MIF Member Spotlight: Albi

Albi is reimagining what narrative infrastructure can look like in one of the most polarized cultural contexts in the world. Through its Film and Television Fund, institute and lab, the organization supports films by and about Israelis and Palestinians that resist binaries and make room for complexity, dissent and human proximity.

In this Member Spotlight Q&A, Founder and President Libby Lenkinski reflects on how Albi defines success beyond awards or reach, why audience “encounter” matters more than scale, and what it takes to fund storytelling responsibly in conflict environments. She also explains how the organization’s Protection Hub safeguards filmmakers who are under threat and how the Palestinian Creatives Pipeline is building long-term structural access for emerging storytellers.

Media Impact Funders: Albi works on documentaries in one of the most polarized spaces imaginable, where many people arrive with strongly held beliefs. Your goal is to “establish paradigm-shifting narratives.” What are the ways you think about achieving that goal and what are your markers for success?

Libby Lenkinski: Albi works from a simple premise. In deeply polarized environments, facts alone rarely change minds. Stories reshape what people believe is imaginable. Documentary cinema is uniquely powerful because it operates simultaneously as art, journalism and lived testimony.

Much of our work is about widening authorship by supporting Palestinian, Arab, Ethiopian-Israeli and other underrepresented filmmakers whose lived perspectives have historically struggled to access institutional pathways.

We support films that resist binary storytelling. Paradigm shifts rarely come from ideological counter-arguments. They emerge when audiences encounter complexity, contradiction, and human proximity they did not expect. Many Albi-supported projects sit in that uncomfortable space, documenting co-resistance, dissent within communities, or moral struggle rather than ideological certainty.

Our markers for success therefore go beyond awards or box office performance. We look for films entering spaces that were previously closed to them, including universities, synagogues, civic forums, festivals, and activist communities. We look for evidence of cross-audience engagement, particularly where audiences do not typically share cultural or political space. We look for civil society uptake, where organizations use films as tools for dialogue or organizing. We also measure whether filmmakers are able to sustain careers and continue telling difficult stories.

MIF: How do you think about audience in this work? Given how difficult it is to break out of paradigms, what degree is audience engagement an arbiter of success?

LL: Audience is central to Albi’s work, but not in a conventional marketing sense.

We try to be extremely strategic and specific about what each film is meant to do and with whom. Rather than expecting universal persuasion, we ask where a particular story can open space, complicate assumptions, or create unexpected proximity between people who would not otherwise encounter one another.

We distinguish between reach and encounter. Mass reach matters, but in polarized environments the more meaningful measure is whether audiences encounter stories in contexts that allow reflection rather than immediate rejection. A screening followed by facilitated dialogue in a synagogue, campus coalition, human rights festival, or cultural space can sometimes have greater civic impact than large passive viewership.

For example, with Holding Liat we invested deeply in curated post-screening engagement. This included facilitated conversations and intentionally designed small-group dinners that brought together audiences who would not normally sit at the same table. These gatherings allowed participants to process difficult material collectively rather than retreat into familiar positions immediately after viewing the film. In many cases, the conversations extended long beyond the screening itself and seeded ongoing relationships between participants.

MIF: In March, Palestinian filmmaker Hamdan Ballal—co-director of the Oscar-winning documentary film “No Other Land”—was beaten in the occupied West Bank by Israeli settlers and detained by the Israeli military. Can you share more about the importance of Albi’s Protection Hub for documentary filmmakers and the impact it has had so far?

LL: That incident with Hamdan was horrifying, but not surprising. The minute a Palestinian filmmaker wins an Oscar, the system that tried to erase him turns to punish him. Violent attacks by settlers and soldiers are sadly and simply part of everyday life where Hamdan lives as well. The Protection Hub exists for exactly that reason. It’s a rapid-response mechanism that provides safety planning, legal support, communications strategy, and international visibility for filmmakers under threat because of their work.

Since its launch, we’ve supported more than a dozen cases — from filmmakers whose screenings were canceled to those that were wrongly censored to others whose families were targeted after public appearances. We don’t publicize most of it, because discretion can be the difference between safety and danger. But what we’ve learned is that when artists feel someone has their back, they can keep creating. And that’s everything.

MIF: What lessons from Albi’s work on the Protection Hub might be relevant to funders seeking to work in conflict zones or on other highly-charged topics?

LL: Protection must be built into funding design. In polarized environments, risk is predictable rather than exceptional. Supporting artists or civil society actors without considering backlash can unintentionally expose them to harm. Crisis response capacity should be considered part of program infrastructure.

Relationships matter more than rapid scale. Trust, particularly across divided communities, develops slowly. Programs built through listening and long-term partnership tend to be more durable than short-term interventions.

Narrative work requires ecosystem thinking. Funding production alone is rarely sufficient. Distribution, audience engagement, legal resilience, and emotional support structures all shape whether work can have impact.

Strategies that attempt to distance institutions or funders from those under attack in the hope that repression will stop at someone else rarely succeed. Pressure expands toward perceived vulnerability. Collective resilience and visible solidarity are often more effective than quiet retreat.

And resilience is itself an outcome worth measuring. Success may include whether artists remain able to continue working, whether organizations withstand pressure, and whether public conversation remains open to complexity.

MIF: What outcomes are you looking to accomplish with Albi’s Palestinian Creatives Pipeline?

LL: We want to build a real bridge — not symbolic, but structural. The pipeline identifies Palestinian film students and emerging artists inside Israel and the occupied territories and helps them access training, mentorship, and production opportunities that are typically closed to them. We’re pairing them with Israeli and international mentors, supporting short films and digital projects, and helping them build networks that can sustain long-term careers.

The goal is not assimilation — it’s empowerment. We want Palestinian storytellers to have the agency, skills, and platforms to tell their own stories in their own ways. If we do that right, it changes not just who gets to make films and tell stories in this place, but what the world sees when it looks at it.

MIF: Even amid ongoing uncertainty, what gives you hope or keeps you grounded in this work?

LL: Hope, for me, is a verb. It’s what happens when I see a Jewish Israeli editor sitting with a Palestinian director in a studio in Jaffa, cutting a film about loss and dignity — and they’re laughing between takes. It’s when young American Jews tell me they feel seen for the first time because someone is making art that reflects their confusion and their compassion.

I see it in the courage of artists who refuse to stop making beauty in the face of brutality. That’s the core of Albi — not optimism, but creative defiance. Hope is the act of creating anyway.