Born in Iraqi Kurdistan, Lawand has been profoundly deaf since birth. In school he was viewed as disruptive by his teachers and bullied by his classmates. There was no support. His family leave Iraq, a trying journey by land and sea, and a deaf volunteer at a refugee camp puts them in touch with the Royal School for the Deaf Derby (RSDD). Lawand’s new educational environment is transformative. It ends his isolation. He learns British Sign Language and can finally express himself, talking to pupils and teachers. And he can slowly come to terms with his traumatic life experiences.

“I choose not to speak. I do not speak.”

Name Me Lawand tells the story of an inspiration. Finally given a language to use and people willing to listen, he reflects with a maturity beyond his years, he shows steely resilience, and he welcomes the opportunity to find himself after years of being sidelined. While his parents persevere for a very long time in their belief that Lawand would be less ‘different’ if he learned to speak rather than sign, his brother Rawa – an incredible advocate – has learned some sign language and the pair silently chatter. Their relationship throughout the film is one of the most beautiful things about the film.

Another ally is Lawand’s teacher Sophie Stone. She builds rapport with the shy youngster, bonding over shared experiences, and being open to hear his story without forcing him to share. The scene where they both play the drums and Lawand learns to feel the beat is unexpectedly moving. While Stone is one of a number of wonderful influences over Lawand at RSDD, her on-screen presence is emblematic of the way pupils are taught about resilience as well as academic and practical skills.

Sadly, the Home Office can nearly be guaranteed to inject drama into any family’s claim for asylum. The peril comes as Lawand’s father wonders how he might tell his middle child that the Home Office want to deport the family and that his place at the Derby school and his friendships in the signing community are not guaranteed. The Home Office are confident that “Lawand could learn another language” so why should they stay in Derby?

The film clearly asks whether a pressurised assessment of a young boy’s linguistic ability should be the dominant factor in the decision-making around a family’s right to remain in the UK? With deportation looming, the Derby community take action. And we learn that Lawand takes a stand to tell his story, in his own words, in his own first language (BSL), to convey to a court why he and his family should remain in the UK.

Yet the tug of war for security and stability is never allowed to fully take over the narrative. This is Lawand’s story, not the government’s.

Throughout the 91-minute documentary, director Edward Lovelace immerses the audience in the deaf world. There is no narration. Instead, we either follow the on-screen subjects signing their conversations or read the subtitles. The pain conveyed through what is being said and unsaid is sufficient to not need much in the way of a rousing soundtrack … though the background music soars when accompanying visual sequences that play upon the brothers’ childhood conversations about wanting to escape to another planet where they could both belong as equals.

I can’t imagine that life will be smooth-sailing all of the time. However, the film presents a feeling of hope that Lawand and Rawa may find relief on this planet, in their new home city of Derby. Hope that teachers like Sophie and schools like the RSDD will open up life in its fullest to young people who are Deaf. Hope that this won’t be the last piece of deaf cinema to appear in venues like the Queen’s Film Theatre.

Name Me Lawand is well worth seeing, and is being screened in Queen’s Film Theatre until Thursday 13 July.

 

Enjoyed this review? Why click on the Buy Me a Tea button!