Andrea Mensch and Terri Ginsberg. Oxford, Blackwell, Alisa Lebow. London: Wallflower, Middle Eastern and Arab film and video; intersections of postcolonial, queer, and transnational theories; Australasian cinema; introduction to film and video analysis. You are here Home Peter Limbrick. I think curiosity and good general knowledge help an interpreter greatly, and you learn a lot if you keep your ears open!
There is a lot of work in my area with resettled Syrian refugees, some court, police and public service work, and some conferences. Last year was a record year for trips abroad — four interpreting and one more Arabic-related.
I mix interpreting with other Arabic work — tuition, translation and all sorts. This enables me to choose interesting, better remunerated or more worthwhile assignments. I enjoy the variety, flexibility and unpredictability of freelance work.
I like the travel — not being at a desk all the time. It matters to me that in interpreting you are usually helping people in some way; it is a human activity, where you must translate how people feel, not just their words.
Trying to escape the vicious circle of needing to have so many hours or days experience to get a certain accreditation or membership, and yet needing that membership to be able get those days! But I could not get the project to function in those terms—not in a way that would have enabled it to reach out beyond a narrow audience of cinephiles and other intellectuals. And the only way out we could find, with my collaborator Bruno Tracq, was to edit the videos so as to make them talk more directly to one another by articulating them into a narrative.
The more we found ourselves cutting the videos, reducing them, reshaping them, the more I felt the writing start to function as a way of reaffirming my loyalty to their original unedited forms. It gave me a space where I could return to what had been my original experience of them, and reassert the singularity of each of these unique blocks of space-time. I want to acknowledge the support I received from my colleagues there, and the liberties I was allowed to take, without which neither the film nor the book would ever have come to fruition.
J: Who do you hope will read this book, and what sort of impact would you like it to have? PS: I hope that, beyond film and media scholars, and students of these revolutions, the book might also reach a wider audience outside academia.
That it may help people who are engaged in making media in support of radical political change think about how the politics of their actions depend quite deeply on the formal and aesthetic choices they make, and not just on the voices they lift up, the messages they consciously project, or the causes they support.
And I guess, in my most wildly ambitious moments, I would like it to be recognized as a contribution, however modest, to thinking through the political potentials and limitations of the present, and not just a book about video making, or about one particular set of historical events, however important those events are.
PS: I spend so much of my time these days in Zoom, I have started thinking about how I might make a film there, too. J: How did you come to be watching these videos in the first place? When I moved back to Europe in , Cairo remained the center of my social life for at least the next decade. It is still where many, if not most, of my closest friends are.
So, when the revolution broke out in Egypt, and all the direct lines of communication were down, I went looking for my friends, many of whom were journalists, on Twitter. I found them—and then I found the videos. And I was just blown away by what I saw. When I watch these videos, I often feel as though I am seeing someone—the filmer—who is coming alive, as if for the first time, in the moment of filming itself.
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