Naziha Arebi has made short films shown worldwide, completed a series of educational shorts on Libyan reconciliation, and directed a short doc about the assassinated Libyan activist Salwa Bughaighis. The Libyan-British filmmaker has also made content for Hivos, Oxfam, and UN Women. A Hot Docs Blue Ice and Sundance Lab fellow, Arebi co-founded HuNa Productions in 2012, a production company amplifying the voices and stories of post-conflict Libya. Arebi is currently working on a narrative film, “Sacred Salt.” “Freedom Fields” is her feature directorial debut.

“Freedom Fields” will begin screening at the 2018 Toronto International Film Festival on September 8.

W&H: Describe the film for us in your own words.

NA: It’s a coming-of-age story of sorts, filmed over four years, about three very different women and their football team in post-revolution Libya — all from different social-political backgrounds and tribes, but united by their dream to play football. We see them grow into these determined accidental activists, as the country falls apart around them.

At its core, the film is about ideas of freedom, however that manifests. It’s also about community, humanity, and collective power. It’s about dreams, beginnings, determination, and all that! A love letter to a place, to sisterhood, and to the power of “the team.” A testament to taking action, finding strength in the face of adversity, and sharing that will, power, and joy with others and the next generation.

For me on a personal level, it’s about loss, hope, and resilience: an intimate, tactile portrait of a moment in time in a country people know very little about about.

W&H: What drew you to this story?

NA: Having just moved to Libya, hanging out with [the team] was fun. They really took me in despite my dual heritage, and were totally down to earth. Not this “exotic” or “tragic” image of women we so often see depicted from this region. Yes, their lives were/are tough, but they weren’t victims, they could be me or you, it’s just different geography, different privilege.

Their story provoked a question that I often grappled with: Where do you get to truly feel your fullest self in society, and does it even exist? For these women it was on the pitch, alongside their comrades, in a collective, yet still exercising their individuality and freedom. It was beautiful to see. Even if just for 90 minutes, they could truly be their fullest selves, and they were willing to fight for it.

I was drawn by how, when we lose everything over and over, we find the strength to keep bouncing back and reinvent ourselves, even in a country as chaotic and complex as Libya. That resilience attracted me.

W&H: What do you want people to think about when they are leaving the theater?

NA: I want people to feel inspired, I want people to feel how I first did when I met them: that if these women can do this, up against all these obstacles, then I can start, I can do something, even small, I can do something. That means a lot in these times we are living in, I think, where it can all seem so big, and dark.

I also want to let people into a different world from what we see in the news of war; less sensationalized, more human, more nuanced, acting as a trigger for questions, rather than purely presenting binary, polarized notions of the world. Seeing how we are all different, but also noting and feeling what unites us, the small details, the everyday beauty, even humor in life, even when everything seems dark. In this time of travel bans and xenophobia I feel that’s particularly important.

W&H: What was the biggest challenge in making the film?

NA: Many. Shooting in Libya, for a woman or man, is not easy.

W&H: How did you get your film funded? Share some insights into how you got the film made.

NA: It’s an independent documentary, and a sensitive one, so it’s been a very difficult, lengthy process, and we are constantly fundraising. We’ve only used film funds from film institutes and public money that are supporting creative documentary, who engage with the story and the vision, so no private investment or anything like that on this one. [It hasn’t been] the easiest path, as these film funding applications are very competitive, but [it’s] the right path for a sensitive film like this.

Making documentaries over such a long period of time is more and more common, but — on low documentary budgets, with shrinking funds available, and with the industry shifting and morphing constantly — it is hard, and some would say currently unsustainable, unless you are from a certain privilege. However, that just leads to singular narratives. Hopefully, things are changing.

W&H: What inspired you to become a filmmaker?

NA: [My passion for] telling stories, in any medium really, engaging in that shared experience of captivation, and always wanting to know more. My mum called me nosey, [but I’d say I was] more inquisitive, curious! Especially coming from a big working class family, on both the British and Libyan side, storytelling or listening to stories was always fun; it brought people together.

But film is currently my main medium because it has the deepest capacity to touch me, maybe because it’s formed of many mediums that I like molded together: stories, people, language, art, wrapped in vision, texture, sound, music, and some sort of magic, I suppose.

W&H: What’s the best and worst advice you’ve received?

NA: Best advice: Trust your gut.

Worst advice: Work your way up the ladder. I totally understand this — and have done my fair share of working for free, running, serving coffee, etcetera — but when that ladder is mostly a patriarchal ladder, that can be complex, I believe.

W&H: What advice do you have for other female directors?

NA: Break rules, don’t seek permission, be kind, but relentless; you gotta fight for everything. Knowing that no one is your competition though, and never can be because they are not you, is very liberating and allows you to collaborate better, I believe.

Unite, help each other out, form communities. I like that that [support among women] is emerging more now.

W&H: Name your favorite woman-directed film and why.

NA: That’s so hard. There are so many, in so many genres. Off the top of my head, “Morvern Callar” by Lynne Ramsay. It’s so sensual and dark, yet tactile. And “At Five in the Afternoon” by Samira Makhmalbaf, a young Iranian director. I’ve watched that film so many times. Oh, and Sally Potter’s “Orlando.”

I could go on and on: Agnès Varda, Ava DuVernay, Andrea Arnold, [and more.]

W&H: Hollywood and the global film industry are in the midst of undergoing a major transformation. What differences have you noticed since the #MeToo and #TimesUp movements launched?

NA: I think society at large, for a certain demographic, is shifting, but that needs to keep trickling down into all layers of society. But it’s brilliant that this is now having such visibility and people are really talking about it and taking action.

With regards to the film industry specifically, it’s hard for me to say on a practical level, as I predominantly work in a different region of the world, one that is not as impacted by these movements in the news and on social media. However, I see more visibility and awareness, but concrete change requires that we all keep pushing these things forward beyond hashtags and into all layers of the industry, and society, in a meaningful, intersectional manner.

I don’t know a single woman or person of color who has never faced gender bias or inequality in any field. But it’s particularly prevalent in film, and in the MENA [Middle East and North Africa] region. But that’s why we keep chipping away at what we do. It’s so important to get varied voices out there within the arts, and it’s important to have men as allies in that. Visibility and meaningful diversification of the industry, and the public’s exposure to alternative narratives are so, so important in these times.