By Travis Akbar
I want to share some thoughts on something that’s been on my mind for a while now: initiatives. Specifically, First Nations initiatives in the film industry.
I came into this industry late. Around 30, maybe a bit older. Honestly, I didn’t know there was a pathway for someone like me to even get into film. I didn’t see the door, let alone know how to open it. I thought it was a world reserved for the privileged. People who had the money, the networks, the education, or just the luck. I’d tried before. I’d failed before.
But when I finally found a way in, something unexpected happened. As an Aboriginal person, I was instantly identified by organisations and funding bodies as a box to tick.
Suddenly, I wasn’t just a filmmaker. I was an Aboriginal filmmaker. I wasn’t just someone who had fought to get here, who had the passion, the drive, the dedication. I was now also a means for organisations to unlock funding, to meet their quotas, to run their programs.
I want to be clear: I’ve always worked through a First Nations lens. I’ve never shied away from that. But I didn’t get into film to be someone’s diversity tick or media pitch. I got into this because I love it. Because I have stories to tell. Because I want to show my people, my community, our lives, on our terms.
The hard truth is, though, that as a First Nations creative, you often end up being used to serve someone else’s agenda.
You become a headline. A statistic. A budget line. And while those same institutions talk about supporting diverse voices, what they’re really supporting is their own survival through your participation in their initiatives.
The more of us they sign up, the more funding they can apply for, the more reports they can file.
This isn't to say that they don't want to support you, just that it is within their best interests to do so.
Generally speaking, the people behind these initiatives are fighting for you, and doing a great job at it. But to do that, you need to be the statistic they pitch to their own overlords.
But no matter the motivation, it can be a really tough thing to sit with.
You go in thinking you're being recognised for your talent; and you do have talent. You do have dedication. But you slowly realise that’s not the whole story.
And that’s where the two realities come in.
There’s your reality; your goals, your creative vision, your desire to make art and tell stories that matter.
Then there’s their reality; the institutional systems and bureaucracies that treat your identity as a commodity.
The thing is, those two realities can coexist.
You can still pursue your goals while navigating their systems. It means learning how to work within the frameworks, tick the boxes if you have to; but on your terms.
It means shaping your projects in ways that meet the criteria and still honour your voice.
It’s not easy.
It can feel like a compromise. But it’s also an opportunity, if you can stay true to yourself in the process.
And at the end of the day, a film is about collaboration. Everyone will have a say on your project, from funders, to actors, to producers, to distributors and more. You cannot escape it.
One of the most important things you can do is build your support system.
Connect with other Indigenous filmmakers. Talk to people who’ve walked the path before you. Share your experiences, ask for advice, and lean on each other when the industry feels overwhelming, because it will at times.
Know that it’s okay to work within the system while dreaming beyond it. Know that you're not alone.
And remember; Don’t give up. Keep pushing. Keep trying. But stay staunch.