At the opening of the Berlin International Film Festival, its jury president, the German filmmaker Wim Wenders, stated that filmmakers should “stay out of politics” and focus on their true mission: changing the way people think. Asked about the German government’s position on Gaza, he insisted that making “overtly political” films would mean entering the realm of politicians; cinema, by contrast, would serve as a “counterweight” to politics. “We must do the work of the people, not that of politicians,” he added. These remarks aim to defend artistic autonomy. Yet they sound like an evasion at a moment when silence weighs as heavily as speech.

The separation between art and politics is a convenient fiction. Cinema is never neutral. It chooses a point of view, a frame, a narrative, bodies to film and others to leave out of the frame. It distributes light and shadow. It decides who is granted the right to complexity and who is reduced to a silhouette. Every work is shaped by values, representations, and relations of power. To claim that cinema must remain “outside” politics is to forget that neutrality itself is a political stance. The universal invoked to rise above conflicts can then become a screen rather than a vantage point.

The Berlinale has long cultivated the image of a festival attuned to the tremors of the world. It has taken positions on Ukraine, Iran, and other contemporary fractures. Why, then, such extreme caution when it comes to Gaza? In a context of genocide, forced displacement, and humanitarian crisis, choosing withdrawal is not a neutral gesture. It is a choice that normalizes the status quo in the name of supposed artistic distance. How can one claim to “change the way people think” while refusing to confront clearly one of the major tragedies of our time?

Wenders invokes Germany’s historical guilt linked to the Shoah to explain the government’s caution. The memory of the extermination of Europe’s Jews is an immense responsibility, demanding vigilance and rigor. But when it becomes an argument to avoid any contemporary criticism, it ceases to be an ethical imperative and turns into a paralyzing justification. Memory should not produce silence; on the contrary, it should sharpen awareness in the face of any state violence, wherever it occurs.

Presenting cinema as a “counterweight” to politics assumes it operates differently, more deeply, at a distance from power relations. It is true that films can transform sensibilities and shift imaginaries. Yet the history of cinema also shows that its most decisive works have often openly embraced their political dimension. Taking refuge in the idea that artistic commitment would be a contamination by politics is to forget that art is not strong because it stays apart, but because it confronts reality without being reduced to propaganda.

The interruption of the livestream of Wenders’s press conference shortly after the question about Gaza—whether due to a technical problem or a blunder—only deepened the discomfort. At a festival that claims to be a space of debate and plurality, even the slightest suspicion of censorship weakens the credibility of its discourse on artistic freedom. One cannot celebrate the power of cinema to question the world while appearing to fear certain questions.

I would like to recount here my experience as a member of the Berlinale 2024 documentary jury. The German political climate was already extremely tense. Pro-Palestinian demonstrations were violently repressed, and any criticism of Israeli policy was equated with antisemitism by the German government and media. Despite this context, together with my two fellow jurors we decided to award the prize for Best Documentary at the Berlinale to the Palestinian film No Other Land. The award ceremony, accompanied by speeches denouncing the genocide in Gaza and the complicity of the German government, took place in the presence of German authorities, including the mayor of Berlin and the federal minister of culture, both known for their firm support for Israel. This intervention sparked a scandal in German media and political circles. Since then, it has effectively made it impossible for films openly committed to the Palestinian cause or critical of Israeli government policy to be present. Wenders’s position today, under the cover of supposed artistic neutrality, seems to confirm and legitimize that shift.