{"id":25257,"date":"2025-06-26T08:39:35","date_gmt":"2025-06-26T08:39:35","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/followthethings.com\/?p=25257"},"modified":"2026-03-03T14:24:05","modified_gmt":"2026-03-03T14:24:05","slug":"just-showing-up-again-and-again-can-be-the-start-of-something","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/followthethings.com\/?p=25257","title":{"rendered":"Handbook: advice to filmmakers"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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FEATURED EXAMPLES<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Ilha das Fores<\/a>
Girl model
Mangetout
Blood, sweat & takeaways
UDITA
Ghosts
Primark – on the rack<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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INGREDIENTS<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

INTENTIONS<\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Pop the bubble
Show capitalist evils
End violence & exploitation<\/p>\n\n\n\n

TACTICS<\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Follow the people
Flip the script
Spend some time
Tell the truth
Show both sides
Make it funny
Workers take the mic
Juxtapose extremes
Hold ’em accountable<\/p>\n\n\n\n

RESPONSES<\/h5>\n\n\n\n

These consumers are insane
I laughed my ass off
This is disgusting
Guilty as charged
I gotta do something
Silence your critics<\/p>\n\n\n\n

IMPACTS<\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Corporations are punished<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Just showing up – again and again – can be the start of something<\/strong>.” <\/strong><\/h1>\n\n\n\n
By Jock MacKinlay<\/h5>\n\n\n\n

IN BRIEF<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Student Jock MacKinlay has taken the ‘Geographies of material culture’ module at the University of Exeter. He’s been watching trade justice documentaries, analysing the comments on their followthethings.com pages, and making sense of them using a draft copy of ‘The followthethings.com handbook for trade justice activism’. He knows a thing or two about how trade justice documentaries work and what they can do. He reflects on what he’s learned about how these films work and what they can do. He centres capitalism’s commodification of objects and people, how filmmakers and their subjects can turn grief into power, and how this work can gently and persuasively unravel the logic of global trade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More about this page.<\/summary>\n

We are slowly piecing together a followthethings.com handbook for trade justice activism<\/em> and are publishing draft pages here as we write them. This is an ‘advice’ page. The main text is an example of student work from the ‘Geographies of material culture’ module which followthethings.com CEO Ian ran at the University of Exeter in the 2024-25 academic year. Students watched 8 films, and read their pages on followthethings.com (with the expeption of an unfinished film called The ginger trail<\/em>). They were asked to pair the comments brought together on each of the films’ followthethings.com pages with the appropriate ingredients phrases (naming their intentions, tactics, responses and impacts – show in bold below) being drafted for the Handbook<\/em>. Using these phrases as a pattern language (see FAQs), students were tasked to work out how specific intentions (e.g. improve workers’ pay & conditions<\/strong>) needed specific tactics (e.g. flip the script<\/strong>) to generate different kinds of responses (e.g. this is disgusting<\/strong>), which could generate different kinds of impacts (e.g. audiences are empowered<\/strong>). [NB pages about each of these ingredients are coming soon] At the end of the module, students were asked to imagine that they had met someone who was about to make their first trade justice documentary. Drawing on what they had learned in the module, what advice could they give them on how to make it effective?<\/p>\n<\/details>\n\n\n\n

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What makes a trade justice documentary effective isn\u2019t just what it shows – it\u2019s how it brings you into complicity. A tomato in Ilha das Flores<\/em>. A child raising a Tesco flag in Mangetout<\/em>. These aren\u2019t just images. They\u2019re arguments. And they don\u2019t plead for change – they implicate. I\u2019ve come to believe that the most powerful trade justice documentaries don\u2019t persuade. They disrupt. They use irony, juxtaposition, grief, silence, repetition, and time to make global injustice unmissable – and unbearable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Across this reflection, alongside learning from follow-the-things (2025) I draw on seven films from the module and analyse their techniques using ingredient phrases, emotional reactions, and viewer responses drawn from followthethings.com. I explore how films confront trade injustice – the structural exploitation baked into global supply chains that privilege profit and ownership over worker dignity (Chellan, 2023; Cook et al., 2002). Because if a documentary wants to challenge that system, it can\u2019t just inform. It has to implicate. That\u2019s the kind of effectiveness I\u2019m tracing here<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Commodification: objects and people<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

One way in which trade justice documentaries can be effective is by showing capitalist evils <\/strong>not through spectacle, but through logic – systems that make exploitation feel routine. Ilha das Flores<\/em> made me laugh at first. The narration traced a tomato\u2019s journey from plantation to middleman to supermarket shelf. It was absurd in its neatness – every movement tracked, measured, rationalised. But then came the landfill. The tomato was discarded, fed to a pig, and finally scavenged by children. By juxtaposing extremes<\/strong>, the film folds waste \ud83d\udeae, animal \ud83d\udc16, and human \ud83d\ude4b\ud83c\udffd into the same supply chain. One viewer said: \u201cI just felt like being sick\u2026 people who have to sift through garbage<\/em> to find food\u201d<\/em> (Redroom Studios in Pavalow, 2025).\ud83e\udee3 I felt the same – but not because of the image. This is disgusting<\/strong>, I thought, because it felt so coldly logical – sicking not in tragedy, but routine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Screenshots from Ilha das Flores.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Ryyn\u00e4nen et al. (2022) argue that disgust isn\u2019t just emotional – it\u2019s a moral alarm that ruptures what we accept as normal. This wasn\u2019t an image designed to horrify. It became horrifying because I recognised it too late. Bloomfield and Sangalang (2014) describe juxtaposition as a \u201cvisual argument\u201d – a structure that forces the viewer to connect what they\u2019d rather keep apart. The film doesn\u2019t explain the logic. It makes you feel it. Chellan (2023) helped me make sense of that discomfort: capitalism isn\u2019t just cruel by accident. It\u2019s a system that \u201cprivileges ownership over life.\u201d Ilha das Flores<\/em> doesn\u2019t accuse. It implicates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Girl Model<\/em> continues this logic through quiet observation. Nadya, thirteen, is sized, and measured. There\u2019s no voiceover. No commentary. Just a girl turned product. By following the people<\/strong>, the film shows how global capitalism doesn\u2019t just move things – it moves bodies. \u201cThey are commodities.<\/em> Easily replaceable<\/em>\u201d \ud83d\ude2a (Dowling in Hambly et al., 2025). I agreed – and that\u2019s what disturbed me.\ud83d\ude1f Wenzel (2011) calls this a \u201ccommodity biography\u201d: a mapped transformation from subject to stock. I didn\u2019t feel pity. I wasn\u2019t the only one who felt guilty as charged<\/strong>, others agreed with me on followthethings.com \u201cevery<\/em> person\u2026 [is] a collaborator or perpetrator of a\u2026 soul-sucking enterprise\u201d <\/em>(Anon, 2012e in Hambly et al., 2025)<\/em>. Not because I caused this – but because we all see models in every advert ever!!! Young (2003) calls this political responsibility: the moment you realise you\u2019re inside the structure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Screenshots from Girl Model.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Whose pain are we watching?<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

If Section 1 left me wondering why I hadn\u2019t noticed the violence sooner, these films show what happens when trade justice documentaries make that distance impossible to ignore – when they pop the bubble between comfort and consequence. In Mangetout<\/em>, we begin at a Home Counties dinner party. Guests sip wine, eating mangetout, and debate \u201cfairness\u201d like it\u2019s an abstract puzzle. Then, without warning, we cut to a Grannie, a Zimbabwean mangetout sorter discussing her suicide attempt. She\u2019s calm. Precise. Not pleading – just speaking. By showing both sides<\/strong>, the film draws an initial equivalence between Global North opinion and Global South reality – but then cracks it open. One reviewer called it \u201cthe short and simple annals of the poor intercut with a<\/em> champagne-fuelled dinner party\u201d<\/em> (Banks-Smith 1997 in Cook et al, 2025)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Screenshots from Mangetout.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

I agreed – but for me, it wasn\u2019t just contrast. It was interruption. That\u2019s what makes this technique effective – it shifts focus from guilt to voice. It asked who gets the last word. Cook et al. (2002) describe commodities as \u201ceconomic DNA\u201d – the buried trace of hands and histories. Mangetout<\/em> doesn\u2019t just reference that. It shows it. The peas aren\u2019t just served. They\u2019re stitched to lives. That\u2019s what it means to pop the bubble<\/strong>: to let the dinner table speak back. Valenti (2020) warns that \u201cbalance\u201d can become distortion when all voices aren\u2019t equally free to speak. And by flipping the<\/strong> script<\/strong>, the film resists pity. The worker isn\u2019t reduced to pain. Her voice carries its own narrative – one that didn\u2019t need translation. Siddiqi (2009) calls this a refusal of \u201cglobal moralism\u201d – a rejection of pity and a reclamation of voice, where workers don\u2019t need saving, just listening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Blood, Sweat & Takeaways<\/em> overwhelmed me in a different way. The British volunteers are exhausted. They break down in the factories. Cry into their hands. Scream at each other. These<\/strong> consumers are insane<\/strong>, I thought – not because they couldn\u2019t cope, but because their breakdowns became the story. One reviewer nailed it: \u201cignorance and insouciance is the important flavour here\u2026<\/em> the BBC has carefully sifted all the good apples out to leave us only with the spoiled ones\u201d <\/em>(Sutcliffe 2009 in Clarke et al., 2025). Exactly. It didn\u2019t feel like we were watching transformation. It felt like punishment – and the workers became props in that performance. Wood (2020) calls this \u201cemotional optimisation\u201d: where Western pain takes centre stage, and the system itself fades. It left me frustrated, not moved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Screenshots from Blood, Sweat & Takeaways.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Grief into power<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

But not every film works through contrast. Some stay – showing what happens after the worst has already occurred. One way trade justice documentaries can be effective is by seeking to end<\/strong> violence and exploitation<\/strong> not through shock, but through duration – by staying with grief long enough for it to organise. In UDITA<\/em>, we see two children walking through the wreckage of Rana Plaza. They see clothing in the rubble, labelled. Each tag still reads \u201cMade in Bangladesh.\u201d Later, their grandmother Razia stands among a crowd of women, fists raised, chanting for justice. One reviewer captured this transformation: \u201c[Razia] now has to care for her daughter\u2019s children\u2026 they<\/em> walk over the rubble\u2026 each one has a Western label\u201d<\/em> (Anon 2015b in Barker et al., 2025). I kept noticing those labels. They weren\u2019t just part of the debris – they were the thread connecting Razia\u2019s grief to my comfort. That scene broke me \ud83e\udee0\ud83d\ude1e- not because it was loud, but because it wasn\u2019t. That\u2019s what makes it effective: it invites presence, not pity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Screenshots from UDITA<\/em>.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s why this film works. It doesn\u2019t just drop in to extract stories. It spends some time<\/strong>. Filmed over five years, UDITA<\/em> captures the slow work of building trust – between filmmaker and subject, between worker and union. Robertson (2005) calls this \u201cpresence as method\u201d – not just seeing, but staying. The camera doesn\u2019t race. It follows Razia at a walking pace – into homes, into the streets, into grief. Evans (2020) describes this kind of duration as a way to break the \u201cdespondency trap\u201d: when change feels impossible, just showing up – again and again – can be the start of something – exactly!!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ghosts<\/em> struck differently. The camera doesn\u2019t narrate. It just watches Ai Qin, a real undocumented migrant worker, re-enact the moment of her survival. She stands on the roof of a white van as the tide rises, calling her son from the very bay where others drowned. I gotta do something<\/strong>, I thought. But it wasn\u2019t guilt. It was something closer to reverence. \u201cI won\u2019t easily forget the shot of Ai Qin\u2026<\/em> [North Sea] waves about to engulf the van\u2026 making a final call to her son\u201d<\/em> (Sandhu 2007 in Allen et al, 2025). I couldn’t agree more – because it explained the scene, but because it admitted how unforgettable it was. That final call felt like it was for us. Richardson-Ngwenya and Richardson (2013) describe this as ethical representation: workers take the mic<\/strong> not through speech alone, but through presence. The silence becomes the point.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Screenshots from Ghosts.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Unravel capitalism<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

But grief doesn\u2019t just stay personal. Some films turn their lens toward systems – and ask who gets to speak when the damage is done. Effective trade justice documentaries aim to hold corporations<\/strong> accountable<\/strong> \u270a – not just by criticising them, but by showing how they fall short of ethical practice. In Mangetout<\/em>, there\u2019s a scene that almost dares you to laugh: the Tesco flag being raised, while schoolchildren sing the Tesco song \ud83c\udfb6\ud83c\udfb6\ud83c\udfb6 \u201cTesco our dear friend\u201d<\/em> \ud83c\udfb6\ud83c\udfb6\ud83c\udfb6 and dance the Tesco dance. \u201cIt\u2019s not just bizarre,\u201d I remember thinking.<\/em> \u201cIt\u2019s dystopian.\u201d<\/em> \ud83d\udc7d\ud83d\udc7d One reviewer described it bluntly: \u201cThe Tesco flag was raised while children sang the Tesco song and danced the Tesco<\/em> dance<\/em>\u201d (Holt 1997 in Cook et al., 2025). It\u2019s funny until you realise the brand is being treated like a country – with rituals, pledges, even propaganda. The scene never tells us what to think. It just lets the lie speak.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Screenshots from Mangetout.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s the tactic: tell the truth<\/strong> by letting performance unravel itself. Bartley & Child (2014) argue that when corporations become the subject of focused critique – especially ones wrapped in ethical branding – they\u2019re vulnerable to targeted shaming. Mangetout<\/em> never yells. It just watches. The effect is stronger than accusation. Cook et al. (2015) describe this kind of visual strategy as one that turns \u201cspectacle into satire\u201d – without needing to say a word. They make it funny. <\/strong>The scene made me flinch – Tesco, this is disgusting<\/strong>. Then I laughed my ass off. <\/strong>Then I felt guilty as charged. <\/strong>So effective – because it didn\u2019t instruct. It implicated. It made me ask why this had ever felt normal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Primark: On the Rack<\/em> hits differently. It shows what happens when corporations don\u2019t just deny wrongdoing – they try to silence their critics<\/strong>. In response to the BBC\u2019s undercover footage surrounding child labourers, Primark didn\u2019t quietly back away. They launched an aggressive counter-narrative. \u201cMillions of people have been deceived by Panorama,\u201d one spokesperson declared. \u201cTeachers and pupils\u2026 have been badly let down\u201d<\/em> (Primark 2008 in Adley et al., 2025). That tone stuck with me – not because it was firm, but because it felt scolding. Like they weren\u2019t responding to a crisis – just punishing someone for pointing it out. That\u2019s what it means to silence<\/strong> your critics<\/strong>: not to rebut, but to erase. Cook et al. (2018) call this the \u201cStreisand effect\u201d – where trying to bury a critique only makes it louder. It backfired. Corporations are punished<\/strong> not always in court, but through public exposure. And the louder the denial, the more visible the problem becomes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Screenshots from Primark – on the rack.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Concluding thoughts<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

What I\u2019ve learned is that effective trade justice documentaries don\u2019t just expose injustice – they make it undeniable. Not with guilt, but with structure. With editing, juxtaposition, silence, re-enactment, and time. The most effective films don\u2019t preach – they disorient. They hold back. They let injustice implicate itself. When I first watched Ilha das Flores, I thought the image of a woman scavenging waste would shock me. It didn\u2019t. The shock came from the voiceover \u2014 that cold, rational tracking of a tomato\u2019s value. That was my first lesson: effective trade justice films don\u2019t just show harm – they reveal the logic behind it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That logic reappears across the films that stayed with me: a model commodified, a corporation mythologised, a migrant re-enacting her own pain. None of these scenes told me what to feel. They let the structure speak – and made me realise I was part of it. If I were to make a trade justice documentary now, I\u2019d focus less on persuading, more on positioning. I\u2019d start with the worker. I\u2019d spend time. I\u2019d resist neat conclusions. Because effectiveness isn\u2019t clarity – it\u2019s complexity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s what these films offered me: not closure, but craft. Not answers, but better questions. And a deeper understanding of how form can confront power – and why it must.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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SOURCES<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Adley, K., Keeble, R., Russell, P., Stenholm, N., Strang, W. and Valo, T. (2025) Primark \u2013 on the rack<\/em>. (http:\/\/followthethings.com\/primark-on-the-rack.shtml last accessed May 14th 2025)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Allen, H., Heaume, E., Heeley, L., Hedger, R., Johnson, S., McGregor, O. and Webber, L. (2025) Ghosts<\/em>. (http:\/\/followthethings.com\/ghosts.shtml last accessed May 14th 2025)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Barker, T., Collier, J., Baker, A., Coppen, L. and Eve, H. (2025) UDITA (ARISE).<\/em> (http:\/\/followthethings.com\/udita.shtml last accessed May 14th 2025)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bartley, T. & Child, C. (2014) Shaming the corporation: the social production of targets and the anti-sweatshop movement. American Sociological Review<\/em> 79(4), p.653\u2013679<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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+18 sources<\/summary>\n

Bloomfield, E. F. & Sangalang, A. (2014) Juxtaposition as visual argument: health rhetoric in Super Size Me and Fat Head. Argumentation and Advocacy<\/em> 50(3), p.141\u2013156. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chellan, N. (2023). The life of capitalism. in his F\/Ailing capitalism and the challenge of COVID-19.<\/em> Leiden: Brill, p.180-216<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Clarke, H., Thomson, B., Bartley, V., Ibbetson-Price, K., Christie-Miller, E. and Schofield, H. (2025) Blood, Sweat & Takeaways<\/em>. (http:\/\/followthethings.com\/blood-sweat-takeaways.shtml last accessed May 14th 2025)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cook, I. et al., 2018. Inviting construction: Primark, Rana Plaza and political LEGO. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers<\/em> 43(3), p.477\u2013495<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cook et al, I. (2025) Mangetout<\/em>. (http:\/\/followthethings.com\/mange-tout.shtml last accessed May 14th 2025)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cook et al, I. (2002) Commodities: The DNA of capitalism<\/em>. (https:\/\/followtheblog.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/09\/commodities last accessed May 14th 2025)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cook, R.F., Vos, T.P., Prager, B. & Hearne, J. (2015) Journalism, politics and contemporarydocumentaries: a ‘Based on a True Story’ dossier. Visual Communication Quarterly<\/em> 22(1), p.15\u201333<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Evans, A., 2020. Overcoming the global despondency trap: strengthening corporate accountability in supply chains. Review of International Political Economy<\/em> 27(3), p.658\u2013685<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hambly, A., King, E., Keogh, A., Renny-Smith, C., Callow, E., Thorogood, J. & Alloy, V. (2025) Girl Model: The Truth Behind The Glamour<\/em>. (http:\/\/followthethings.com\/girl-model.shtml last accessed May 14th 2025)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pavalow, M. (2025) Ilha das Flores<\/em>. (http:\/\/followthethings.com\/ilhadasflores.html last accessed May 14th 2025)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Richardson-Ngwenya, P. & Richardson, B. (2013) Documentary film and ethical foodscapes: three takes on Caribbean sugar. Cultural Geographies<\/em> 20(3), p.339\u2013356.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Robertson, R. (2005) Seeing is believing: an ethnographer\u2019s encounter with television documentary. in A. Grimshaw & A. Ravetz (eds) Visualizing anthropology<\/em>. Bristol: Intellect Books, p.42\u201354<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryyn\u00e4nen, M., Kosonen, H. & Yl\u00f6nen, S. (2023) From visceral to the aesthetic: tracing disgust in contemporary culture. in their (eds.) Cultural Approaches to Disgust and the Visceral. <\/em>London: Routledge, p.3-16<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Siddiqi, D.M. (2009) Do Bangladeshi factory workers need saving? Sisterhood in the post-sweatshop era? Feminist Review<\/em> 91(1), p.154\u2013174<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Valenti, J.M. (2020) When environmental documentary films are journalism. in Sachsman D. & Valenti, J.M. (eds) Routledge handbook of environmental journalism. London: Routledge, <\/em>p.99-112<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wenzel, J. (2011) Consumption for the common good? Commodity biography film in an age of postconsumerism. Public Culture<\/em> 23(3), p.573\u2013602<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wood, R., (2020) \u2018What I\u2019m not gonna buy\u2019: Algorithmic culture jamming and anti-consumer politics on YouTube. New Media & Society<\/em> 23(9), p.2754\u20132772<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Young, I.M. (2003) From guilt to solidarity: sweatshops & political responsibility. Dissent <\/em>50(2), 39-44<\/p>\n<\/details>\n\n\n\n

Image credits<\/summary>\n

Conversation (https:\/\/thenounproject.com\/icon\/conversation-6769395\/<\/a>) by kliwir art from Noun Project (CC BY 3.0)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ilha das Flores: <\/em>credit Casa de Cinema de Porto Alegre<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Girl model<\/em>: credit Carnivalesque Films<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mangetout<\/em>: credit BBC<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Blood, sweat & takeaways:<\/em> credit BBC<\/p>\n\n\n\n

UDITA<\/em>: credit Rainbow Collective<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ghosts: <\/em>credit Beyond Films<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Primark – on the rack<\/em>: credit BBC<\/p>\n\n\n\n




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SECTION: <\/strong>advice <\/strong><\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Written by Jock MacKinlay, edited by Ian Cook (first published June 2025)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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FEATURED EXAMPLES Ilha das ForesGirl modelMangetoutBlood, sweat & takeawaysUDITAGhostsPrimark – on the rack INGREDIENTS INTENTIONS Pop the bubbleShow capitalist evilsEnd violence & exploitation TACTICS Follow the peopleFlip the scriptSpend some timeTell the truthShow both sidesMake it funnyWorkers take the micJuxtapose extremesHold ’em accountable RESPONSES These consumers are insaneI laughed my ass offThis is disgustingGuilty as […]<\/p>\n

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