‘Cinemata Features’ is a series highlighting film practitioners in the Asia-Pacific – filmmakers, film groups, curators, critics, and archivists – who create and disseminate social and environmental issue films in the region.
The tenth feature spotlights Aghniadi, a filmmaker and human rights campaigner from Indonesia who currently serves as Regional Communications Coordinator at Asia Justice and Rights (AJAR). With a background in media and human rights advocacy, he has crafted stories in both written and audiovisual forms for organizations such as the United Nations and Amnesty International. His work includes the award-winning animated documentary series Konta-sai and 8:45, as well as the upcoming To An Ending Unwritten, which delves into the legacy of violence from the 1965 Indonesian massacre and the 1975 invasion of East Timor.
Aghniadi is also part of the first batch of the Cinemata Community Curator Residency Program, which supports curators from the Asia-Pacific in organizing film programs that address pressing social and environmental issues. The residency aims to strengthen regional solidarity, expand access to underrepresented works, and reimagine film curation as a tool for civic engagement.
EngageMedia [EM]: Can you tell us about your journey into filmmaking and storytelling, and what led you to focus on stories about human rights and social justice, especially coming from a background in marketing and communications?
Aghniadi [A]: Perhaps the same with many people who came here accidentally: I’m one of those who stumbled upon this path through work and became intrigued by aspects that were constantly underdiscussed or censored. It became clear that there was more to the buried chapters in Indonesia’s past as I read more and more and met people who were living witnesses from that era. There I was, fresh out of a marketing major, trying to forge a career by writing during a brief stint as a journalist on the political and law desk before fully transitioning into working with human rights NGOs.
Coming from an unrelated background, though admittedly naive, I found that marketing, communication, and campaigning work are fundamentally similar: you’re adding value to the issue, but this time it’s about adding values as well, ultimately aiming to inspire people to connect with these crucial issues. This shift allowed me to channel my interests and skills toward narratives that truly matter, focusing on human rights and social justice.
EM: Your work often focuses on memory, violence, and human rights. What drew you to tell stories about survivors and historical injustices in Indonesia and Timor-Leste?
[A]: I’ve always been deeply curious about how individuals living through unfolding atrocities perceived those events in real-time. What were their thoughts on the situation at the time? How did they make sense of it, and how did they eventually remember it? Or, given the less developed media and technological landscape then, were they not fully informed about the gravity of the situation, and did they react in the way they could, both personally and politically?
Witnessing events like what’s happening in Gaza today makes it hard not to question how the general populace thought during Indonesia’s occupation of Timor-Leste in 1975. Setting aside Cold War geopolitics, there’s a lesser-discussed layer in our collective understanding of what happened during that time. Evidence from civil society’s advocacy and campaigning work over the years shows that the vestiges of violence from that period continue to bleed into various other instances of violence the country has experienced since, including in Aceh and Papua, even tracing back to the “mother of all realities” that is the 1965 massacre. Perhaps without meaningfully acknowledging these historical injustices, we were bound to witness a “pendulum of violence” swinging back and forth across many areas in Indonesia throughout history.
EM: In Konta-sai and 8:45, you used animation to tell the powerful stories of Maria Isabel, a survivor of sexual violence during the Indonesian occupation of Timor-Leste, and Umar Usman, a survivor of torture during the Aceh conflict. How did you approach capturing the depth of their memories and struggles, and how did animation allow you to honor their voices in a way that traditional documentary methods might not have?
[A]: I think our approach with animation was initially born out of practical limitations (haha). My good colleague and director of the shorts, Kartika Pratiwi, had prior experience directing films that incorporated survivors’ own voice recordings yet revisualized them into another format, moving away from the usual talking heads and run-and-gun approach. We were about to go with the same approach when Covid-19 came in 2020, and we were stuck with no possibility of travelling and meeting the survivors.
We were working with hours of raw audio recordings, and crafting that into a script alone took more than half a year, all while being unable to visit them in person due to the pandemic. We then felt that a purely explainer-style video risked reducing their profound experiences to just another figure in NGO reports, and so we came to the decision of using animation to depict their experiences. We relied heavily on the support of friends in Dili, Yogyakarta, and Banda Aceh to transcribe the extensive recordings. The animator, Wulang Sunu, was also key in making the stories visual. He carefully drew and changed things based on the survivors’ memories, even small details like their clothes. They had to approve everything. Years later, we finally got to meet Mana Maria Isabel and Pak Umar Usman in person after the animations were released.
Looking back, animation gave us a special affordance to show a lot of time passing – decades of progress and problems – all at once. It allowed us show the hazy, broken pieces of difficult memories in a way that felt safer for the survivors to revisit. We did make some creative choices, but our protagonists always had the final say on everything
EM: In To An Ending Unwritten, you revisit the politically charged violence of the 1965 Indonesian massacre and the 1975 invasion of East Timor. Given the emotional and political weight of these events, how do you approach telling such sensitive stories while balancing historical accuracy, survivor testimonies, and the complexities of these deeply traumatic chapters in Southeast Asia’s history?
[A]: From its very beginning, To An Ending Unwritten has been a project of constant reiteration, shifting in form and format as we learned through the process. Our core intention from the outset was to explore the interconnectedness of past violence, starting with the 1965 massacre, and its continuation in the 1975 invasion of East Timor. We also wanted to examine how the 1998 Reformasi, which initially promised change, seems to be undergoing a kind of “reformatting” today, allowing figures deeply implicated in these past events to potentially rise to power in 2025. Through this journey, we’ve also witnessed the quiet yet persistent activism of victims and survivor communities in Indonesia, their solidarity and mutual support growing stronger day by day. This process has taught us that many of these communities wield a distinct form of activism – not always loud, but deeply committed.
It’s sobering to realize that the injustices we see today – the denial of economic, social, and cultural rights for survivors in Yogyakarta, the land rights issues in the Kupang camp – often share the same historical roots. I feel incredibly fortunate to be navigating this complex and nuanced issues alongside Asia Justice and Rights, who have long accompanied these communities, and Manuel Alberto Maia, a gifted filmmaker from eastern Indonesia who brings his own personal connection to these issues.
EM: What were some of the most challenging moments you’ve faced while working on projects dealing with trauma and memory? How do you take care of yourself and your collaborators during this process?
[A]: One particularly challenging moment involved filming with survivors in Yogyakarta. We had intended to film a “nyekar” (flower-laying) at a cemetery, believing it would emphasize the profound loss within their communities of atrocities survivors. However, the survivors refused to be filmed during this ritual, explaining that doing so would signify that they had “lost.” Meanwhile, in the camp near Kupang, the former East Timorese refugees have to make do by burying their relatives near the roadside to let the world know that being denied a plot of land for decades after conflict would mean their lives remain in constant limbo. This starkly reminded us of how differently trauma and memory can be experienced and processed by individuals and communities, and how varied their ways of coping can be. We had inadvertently imposed our own interpretation of grief.
Participatory practices taught by AJAR and other NGOs like “Stone & Flower,” “River of Life,” and body mapping, often facilitated by experts, become crucial. We participate in some of these sessions ourselves, while others are carefully monitored through footage, always ensuring the comfort and agency of the participants. Self-care and mutual support within our team are also paramount. We maintain open communication, check in with each other regularly, and acknowledge the emotional weight of the stories we’re engaging with. Creating a supportive and understanding environment is essential for navigating these challenging journeys together.
EM: How has the Cinemata Curators Residency Program contributed to your growth, particularly in exploring the human rights themes central to your work, and how has it influenced your curatorial approach so far?
[A]: The Cinemata Curators Residency Program has been impactful for my own growth. I’ve always positioned human rights films as central to campaigns, yet opening Cinemata’s extensive archive, particularly its Indonesian collection, has been invaluable. I was able to reconnect with KontraS’ long-lost film Batas Panggung (Stage Limit) about the cases of enforced disappearances and how much things have changed (and regressed), and I found Filep Karma’s video for the Papua tribunal project [Wisdom of a Political Prisoner: Filep Karma] – discoveries that feel incredibly relevant and important given the current repressive trends in Indonesia. This has definitely helped shaped my curatorial approach, emphasizing the need to resurface and amplify these crucial historical narratives.
EM: Given Cinemata’s platform for accessible film distribution, how do you think it can help amplify the voices of filmmakers tackling social and environmental issues in Asia-Pacific, and what unique opportunities does it offer for building a cross-regional community of storytellers and activists?
[A]: Interestingly, during this residency, we actually took the time to quantify the sheer number of films and issues that Cinemata hosts – more than 6,500 social-issue films hosted from 36 countries, spanning 37 languages! From those numbers, civil liberty-themed films held the biggest representation, with 1,300 entries.
I believe Cinemata’s greatest strength lies in its potential to place issues of varying urgency from different places side by side, framing them as one continuum of what is important within a continent. For example, Asia is fragmented with both progress and setbacks against a backdrop of nuanced and diverse realities. It’s rare to find a platform so dedicated to underserved communities everywhere; a true home for bold, necessary storytelling that deserves to be seen.
I believe this will become increasingly important in the future as a bridge between different generations of audiences to understand social justice issues. Whether we like it or not, people tend to respond more to films than to PDFs of reports (haha).
EM: What gives you hope as you continue working on human rights storytelling, and what conversations or changes are you most excited to see in Asia-Pacific filmmaking?
[A]: A friend of mine once described filmmaking in the Asia-Pacific context as “growing a community inside fences that continue to be built higher and higher.” Despite the challenges of repression, there’s incredible dynamism. Filmmakers continue to bring unbelievably diverse visuals, powerful and ever-relevant themes, and a vibrant range of people and cultures.
For me, human rights campaigning and filmmaking—and everything it encompasses, from programming to impact producing—are not separate entities. Learning from more seasoned documentarians and from the communities themselves gives me a sense of cautious optimism that human rights storytelling through film will gain even greater momentum.
However, I don’t think it should be an “Icarian feat.” We need to stay mindful of both immediate impact and long-term sustainability. There are always trivialities and dangers to navigate. Nevertheless, independent filmmaking will persist, and vital stories will continue to be told.
Cinemata is a community video platform for films on human rights and environmental justice in the Asia-Pacific. Cinemata highlights essential yet underheard stories, increasing filmmakers’ reach, engagement, and impact, while enabling audiences to discover thought-provoking videos.
