At Berlinale, silence on Gaza is being framed as artistic freedom, but many see it as a careful dodge. When a global stage avoids hard truths, neutrality starts to look like privilege, not principle.
Image Source: Berlinale
Berlinale and Politics: The drama at this year’s Berlin Film Festival or Berlinale did not unfold on the red carpet. It exploded at the press conference table. And now, the festival bosses are rushing to calm the storm. But the questions are only getting louder: should artists really “stay out of politics” or is silence itself a political act?
The controversy began at the festival, where jury president Wim Wenders made comments that quickly spread like wildfire across media and social platforms. When asked about the Israel-Gaza conflict, he suggested that filmmakers should remain outside politics calling cinema the “counterweight” to political work.
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That one line was enough. Screenshots flew. Headlines screamed. Debates erupted.
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Within hours, the conversation had shifted from cinema to conscience.
Was this a thoughtful call for artistic independence? Or was it a polite way of avoiding hard moral questions?
The festival clearly felt the heat. Within just two days, organisers released a long official statement defending filmmakers, the jury, and especially Wenders. The tone was calm on the surface. But underneath, it was defensive, almost anxious.
Because let’s be honest: this wasn’t just about one quote. This was about the bigger question haunting global art spaces right now: when the world burns, can artists really stay neutral?
Festival director Tricia Tuttle wrote a lengthy reflection titled On Speaking, Cinema and Politics. In it, she argued that artists should not be pressured to respond to every political issue thrown at them.
Her key message was simple: artists have free speech, and that includes the right not to speak.
She stressed that filmmakers are constantly asked about global conflicts, national politics, and social crises during press conferences. If they answer, they are judged. If they refuse, they are judged even more. And if they give a short answer, it gets criticised for lacking depth. If they give a long answer, it gets twisted into headlines.
In short, according to the festival, artists are trapped in a no-win situation.
Tuttle also reminded everyone that the festival lineup itself includes hundreds of films tackling political issues like genocide, war violence, colonial power, corruption, and patriarchal systems.
But it also sounded like a polished excuse for silence.
Many festival guests have reportedly declined to comment on political questions during press conferences. This silence has itself become a talking point. Journalists are asking. Social media users are asking. Even fellow artists are asking.
Is it fear of backlash? Fear of misinterpretation? Or simply a strategy to avoid controversy in a hyper-polarised world?
Because let’s not pretend: artists today are global influencers. Their words travel far beyond the festival hall. One comment can shape public opinion overnight.
So when they choose not to speak, that silence does not exist in a vacuum. It sends a message too.
And that message, fairly or unfairly, can sound like disengagement.
One of the strongest reactions came from writer and activist Arundhati Roy, who cancelled her visit to the festival and publicly criticised the stance. Her rebuke was sharp, emotional, and very clear: neutrality in times of suffering is not neutral at all.
Roy’s exit turned a controversy into a full-blown moral debate.
Because her argument hit a nerve: if artists claim to care about human dignity and injustice, can they really step aside when asked about real-world suffering?
It’s a difficult question. But it is also a necessary one.
Let’s step back for a moment. Cinema has never existed outside politics. Films about war, gender, class, caste, race, colonialism, power are deeply political. Even love stories become political when they challenge social norms. Even silence becomes political when it protects comfort over truth.
So the idea that filmmakers should be “the opposite of politics” feels slightly unrealistic.
Every casting choice is political. Every story told and every story ignored is political. Festivals themselves are political spaces, selecting which narratives deserve global attention.
In that sense, cinema does not escape politics. It shapes it.
That’s why the claim that artists must stay out of politics sounds, to many observers, less like a philosophical stance and more like an avoidance strategy.
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