the word of Imider is also its Izli (poetry), sung on the back of a pick-up, chanted as a slogan, called out from across the mountain or carried across wedding ceremonies throughout the southeast. As one Ait Atta proverb goes: “Tar Izli, Urtamu” — an event without its poem, is an event which never happened. This film is just another of Imider’s many poems, a small collection of its infinite words.