Make it Short film festival

My film Austerity Britain: Grenfell, exploring the ways in which the ‘culture of cuts’ contributed to the Grenfell fire, is hitting the short film festival circuit. 

First up is the Make it Short film festival in Lewes on the weekend of 14th/15th of October. 

Make it Short is a film festival aiming to shape cultural and social debate and will be showcasing films on the topics of social realism, alternative facts and modern feminism, among others. 

Austerity Britain: Grenfell - the 4th of the four-part series I made for Sub this summer - will close the Saturday afternoon session at around 6pm.

For more information visit: http://makeitshort.co.uk

[film] Bike with Purpose

After 36 hours of traveling - through the air, on the road and across the sea - I eventually arrived at the stunningly laid-back Belizean island of Caye Caulker, thanking the respective gods of neck pillows and podcasts.

Contrary to the common misconception, I hadn't only ventured to this corner of the Caribbean to snorkle with sharks, swing in hammocks and gorge on fresh lobster. I was also there on a filmmaking mission with the island’s only high school, and relentless force for social good: the Ocean Academy.

The Ocean Academy opened in 2008 to offer Caye Caulker’s children an education without the prohibitively expensive and lengthy seafaring commute to Belize City. Since its launch, the school has also turned its hand to several social enterprise initiatives that actively encourage pupils to make a sustainable living in the tourism and fishing industries.

My short doc focuses on one of the longest running of these initiatives: Bike with Purpose. Every Thursday, pupils lead visitors on bike tours around Caye Caulker's tiny network of sandy, pot-holed lanes as they point out their favourite spots and tell stories from their childhood. The money is then split between the school and the pupil, all ultimately going towards their education.

Caye Caulker, Belize © Ryan Chapman

A popular hippy hangout in the 1970's, Caye Caulker has retained its lazy vibes - whilst avoiding the tide of resortisation that has swept over neighbouring Caye Ambergris - and thoroughly deserves its legendary status throughout the backpacker community.

Little more than a sand bar, and just a few metres above sea level at its highest point, Caye Caulker is particularly vulnerable to hurricanes and rising seas. But, if this puts the locals on edge, they don't show it. The island’s mantra ‘go slow’ is painted on tree trunks and etched into the minds of locals and tourists alike.

Caye Caulker, Belize © Ryan Chapman 

One hazy, lazy afternoon - running slightly late for a coffee appointment - I was stopped by a police officer and, only half-jokingly told that I was walking too fast. "Go slow" he softly demanded with something approaching a smile, though sternly enough for me to take note.

I was on my way to meet Joni Miller, a Canadian teacher who had originally just come to Caye Caulker on a snorkelling trip in 1999. She was struck by the lack of opportunities for the island’s youngsters and later returned to establish the Ocean Academy.

Today, she's probably the busiest person on the island, dedicating every ounce of energy into giving Caye Caulker's children the best possible start in life.

The film I made with Joni at the Ocean Academy can be viewed below and on Destination: Utopia, a platform for sharing ideas and initiatives from around the world that inspire positive change.

Field of Dreams

I recently had the pleasure of making a short film for the Rwandan Cricket Stadium Foundation, supporting their fund raising campaign to build Rwanda's first international cricket ground. It's a worthy cause that's building on the positive impact cricket is having on Rwandan communities since the genocide.

Cricket was largely unknown in Rwanda before the 1990's. Despite its popularity elsewhere in Western Africa, Rwandans had been spared the very English pastime due to being ruled first by Germany, and then by Belgium. They dodged the reach of the British Empire in the 19th century and therefore avoided cricket as a tool of colonialism.

Rwandan Cricket Stadium Foundation's vision of a new stadium

Rather than from Britain, cricket came to Rwanda a century later via Kenya and Uganda courtesy of Rwandan refugees. Many had fled to these neighbouring countries when tribal tensions exploded in 1994 and then returned to Rwanda bearing the gift of cricket.

The scarily recent genocide from which they had fled - during which 800,000 people were slaughtered over 100 long, bloody days - lives on in the memories of Rwandans and continues to haunt every day life. 20% of the entire population were murdered. 

Currently, Rwanda's national cricket ground is on the site of one of the most horrific massacres of the genocide, upon which thousands of people were hacked to death with machetes. Until recently, it was common for players to come across human bones during play. It's perhaps somewhat fitting that I'm writing this on Halloween, given how gruesome these details are.

The Rwandan Cricket Stadium Foundation have recognised the role cricket is playing in Rwanda's healing process. As cricket brings people together they are keen to harness the unity that Rwanda's fastest growing sport is encouraging. Therefore, they set out to raise £1 million to develop a stadium with modern facilities so Rwanda can begin to host international games and attract more young people to the sport.

As part of the fund-raising efforts Rwandan cricket captain Eric attempted to break the world record for net practice by batting continuously for 52 hours. This short film, comprising of GoPro footage shot on the day, tells Eric's story:

You can help them raise the remaining funds required to finish their field of dreams here.

The Humanitarian Film Festival

The Humanitarian Film Festival begins today and my short film The Other Human was among the 12 films selected to feature. The festival, in support of the UN's World Humanitarian Day this month, is showcasing films that exemplify compassion and empathy for all human beings.

I shot The Other Human on a trip to Athens at the height of the Greek Depression, and just as refugees had begun arriving from across the Mediterranean in high numbers. I met Kostas - the kind, warm-hearted Athenian in the film - and joined him as he cooked "free food for all" on the streets of the Greek capital.

Kostas

There are many desperate, hungry people who have benefited from the compassion of Kostas, a man who truly believes that "no victims are necessary".

The Other Human was originally shared on Destination: Utopia last year, my platform sharing ideas and initiatives that inspire positive change. Please follow D:U on Twitter @DestUtopia or visit the website here.

You can watch the film on the festival's website here... and if you think it's worthy, please vote for it here.

Panic on the streets of Coventry

In the days leading up to the English Defence League's 'national demonstration' in Coventry, the notorious far-right wing group announced they wanted to "reclaim" what had become a "Muslim ghetto". In response to this, anti-fascism activists and disgruntled Coventrians made it clear to the EDL that their message of hate and division was not welcome.

Welcome or not, over a hundred EDL supporters from as far north as Newcastle and as far south as Devon descended on Coventry - a city most of them knew nothing about - to tell all the white working class locals that they should be angry with their Muslim neighbours.

I was there to cover the day's events for Brace Club and alternated between the EDL's demo - confined to the edge of the city centre - and a counter-protest organised by Unite Against Fascism on the town square. The police meanwhile, out in huge numbers, attempted to maintain a semblance of calm.

The EDL, well aware of their public image as violent, knuckle-dragging hooligans, have made recent attempts to clean up their act. Messages on social media pleaded with supporters not to get too drunk and volunteer stewards in EDL-branded fluorescent jackets stood by at the demonstration, seeking to discourage anything that might paint a damning picture.

Unfortunately for them, their bigoted hate-filled rhetoric speaks louder than any attempt to be taken seriously. When regional leaders announce their disgust that a "bloody Muslim" can be voted as mayor of London and points to this as evidence of them "slowly taking over", their true colours come to the fore.

Meanwhile, the counter-protesters were keen to remind everybody that Coventry is "one of the most harmoniously multicultural cities in the country", and with that in mind, support from locals for the EDL was always going to be thin on the ground. Coventry, after all, takes pride in being the birthplace of the UK's ska revival in the late 1970's, with multi-racial bands such as The Specials preaching racial unity.

Raising concerns over Islamic extremism and talking about how to tackle it is not Islamophobic and labelling it as such cheapens the term when used to rightfully describe the actions of the English Defence League. Not only are they Islamophobic, they promote hatred, violence and disunity, and though the principle of free speech should always prevail their message must continue to be countered.

The short film I made for Brace Club in Coventry is online here:

Rum, drums and rocking chairs

Simply put: Cuba is incredible, and you must go now. Incredible because of the people, their attitude to life and the island's Caribbean lushness. And right now, before up to 110 daily flights begin arriving from US airports.

I'm not saying American influences are going to taint everything that's wonderful about Cuba, I'm merely suggesting that you shouldn't wait to find out.

Trinidad © Ryan Chapman

Right now, Cuba is a traveler's paradise, and it's the Cuban people themselves who are largely responsible for that. Take typical Irish openness, Islamic hospitality and Latin American warmth, put it all together and you'll have something approaching the average Cuban.

Add to that: you're on a Caribbean island, it's still pretty cheap and, if you avoid resorts, you have the perpetual feeling you're traveling off the beaten track. No wonder the secret is out.

La Boca © Ryan Chapman

The heart of Cuba beats to frantic Afro-Caribbean rhythms from rumba to reggaeton, but life itself is relaxed and unhurried. A Cuban's day is more likely to involve several games of dominoes than present any problems that kicking back in a rocking chair with a bottle of rum can't solve.

The truth is, Cuba is not the failing communist nightmare it's often purported to be. By providing a high standard of healthcare and education; subsidising essentials such as food and electricity; and fostering crime-free neighbourhoods, Cuba is clearly in a much better state than many other Latin American countries. Haiti and Honduras being the obvious examples to the other extreme, both struggling with poverty, inequality and violence.

Plaza de la Revolutción, Havana © Ryan Chapman

I'm not saying Cuba doesn't have it's problems (democracy, for example, is an area that could use some work...) but you'd be hard pressed to find a happier bunch of people. Today - with the more pragmatic of the dictatorial Castro brothers in charge, and an improving relationship with the USA - change is rampant, and Cubans are looking to the future with cautious optimism.

"We like President Obama, but we will never forget the history. It's what makes us Cuban”, explained our host in the very town on the Bay of Pigs where the USA-backed invasion failed in 1961. "Sure, there are things we could do better, but there are big things we don’t want to change and I don't think we'll get a choice. America wants to own everyone."

Bay of Pigs © Ryan Chapman

Sorting fact from propaganda is something that's particularly precarious when dealing with the history of US-Cuba relations, but it's plain to see how the trade embargo has held the island nation back. However, with 191 of 193 United Nations member states recently condemning the USA for its continued stranglehold, Obama has been actively attempting to normalise relations. (Side note: the only country not to condemn the superpower, other than itself, was Israel).

Obama's efforts are welcome in Cuba, where many problems can be directly attributed to the blockade. "No one is homeless in Cuba, everyone gets housed by the state", another host told me between sips of rum, "but because of the trade embargo there is a shortage of building materials. So the government can't build enough homes and often four generations live under the same roof. Overcrowding is a big problem... mainly thanks to America."

Havana © Ryan Chapman

It remains to be seen how this coming together of ideologies will impact Cuba: an island where poverty is seen as a social problem, with social solutions; an island where, as our host on The Bay of Pigs put it, "people have little, but share everything from the heart"; a communist-led island in a sea of capitalism whose people are proud of their socialist values.

Maybe the best of both worlds will prosper and a unique brand of democratic socialism will thrive, like some kind of Scandinavian-Caribbean utopian hybrid. Or maybe the once forbidden fruits of wealth and riches will prove too enticing and Cuba will become another territory of the United States of Capitalism.

Whatever happens, it's happening now.

Havana © Ryan Chapman

If Cuba has been lingering towards the top of your bucket list for a while, I'd make it a priority and plan that trip, while keeping these things in mind:

Stay in casa particulares

Most hotels in Cuba are rated from average to awful, but casa particulares (somewhere between a home-stay and a bed and breakfast) allow you to stay with locals, put your money directly into their pockets and enjoy the fruits of Cuban hospitality first hand (quite literally: the fresh fruit at breakfast was a consistent highlight).

We didn't stay in a casa that wasn't excellent, but we did research them first using sites such as www.cubacasas.net and the old favourite, Trip Advisor. I'm sure there are bad ones around, but avoid them by booking ahead. 

Two favourites were Duniel & Maite's Hostal El Barbero in Playa Giron, and Guille & Viola's Hostal Buenavista in La Boca.

Havana © Ryan Chapman

Skip the resorts

Varadero receives more tourists than anywhere else in Cuba, but it's about as Cuban as a steak and ale pie. Most people come here - or other resort towns on the north coast - and don't leave. Yes, the beach is exceptional, and yes it's worth a day or two, but if you want to experience Cuba any day spent in Varadero is a day wasted. 

If you insist, at least stay in a casa particular.

Assume information is out of date

Things are changing so fast you need to take everything you read on the internet and in guide books with a pinch of salt because it's probably out of date.

Bus about

Viazul buses are clean, comfortable and air-conditioned. They're also far cheaper than hiring a car. The only downside is being bound to fairly irregular services (often one departure a day), but if you have time on your side the bus is the way to go. Don't even think about the train.

La Boca © Ryan Chapman

Fall in love with La Boca

La Boca was my personal highlight. Cubans chill in the Caribbean shallows sharing rum and laughter; others smoke cigars and play dominoes on upturned cardboard boxes. Children climb trees, pausing on high branches to watch friends play football on the sand below.

As the sky begins to glow pastel shades of pink and purple, fishermen row out towards the horizon, silhouetted against the setting sun. 

La Boca is a small fishing village just minutes from the relative bustle of Trinidad. Find your favourite rocking chair and spend at least a few days here. Adapt to the pace and allow it to soothe your soul.

[Film] Meet the Moonies

Towards the end of last year I was asked to make a documentary with rare inside access to the Unification Church, following a day in the life of a second-generation Unificationist - or, Moonie - called Michael.

Michael is 21 years old and a life-long member of the Church. Known for its cult-like tendencies, the Unification Church is perhaps most famous for its belief that world peace can be attained by marrying everyone off into couples and forming "true families". Just last year, Michael himself was matched at a mass-marrying ceremony in South Korea and is now eternal partners with a Japanese girl of similar age.

Left to right: Michael, Jake (the producer & presenter) and a fellow member, praying in front of a sacred tree.

The term Moonie derives from the name of Sun Myung Moon: the founder of the Church in 1954 and believed by members to be the second coming of Christ. He is known as the True Parent and is idolised as the personification of absolute perfection. 

I attended their Sunday service in North London before meeting Michael again at his home in a Moonie commune to make this film...

Don't touch wild camels

"Don't touch wild camels" warned the tannoy announcement as I arrived at Hong Kong airport. Slightly confused, I boarded the train to the city centre, safe in the knowledge - I assumed - that my trip would be entirely camel-free.

What with the food, the people and the language, Hong Kong feels quite, you know, foreign. Until, that is, you charge your phone with a British 3-pin plug and it blows your mind, or you go for a drink at a pub called The Globe in the heart of Soho and you're surrounded by pompous, white city boys. It's little wonder so many expats feel at home here.

Hong Kong © Ryan Chapman

After all, this identity-muddled corner of China was under the thumb of ol' Queenie until as recently as 1997, when the British Empire completed its imperial liquidation by handing Hong Kong to the Chinese. That's more recent than such culturally signifiant events as Arsene Wenger taking charge of Arsenal and R Kelly believing he could fly. My point being, it wasn't very long ago.

On my flight from Heathrow I had sat next to a very helpful lady who took it upon herself to recite the entire Hong Kong Lonely Planet guide into my face. As a result, I had a fairly in-depth knowledge of all the tourist hot-spots, but ended up doing exactly what I usually do in foreign cities: wandering around aimlessly, taking photographs and drinking beer.

I stopped regularly at food stalls and snacked on a variety of local favourites from roast duck on a stick to curry fish balls on a stick and from grilled squid on a stick to chicken cartilage - the bits you’d usually spit out - you guessed it, on a stick. The stick, of the latter combination, being the more edible of the duo. 

Hong Kong © Ryan Chapman

On my last evening before moving on I took in the harbour view from The Peak (because everyone said I shouldn't leave town before at least doing that), caught up with some old friends who I belatedly remembered lived in Hong Kong and watched English football in the only bar I could find not screening the Rugby World Cup. All, I feel compelled to add, without any encounters with camels. The next morning, I headed north over the faintly drawn border to Shenzhen.

Hong Kong and Shenzhen are linked by their metro systems: it's like getting the Tube up to High Barnet on the Northern Line, crossing the road, and then being at the Morden of an entirely different, but equally large city. Small and insignificant until as recently as 1979, Shenzhen is a product of China's effort to prove that a capitalist economy can thrive under a communist government, or "socialism with Chinese characteristics" as they put it. Whatever it is, it's boomtown: growing from the size of Dover to the size of London in just a few decades.

I was in Shenzhen to point cameras at people talking about cameras in exchange for money. My accommodation was sorted for me by the client and, as such, didn't bare the usual hallmarks of somewhere I'd usually choose to book myself, such as damp walls and stained carpets. To the contrary I found myself in the ridiculously luxurious surroundings of the overtly five star Langham Hotel.

Greeted at the door by four people – two to open it and two to smile – my first impressions were accompanied by the gentle plucking of a harp. Suitably impressed, I dumped my bags on the polished marble floor, sweat dripping from hauling them across the city, and was tempted to ask the immaculately presented receptionist whether this was the backpackers hostel.

Thinking better of it, I handed over my passport to Sunny, who checked me in, and was then shown to the lift by Sunny's colleague, Rainy. I really hoped that the next employee I encountered was called Windy but I forgot all about that when I entered my room and found a pillow menu awaiting my perusal, along side a note telling me what the weather was like today (in case I couldn't work out how to open the curtains). I could tell most of these luxuries were going to pass me by.

Every morning my cables were tidied
(which was actually quite annoying)

Settling on the normal pillow-shaped and normal pillow-sized lavender scented option that came as standard - albeit tempted by the alluringly named full-body pillow - I went for a drink in the hotel bar where I was soon to discover the annoyances of five-star Chinese hospitality.

As I sat, watching Shenzhen go by from the 21st floor, I was overcome with horror when my perfectly measured Cuba Libre was flooded with Coca-Cola by the over-eager resident topper-upper. Luckily for them, there was no openable window or else they may have found themselves being ejected through it.

The next morning at breakfast, exasperation levels were only marginally lower when, half-way through my morning cup of tea, along came a waitress who topped it up with coffee. Such was their desire to serve guests their every whim, the only option was to greet such travesties with gratitude and a smile. Anything else would have no doubt seen some lower-lips begin to tremble.

On another night, when a glass broke near me and I bent down to help pick up the pieces, the look on the waiter's face was one of terror. I stubbornly continued to help until I was literally man-handled out of the way.

Somehow avoiding death after daring to touch broken glass with my bare fingers, and surviving the incessantly hindering helpfulness of the hotel staff, I finally got the chance to explore Shenzhen on my last day and found it to be a much greener, more pleasant city than I had expected. One thing I was particularly keen to check out was a park containing replica landmarks from around the world that filled a huge site just outside the city centre.

Copy of Venice, Shenzhen © Ryan Chapman

Divided into zones, visitors can enjoy the morning in South East Asia and the afternoon in North America. Though it got boring quite quickly, I stayed long enough to find the area depicting England and was amused to find locals particularly enamoured by a replica of Stonehenge.

I've heard it said at home that Stonehenge is "just a pile of stones", which is definitely true if you take away the historic and spiritual context, like here. However, that didn't stop people photographing themselves, selfie-sticks at full stretch, in front of the pseudo-ancient rock formation; safe in the knowledge they'd now never have to go to Wiltshire.

Copy of Stonehenge, Shenzhen © Ryan Chapman

Copy of Paris, Shenzhen © Ryan Chapman

The place had replicas of a whole lot more: from the Vatican City to an almost-life sized interpretation of Paris, complete with a Parisian cafe serving croissants. And then, just when I'd forgotten the advice from Hong Kong airport I entered the Egyptian zone and there, standing by The Sphinx, staring into my soul whilst munching on hay in an all-too sinister fashion was a very real and very large camel. And I swear, at that very moment, it winked it me.

[Film] The Other Human: "no victims are necessary"

With the ever-worsening humanitarian crisis unfolding in Europe, and the subsequent vilification of people fleeing violent conflict and untold misery, there are many who could learn a great deal from Kostas: the warm-hearted Athenian in this short film who believes "no victims are necessary".

The Other Human - my second film under the banner of Destination: Utopia - focusses on a volunteer-run social kitchen in Athens that has been feeding people free of charge and indiscriminately every day for the last four years. 

Since I was in Athens just a few months ago, and blogged about the political situation in Greece, a lot has changed. What remains is an austerity-ravaged society struggling to deal with the influx of refugees and an ever-increasing amount of mouths to feed.

The solution is clearly not erecting fences and arming borders. So, while our leaders debate their next move, let's all learn from Kostas: that a little compassion goes a long way. 

Please share as you see fit and follow @DestUtopia on Twitter for more of the same: ideas, initiatives and stories from around the world that inspire positive change (also on Facebook).

The Other Human

Athens is tired and unwashed but wears a warm, resilient smile. Greeks have it tough right now: the crippling hand of austerity has inflicted almost irreversible damage. In January this year the socialist Syriza party won the election and now change is in the air, but it’s hard to distill from a fog of desperation.

Around four years ago, in the wake of austerity-driven devastation, Greece’s solidarity movement was born. Volunteer-run foodbanks, soup kitchens and health clinics sprung up all over the country, almost over night. Where the government failed, people stepped up. 

One such person was Kostas Polychronopoulos. Sick of seeing people rummaging through bins for titbits of anything to eat, he founded a social initiative called The Other Human. The aim: to provide free meals for anyone who's hungry.

Kostas at his Name Day party. © Ryan Chapman

Kostas is a bearded Athenian oozing character. His twenty-four carat heart bears overwhelming compassion and empathy. If the ancient Greeks had a god of charity - like they seem to have had a god for everything else - Kostas would be the modern day equivalent. Every day, since starting out in December 2011, he has taken his stove and a small army of volunteers to the streets to cook. "Free food for all" he told me, "for solidarity, respect and love for all people".

I went along to a few cook-ups to share his story and spread some inspiration in the name of Destination: Utopia (films coming soon - more here). He chooses busy locations - usually bustling with pigeons as well as people; often public squares - and prepares the meals in a large steel pot, rhythmically stirring the contents with a wooden paddle as he has done a thousand times before. 

When the meal looks close to ready his first patron gingerly approaches and gratefully receives their foil tray, usually containing potatoes and beans in a tomato sauce, always accompanied by a chunk of bread. In turn, others come forward; those who have been observing from afar and those who seem to appear from nowhere. Young and old; male and female; even a guy in a suit.

The Other Human's banner in central Athens. © Ryan Chapman

Greece is far from becoming some kind of socialist utopia, despite the best efforts of people like Kostas. The radical left's recent election triumph speaks volumes but the voice of the far-right is so loud and abrasive that Golden Dawn, the neo-Nazi party - whose flag is eerily swastika-like and whose leader openly admires the Führer - received nearly 400,000 votes. We’re not talking Nigel Farage-like casual racism delivered with a cheeky grin: Golden Dawn are all for violence-led extremism. Blood, honour reads their slogan.

Syriza received over 2.2 million votes, significantly more than Golden Dawn, but the friction between far-left and far-right is constantly threatening to boil over. This was highlighted during a chance encounter with a local legend called Tom, known for maintaining a street art gallery of sorts, comprising of left-leaning slogans and symbolism in central Athens.

When I tracked it down however, only ‘Make Tea, Not War’ was eligible through the hastily applied layer of blue paint covering his work. The reason for the cover-up? Fear. "I've had enough" he told me, "Last week they vandalised my home. Next time they said it would be Molotov cocktails. Enough is enough".

The Acropolis. © Ryan Chapman

Greece, the much-touted birthplace of democracy, is at a political cross-roads. Held over a barrel by the European Union, Syriza are struggling to forge the changes they promised, much to the disappointment of many voters. So far, only symbolic gestures - such as the removal of security fences around parliament - have come to pass. They have an Olympus-sized mountain to climb.

The ball, however, is rolling. Greeks chose socialism; they chose to fight austerity; and more than that, they chose a new brand of politics: that of grassroots initiatives, creative activism and taking matters into their own hands.  For as long people like Kostas are out there - nurturing a desire for social change, reminding us that we're all human beings - there is hope.

[film] Iron Heart

For the second time in as many months, purely by coincidence, I found myself jetting off to the wind-battered island of Fuerteventura as part of a small production team filming an extremely fit person being more active than I've ever been. I took it as fate's way of telling me I should look at changing my lifestyle (just one more summer, fate, I promise!)

This time the truly inspirational Elmar Sprink was the focus of our attention. Elmar is a German triathlete whose extraordinary story will be told in our feature length documentary Iron Heart, coming later this year. For now, I've cut this teaser which we're all very proud of:

Over the next few months we'll be following Elmar around Europe - from the pine-filled hills of Northeastern Mallorca to Hansel and Gretel's very own Black Forest in Southwestern Germany - as he trains for the Ironman European Championship in Frankfurt this summer. The fact Elmar is even up and about is testament to his sheer determination; the fact he's competing in one of the world's most gruellingly competitive triathlons is nothing short of astonishing. 

Qatar You Serious?!

I recently read an article on a satirical news site that declared ISIS had been selected to host the 2026 World Cup. “At FIFA we believe that football is a truly global game” read the imagined Sepp Blatter quote. The most striking thing about the article is how worryingly plausible it all is. Remember FIFA's admission that, when organising a tournament, democracy is a hindrance.

Back to reality, around this time four years ago, football fans everywhere waited to find out whether FIFA would look to North America, Asia or Australasia for hosts of the 2022 World Cup. There was that other option, the Middle East, but it was widely regarded a token candidate.

Immediately following Sepp Blatter's ceremonious envelope-opening the football world collectively paused - stunned and open-mouthed - before texting mates to condemn dear old Sepp in such a manic rush that one such message I received referred to him as a - presumably auto-corrected - corrupt blunt.

The most hated man in football.

Personally, not only was I disappointed - having hoped for an Aussie World Cup - I was curious. So much so that, on my way to South Africa to make a film about yet another FIFA-inspired scandal (namely, the building of Cape Town Stadium) I stopped over in Qatar with the intention of making an entirely separate film about their football culture.

It didn't materialise for two reasons: One, I was refused permission (bringing a camera into the country was fine, but if I pressed record I could be in serious trouble) and two, there was the somewhat debilitating issue of there not being a football culture. Subsequently, I found myself with the best part of a week in Doha, the capital - and pretty much only - city, with not an awful lot to do.

Seeking cultural immersion I couchsurfed with a local lad who was so trusting he left me a set of keys to his apartment before he'd even met me. I repaid his trust by accidentally traipsing all over his prayer mat with my shoes on: an act that was met with a horrified gasp followed by an awkwardly prolonged series of tuts. Suitably guilt-ridden I offered to buy him dinner that night, but he politely refused insisting that, as his guest, I shouldn’t have to spend a single riyal for the entire duration of my stay.

Doha, Qatar

Despite Prayer Mat Gate we got on well and it was a joy to be on the receiving end of this genuinely warm Islamic hospitality. However, as it happened, this generosity was just about the only thing in Qatar I did warm to. I left knowing I'd probably never return and feeling all the more disgruntled with FIFA. As someone who travels to major tournaments often I felt like they'd taken a World Cup away from me. More broadly speaking: I felt like they'd taken it away from the fans.

There are a range of reasons why Qatar is a terrible place to host this month-long festival of football. For a start, FIFA claim to be against discrimination and gender inequality yet fans traveling to Qatar will be entering a state where homosexuality is illegal, women still need permission to apply for a driving licence* and rape within marriage is not considered a crime.

Then there are the practicalities: the temperature in Qatar can - and frequently does - get dangerously high. I went in the autumn and still couldn't handle the heat (whole swathes of the day were a write off) and there are legitimate concerns for the safety of the players. The original plan was to counter this by building air-conditioned stadiums, but these plans have now been scrapped.

Furthermore, there's the simple fact that not many Qataris really care much about football. This considered, you’d surely have to question the sanity of building eight - perhaps even ten – very expensive stadiums around the Yorkshire-sized country.

© The Guardian

Perhaps I could forgive them for all of the above, but for the fact that the tournament's infrastructure is being built at the cost of untold human death and misery. According to some sources a thousand slaves have already died on World Cup-related construction sites (That's right, slaves. Apparently it's still the 18th century over there). The International Trade Union Confederation has predicted the death toll could reach 4,000 by the time a ball is kicked.

You could argue that FIFA aren't to blame, and I would counter that argument by suggesting that you're talking out of your arse. They have the power to stop it today, but it's still happening. So fuck them, and fuck their World Cup in Qatar.

*I just re-read this 8 years later and felt I should note that since 2020 women no longer need a guardian’s permission to obtain a driving license. 

My Love-Hate Relationship with the World Cup

Following the frantic flapping of three terrorised doves desperately trying to flee the stadium's four walls of noise, the 2014 World Cup kicked off. 

One of the three kids charged with releasing the birds - a stunt presumably arranged to symbolise FIFA's renowned dedication to world peace (!) - proceeded the act with a protest. As thirteen year-old Jeguaká Mirim walked off the pitch he held a sign aloft demanding land rights for indigenous people. However, unless you were there you wouldn't have seen it because the television cameras ignored it. After all, this was to be the World Cup of turning blind eyes and ignoring the needs, rights and desires of the people. Welcome to Fifaland.

The view from my 'office' one evening in Rio. © Ryan Chapman

The opening day of the World Cup provided me with a cocktail of emotions. By that point I had spent two incredible weeks in one of the most scintillating cities on earth, falling in love with it all over again having first visited back in 2007 - as an only slightly fresher faced traveller - on my first foray outside of Europe. The previous evening had seen Christ the Redeemer bathed in yellow and green light to mark the imminent arrival of the tournament and surely never before has such a simple gesture had such a huge impact on the mood of a city. Rio de Janeiro was positively buzzing, and it was infectious.

In the hours leading up to the much anticipated kick-off I attended two very different anti World Cup demonstrations. The first had a party atmosphere with samba bands marching through the streets accompanied by revellers in fancy dress shooting bubble guns and water pistols. The second had a far darker tone after beginning with the arrest of two activists, much to the anger of the gathered crowd. There were times in both when I didn't want to be branded 'just another journalist' and so put my camera away and got more involved. When I caught myself on the frontline shouting slogans against the violence of the heavily armoured military police directly at the heavily armoured military police I justified it by calling it immersive filmmaking.

Me (bottom left with the camera, not the sign)

I dragged myself away as Brazil's opening match approached and entered an entirely different world: The Fan Fest. Occupying a sizeable chunk of Rio's famous sands, this was the FIFA-organised public viewing area and I had assumed, the place to be. I entered with an open mind, determined not to blindly resent it. However, it appeared for whatever reason that most locals had stayed away. It was full to capacity but out of those in Brazil shirts - and there were many - barely any knew the words to the national anthem, revealing just how many gringos had adopted Brazil as their second team.

I left the Fan Zone after fifteen minutes and found the scenes on the streets much more as I had expected. Every bar and restaurant had people spilling onto the pavement, straining for a view of the action. Street corner barbecues encouraged gatherings around tiny television sets; viewers taking it in turns to readjust the aerial for a better reception. This was more like it. When Brazil scored their equaliser the place went berserk. The explosive barrage of fireworks was drowned out by the delighted screams of a nation and the significance of the occasion hit me like a train.

My World Cup unfolded in much the same vein: dipping in and out of protests while sustaining a complicated love-hate relationship with the whole affair. Most days were spent either shooting or editing my films (FIFA and the Perfect Con) and most nights involved reluctantly declining invitations to go out drinking due to the workload and early starts. Unfortunately, the limited time I had set aside for 'enjoyment' coincided - in a very non-coincidental and all too premeditated way - with England matches. Considering this wasn't the first time I'd followed England to a major tournament, I should've known what to expect.

The disappointment after scooting across to Sao Paulo full of hope that we could perhaps scrape a 0-0 draw against the Uruguayans was somewhat sweetened by the enormous nightly street parties. Fans from every nation - even non-participating ones - gathered to mingle, sing, drink and dance through dawn. Street vendors provided chilled beers and spirits from cool boxes while bass-loving locals showed off their vehicles' sound systems, parking up to provide tunes from car boot discos.

Throughout the journey I was pleasantly surprised to discover that even the most fanatical flag-waving, horn-blowing Brazilians were willing to voice their anti-government and anti-FIFA opinions. Few, it seemed, supported FIFA's event unconditionally. Of those who chose to protest some opted for high-impact methods while others went for subtlety, like the red card protest on Copacabana (somber looking folk lined up displaying red cards to FIFA) or the theatrical open heart surgery carried out by a mock surgeon wearing goalkeeper gloves (in response to the state's prioritising of football over health care).

Perhaps the most poignant metaphor of all, however, was an accidental one. I've since learnt that two of the three aforementioned doves released before kick-off didn't make it out of the stadium alive, reportedly crashing into the roof structure in blind panic. Not only does this obviously make a mockery of the whole gesture but it is characteristic of FIFA's World Cup on a much broader scale: everything looks great for the cameras, but reality is heartbreakingly different.

Originally featured on filterview.tv you can now watch all three parts of FIFA and the Perfect Con combined on Vimeo:

Brazil's Mellowed Yellows

Finally! Today sees the start of Brazil's month-long party and who's going to admit they're not at least a little bit excited? Get the crushed ice and limes ready! Also, while you're at it, prepare for police brutality and lungs full of tear gas.

Recent research revealed that 61% of Brazilians are now against the World Cup. That, when you think about it, is an incredible statistic. Several years ago almost the entire country was in favour of hosting the event, but evidence suggests enthusiasm has faded. How this enormous swing in public opinion has occurred I hope is answered in my films (FIFA and the Perfect Con).

Though 61% of the population may be against the World Cup I wouldn't suggest for one moment that they won't be tuning in to watch their yellow-shirted heroes later today. It may be a moral tightrope, but I for one am walking it with ease, and I expect most Brazilians will too. I have no problem with being against FIFA and their abhorrent World Cup model whilst being excited by the prospect of four weeks of watching the best players in the world in action (and England).

Salvador © Ryan Chapman

Over three weeks ago I arrived in the sun-drenched city of Salvador to begin my filmmaking adventure. Not many people go to Salvador for a week without hitting the beach, but that was me. If I wasn't out meeting people and shooting interviews I was sat with my laptop and Final Cut Pro with a flowing supply of coffee. I did find the time to explore Salvador's streets - even plucking up the 'courage' to leave the confines of the 'tourist safe' three-block centre of the old town - and what I saw cemented my preconceptions that Salvador is a city of contrasts. Cobbled roads lined with colourful colonial buildings by which men sit playing dominoes soon give way to chaotic thoroughfares where shops compete for attention by blaring out terrible dance music amid the enthusiastic hooting of a thousand impatient drivers.

Most people I encountered would enquire as to whether I was there for the World Cup and would be happy to talk about it. We'd invariably communicate in either their broken English or my terrible Spanish-Portuguese-hybrid and conclude with a laugh that England have no chance. Only when I questioned them further would they reveal their feelings towards the government and FIFA, and on every single occasion they admitted that their passion for the tournament had been diluted. And this was in Salvador: a city that hadn't seen protests on the same scale as cities in the south.

Brasilia © Ryan Chapman

From Salvador, the first capital of Brazil, I flew to Brasilia: the current. For a period in between, Rio had the privilege, but in the late 1950's it was decided that Brazil's government should be more centrally located and so two men were tasked with designing a new capital. I like to imagine them plotting the roads and utilities on Sim City, perhaps sending in the occasional tornado or alien invasion when things got boring. The architect of the pair's work is well celebrated thanks to the striking modernist nature of his creations. The urban planner, however, did not receive many accolades.

He did not design a pedestrian-friendly city, having assumed everyone who lives there would drive cars. As a result, Brasilia lacks street-life and thus personality. It is split into zones specific to their purpose - residential, commercial, banking, hotels - inside which blocks are assigned numbers and buildings are assigned letters. There's something eerily science-fictional about the repetitive layout and the uniformed naming convention. Even the metro stations are numbered (I won't admit how many times I got off at Sul 108 instead of Sul 106. Or was it Sul 104? I forget.)

On my second day in Brasilia was an anti-World Cup protest which I document comprehensively in Part 2 of my films (which, by the way, will be online tomorrow). As a consequence of my experience during this protest my opinion has changed. Originally, I thought the significance of the occasion, and the importance of the World Cup to Brazilian society, might prevent people from protesting and disrupting the tournament. However, I've now realised what a small role the World Cup is playing. Instead, it is the violence of the military police that is keeping people off the streets. Many people are simply too scared. It seems in Brazil the government is successfully repressing the people, and it's not a very pleasant thing to be witnessing.

Ipanema Beach, Rio © Ryan Chapman

I'm now in Rio, and over the last week or so I have noticed gradually increasing levels of what can only be described as World Cup fever seeping in. There are several streets drowning in flags and stalls on major junctions selling just about everything in yellow and green that you can think of. By all accounts, however, it's not happening on even close to the same scale as it usually does during a World Cup. You'd expect hosting the event would intensify the carnival atmosphere, but apparently not this time.

When the actions of a governing body causes the most passionate supporters of the thing it is governing to resent it you have to question the viability of that body. FIFA have lost the game. I personally hope there are regular protests that cause a good deal of chaos and disruption to send them, and the Brazilian government, a very strong message. And I would love to see visiting fans taking part. I, for sure, will be one of them.

Film: FIFA and the Perfect Con

It is said in Brazil that the nation's most popular sport is volleyball, as football is not considered a sport, but a religion. Indeed, though the game originates in England (I'm writing this now just a goalkeeper's kick away from the currently very soggy patch of grass in Cambridge where many of the rules were established) you cannot think Brazil without thinking football.

Later this year Brazil will host what promises to be one of the biggest parties the planet has ever seen: The 2014 FIFA World Cup. However, not all Brazilians are as enthused by the prospect as you might imagine. Several months ago, over a million people poured onto the streets in cities across the country to join anti-government demonstrations fuelled by anger over a rise in bus fares, inadequate public services and corruption. These protests soon developed anti-World Cup sentiments with 'FIFA, go home' being one of the more prominent take-home messages. Why? Because hosting a World Cup that meets FIFA's stringent demands is a huge drain on public resources. Too much of a drain, according to many.

A clear message from protesters. (Photo: sueddeutsche.de)

My film - working title: FIFA and the Perfect Con - will explore the contrast between Brazil's unwavering passion for football and the somewhat paradoxical, but no less justifiable, rise of World Cup resentment. It will tell the stories of people who feel neglected by the government - like those who've been forcefully evicted from their homes to clear land for construction projects (170,000 people according to one report) - and those who feel they have been brushed under the carpet as the country prepares itself for the beam of the brightest spotlight imaginable.

Sadly, it's not the first time we've seen a country that is plagued by poverty needlessly overspend in order to tick FIFA's boxes. An assortment of brand new stadiums were built across South Africa for the 2010 World Cup to satisfy football's international governing body and their requirements. This was despite the fact that, in some cases, upgrading existing stadia would have sufficed. One example of an unnecessary new-build was Cape Town Stadium: the focus of my 2013 film Cape Town's White Elephant.

Shooting a time-lapse shot of Cape Town's 'white elephant' for the film mentioned above.

In Brazil, six new stadiums are being constructed and though they stand a better chance of a prosperous post-tournament life, due to the greater popularity of football in Brazil than in South Africa, many Brazilians say the money could have been better spent. 'We want FIFA-standard hospitals and schools' is a common jibe seen inscribed on protesters' placards and graffitied on walls around cities nationwide.

The 'perfect con' in question is of course the World Cup itself. Countries - or more specifically, politicians - want it because of the immediate punch it packs on the global stage. They're willing to do anything to make it happen, but give little thought to the repercussions. Meanwhile, FIFA sit back and dictate; ensuring everything goes their way and nothing impedes their relentless quest to maximise revenue. They even implement strictly enforced 2km 'exclusion zones' around each stadium, inside which they have full control of what is sold and advertised (in accordance, of course, with their lucrative corporate partnerships).

Then, following the last blast of the referee's whistle, they walk away with the lion's share of profits which, as stipulated by themselves from the very beginning, is received entirely free of tax. The prolific Brazilian goal-scorer and 1994 World Cup winner Romário, now a politician, has been outspoken against FIFA, saying: "they come, set up the circus, they spend nothing and take everything".

They get away with it because, unfortunately, one cannot support the World Cup without supporting FIFA by unavoidable association and, for me at least, every fourth summer would be agonisingly dull without the damned thing.

England fans in 2010 before it all went horribly wrong. Bloemfontein, South Africa.

The last time the World Cup was contested on Brazilian soil it ended in disaster for the hosts. On July 16th 1950, Uruguay stunned the world by coming from behind to win the decisive match at Rio de Janeiro's Maracanã Stadium in front of 200,000 spectators. It's a day Brazilians have never forgotten. The goalkeeper who was ultimately blamed for the defeat suffered immeasurably for the rest of his days; was considered a curse; and died penniless. Shortly before his death he revealed the saddest moment of his life was when, twenty years after the event, a woman pointed at him in a supermarket and told her young son "he is the man that made all of Brazil cry".

That defeat made the World Cup a national obsession and Brazil went on to dominate future competitions to become arguably the greatest team of all time. Regardless of the success, however, a victory on home soil is what Brazilians crave, and sixty-four years later they have the chance to exorcise the demons of 1950. This time though, their young and inexperienced team will have to compete amidst a distracting backdrop of political tension and civil unrest. The World Cup is not expected to pass without incident, and to curtail any rebellion, a special riot force has been formed and armed with rubber bullets and tear gas bombs.

Rio's iconic Maracanã Stadium. (Photo: The Guardian)

When I heard of the growing voice among Brazilians calling for a boycott of the tournament, there was an element of surprise. However, after taking a moment to consider their position, I found it easy to understand why they're so discontented and why they believe FIFA has stolen the soul of football's biggest festival. It's thanks to FIFA that the World Cup continues to be less and less about the football and more and more about the money.

Nonetheless, football is still very much a lifeblood of this vibrant nation and regardless of the dubious motives of FIFA as they're pulling the strings, I find it hard to believe that, come June, Brazil won't be bouncing to its own samba-infused beat.