The BFI’s upcoming season celebrating multicultural television is already facing accusations of… well, a rather glaring lack of multicultural perspective. Tariq Ali, a key figure behind the groundbreaking 1980s current affairs show Bandung File, claims he’s been completely sidelined from the retrospective, despite the season including screenings of his work. This isn’t just a snub; it’s a symptom of a larger issue – the selective memory often applied to television history, and who gets to control the narrative.
- Rewriting History?: The exclusion of Ali, a central creative force, raises questions about the BFI’s curatorial choices and the story they’re trying to tell.
- A Lost Model for Public Service TV: Bandung File’s success – a 50/50 split between white and non-white viewership – feels particularly poignant in today’s fragmented media landscape.
- The Chilling Effect of Current Politics: Ali’s assertion that a show like Bandung File wouldn’t be commissioned today speaks volumes about the shrinking space for challenging, internationally-focused journalism.
Bandung File, named after the 1955 Indonesian conference of newly independent Asian and African states, wasn’t simply a program *about* multiculturalism; it *was* multiculturalism in action. Ali, alongside Darcus Howe and Farrukh Dhondy, built a show that tackled issues like apartheid and the Rushdie affair with a directness that was rare for the time. It wasn’t a polite, observational program; it was investigative, internationalist, and, crucially, it drew a broad audience. As Samir Shah, the current chair of the BBC, noted, the show’s coverage of the BCCI scandal demonstrated the power of that kind of journalism.
The BFI’s response – a somewhat belated claim of difficulty sourcing Ali’s contact details – feels… insufficient. It smacks of a PR scramble to mitigate the damage. The initial program listing, showcasing Bandung File without acknowledging its creators, was a misstep. Now, the attempt to frame the omission as a logistical oversight feels disingenuous. The BFI is walking a tightrope: they want to celebrate a pivotal moment in British television history, but seemingly on their own terms, and without potentially uncomfortable questions from those who actually *made* that history.
Ali’s pointed question – “Was this actually on British television?” – is the real sting here. He’s highlighting a worrying trend: the erasure of genuinely groundbreaking, challenging programming from the collective memory. And his concern that a show like Bandung File couldn’t exist today isn’t just pessimism; it’s a stark warning about the narrowing of perspectives in contemporary television. The “funeral” the team held after the show’s cancellation – “cause of death – execution” – feels tragically prescient. The question now is whether the BFI will genuinely engage with Ali and the legacy of Bandung File, or simply offer a carefully curated, and ultimately incomplete, version of its story.
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